Round One Goes to the Monkey Bars

About two weeks ago, Claire fell off the monkey bars in our backyard.

We gave her an ice pack and a dose of motrin. Then we went out to eat.

About a week after the fall, Claire mentioned that her arm "kind of" hurt when she went to gymnastics a few days before. I noticed that she couldn't open the clasp on her backpack and that she wasn't able to put any weight on her right arm.

I took her to the doctor. She ordered x-rays. The x-ray technician asked me if the doctor wanted me to wait at the lab or go back to the clinic while they read the x-rays. I told him the doctor said we should go home and she would call me if the bone was broken.

The tech said I might want to just wait there.

The next day, I took Claire to an orthopaedic surgeon. More x-rays. Talk of going to the OR. Verification that the bone was 80% broken through and was slightly displaced. Validation that, yes, it's completely common for a broken bone to go undiagnosed for a week or more. I suddenly felt nauseous as I pictured her doing cartwheels and swinging from the uneven bars just days before.

I kept saying, "I can't believe your arm is broken."

Claire kept asking, "Why do you keep saying that?"

Finally, a hot pink cast. The doctor pressed hard on Claire's arm as he casted her, trying to get the bone to line up as much as possible. Claire didn't even flinch while I practically broke a sweat just watching. More x-rays were ordered for later this week, to make sure the bone hasn't shifted anymore. If it has...possible surgery. Let's all pray it hasn't.

In the meantime, Claire is enjoying the celebrity that comes with being the only kid at school with a cast. And as for the monkey bars, let's just say their time with us is limited.

Marathon-arella

Once upon a time, there was a girl* who had a blog. One day, the girl and her good friend, B**, decided to run a marathon. The two friends decided to register for the race right away so they wouldn't change their minds. They even went so far as to post it on Facebook, which is the modern day equivalent of signing your name to a contract in blood.

The girl started training for the race in March, a mere two weeks after surgery to remove an internal organ or two***. She faithfully followed her "Novice Level Marathon Training Plan" all through what would turn out to be one of the hottest summers in recent years****.

Somewhere along the way, the girl's blog became neglected*****. Many, many events went unrecorded. Events that were definitely blog worthy. Events like: that time the girls fell off a horse and Claire got some teeth knocked out and her face all beaten up, and the time Arden may or may not have had viral meningitis but either way, ended up in the ER. And then there was a trip to Disneyworld, the end of Kindergarten, the end of preschool, the arrival of a new family member (a dog named Hootie) and an impromptu trip to the beach.

Sometimes, while the girl was running, she would compose blog entries in her head. This foolishly led her to believe that she was actually updating her blog, because HELLO? she totally wrote about that already. But then she would glance to her neglected blog and realize that she hadn't, in fact, updated it. She would briefly consider doing so, but would ultimately decide against. The running, man. It was so consuming.

Training was going just fine until one day, the girl felt a painful twinge in her knee during a long run. She instantly knew what it was. The dreaded IT Band******. Not wanting to admit it, she continued running until she couldn't take it anymore and ended up walking nearly six miles back to her car. The long, cold walk allowed her plenty of time to think about her neglected blog. She vowed then and there to sit down and update her blog*******.

Ultimately, the girl would recover enough to limp through a few runs and revise her marathon goal from a 4:30 finish to a 5:00 finish to a 6:00 finish*********. Although she was a little down about her injury, she realized that easing off the training would allow her ample time for other activities, including blogging.

And she blogged happily ever after.


*The girl realizes that at some point, she will have to stop referring to herself as a "girl". That time has not yet come.

**The girl would like to hold B, and her fun birthday weekend at Big Cedar Lodge, responsible for making her commit to running a marathon.

***The girl failed to mention her surgery on her blog because it contained words such as "ovary" and "fallopian tubes".

****Of course it was the hottest summer in recent years.

*****The girl would like to note that, while the blog may have been neglected, her children were not.

******In this story, the IT Band will play the part of the wicked stepmother.

*******She, of course, didn't update her blog but instead sought means to heal her injured knee. This included taking copious amounts of anti-immflamatories, lots of stretching, and a visit to a massage therapist who will from here on be referred to as "Patty Pain".
*********The girl now just hopes to finish the race before the streets open back up.

I Think This Means I Should Cook More

As we were leaving the park yesterday afternoon, Claire asked me if we could order some Japanese food for dinner. She really meant Chinese food but I didn't bother to correct her because that would have led to a whole other conversation about the differences between the two cuisines, and frankly, after an hour and a half of chasing my wild one year old up and down the stairs to the slide, I wasn't up for that discussion. Instead, I just told her no, that we had eaten out the night before and we were going to eat at home.

"Oh man," she whined. "I don't want a sandwich."

The Saddest Note to the Tooth Fairy Ever Written

 

In case you don't read kindergarten phonetic spelling, it says:
Dear Tooth Fairy,
I fell off a horse and lost my tooth. We couldn't find it. I am mad. I hope you give me some money and a prize. I am brave.
Love, Claire B.

Touched By An Angel

When you have a baby who wears glasses, you get a lot of attention from strangers. Most people comment on how cute Amelia is in her pink plastic glasses (can't argue with that one) and sometimes they ask how we knew she needed them. A lot of times they'll want to know how we keep them on her or how the doctor knows what her prescription should be. Occasionally, a person will tell me about their nephew/neighbor/grand-daughter/brother's best friend's cousin's baby, etc... who has a lazy eye and wears glasses. One time a waiter at TGI Friday's told me about the time he took a firework to the eye during a bottle rocket war and had to wear a patch for three months. He said he knew EXACTLY how Amelia feels. Because, clearly, a grown man getting injured during a fight with pyrotechnics is very similar to a baby being born blind in one eye.

Anyway. The point is, we get a lot of attention.

So today, when we were leaving a restaurant after lunch, I didn't think it was strange when a man got up from his table and stopped my mom, who was carrying Amelia. I paused, expecting him to ask one of the typical questions we get. But he didn't ask any questions. Instead, he laid his hands on Amelia's head and prayed for her vision to be restored in the name of Jesus.

So. Yeah. Did not see that one coming.

At first I was completely weirded out by the whole thing. A stranger touching my baby? And praying over her as if he knew her? It was just too much. But at the same time I was also deeply touched. Moved to tears, even.

You see, it was a Friday morning, exactly a year ago that we sat in Dr. H's office and heard the term "PHPV" for the first time. It was exactly a year ago that our fears that something was wrong with Amelia's vision were confirmed. And today, a year later, I found myself driving to Dr. H's office for yet another appointment for a contact that doesn't fit right. It was the last place I wanted to go today.

I mentioned previously that I had been growing anxious as this day approached. Anxious because it brings back to the surface all those feelings and emotions that we experienced that day and in the weeks that followed--shock, sadness, anger, confusion, disappointment, worry, grief. And lately, we've been coming to terms with the fact that Amelia's vision is just not improving. And, according to her doctor, most likely won't.

But today, a stranger reminded me that in spite of medical evidence that says otherwise, I can still hope for something better for Amelia. I can still pray for something better. I'm ashamed to say I had forgotten that.

So to the man who prayed over my baby in a crowded Mexican restaurant today: Thank you. But dude, seriously, next time give a little heads up before you touch a stranger's baby.

Hello...Hello...Hello... Is There Anybody Out There?

Sooooo....It's been a while. I'd love to offer up all the usual reasons for a blogging lapse--busy, busy, oh so busy!, sick kids, school demands, Spring Break, marathon training, preschool teaching, soccer, tennis, gymnastics, teething baby, the final season of Lost, etc...--but the real reason is actually harder to pinpoint. It's just that...I haven't really wanted to write much lately. And it's not because of a lack of material (anyone interested in hearing about our two trips to the ER in two days? What about our family vacay at Disney World? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?). I think I've just been processing a lot of things lately.

Not to be dramatic (oh, who am I kidding, of course I'm being dramatic), but as the one year mark of Amelia's PHPV journey approaches, I find myself increasingly anxious and prone to the teary-eye. Just thinking about that day causes my heart to race. I can remember every detail, from what I was wearing to what the weather was like to what I said when I called Jason at work and told him to meet me at the eye doctor. I recall all the minute details of that day, yet I kept the hard stuff--the emotions--locked away.

In the last year, I don't think I have fully let myself grieve over the enormity of what Amelia is facing. I think I have denied myself that because, as so many well-meaning people have pointed out, at least it's not cancer! She still has one good eye! What's the big deal?? To some extent (maybe a great extent), they're right. But the fact of the matter is, pain is pain. And if "is it cancer?" is the litmus test by which we allow ourselves to feel pain, most of us would fall short. Thankfully. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Trust me when I tell you that nothing will shake you to the core like hearing your child has been given a "challenge". Your mind will go places you don't want it to go. You will google the same thing over and over looking for more, better, different, information. You will constantly question whether you are doing enough, whether you have the right doctors, the right treatment, the right plan, and, if you are a mother, if you somehow caused it. You will ask hard questions. You will look for answers that don't exist. You will worry. You will wonder...

But then you will look at your child, and you will forget. You will see only her joyful spirit and not her "challenge". You will see the way she adapts to her surroundings. You will note that she doesn't consider herself "challenged". You will be thankful.

And you will finally decide it's no longer time to grieve.

Six

My first baby is six now. SIX. Not to be dramatic, but this fact astounds me. I see her growing and changing every day but I can't seem to get my mind around the idea that just the other day I was rocking her to sleep and now she's rocking out to Hannah Montana. Excuse me, make that Selena Gomez.

Claire has changed so much this year, toeing the line between "little kid" and "big kid," that nearly every day she surprises me with some new trick or mannerism that she's picked up. Just this morning, she came running into my room to tell me she learned to tie her shoes. And she had. After trying to master this task for months, she finally picked it up by watching a bigger kid tie her shoes the night before. If that's all it takes for Claire to learn something new, please remind me of that when it's time for driving lessons.

She has recently discovered sponge rollers and asks me to roll her hair every night. Every night. Every. Single. Night. And I do it, because it makes her happy and confident to see herself with curly hair and if I can relate to anything, it's having good-hair-induced self esteem.

She wants to pick her own clothes and is a big fan of any article of clothing that bears a peace sign. She has turned her back on the beautiful smocked dresses I love so dearly and instead wants to wear leggings and scarves and zebra striped tennis shoes. She has a very clear sense of who she is and I love that.

She is a reader. Junie B Jones is a particular favorite, but she loves all books, preferring them to toys and games. She has always been this way. Even as a toddler, she would gather a huge pile of books, find a quiet spot and "read" to herself. Now she can actually read the words, instead of just making up a story to go with the pictures. I find this, in particular, to be one of the most bittersweet parts of watching her grow up this year.

She is a writer. If we are leaving the house, even for just a quick errand, she makes sure she has a tote filled with notebooks, pens and books (these, in addition to all the other random things she fills her bags with--magic 8 ball, McDonald's toys, playdoh). She writes sentences that aren't quite stories. She writes apologies after she has misbehaved. She writes notes to an imaginary classroom of students and signs them "Mrs. Claire". She sounds out her words, pressing her pen heavily on the paper as she phonetically spells what's on her mind. I will grieve when this stage of haphazard spelling and misshapen letters passes.

She is growing up, no doubt about it, but at night, after the last prayer has been said, she always asks me to tickle her back and tell her a princess story. It's my favorite time of the day with her, and you can be sure, long after she stops asking for the stories, I'll still be telling them to her. That's one stage I'm not willing to let go.

Happy birthday, Claire Bear!