In this house, I’m the Mama…

Continued from Miracle - Part 1…

Shortly thereafter everything turned into a little bit of a circus.

Did I mention that military hospitals are teaching hospitals? That means that the one doctor and nurse that might regularly attend to you while you’re in labor becomes 40,000 almost-doctors and 35,000 almost-nurses. Every time we needed to “check the progress of things” I had a whole audience. I pretended like they were just my entourage and called it good. Truth be told, I didn’t really care how many people there were. I didn’t really care what they had to do, either. Funny how that happens.

The Mag Sulfate made me feel a little goofy, and the speed at which everything was moving made things that might otherwise be very important to me (like having 40,000 people at once check my “progress”) became pretty trivial. My “progress” was closed up tight as a drum, however. That didn’t make anything any easier. My little guy was still cooking and he was NOT ready to come out of that nice, warm, albeit small, swimming pool. So we did all sorts of interesting things to help “progress” move along more quickly.

Because Murphy’s Law apparently has my name written into it, absolutely nothing moved along more quickly. Friday afternoon turned into Friday evening, my parents arrived, and then Friday night turned into Saturday morning. Saturday morning turned into Saturday night and I turned into a grouchy person. The nurses didn’t want me to get out of bed for anything, but I was NOT having that. I begged, pleaded, whimpered and cajoled until they agreed to at least let me get up to go to the bathroom. The entire time, I watched the fetal heart monitor and wished that time would fly. I thought of all of the things I wasn’t doing.

My in-laws stopped by the hospital multiple times a day to see how we were doing and I was still concerned about them fending for themselves at my house. “I could be home vacuuming or something,” I thought. “I could be working right now.”

I had planned (you know me, the planner) to begin my maternity leave as soon as he was born… and not a day before. I worried about the days ticking by that I wouldn’t have to spend at home with my little bundle of joy.

Also, there was the slightest possibility that they would have to do a C-Section, or that things could become “an emergency situation” at any moment, so I couldn’t eat either. Just ice chips and popsicles. What fun. When Saturday night became Sunday morning, I had had enough. Although at that point I could claim the longest labor in the history of mankind (at least it felt like it), and I was excited about the prospect of telling the little guy as a teenager, “I was in labor with you for 500 years, young man! You will do (insert thing I want him to do, here),” and labor wasn’t all that bad yet, I just wanted to get ON with it.

My wish was granted. In came the Pitocin Fairy to hook me up to another IV. She explained that the mild labor I was going through would become stronger, that the pitocin would help me to begin contractions in earnest, and she hooked up another monitor to track my contractions. Away she went. After another couple of hours, I was still just barely cramping. I thought, “What’s the big deal? If this is what labor is about, everyone else out there who has had a baby IS a baby. A BIG baby. Seriously. This is cake.”

Then the doctor came back…

With a giant crochet hook…

And broke my water…

I had, to this point, denied that I needed the services of an anesthesiologist. I was doing this naturally, thankyouverymuch. I’m no sissy. Drugs are NOT for me. No sir!

Riiiiiiiiigggggggggghhhhhhhhttttttttttttt…

As soon as my water broke, the doctor also split my entire pelvic bone in two (evidently), and the pitocin kicked into high gear, causing me the most excruciating pain I have EVER felt. I hunched, scrunched, begged for mercy, tried breathing, hyperventilated, said some choice words, white-knuckled it on the bed rails, tried breathing some more, decided that breathing thing was a bunch of crap, said some more choice words, grabbed my husband’s arm in a vice-like grip and screamed…

“GET ME THE EPIDURAL MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He obliged. Heck, he pretty much sprinted from the room. I’m sure it only took the epidural man about 3 minutes to get there, but it felt like an eternity… in hell. Oh boy, was I sorry for all of those things I said about those women who had it so easy before. This was NOT cake. Not even close. It was ridiculously, deliriously, unbelievably painful. In fact, I declared that every woman that has ever gone through childbirth before should be automatically sainted. Especially the ladies that did it naturally. I had respect!

The epidural man showed and stuck a needle about a mile long into my spine. Normally I would shudder, or worry… or something, about the dangers of said procedure. I had no such thoughts. I just wanted the pain GONE.

Once I had the epidural, life was back to beautiful. I watched those giant, ugly contractions that had caused me such agony print out on the monitor and I thanked God, over and over, for the blessing of better living through chemistry. The line would go all the way to the top of the paper, stay there for a very long time, and then come down again only to head right back to the top. Those contractions were SERIOUS.

That would explain why, within an hour and a half, I was feeling a lot of pain again. All of that “progress” that was sealed up tight as a drum? It went from 2 to 10 in 1 1/2 hours. No working into it for me. No sirree. Let’s just get it moving right along here. I sent my husband to find that epidural man again. He came back with the doctor instead and I considered doing a flying karate leap from the bed directly to his solar plexus. When the doctor said, “It’s time to push,” I reconsidered.

There I was, laboring along, with my Mom and my husband on either side of me. My Mom picked at the socks I had on my feet. I think she was trying to be helpful and straighten them out for me, but got rewarded for her efforts by my deep, gravely demon voice (picture Linda Blair in the Exorcist), “Don’t touch my sock AGAIN!!!!” The nurse at my feet that kept repeating, “Push through the pain, push through the pain, push through the pain,” I really wanted to smother her with a pillow, but I left it alone and muttered under my breath, “YOU push through the pain!” She probably never had kids.

Thankfully, that little stretch was pretty short, too. An hour and a half into pushing, we headed for the delivery room. I think we were just in time because we were only there for about five minutes before my little guy entered the world.

Under those bright lights, my Mom and husband standing there, doctor at my feet, flurries of activity, at 5:04 pm, the world narrowed to a tiny point of light. I saw the doctor pull him away from me and run for the nearest table. I saw them suction him. I saw his little body, purple, lying there on that table, and I said, over and over and over again, “Cry, baby. Cry, baby. Cry, baby.”

It was forever that the flurry continued, but the room was silent. No one said a word.  The medical personnel worked feverishly.  My Mom and my husband stood silently.  I think I held my breath.

And finally… finally… finally… I heard his tiny cry.

It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

To be continued…

Nine years ago today a miracle happened.

It started in a not-so-miraculous way. I had a month left to go in my pregnancy and things had been very uneventful to that point. My in-laws (now ex) were in town for the holiday and we all made a trip to the local Wally World to get some last-minute items. While we were there someone suggested that we all try out the blood pressure tester, so we did. Imagine my surprise when I registered 160/110. I thought for sure the machine was broken, so I had my husband (now ex) try it out. He took his three times in a row and got a different reading each time, so I rolled with the “machine is broken” theory.

Still, it nagged at me a little. I was getting very swollen–none of my shoes fit except one pair of cheap canvas sneakers without the laces–and I just didn’t feel like myself. My husband suggested that we swing by the hospital… just in case. He was military, so “swinging by” the hospital meant going to the ER and hoping that someone would be there who understand what was happening. We went. When we arrived, my blood pressure was up to 165/115 and I was told to lay on my left side and wait. We waited… a long time.

At the end of that long wait, the hospital decided to admit me for observation. I was mortified. My in-laws were there. The next day was Thanksgiving. I could NOT be stuck in a hospital while they cooked their own bird! It just could NOT happen! The nice folks at the hospital disagreed and gently, but firmly, admitted me. My husband called his folks and told them to make themselves comfortable, that we would spending the night at the hospital.

When the morning rolled around, my blood pressure had gone down a little, and they sent me home with a urine collection jug (outstanding experience — if you have never been through collecting urine for a 24-hour-period, you simply MUST try it), strict orders for bed rest, and an order to come back in on Friday with the 24-hour urine so they could check it all out again. Awesome. So I was home, but my in-laws were still cooking their own bird, with help from my husband, while I lounged around on the couch. If you know me at all, you know that laying around on the couch is NOT my thing, particularly when there is work to be done. I was going out of my mind.

The next day I took my happy little jug and myself back to the ER to be re-evaluated. I brought my husband and my Day Planner. The OB that was on call, the most wonderful OB ever on the earth, was the one to do the re-evaluation. Turns out I had all of the diagnostic criteria for severe pre-eclampsia. Fabulous. He patiently explained all of the criteria to me, and explained why they were concerned about it.

He ordered an ultrasound to check on the status of the amniotic fluid, and then told me the words I was dreading… “We need to deliver you.” While he had been optimistic (prior to the re-check of my blood pressure, which had gone up to 185/120, and the evaluation of the 24-hour urine which contained a boatload of protein) about keeping the little bun in the oven for another couple of weeks (I was only 35 weeks along at that point), he had since decided that it was time.

I didn’t really understand the statement. I’m a planner. I had a birth plan all drawn up. I had not finished the nursery yet. My Mom was not in town for the delivery like she was planning to be. Most importantly, I had not penciled this event into my Day Planner. I reached for the Day Planner, flipped it open and thumbed through to the following week.

“Great,” I said. “Which day is good for you?”

The OB smiled a little smile, took my hand in his and said, “Today is good for me. More importantly, today is good for you.”

“Oh no,” I replied. “Today is NOT good for me. I don’t have my birth plan. I haven’t even packed a bag.”

Still smiling, he said, “Sorry about the bag. We’re having this baby… TODAY.”

I was in shock. Truth be told, I was excited to meet this little boy that had been growing in my belly for eight months. I longed to hold him, to meet him face to face, to see what he looked like, to count his tiny fingers and toes. I was already madly in love, and I was so looking forward to bringing him into the world. But I wasn’t ready TODAY! And now I wasn’t just not ready, I was scared, too.

When the ultrasound machine arrived, my hands were sweaty and my eyes were wide. I was nervous about the blood pressure, and feeling a little woozy from the Mag Sulfate they had hooked up to my arm. I was freaked out by the word “induction” and even more freaked out by all of the horror stories I’d heard about having babies in military hospitals. But the OB (did I mention that he was the most wonderful OB ever on the earth?) was cool, calm, and collected. He fired up the machine and began to scan my belly.

He commented about the amount of amniotic fluid left (plenty), commented about how tiny the little guy was (less than five pounds, he estimated), and then he rolled it to just the right spot and I could see his face…

Big as life…

Clear as day.

At that very moment, the fear melted away.

I stared in awe at that little face that, even on a grainy ultrasound screen, looked a little like me. I stopped caring, that second, about needles, or having too many people in the room, or how long it would take, or how much it would hurt, or whether it was written in my Day Planner, or whether I had a wipe warmer, or whether I could follow my birth plan. Everything else in the world ceased to matter. I felt a rush of emotion. I felt tears sting my eyes, and I said this prayer:

“God, I know you’re in control of this. Please take care of my baby. I know you have a plan and I know that you know that I don’t know what it is. I’m really scared. I so desperately want to meet him… and hold him… and see him grow up. Please be with him. Let him know I love him. Let him be healthy.”

And peace washed over me.

To be continued…

My friend Donna has a great sense of humor and she sent me this link so I could see what I look like in stripes and pointy shoes (elves wear flats, in case you were wondering, so I don’t look like ED-the horror!).

The message you can send to your friends and family says, “Hey, I just made a total elf of myself. ” Did I ever…

Check me out! I have some serious moves!

Check out my friend Carol Ann, too. She like to move it, move it…

You should try it yourself. Leave me your own link so I can see how you work it.

It was the week prior to Thanksgiving. Velma brought home her Friday Folder, as the kids do every Friday, and we looked through it. It contained the usual assortment of graded homework papers and, surprise, her reading log for October–the one we haven’t seen since the beginning of the month because she “forgot it at school” or “left it at Mom’s”… all filled out and signed off by ED.

As I looked at it, I realized that the minutes she read in October were exactly the same for each day… and they added up to just enough minutes to get an A. I also noticed that she wrote in minutes read during our last mini-trip we took to see my Grandfather. I know for a fact that she did absolutely zero reading during that time because she “forgot” her book. We were gone for four days… and in every, single, one of those days, she had written a neat little “30″ for minutes read.

It dawned on me that Velma had filled this out at the last minute and had hastily scrawled numbers in the log to make sure she had enough for an A. Further, ED had signed off beside each week and again at the bottom for the whole thing. I was ticked. I showed it to My Hubby. He was ticked, too.

We sternly but gently confronted Velma and she confessed that she filled it out the night before it was due. My Hubby explained that we weren’t upset so much by the timeframe in which she had filled it out (although it was supposed to be done weekly and needed to be completed appropriately in the future), but that putting in just enough for an A, when she knew she had not done that much reading, was lying. He asked if ED knew that she filled it out just before it was due and Velma said that not only had she known, but ED had been the one to calculate how many minutes she needed for an A and had added additional weekend minutes to the log!

My Hubby told Velma she would immediately write a letter to her teacher explaining what she had done, and that she would suffer whatever consequences the teacher decided to give her. There were tears involved, followed by some serious pouting, but she did it.

Her letter said (unedited, except to change names to protect the guilty–try not to be appalled that she’s in the fifth grade):

Dear Teacher:

I am sorry about my reading log when I filled in my reading log I filled it in at the night befor it was do. Again I am soooo sorry. also the last week of my reading log for October I was gone on vacation and when I wrote 30 min on wendsday and thursday and friday. I don’t know how long I read on some of those days. Also on all of the days I was confused how much I read.

P.S. I’m so really really sorry. and I did not read on some of the days at all. sorry.

From: Velma

I am really sorry thow

We made a copy of the letter just in case Velma decided not to turn it in, told her that we were making the copy and why, and reiterated to her that she needed to make sure it got to her teacher.

That was Sunday afternoon. Sunday evening we dropped her off to ED.

Monday we got the following:

To: My Hubby

From: The Egg Donor

Sunday night Velma began to cry just after she got into the car and handed me a letter she said you asked her to write and that she would be punished if it was not returned.

It is not only completely inappropriate for you to ask her to write a letter under duress that she is not doing home work and reading at my house it is humiliating to her and greatly demans her. Velma has a structured schedule for reading and doing homework at my house and often reads almost twice what even I have reserved time for. If you feel that she needs to write a letter in regards to something that happened at your house that is your choice but making her write a letter that she lied at my house is not at all appropriate.I did not allow her to return this letter and have addressed the issue with her teachers.

You have also been sending the children home after a full weekend with you without their home work completed for Monday. On your weekends, please make sure that this does not continut to happen.

Thanks,

The Egg Donor

Um… ok.

First, nowhere in the letter did Velma ever say that she wasn’t doing homework at ED’s house. Although we know that she often does not, that was not the focus of this little exercise.

Second, it is not demeaning nor humiliating for a person to take responsibility for their actions. Having your Mommy bail you out by lying on your reading log seems far more demeaning and humiliating to me. Did she think her daughter would feel really proud of herself for falsely earning a good grade?

Third, seriously? What alternate reality does this woman live in? It is not during our time that the kids have had to turn in paragraphs showing that they read or face loss of recess. It was not their failure to turn in homework during our time last year that the teachers all wrote about (see this post and the link to the teacher’s e-mail). She slays me. I love the way she lays out the structured schedule she wishes she adhered to in hopes of convincing someone (maybe herself) that she actually does that.

Then… it got even better. Velma’s teacher sent us this e-mail:

I received this e-mail today and thought you might want to read it. I wasn’t able to forward it to you, so instead I copied and pasted it below. Just for your information, Velma did give me the letter today and I told her that I was proud of her for being honest with me. I decided to have her lose her recess for not turning in her reading log in on time and then lying about the reading. Velma seemed fine with the consequence. I honestly don’t know how to respond to The Egg Donor’s e-mail. Do you have any suggestions?

Have a good Thanksgiving.

Velma’s Teacher

The e-mail from ED she pasted in:

Dear Velma’s Teacher -

Several days ago Velma was told to write a letter to you by her father.That letter was sent to my house for her to return and I am not comfortable with her bringing it to you.Velma was asked to write a letter that stated that she was not doing her reading at my house and that she had lied about it. Her dad may have given you this letter as he did photocopy it and told her he would be sending a duplicate copy of the letter to you to ensure that she turned it in.Velma has been placed in a very difficult position in regards to this letter. She is given time at my house to read every evening prior to bed for 30 minutes and frequently reads outside of that especially on the weekends. Any reading log or time that she has stated she read , she has in fact read while in my care. She was instructed that if she did not return this letter she would be punished. Velma at times struggles with her school work but she does like to read and I do not want this letter if you have received it or anything like it to be a reflection of her efforts. Velma’s dad is not aware of the structure in my home and when he is told, disregards it. Should you receive this letter, I cannot comments on reading time at his house but all reading time at mine had been completed and is done each week. I do not want Velma punished at school in regards to reading time or Velma’s education in my home and any issue raised by her dad, I would hope would be brought to my attention immediately and discussed with me.

Thank you, The Egg Donor

She just gets crazier by the day. My Hubby and I met with Velma’s teacher, by the way, and we all shook our heads in wonder at the ridiculousness of the e-mail she sent. You would think I would stop saying “Seriously!” and “I absolutely can NOT believe she did that!” and “How much lower can she stoop?” But every time I think I’m through being shocked by her actions, she outdoes herself.

I’m just back to wondering how she gets up in the morning, ties her shoes for herself (ok, since she teeters around on stilettos, maybe that’s a bad example), and makes it to work. With so many folks out there to blame for non-existent issues, I don’t know how on earth she focuses on anything else.

Velma, the scatterbrain of our family, has a tough time staying organized on a good day. So homework has always been a particular challenge. This school year has not been kind to her in that arena. She has failed to turn in multiple in-class assignments, has turned in several projects late, and has NOT turned in a reading log for the entire month of September at all.

The Egg Donor (ED) did not attend Parent/Teacher conferences because she claimed that My Hubby sent the form in “without her knowledge or consent.” The fact that he scheduled his Parent/Teacher conferences at Back to School Night back in August, not with a form, as well as the fact that ED has the teachers’ direct phone numbers and e-mail addresses, evidently does not factor.

During My Hubby’s conference with Velma’s teacher, the teacher let him know that Velma had two D’s and was headed for more of the same if she didn’t straighten up, particularly on her in-class work. One D was in reading and was directly impacted by Velma not turning in the reading log. The other D was for in-class assignments that Velma had just failed to turn in. While the teacher liked her very much, Velma liked to be the center of attention, the class clown, and rarely paid attention in class. My Hubby was none too happy about it.

ED never did schedule with any of the kids’ teachers, but gave it her best shot at getting involved (read: has interfered since then, causing everyone great pain). The most recent project, that Velma didn’t bother to mention to us until 3 weeks after it was due, was her initial catalyst.

She sent a fantastic nasty-gram to the teacher via e-mail, blaming Velma’s problems in school on her and demanding that poor, little, picked-on Velma be given additional time. The teacher, understandably, was totally frustrated. ED then sent e-mail to My Hubby voicing her concerns about the teacher. When he responded that Velma’s problems were Velma’s issue, rather than the teacher’s, ED responded that she had had multiple e-mail exchanges with the teacher and that the teacher was very negative about Velma. Poor Velma disliked school so much this year and it was all the teacher’s fault, etc., etc.

We had been having considerably different conversations at our house–related to personal responsibility, the fact that school is Velma’s only job in life, loss of privileges if improvement was not forthcoming, ways to stay organized, etc., so My Hubby was broadsided by this entire train of thought. We shouldn’t have been surprised, I suppose. ED is all about avoiding responsibility. Why we would think it would be different for her with her child, I don’t know.

Anyway, ED told My Hubby that she would forward the e-mail exchanges between herself and the teacher so he could take a look and see if he felt that the teacher was unduly negative about Velma, too. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, those e-mail exchanges were never forwarded.

It’s tough to deal with school issues for the kids when one household approaches the whole thing completely differently than the other. When we’re focused on teaching Velma to take responsibility for herself and make sure that her work gets done and turned in, but ED is focused on blaming others for Velma’s failures, it makes things painful.

Velma is 10, so she will take the easy road right now–the road on which she does not have to accept responsibility or consequences for her actions. That’s just how kids are. And she will think that the easy road will lead her to success in her life because, despite what the rest of the world can see, she thinks ED is successful… she’s a role model for her.

I pray daily for these kids, sometimes hourly. Because it will take a miracle for them to grow up into successful, happy, responsible, well-adjusted human beings… in spite of all of the damage their ED causes.

First, The Egg Donor (ED) was ordered by The Honorable What’s-His-Name (THWHN) to meet with Shaggy’s doctor and understand his medication requirements. She met with the Physician’s Assistant instead, didn’t explain that she was there to understand his treatment plan or nebulizer needs, had her new boyfriend argue with the PA over the number of meds Shaggy needs to take, got a prescription for antibiotics which she didn’t fill until the next day and didn’t give him AT ALL, and sent My Hubby an e-mail saying those meds were “preventive”.

The PA wrote a letter stating that ED did not explain it was a court-ordered visit to understand his medication requirements, that the office does not prescribe antibiotics preventively, and outlining his entire treatment plan. She also underscored the need for compliance with his treatment plan, in order to keep him from being consistenly ill and/or hospitalized.

Second, THWHN ordered ED to immediately begin participation in therapy with the children. ED actually told THWHN that she had already scheduled for the entire month of November and would be scheduling entire months in advance to avoid having issues with getting to therapy.

Of course she had not already scheduled the entire month of November in advance. The therapist told ED during the one visit she actually made with the kids this month that she would need to bring the kids on her weekends and schedule at least one appointment for just herself during each month. Despite the therapist offering alternate office hours for the Thanksgiving weekend, ED chose to skip the weekend altogether, meaning that the kids missed that entire week. She has not scheduled another visit for them during her time and her time ends Wednesday when she drops them off at school. Even if she tried to schedule now for the kids, she would not be able to get them in before her time ends. The therapist does not have office hours on Mondays and finding a session that will accommodate three kiddos is difficult to begin with. It would be impossible with only two days advanced notice.

And that session she was supposed to schedule for herself? You got it. No dice.

Third, THWHN ordered ED to pay My Hubby $100/month to begin paying off the outstanding medical she owes him (over $1,000 at this point). You guessed it… no check.

In addition to that, she was to comply with the order that states that she pays for half of all medical after the first $250/month/child. For the things My Hubby has sent her for this month? Like prescription refills and copays for doctor’s visits? She responded that she doesn’t have to pay those because she’s taken the kids to things and “it’s a wash.” She has obviously forgotten that she was ordered to send those invoices via certified mail to My Hubby for reimbursement, that they don’t “count” until she does. And she’s completely overlooked the fact that she would owe him anyway because we’ve spent far more than she has.

Non-compliance is a way of life for her. THWHN was clear (crystal clear) that if she did not comply with ONE of the things he ordered, he would modify her time with the kids “significantly.” He was also clear that if she missed a single therapy appointment he would suspend her parenting time “immediately and indefinitely.” We’re just waiting on a letter from the therapist.

You would think, after all we went through in court, that she would try… for her kids. I am seriously astounded at the magnitude of her non-compliance. I expected it, for sure. But I expected her to try… at least a little… for a couple of months or so.

I struggle with the changes I know are coming. I struggle more with how to explain why those changes are coming…

to the kids that love her in spite of all that she doesn’t do.

I really, truly love the snow. I love to sit at the window and watch it fall gently, cup of tea in hand, afghan wrapped snugly around my shoulders. I love to watch it blow and whip, swirl across the road, blizzard and pile up in the driveway. I love snow days–staying home with the kids and making snow forts, snowmen, and snow angels. I love it. I look forward to it. I really do.

I’m not so fond of it when we have to be on the road, though. And here we are on roadtrip number 500,000 this year. We hit a 20-mile stretch where it was total black ice. We saw accident after accident and there was a police officer, lights a-blazin’ in the middle of the highway in front of us, slowing traffic down to 45 miles per hour. Add to that the encroaching darkness, and it was just not fun. It took us almost 45 minutes to go 20 miles. My Hubby was tense, I was tense, the kids were scared.

After our 20-mile stretch, the snow let up, the road dried out, the police officer pulled over to help a stranded motorist, and we drove on. We breathed multiple sighs of relief. We laughed, we relaxed our shoulders. We made it to our destination, safe and sound.

That’s the first thing I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving Day.

But that’s not all. I have so very many reasons to be thankful…

2. I’m thankful for My Hubby. I’m truly blessed to have married my best friend, my soulmate, the love of my life. He is an amazing husband, an amazing father, an amazing leader of our household, a Godly man, the man I always dreamt of being married to. I love talking to him, dreaming of our future together, falling asleep with him every night, worshiping next to him every Sunday.

3. I’m thankful for my kiddos–biologically mine or not, they are the funniest, sweetest, kindest, most amazing group of short people I’ve ever met. They make me laugh, cry, realize the value of sweet time, and get my priorities straight. I can’t imagine doing life every day without them.

4. I’m thankful for the health of all of those in my family. I know people who have struggled mightily with sickness, and I’m so very grateful that we don’t. My Hubby and I are healthy. My kiddos are healthy. My parents are healthy.

5. I’m thankful that we live in America. There is a whole separate list I can put together that contains the reasons I love America. Suffice it to say here that we still live in the land of opportunity. We have so many freedoms and I am thankful that I am a citizen of this wonderful country.

6. I am thankful for my job. I know lots of folks that get up every day and dread going to work. I am lucky enough to have found something that really fits me and that I enjoy doing. I may not be there for the rest of my life, but they pay me well to do something I enjoy. I am blessed.

7. I am thankful for my home. When I was a teenager we went on a mission trip to Tijuana, Mexico and visions from that trip were burned into my memory. Most of the folks we saw there lived in a shantytown–ten or more people to a 10×10 shack made out of corrugated tin. They slept in shifts because there were too many of them to fit at once. I have a pretty modest home by our country’s standards, but I think often of others around the world that live like those folks in Tijuana and I remember that I am very blessed, not just with the roof, but with the kind of roof I have over my head.

8. I am thankful for my friends. I know there are lots of lonely people out there, but I am not one of them. I have the best friends on earth. I have friends I have known since childhood, since college, since the birth of my son, since last year, and since last week. I have friends that live across the country, just a few miles, and across the street. I have friends that I have never met, but connect with often in the blogosphere. I am thankful for them all. I strive to be the kind of friend to them that they have all been to me.

9. I am thankful for my church. I am thankful that God has blessed our church leaders with vision, discernment, and the gift of evangelism. I am thankful that we have a gathering place where we can worship and learn together. I am thankful for the friends we have made there, the relationships we have built there, and everything it has meant to our kids.

10. I am thankful that we have the freedom to thank God for all off these things. There are so many people across the world that hide in their basements to worship, cannot speak God’s name in public, and keep their entire Bible hidden in their hearts because they cannot read them out loud. I am thankful that we can be open about our faith in our homes and communities and, while others may not agree, we are not persecuted for our beliefs.

God, I am blessed. Thank you so very much for all that I have. While I am undeserving, you have made me truly rich beyond measure. Help me to remember that every day.