Pure Imagination

Come with me

And you'll be

In a world of 

Pure Imagination

With each passing day, I grow more and more amazed at the little person gifted to me.  

One of my favorite things to watch my son do is create his own world.  Today, it is talking dinosaurs and invisible flowers (a gift just for me).  He is constantly creating his own games with rules that change.  He is able to take something as simple as a cardboard box and small figures and create a whole world.  

With each generation, it seems that the time for children to BE children gets shorter and shorter.  Whether it is circumstance of life or simply the way of our world, it saddens me.  

As Z gets older, I find the changes bittersweet.  I love watching him develop and grow.  At just over four years old, he can get dressed on his own and has an opinion about everything.  Even with that, he still is little boy in that he lives for his blankie and loves to cuddle.   He gets wound up and runs like a madman...and then curls up to snuggle to sleep.

Right now, I fight to keep his imagination alive.  I nurture the dreams and build the cities.  I enter the world he creates and allow him to build his dream world around us, taking us to magical places with magical people.

And for every day that he builds this world, I will come.  I will build the forts and feed the animals and pretend that we are the wranglers and dinosaurs, cats, turtles, and lobsters.  

Because, at the end of the day, "we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

Don't Speak

I am currently at war.

Every so often, the opposition gets the upper hand.

At the last moment, the champion rallies and is able to push back the onslaught.

So far, there have been no casualties.  No blood has been shed, no collateral damage.

Because this war is contained.  It has not spread, it has not become a plague upon the Earth.

It's a war of words.

And it's a war against myself.

I have always been the nice one.  I generally go along to get along and choose to pick my battles.  Since I don't normally get irritated, those battles are few and far between.

The reality of it is that I spend 80% of my time filtering what I say.  The other 20%, I am speaking to my mother or sharing text messages with bluebelleinbg. Even then, I consider how what I say/text will be taken and sometimes even filter that (because I refuse to hurt those I love).  I would love to say that I don't filter what I write here, but that would be untrue.  I find often myself typing, reading, erasing, and retyping what I am thinking.

This ongoing battle recently came to light when I saw posts from "friends" on Facebook.  I read through Christians spouting hate for what they either don't understand or simply feel they are "above."  I see comments asking for funds to support "causes" that I find completely ridiculous.  My hands itch to type...to respond...to spout my opinion in unlimited characters.

Every time, I either stop or type and then erase.

As I think on it, I realize I have always been this way.  I'm not sure if it is just my nature to work to keep the peace or if I have adapted myself to be that way.  As a leader at The Company, I absolutely CANNOT say what I am always thinking.   To do so would not only be career suicide but could very well end my employment at the same time.  For obvious reasons, I don't post The Company related comments on ANY social media outlet.

I would love to say that this has led to some grand epiphany, which will now lead to the floodgates of my thoughts/feelings/opinions being opened.

Yeah...not so much.

At the end of the day, I am still me.  I am still going to consider the feelings of others before I spout off.

And I am still going to laugh at those whom I love who throw caution to the wind and type/say exactly what they think.

And hope that each of you is aware of how thankful I am that you give my thoughts freedom, even when I don't.

Rent-A-Cat

After spending over a decade together, I have come to understand my husband very well.  Last week, he informed me of his desire to add a feline member to our household.  To anyone else, that might seem like a random request.

However, I have learned that hubs very rarely (if ever) acts rashly. That meant that he had been contemplating the addition of a feline friend for a while.

Since there are lots of worthy animals in our area awaiting new homes at our local shelter, my first stop was their website.  All available animals are listed at PetFinder, so off I went in search of a kitty to fit our family.  We located a couple online who looked promising and fit our desires (adult female, short-haired), so we planned on a trip on Friday to the shelter.

In the interim, I mentioned the search to my mother.  Since both boys have a history of allergies, she proposed an idea.  Instead of getting a cat who might have to go back due to the allergies, she recommended we ask Poppa about "renting" one of his kitties.  This would allow for us to try out the cat without worrying about the cost or sadness for Z if he got attached and the cat had to be returned.

So, last week, I ventured over to collect our Rent-A-Cat: Abby.  The first night was the "getting to know each other" night.  Lots of curious wandering for her...lots of following to make sure nothing was ingested, scratched, or left behind for me.

As you can see, I clearly needn't have worried:

Two days later, the question came.  I had expected it much sooner, so two days was a stretch.   The question?  "Mommy, can Abby live with us forever?"

Thankfully, Abby didn't trigger allergies the way our previous canine companion did.  However, the ultimate decision would be left up to Poppa.  Would he let her stay?

Apparently, the contract included a rent-to-own clause.

After years as dog people, we are now venturing into cat ownership, as we are officially Abby the Tabby Cat's owners.  While we don't have the basics to worry about (feeding, watering, litter-boxing have all been taught, since she's an adult kitty), we are quickly learning her personality and her quirks (not a fan of kitty treats or her new collar, loves plastic eggs).

So, we're getting to know one another, one day at a time.  So far, so good.

We might turn out to be cat people after all.

Giving Back

Cancer is the uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells in the body.


Such a seemingly simple definition.  If you didn't know, you would think the condition being defined was just as simple.  In reality, there are over two hundred different kinds of the disease with countless treatment plans and account for 25% of the yearly total of deaths in the United States alone (and a total of 13% of them worldwide).

Until last year, my family had been blessed to have never been touched by this deadly disease.   Last year, that changed.  Last year, my mom met a fantastic man.  With their marriage early this year, he is now my stepfather.  Poppa is a gentle, kind man with a heart of gold.  My son, who takes forever to warm up to people, took an instant shine to his new Poppa.   Poppa is not just a wonderful new dad and grandfather...

Poppa is a cancer survivor.

So when my friend Scott recruited me for his Relay for Life team, I didn't mind at all.   All I could think about was the treatment that so many others might not get and the opportunity to raise money for research to create more survivors.

When I first joined the team, we sold raffle tickets for a day of Spring cleaning.  Three weeks later, I was up to my elbows in dirt, snapdragons, and mulch.  

It was a chilly, fresh after the rain day, and I couldn't have been happier doing what I was doing.  Knowing that I could in some small way contribute to our team's success and give back to the American Cancer Society left me with such a feeling of accomplishment.

Today was yard sale day.  After braving the doctor's office to get treatment for an ear infection, I headed over to the yard sale to do what I could.  Another great day with the proceeds benefiting Relay for Life and the American Cancer Society.

In thirteen days, the actual event will take place.  There are lots of activities starting at 6 pm on Friday, May 13th and running into 6 am on Saturday, May 14th.  

With thirteen only days to go, I am at 20% of my personal goal.  It's a small one:  only $100.   But with matching funds from The Company, I can make it $200.

That's where I ask you to come in.  I only need to raise $80 in 13 days.  It's absolutely possible, but not without help.

Please visit my personal page here and give anything you can.  Even $1 becomes $2.

Please help me fight cancer and fight back!!

Perfect Imperfections

When Z was just a few months old, he started suffering from repeated ear infections.  We were at the doctor no less than ten times in just four months.  I was beginning to worry that I was overreacting.  I worried that the doctor would think I was crazy.   Yet, each time we went, either one or both of his ears were infected. Finally, we were given the option to have vent tubes put in his ears.  With him being so young, we weighed the pros and cons and made the decision to go ahead. Once the tubes were in, we were only at the doctor for checkups.    

Two years later, the tubes were gone and the infections were back.  The choice was tubes again or to try and establish the cause with testing.  So, to the allergist we went.  The recommendation at that point was to start weekly shots to try and lessen the impact of Z's environment.  Again, we were charged with making a choice.  Did we subject him to weekly injections in an effort to allow him to be a "normal" kid?  Would it even work?   We did the research and decided to go ahead.  As a child who hated to be confined, the biggest issue was how traumatic these shots would be.  We nixed the idea of holding him down for the shots, and he simply hands over that week's arm for the "pinch."  To date, Z is still the best shot patient. 

And, again, a good choice.  Z can now play outside in the grass without coming back inside and scratching gashes into his legs.  To date, there have been no ear infections.  OTC allergy medicine now works to squash the worst of the problems.

A month ago, we were charged with yet another parental choice.  

Some background: when Z was two, I began to notice that his right foot was turning in.  I mentioned it during his checkup, and his pediatrician assured me it was normal.  At age three, the foot was worse.  I mentioned it again, and again was advised that it was perfectly normal and should correct itself within the next year.   As that year passed, I noticed his left foot had indeed begun to face forward.    The right foot?  Not so much.

I again began to wonder if I was overreacting.  Everything I read said that it should be fine by the time he was six.  That meant two more years of "watch and see."   

Everything I could see said we didn't need to wait that long.  While I realize that a little clumsiness is normal; the inability to run even a short distance without falling is not.  Growing pains are normal; nearly screaming in pain because your leg hurts is not.  I had already learned through my own interactions with doctors who refused to act that sometimes you must take control of your own health.

And so, I had decided that if his doctor didn't recognize what I thought was a problem with his foot, I would get another opinion.  

Again, I needn't have worried.  Z has an amazing pediatrician.  He has taken care of Z since the moment Z was pulled into the world.  I trust his judgement and his advice.  So, when I again mentioned Z's foot, Dr R decided to send us to a podiatrist.

The verdict?  Correction was needed.  I was barely able to hold back the tears.  

Tears for relief.  Tears for fear.  Tears for the unknown.

Would we again have to make the decision to allow someone to put our son to sleep and surgically correct the problem?  What would the recovery be like?  (Can you tell I am one of those "what if" people?)

Again, I needn't have worried.  The fix was simple.   Z has been fitted with his "special shoes."  They fit into his regular tennis shoes and are barely noticeable. He'll wear them for a few months, and then the most major issue will be corrected. 

With this newest addition to Z's list of "imperfections," I have come to a realization:

Moms are too hard on themselves...and each other.  I, of course, wonder what I could have done differently.  Did I wait too long? Not long enough? Is every decision I make really the best for him in the long run?

In the grand scheme of life, Z's small issues are nothing.  There are brave mothers who wake up every day to another round of tests, another set of treatments, or another day of care on a schedule.  My family trials are small in comparison; yet I still work to do my best.  Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough, especially when the advice I am given leads me to think there is more blame included than actual helpful hints.  When we should be lifting one another up, we are instead judging each other based on how well we doing are at mothering, as if this is some sort of contest.  

If we do that, no one wins.   

The reality is, there are no perfect parents and no perfect children.  But the other reality is that we are all loved perfectly.   

Perfect imperfections made whole through God's love.  

What could be better?

Food, Glorious Food

Courtesy Fellow Cruiser

If you have been on a cruise, then you are well aware of how wonderful the food is.

And how much of it there is to be found.

If you desired, you could really eat 24 hours a day.  There are the basic sandwiches and pizza, to sushi, buffet, exquisitely prepared dishes, and on our ship, the Steakhouse.

The food is phenomenal.   You can have it prepared any way you choose, in any combination.

I took the trip as an opportunity to expand my culinary horizons.  I chose dishes that I might otherwise pass up.

The one meal that fell most outside my comfort zone was Seafood Newburg.  It was touted as a wonderfully rich seafood stew with a side of saffron infused rice and broccoli.

As a note: I love seafood.  If it lives its life under the water, it is highly possible that I will eat it.  The exception in the past has been mussels (and non-sustainable seafood).  I have tried to eat the large version. The chewy, funky texture was just more than I could handle.  I had sworn them off forever.

So, Seafood Newburg seemed like a fantastic idea.  With the ingredients listed as scallops, shrimp, and lobster, I thought I was safe.

Imagine my surprise when the plate placed before me not only had two small mussels in their black shell homes circling the plate, but also had them nestled in the creamy sauce along with the plump shrimp, succulent scallops, and juicy chunks of lobster meat.

There really were only two choices here:  1.  Eat around them.  2. Let go of the past and dig in.

For a brief moment, I considered option number 1.  The idea of eating the little slugs really almost did me in.  But, I figured in for a penny, in for a pound.  When you are surrounded by wait staff who have given up eight months of their lives to earn money for their families in poor, 3rd world countries, wasting food just seems wrong.  Unless it is really inedible or there was an allergy concern, I couldn't even consider wasting a meal.

So, I dug in.

And they were awesome!  That slug-like texture of the larger mussels was absent in the smaller version.  They complemented the other seafood wonderfully and were just amazing.

From a ship perspective, it was one of my two favorite meals.

Rich, decadent, and adventurous.

Food, glorious food.

Reunited

When the Mr and I started talking about what we wanted to do for our 10th wedding anniversary, we kicked around several ideas.

First, we talked about Australia.  A coworker of mine lived there for several years and talked about how wonderful it would be.  We also talked about going to Japan.  Both of those were bypassed because of the cost of plan tickets.

We were going to go to a resort, but that brought about the question of which one on which island.

It was really the desire to see different things that led us to choose the cruise option.  For a set price, meals and lodging were covered. We would also get the opportunity to see several places to which we had never been.  Most importantly, we had the opportunity to be.

Be away.

Be together.

Be lazy.

Be disconnected from our regular lives.

Be connected to one another.

Reunited.

We spent a great deal of time just talking.  With an awesome upgrade to the balcony (thanks again for the push Tom), we had the opportunity to watch the sun rise. the sun set, the shorelines appear on port days, and disappear as we left ports in the evening.

We watched shows, had a few drinks, lots of laughs, lots of fun together. We perused stores while in port, walked the decks when not, and really spent our time falling in love all over again.

We ate dinner at a "romantic table for two for the honeymooners" (per our hostess). When we informed her we were actually celebrating our 10th anniversary, she was shocked.  She told us that with our heads together and the attention we paid to one another, she automatically assumed we were newlyweds.

Mission Accomplished.

Reunited.

And it feels so good.