ValerieDykstra.com

me tootin' me up

Due to the overwhelming sales of my book, I'm working on volume two. The previous line is of course baloney. Stacie, mocking my sales numbers, said, "I better hurry and get mine before they're all sold out."

I am seriously working on volume two. In the process I ran across these sweet greetings I received many moons ago. You all know I'd rather walk on my lips all day long than toot my own horn. But these are too sweet not to toot up a little. So picture me walking on my lips as you read these toots I received for my birthday several years back. Yeah, I should have waited till I had a birthday to share them, but I was just so overwhelmed with the feely-goodies than I wanted to share them RIGHT NOW.

(Stacie and me, '71 or '72)

Stacie made my day with my first birthday greeting.

"Happy Birthday, Valerie.

You always write such eloquent birthday tributes to those you love and this simple greeting seems so pale in comparison.

What do I love about you: You have the most wonderful humor. You can make me laugh like no other and you laugh with me so whole heartedly. Your writing is so fun to read because it can make me laugh though you are so subtle in the effort. I'm so impressed.

You are a great listener. Truly. You don't interrupt (like me) and I always feel like you really hear. Poor souls that have no one to listen. You listen to me blab on about what I made for dinner, what I wore to work, all the places I went, blah, blah, blah. Wonderful.

You are a willing learner. I mean, you've learned to sew, candle make, quilt make, cake decorate, genealogy sleuth, write, etc? You do it with gusto and competently. I stop before I start because I know I can't be an "expert".....

You are humble. Yes, you are and no, you haven't always been.

You share freely and graciously your mistakes, mis-judgments, hurts, pain, embarrassments, social errors, mis-steps, etc. There is something "freeing" about it when you share your confessions so honestly. God bless this trait.

You are a wonderful sister. I love you so much and I am so blessed to have such a dear dear friend and confidant. You are important to me and I miss you ever so much. Happy birthday, Stacie"

*****

And then, lo and behold, my sister Diane wrote:

(Diane and me, 2000)

"My favorite thing about you is how much fun you are and how easy you laugh. I was thinking about this today, and I've decided that we Callahan kids enjoy ourselves like no others. I mean literally; we enjoy OURSELVES. I enjoy me, you enjoy you, etc., etc. No one laughs harder at our funnies than we laugh at our own. That's the mental picture I got when I was thinking about you today. I could see you making a funny comment and then slapping your knee real hard and laughing boisterously! I laughed just thinking about it (because that's what we do; we laugh at ourselves).

You and I have had soooo many fun times laughing at ourselves and at each other. Do you remember the time we were at the motorcycle rally in Colorado and a guy walked off after talking us near-comatose? Before he was out of earshot, you turned to me and said, "He bores me."

I could go on and on, but you have already written about most of our funniest times, so mine would be redundant and not near as entertaining. You are a great writer. I always laugh out loud when I read your blog.

On a serious note, I appreciate how transparent you have become. You used to protect yourself at all costs, but you have become very vulnerable and "real." I truly appreciate that, but especially since I know how hard it must have been for you.

I remember vividly the day you were born. Do you remember how much I doted on you when you were a little girl? I know, I know, you remember what a witchy older sister I was, but maybe in the recesses of your mind, you can conjure up a memory of when I used to call you "To-Val." Strange nickname, I know, but it was my pet name for you.

I love you and wish you the very happiest of birthdays. Diane"

*****

I couldn't have asked for more feely goodies in one day. But another one came from my aunt, Jill.  

(Twins, Aunt Jill and Mama)

"I love you because you are funny. I love you because you are articulate. I love you because you are intelligent. I love you because you so obviously love me! I love you because you are strong.I love you because you are warm and supportive. I love you most of all because you are you! Jill"

*****

Beautiful. I had all I needed for days and days of high spirits.

You know how I hate talking about myself. Ok, so that's a lie. But you know how it's so much cooler if someone else toots your horn rather than you tootin' you're own? Here's my rootin' tootin' niece Mindi tootin' me up:

(Dustin and his lovely wife Mindi, my niece)

"Valerie, I know that you cannot know what you mean to me. As a child I always felt a bond to you because I was often told that I was so much like you. Little did I know, that the adults in my life were referring mostly to negative traits that we had in common, namely stubbornness. As an adult, I still feel a close bond to you, and now it is because there are traits that I see in you that I admire and want to develop in myself. I admire you as a mother and a wife. I admire your commitment to your marriage, and your commitment to raising your children to be kind people. I admire your skills in the domestic life you lead, as well as the way you push yourself to try new things all the time, even if those new things lead to "butthole roses" in a cake decorating class. I admire your transparency. It is ever so humbling to admit our shortcomings. If you are anything like me, humility is not our strong point. I appreciate your open mind, and for proving that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. I in no way think you are old or a dog, but I can't think of a better metaphor. Who would have thought that a little country girl from Arkansas, would grow into a tree-hugging, Wal-Mart boycotting Canadian. (All said in jest, of course.) I do admire you Valerie, and love you dearly. I hope your birthday is fabulous. *ching ching*

*****

When the goodness was just too much to imagine anymore,  my sweetheart added this to my day's blessings:

(Gordon and me, 1997ish. Perhaps that's a monstrous zit between my eyes.)

"I love you because you hung on. It has not been easy, but you kept getting up each morning and caring as you could, without going anywhere. I love you because you have learned through much pain to adjust to my weaknesses without kicking back. I love you because you keep trying new things, even when the last thing didn't work out like you planned - including things between us. I love you because you love our kids, and do your best to bring out their best, even after they have annoyed you into temporary isolation. And, I love you because you kept on laughing at my weird, silly, and sometimes asinine comments, and then went and cooked a meal or did the laundry or just prayed for all of us. I guess if you get right down to it, I love you because in spite of how life works out sometimes, you have been faithful to me, our kids, our life together, and our common Lord, in big and small ways, even when it was the hardest thing in the world for you to do. And I'm thankful to God for it. Will you be my Valentine, Valerie? Love, Gordon"

That day was a most glorious birthday. I don't think I've ever received so many kind words. I was truly blessed that day and re-reading them today, I was blessed all over again.

Thanks for listening as I tooted.

happy birthday hannah

(Newborn Hannah and me, 1996. She looks kind of cute here.)

I am very very behind on this. Hannah turned 14 in August. Her birthday always gets the short end of the stick around here. No matter how often I tell myself it won't happen, it does. Even her "birthday post" is weeks overdue. The poor dear.

She turned 14 on August 22.

These pictures are a few sweet reminders of her little life.

(See how ugly she was. 1996)  If they hadn't taken her straight from my body and laid her on my chest, I would not have believed she was mine. I would have said, "This isn't my child. I have cute babies." But I was there. She is mine. I was awed once again by a new baby, but this time I lovingly said, "Awww, she's so ugly." 

Thankfully she started cutening up several months later. It was acutally quite a few months before she was truly cute. But she was precious all along. She had no choice but toughness. With a sister just 13 months older, she was the brunt of all Rachael's experiments - including be drawn on with marker and pen regularly.

 

But by one year old, she was genuinely very cute. She had lovely long hair but wanted a hair cut. She was just as cute with short hair.

(2 years old, 1998)

Then she was in school and losing her first tooth.

(2004)

It wasn't long before she was in grade 4. She was tender kind and sensitive. She loved animals more than any thing. She read her Bible, wrote in a little prayer journal. She was a true seeker. She was delightful.

Now she's an independent 14 year old. She can be super crazy and high energy. She reads lots and enjoys art. She's growing up too fast. She has abandoned all things cute. Recently she started rejecting all those cute things in her room -- storing them away or just getting rid of them. It's sad. She's saying goodbye to those cute things and opting for more teenager ways of decorating. Strangely, I never expected that of Hannah. The other kids yes, but I thought Hannah would stay the Hannah I knew. I don't really know who Hannah is. She was the one I thought I understood best, now I don't understand her at all. 

But my love stands firm. I'm still trying to understand her likes and dislikes but having a real hard time nailing it. I wouldn't consider buying her clothes or anything else nearly. For her birthday I gave her a shopping spree -- took her out on a shopping trip and didn't like anything she bought. I tried to get in her brain just to see if I could. I picked out a couple blouses, she was mortified by my taste. So I just relinquished the effort.

She's the subject of much prayer. There's a wall between us. She doesn't like me and I'm not scaling that wall very successfully. But I love her with everything in me.

Hannah I hope this year is a great year for you. I love you so much.

(2009, 13 years old)

  

Deborah is 11 today

Brand spankin' new from the womb, Deborah and her daddy admire each other. Gordon leaned over me and whispered, "She's so beautiful and alert. She's perfect."
 

She was nearly perfectly content. The only exception was Sundays. For the child who was to become my social butterfly, it's strange that church provided too much stimuli in her early days. She was cranky and unsettled every Sunday till we were home from church. As soon as she and I were in our living room in the rocking chair, she was back to her easy disposition. She was an easy baby to mother.

 

We thought we were going to adopt little Shawny boy. His departure from our home was traumatic and painful. Deborah would have been a terrific big sister. We fostered several babies younger than her and she was wonderful with each one.

When Shawn left, Deborah talked about the social worker ofter. She had a broad vocabulary and talked with ease. During this time period, one of her big conversations was about Shawn's social worker. "Patty Jo is a very mean person. She was bad to take Shawn." It was a twisted time in our history. I wasn't doing well emotionally, which precipitated Shawn's leaving. When he left, I sank to deep depths of guilt. Not Deborah. Without a doubt, Patty Jo was ALL to blame for Shawn's departure. She grieved deeply too.

 
Deborah was an adorable child. Always ready to love on people and ready to receive their affection too. Everyone loved her.

 
 Christmas, 4 years old.

 

Then suddenly she was old enough for Brownie camp. This was her first outing for overnight.
  

We were camping last week, as has happened several times for her birthday. I picked up a cake and we celebrated at the campsite.

It was low key, but was warmly received by my little 11 year old.

Deborah, your life has made mine fuller and richer. I love you. Happy 11th Birthday, my love.

Happy Birthday Stacie

(Stacie and me)

Today is Stacie's birthday. I spent time this morning thanking God for such a dear dear sister. She is everything a sister should be, everything I want in a sister. (Diane is too, but this is Stacie's day.) I love Stacie so so much and cannot imagine life without her.

We are 2500 miles apart, but she's never more than a phone call away. We always pick up right where we are with no formalities needed. We dig right into sisterhood, friendship and sharing life. With us both working full time, our Ma Bell experiences are fewer than they use to be. However, Stacie is right with me all the time because I carry her so closely to my heart. I love her so much, enjoy her so much and share such an affinity that it seems in some strange way that we're always together. I'd like us to be closer in flesh, but am not convinced even that would make us closer in spirit.

Yesterday I was thinking of the road trip Stacie and I did a few years ago across the southern states. In the car for extended hours we really got "in the zone" thinking the same thing at the same time. We talked at length of our childhood church, singing the hymns of our youth (which neither of us is exposed to anymore), and usually in the spirit of imitation -- imitating someone from our childhood congregation. (My mom cringes right here as she reads this). 

We would finish a tune, laugh ourselves nearly crazy and then sink into our private thoughts, Stacie driving and looking straight ahead, me watching the countryside of kudzu, hills and oaks go by. Over and over these moments of reflection ended when at the exact moment we both burst into another hymn sung in the way so-in-so sang it.

It was on that trip I learned about incontinence first hand, always precipitated by violent laughter.

That is the relationship Stacie and I share. How very very blessed I am.

Stacie, I love you more than words can express. You are, forever, my bosom friend. Happy Birthday Swisser.

(Last picture, 2009, Stacie hammin' it up.)

Christopher is 21 today

Today my young son turns 21. It seems a fitting day to re-post what I wrote about him when he turned 17.

 

originally published February 20, 2006

Today is my only son's 17th birthday. Everyone should have someone in their life like Christopher. He brings delight and joy wherever he is. He weighed 9.3 when he was born; a chunky, beautiful, fair-skinned bundle of love. For the first few hours he was naked because the nurses couldn't find a "hospital-issue" sleeper big enough for him. Dr Mesko gave the babies he delivered a t-shirt that read "Delivered with Love by Dr. Mesko." From Christopher's first breath, he was too big for that t-shirt. (But I still have it.)

He was a very contented baby who slept lots, was pleasant when he was awake, was easily entertained, and who smiled lots and lots. Everyone loved Christopher. At church, people gravitated to him so they could enjoy he gummy smiles. Mike Holder use to get in Christopher's face and say, "Christopher, get a job," and Christopher would kick and cackle excitedly.

When he was 3 he began developing a fine sense of humor. I'm sure he had heard these expressions somewhere, but one winter day he, Stephanie, and I went for a drive in the country. Christopher said, "Mom, I need to water my horse." Puzzled, I asked what he meant. "You know Mom, I need to make some mud." I quickly figured out he needed to pee.

Around the same time he entered a very pronounced cowboy phase. He took it very seriously, wearing western clothes and boots everywhere. What I wouldn't give to have those little gray boots now. Gordon sent him a lariat and Christopher took it wherever he went. He rode his tricycle down the sidewalk hollering "giddy-up" or "Eeeeeaww" playing like he was roping calves with his new rope.

After Gordon and I got engaged, we came to Canada for a visit. We went to Ft Steele to enjoy the western frontier life for a day. Gordon had a connection there so Christopher got to sit on one of the gigantic Belgian horses that even I would have been scared to sit on. The horse took one step and Christopher's eyes widened and he declared, "Wooooe, this one's a wiiiild one."

When we moved to Canada, he quickly adopted Gordon's fuzzy blanket with a horse on it as his own. To this day, we call that blanket the horsie blanket. At nap time he would curl up in his horsie blanket and when I left his room I'd say "Nappy Noon Christopher." He would counter with, "Mom, cowboys don't say Nappy Noon."

The next summer when he came to visit, I rented some videos about real cowboys. We watched boy cows being made steers (being neutered) and Christopher watched with sympathetic eyes. I explained the process and the reason behind it as best I knew. He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, "When I get my farm, I'm not gonna do that to my cows."

The cowboy obsession is far behind Christopher. Now he drives a hippy van, plays football, leads worship some, plays guitar, and takes kindness and joy everywhere he goes.

I'm thankful for Christopher. I'm thankful I was chosen to give him birth. I'm thankful for the innumerable precious memories I have. I'm thankful Christopher walks with God and desires to honor and glorify him with his life.

Happy Birthday Christopher. I pray it will be a GREAT year for you. I love you.

Happy Birthday to Rachael

Our dear little Rachael turned 14 a few days ago. Every time we met in the hall, in the kitchen, and especially when I tucked her into bed, I took the opportunity to acknowledge how much pain I was in "15 years ago right now." It is true, Rachael's birth takes the cake on my experience with labor and I don't want the dear child to forget it. :-) I think she loves the stories about her birth and how I was so awed by her beauty and by God's graciousness in giving me a second chance to be a better mom.

When I think of Rachael's day of birth, I think of how I held her and carressed her little cowlick -- which she ended up calling her "pocket" -- for hours. I held and admired her soft pudgy body and rubbed that little velvety soft spot in her forehead.

She has perfected the art of hiding her cowlick though and I miss it terribly. Last night I had to talk her into letting me massage that soft spot that I love so much. She's kind to oblige her mom like that. I have many bonded hours with Rachael doing nothing by staring at her and carressing it.  Do you see her cowlick in the left corner of her forehead? It's still so very sweet to me.

Rachael gives us so much joy. She is responsible and very helpful. She can be very kind and gentle.  She is as strong-willed as ever, but I see some of that strong will manifesting itself in ways that are truly welcomed. She laughs at my dumb jokes, makes me laugh at her wonky things, loves to talk and talk and talk. To my dismay, she's starting to think about dumb boys more and more. ggrrr.

Rachael is a true blessing. I love her so very very much and am thankful beyond words for such a sweet daughter. Happy Birthday my dear sweet Rachael.

Roman is 2

Little Roman is 2 now. Happy Birthday Dear Romie Boy. Happy Birthday to you. I love you Little Man.

Deborah's 10th Birthday

Today is my little Deborah's 10th birthday. As is the family tradition, she enjoyed breakfast in bed.

Yesterday was Canada Day. As we prepared to go out for fireworks, Rachael reminded me of something I use to say. When Deborah was pretty wee, she'd sit on my lap during the fireworks display and ask why there were fireworks. I'd say "because tomorrow is your birthday." Deborah and I smiled at the recollection of her thinking the fireworks were a big celebration of her birthday.

Deborah's turning 10 is bittersweet. This birthday means I don't have any children in the single digits anymore. It's a milestone, a reminder that time is slipping away, a reminder to number my days so that I may gain a heart of wisdom. Deborah is so social that I can easily lose touch with her. While she's out socializing and making sure she's not missing anything important that may be going on somewhere, she is not with me. With none of my other children have I suddenly been appalled by how big they are. Not so with Deborah. Sometimes she'll walk into the room and I'll be shocked and suddenly saddened by how tall she is. I'll have this feeling that I've not seen her for days. But of course I see her everyday; sometimes I feel out of touch though.

When I shop for her I always start in size 6X. For some reason, I'm stuck in 6X. I'll study the jeans and think she's bigger than this. I know with my head she's much bigger, but my heart has to be convinced every time. I'll move up the rack and finally stop at size 12 and wonder, when did she get this big?. It's a disconcerting emotion.

But it's also quite sweet to see how our little lady is growing up. She continues developing more sweetness, kindness and politeness. She is strong in spirit and easily speaks her mind and mostly in a self-controlled kind manner. She recently went through her first series of sex-education classes at school. She was thrilled and took it all so seriously. When the boys laughed or made off-color jokes, she'd rebuke, "This is very serious and you shouldn't be laughing and joking about it." I know she must have been some kind of wet blanket, but still it was sweet. She got on a little kick about how immature the boys are. I'm guessing they spent a lot of time talking about "maturity" as it became the buzz word with the girls in the class. "Girls are so much more mature than boys." "I can't believe how immature ---- is." Mercy sakes, I wanted to remind her they are just 9 years old, it's not necessary to be mature at 9, but she seemed too mature to rebuke. :-)

Deborah is a very thoughtful sensitive child. A while back when I picked her up at school she said it had been a sad day. "Doug's dog Toby died. He left school early and won't be at school tomorrow." She came home and promptly made Doug a card. It said something like, "Dear Doug, I'm sorry about Toby. He was a good dog. He is waiting on the rainbow bridge for you in heaven. To be absent from the body is to be present with God." Theology aside, it was terribly sweet. She drew pictures of Doug and Toby and finished it off with lots of crosses. Then she took a box of Little Debbies and rode her bike to Doug's house for a bereavement visit.

Every Saturday when we volunteer at the nursing home (this is something we started in January at Deborah's suggestion) you'd be amazed at Deborah's acumen for dealing with seniors. She speaks clearly and loudly. She touches them easily. She serves them cookies with a bright smile and a "how are you today?" Her favorite part is walking with Nellie. Nellie cannot string a coherent sentence, but she loves to walk with Deborah. They walk the wing back and forth, holding hands.

Today is a special day. I've had a Deborah for 10 years and positively cannot imagine life without her. She is nothing short of a delightful joy, a tender strength, a purposeful blessing.

God, I am thankful that you created Deborah and allowed me to be her mother. Please keep Deborah safe and healthy and continue to draw her to you, to personal powerful relationship with you. Help her be all you created her to be. Be glorified in Deborah's life.

My Son, Oh My Son

Twenty years ago today a whopping 9.3 pound beautiful boy entered this world and my life. When the nurse placed him in my arms I was so struck with awe, all I could say was “My son, oh my son.” Like a stuck record. I repeated myself, but no other words would come. “My son, oh my son.” It’s still a theme for me. Sometimes I look at his picture on the piano or my desk at work and say aloud, “My son, oh my son.” Sometimes when I hug him I hear the mantra slip out.

Some of my favorite memories of his toddling days are seeing his hefty body stuffed into padded feet pajamas. I adored that chunky form, his rolls, his creases. Smiles came unbidden as he entered a room.

He loved homemade bread. I always sliced the bread with an electric knife (yes I know, a curious compulsion). I knew of his love for fresh bread but I wasn’t aware of his grasp that the electric knife meant fresh bread was imminent. Here’s how I found out (and to this day I can’t not smile when I think of it).

He and Stephanie were playing in their bedroom. Cackles of glee, banging of Lego blocks, and prouffs of the nerf ball hitting the wall echoed down the hall. They were totally present in their play. I had every reason to think I’d get the first slice of bread.

I fired up the electric knife to cut into a hot loaf. Christopher tore out of the bedroom with all the force his padded feet could conjure. His eyes shone with anticipation and, of course, he got the first slice of buttered bread.

His disposition was loving, affirming, and darn near angelic. He was an adoring son. When he was three we had a Sunday routine. When I finished getting ready for church I’d come out of the bedroom. Christopher’s eyes widened and he always chimed as if it was the first time he’d ever seen me dressed up, “Wow Mama, you look purlee.” Then he’d stare at me for a few seconds as if my beauty took his breath away.

At mine and Gordon’s wedding Christopher and Stephanie were our only attendants. They were adorable. Four-year-old Christopher wore a tuxedo just like Gordon’s except Gordon had a “tail” and Christopher didn’t. Christopher didn’t notice this discrepancy until midway through the service. He picked up Gordon’s tail studying its function, bewilderment creasing his eyebrows. He craned his head backwards and pulled up his own jacket to find his tail. He didn’t find one so he fingered Gordon’s in perplexed curiosity.

With resigned acceptance he thrust his hands into his pockets. During a pause in the pastor’s words Christopher belted sweet and clear, “Mama, I’ve got a ring in my pocket.” Awwhhs and approving chuckles filled the sanctuary. He never knew he’d stolen the show.

A few summers ago I was so amazed by his grown up persona. He wasn’t a wittle (a Christopher word) boy any more, he was a young man. As much as I’d enjoyed that little boy, this man delighted me just as much. Now instead of filling my days with reasons to smile, he forced belly laughs on me.

Once when I came home from work he showed me his scuffed arm that came when he got hit by an SUV. I went mildly ballistic bulleting him with questions. Did they see you? Did they stop? Did you get their license plate number? Were there witnesses? Christopher interrupted my tirade with, “Mom, I just wanted to get out of the street so it wouldn’t happen again.”

Today my man cub is 20. He’s not a chunky monkey anymore, he doesn’t pad around in tight fitting pajamas, he's not particularly hung up on homemade bread, and he’s quit telling me I’m purlee. But he still makes a room light up – especially if I’m in it.

He is extraordinarily special. Of all the moms in the world I’m glad God chose me as his mom.

My son, oh my son, you are still my delight.

25 things about a b'day girl

I had a birthday over the weekend and received many well wishes. It was a good day. This is what was on the kitchen table when I got up on Saturday morning.

Recently there has been this "25 things about me" list going around on Facebook. Here's my list.

1. I'm the youngest child in the family. I have a brother and two sisters that I love very much. They are all dysfunctional and count on me to help them along life's highway with some semblance of normality.

2. I am in an online bookclub with "kids" I was in junior high with. Our teacher is in the same bookclub. How weird is that? But it's beautiful to be connected.

3. I have been in 47 US states, many of them on a motorcycle.

4. I toured the US on motorcycle in 1992.

5. Besides the brother and two sisters I've already mentioned, there was another daughter. Her name was Deborah and she died when she was almost 2 of a brain tumor. She is why I named my baby Deborah.

6. In 1991 I was in China, Hong Kong, Thailand, and Vietnam.

7. Going to Vietnam with a US passport when the US had sanctions against Vietnam still has repercussions with US immigration.

8. I'm about to go public for the first time with my biggest self-development goal. Here goes... I want to be a marathon runner.

9. On Wednesday I'm going to my first Weight Watchers meeting. Yikes, that's embarrassing.

10. For most of the time Gordon and I have been married, we've had extra people living with us. Either foster children or foreign exchange students. I've been foster mom to 15 children and home-stay mom to 17 foreign students (many of those were short term). No one has lived with us since 2004.

11. I studied Business. That cracks me up now as I have NOOO interest in it.

12. I received a full scholarship to East Texas Baptist University.

13. I love St Francis of Assisi. I have tried to join the Ecumenical (as in non-Catholic and open to married) Order of Franciscans on three occasions. I never succeeded.

14. I have done freelance writing under a pen name that I've never told a soul. It's such a pretty name.

15. I have a huge desire to do a volunteer vacations in third world countries throughout the world. Some day we (the whole family) hope to take a year off for just that.

16. A few of my heroes are Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Winston Churchill, Mother Teresa, Gary Larson.

17. 25 interesting things is pretty hard to come up with... I won 2 gold medals this past summer in dragon boating. And I went to physical fitness boot camp for 7 weeks this past fall.

18. I sympathize with vegetarianism. I am repulsed by lots of meat. I'm not a vegetarian yet, but I think it's coming. Gordon and the girls still want meat.

19. Weddings give me panic attacks.

20. I've been blogging since 2005.

21. I drive very slowly. I think that comes from years of speeding through life, or at least pretending to be speeding through life.

22. I have gone through serious depressions that have lasted years.

23. I haven't had television in over 20 years. I do not miss it.

24. I love simple living, I love living simply. I'm becoming a minimalist.

25. Other than mortgages on two houses, Gordon and I are nearly debt free.

hannah's party

Today was Hannah's birthday celebration with a couple friends. We went horseback riding. It was great to see them all so happy.

My 11-year-old Hannah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rachael

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hannah Bear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hannah and friends

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ride 'em cowgirls.

happy birthday to hannah

Pardon my blurry pictures. As usual with the older photos, I've taken pictures of pictures.

Eleven years ago today a 9.9 pound red baby with lots of black hair came into my world. (She had actually been in my world long before then, but not in my arms.) Hannah Kathleen. She looked nothing like my previous babies and had I not witnessed the whole thing, I would have said they'd given me the wrong baby. I wanted to tell everyone in the delivery room, "Hey this is really weird. My other babies were pretty. Really, I mean my others were very pretty. Everyone said so." But no, not Hannah. She looked like a mixture of a cranky Winston Churchill, the fat toothless old lady down the street, and a red poached egg. But I loved her. I loved her lots. "Oh Gordon, she's so ugly," I said proudly. And I was proud.

When we came home from the hospital, my next door neighbor came over and oohed and awed saying stuff like "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." I wanted to tell the neighbor that I knew she was ugly, but I didn't want to sound un-proud, because I was proud. I know a few tricks when it comes to dealing with ugly babies. Among my tricks are, "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." Might as well just come out and say, "Woe, is it ever homely."

But I loved her. She loved me too, so I loved her all the more. As she grew she lost the Winston and egg look but kept looking more and more like the toothless old woman down the road. More than a couple times I thanked God that it was a woman down the road she looked like and not a man. When she became expressive with grinning and all, the resemblance to the sweet lady was astounding. My girlfriend Elisa knew the lady down the road. Once the old lady left my house and I confided that I thought Hannah looked like her. Elisa laughed and said the she and Walter thought so too.

Well the pretty fairies visited when Hannah was about 5 months old and she became cute. Actually very very cute. She got a couple teeth and lost the little old lady look.

Unfortunately I was exhausted from having two babies. And it sure didn't help that one of them was Rachael. Exhaustion, hormones, - call it what you wish - wiped me out. Depression came on and my memories of Hannah's babyhood are cloudy and murky. I simply don't remember a whole lot.

When she was just a couple weeks old Gordon told me that there was a surprise baby shower for us two doors down. I sat and wept. I cried hysterically, "I'm too tired to go out." But I pulled myself together and we made it. Those sort of emotions marked those days. Fortunately I have pictures and when I look at the pictures I remember things. She's smiling in the pictures so I think she fared okay through it all.

From the get-go in her little life, Hannah had a big sister that was a baby herself. Rachael colored all over Hannah, sat on her, man-handled her like a sack of potatoes. Hannah smiled through most of it.

She learned fairly early how to stand her ground with Rachael. We realized in her young life that she had her own methods of handling her overbearing big sister. Some of those things we still quote. Once as we drove Rachael protested that Hannah was touching her. They were both in car seats and Rachael said, "Hannah's bothering me."

Hannah made a pointy with her index finger and began a little sing-song as she poked Rachael over and over saying, "Bovering, bovering, bovering." We knew then that life was going to balance things out fine. And occasionally we all say, "Bovering, bovering, bovering," as a way of saying I'm trying to get on your nerves.

Hannah grew and became sensitive. She cared about the feelings of others including animals. She became very articulate, loving to learn new words. Her musings in the backseat often were word games. She played it alone and with no guidance whatsoever. "Re-spect-ful. Re-spect-ful." "Dis-cip-line." She spoke slowly and crisply. We could tell she was saying the words just to enjoy rolling them off her tongue. She played this game for years actually. Once after watching the Tigger Movie, she sat in her carseat quoting Tigger. "Splen-dif-er-rous. Splen-dif-er-rous." We loved to drive along just listening to Hannah practice saying big words.

Twice Hannah did weird little falls that knocked her out cold. The first time I was vacuuming when she fell off the sofa. It scared me silly. I phoned Gordon and he did the typical man thing. He rebuked me for worrying too much. Months and months later I felt rightly vindicated. He had taken the kids to Burger King. Hannah did one of her weird falls and went out cold. He absolutely panicked. Someone phoned 911, a lady came over to help out. She told Gordon that Hannah was breathing and would probably be fine. Gordon sat holding her, crying like a baby, waiting for the ambulance.

By the time I got to the emergency room, she was in a tiny green hospital gown soaking up the attention. She was fine. I've often wished I'd stolen that little gown. She looked so cute.

Hannah has always marched to the beat of her own drummer, more than once taking abuse for doing so. When she was in grade 1 she loved to look for and collect bird feathers. At the park some boys teased, "Ooh, it's the feather girl. She's always got feathers." Hannah was hurt, but undeterred.

Her grade one teacher told me that Hannah was a strong little girl who was willing to be different. And she was a bit different.

Hannah is my easiest child to buy for and treat special. She has so many likes, interests, and passions. Dogs, horses, art, music, piano, stationery, pretty things, porcelain dolls, - she has many interests. It's an endearing quality.

She's thoughtful, considerate, compassionate. She's kind, funny, artistic, and clever. She's typically an absolute doll to be around.

Yesterday she and I went to the Humane Society for a date. I was struck again by how easy she is to please.

This morning she smiled broadly as she was served breakfast in bed.

Tomorrow she is going to Beppe's for two nights. I guess they'll do the usual birthday shopping trip. She's excited. Then on Saturday we'll celebrate. She's chosen horseback riding and a picnic. She's so happy with her plans.

Hannah is delightful. I love her so much and marvel at her many talents. Truly to know her is to love her. I'm thankful for her.

Happy Birthday my sweet Hannah. You are beautiful (but I'd love you no less if you still looked like a red poached egg). You bring delight to our lives and to our home. May you grow to be all God created you to be. And may you always point others to Him.

I love you.

(This morning, breakfast in bed for an 11 year old.)

 

happy birthday rachael

(This is Rachael on her first birthday, 1996)

Last night when I tucked Rachael in, I took her face between my hands and we looked into each others' eyes. "Thirteen years ago tonight I was in the worst pain of my entire life," I told her. She smiled approvingly as though she was very pleased to hold that distinction.

Today my lovely Rachael is 12. What delight she's brought to my life and to our home. I'd be lying to say Rachael's childhood was a breeze. She was a perfect baby. She slept well, ate well, cooed contentedly, smiled and laughed abundantly. But her toddler years were full of assertion, demandingness, breaking things, and plenty of other reasons for people not to appreciate her. Other children may have said, "NO" more, but Rachael lived "NO." She didn't respect people enough to grace them with the word no, she simply did what she darn well pleased. Daily she'd go to the book shelf in the living room and pull all the books off. When she was finished, she'd fetch a parent to show her work. Matter of factly she'd declare, "no no Racho."

More than a few times I toyed with throwing in the towel of discipline. It seemed nothing curbed her independence, strong will, and steely resolve. Secretly I harbored animosity toward Gordon thinking his genes surely created this cute monster that I loved so much.
Her reputation went before and behind her. Overhearing people talk about her was all too familiar. All others seemed to notice were her negative traits. It seemed no one appreciated the traits that were positively wonderful.

She had more energy and strength than is fitting a toddler. She learned to climb out of her crib, to my horror, ridiculously early. Her destructive imagination knew no bounds. When she was a mere 13 months old, she became a big sister. Obviously that meant I didn't have all the time in the world to sit on Rachael to prevent her destructive ways.
When Hannah was beginning to crawl well, Rachael opened the oven door which Hannah promptly pulled up on. Rachael shoved her in the oven and shut the door. Things of this nature were  common-place in our home. She was clever, creative, curious, and energetic. She was full of life, zest, and energy.

Once a neighbor down the street phoned to tell me diapers were flying out an upstairs window. I ran upstairs, where Rachael was supposed to be in her crib sleeping, and found her at the window dropping one diaper out at a time. Yes there was a screen on the window, but she had managed to break it off. The thought that she could have easily fallen out the window tormented me for days. Because she looked so cute, I stood quietly in her door as she deposited diapers one at a time out the window. "Bye bye diaper" or "Uh oh" accompanied each flying diaper.

Her toddler years tested every thing I believed as a parent. The hardships began at one and grew steadily worse for three years. The "terrible twos" were a cake walk compared to the totalitarian threes. Praise be to God, at four years old, we rounded a corner. Hard work, which seemed to be producing nothing for a few years, started to bear fruit.

Many years and much delight and joy later, Rachael is the light of my life. She still has that zest and zeal for living. It demonstrates itself in two jobs that she's very good at, a voracious love for reading, an insatiable desire to know more about Egypt and Ancient Greece, a love for family and family time. She still needs less sleep than the rest of us but now I don't worry that she'll burn the house down, flush towels down the toilet, or climb out a window to go exploring.

The traits that made her a difficult toddler are now making her a strong, trust-worthy, wise young lady.

Today we had a most delightful day at the mall. She was loaded with cash and our birthday girl was quick to buy things for her sisters. She is truly delightful.

Those hours of excruciating pain 13 years ago were really quite a small price to pay. I am forever thankful for my sweet Rachael.

Rachael, may you continue to grow to be all God created you to be. May you love Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. May you grow wiser with each passing year and may you bring others at least a fraction of the joy you bring me. I love you Darling.

Rachael, 12 years old today. Isn't she a precious one?

(12 years old. 2007)

a few birthday pictures

Beppe' and Deborah
A special 8 year old.

deborah is 8

(Deborah's first picture and one of my very favorites)

Today is my baby daughter's 8th birthday. It feels unreal that once upon a time Deborah was not a part of our lives. Nor does it seem that eight years ago today she lay on my chest for the first time. That day was filled with so many wonderful memories. It seems almost poetic that my 14-year-old Stephanie was the first of us to see Deborah draw her first sweet breath of life. Still behind the blue sheet that separated Deborah from us, Gordon and I missed that virgin intake of breath, but Stephanie took it all in with sacred joy and awe.

(Calgary Zoo. 2004. 5 years old)

Now Stephanie is going to deliver her little Roman any day. I wish I could be there to see his first moments. Some day she'll be the mother writing his birthday story. As I write this, my mind is divided among three precious lives: Deborah who is eight today; Stephanie about to push a new life into our world and feel the mammoth changes in the way she perceives life; and little Roman who will soon draw his first breath. Thinking of those things, I feel like I'm penning sacred thoughts.

I remember so well seeing Stephanie standing behind the glass watching the c-section. Her eyes were wide, her face radiant, and wearing nurse's scrubs for the first time. Another precious memory of that summer morning of eight years ago.

Over the past few days, I've recalled many sweet memories in Deborah's eight years. When she was barely one, we drove to Colorado to visit my sister's family. Deborah was a phenomenal baby traveler. I'd heard nightmarish stories of families taking trips with their children and how they screamed for hours and hours. We basked in pride over our parenting skills and how we had produced a baby who traveled so well. Surely, we thought, this good fortune had something to do with our terrific wisdom and advanced parenting abilities.

Our Deborah made it to Colorado with patience and long suffering. On the return trip she sat in her car seat seemingly content as we toured Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons. We got in and out of the van, took pictures and enjoyed a couple tourist spots. Then suddenly, as we walked toward the van, it was as though someone flipped a switch on our sweet baby's back. When she saw our van that we were walking toward, she started flailing, screaming, kicking, and slamming her head on my chest. The hazel-eyed baby that had given me many reasons for parental pride, had morphed into a red-eyed, rage-filled, screaming demon-ette.

(Deborah and Hannah at one of our favorite summer spots. 2004)

Her cheery mood quickly spread to Rachael and Hannah and soon there were three little girls trying to break up their parents' marriage. Gordon and I had never experienced such outbursts from one child, much less three at the same time. We started screaming at each other trying to navigate this new dynamic of family life. Stephanie and Christopher looked on in shock at the way our family was falling apart with little warning. (After recovery, Stephanie said, "Wow, I'd never seen ya'll talk to each other like that").

Later when someone asked Christopher what the highlight of his trip was, he quickly responded, "When Mama gave the girls Gravol in Yellowstone." Yes, I ended up doping my little angels.

When we finally unloaded our human/demon-ette occupants in our driveway, my girls returned to their previous disposition.

Roughly six months later, the girls and I flew back down to Colorado where we met all my family for Thanksgiving. Deborah won hearts as she'd go to the kitchen and look up at the strangers who were aunts, uncles, and cousins and say "dink peez." So politely she used the few words she knew when asking for a drink of water. "Dink peez," she'd say softly. If no one responded, she'd say it a little louder. If still no one responded, she raised her eyebrows, stood on her tippy toes and more assertively said, "DINK PEEZ." In the end, she always got her water.

(Just before leaving for Brownie camp)
Deborah loved to be rocked, sang to, and cuddled. Once she asked me to sing "Amazing Grapes" as we rocked.

When she was two, I started discouraging her nursing. She didn't nurse but a couple times a day, but she was pretty serious about it. I told her that we were going to rock and sing, but we were going to quit doing "breasties." She was thoroughly confused. They were all one and the same to her. But she soon comprehended the new way. On about the third day, she asked if she could have "breasties." When I told her we were not doing that again, she put her index finger and thumb about 1/2 inch apart and asked, "Just a little bit peez?" My heart ached, but we stood firm.

Of the girls, she's the most girly. She loves to dress-up, play with little girl make-up, have make-overs, wear high heels. More than once we've arrived at church to find her in her little play high heels instead of real shoes. When she was four, she was in the washroom when church started. We were near the front when she entered. The pastor ceased the opening call to worship, went silent as he smiled at our little Deborah entering the sanctuary. All eyes fell on her as she walked determinedly down the aisle with her Fisher Price high heels on, a purse strapped over her shoulders, and a fresh application of lip gloss. When I realized things were silent because of Deborah's entrance, I was thoroughly pleased to see the sea of smiling faces as they watched her. She was oblivious to the attention she was commanding.

(Kindergarten graduation.She wasn't sure if it was proper to smile or not, so she remained very somber throughout the ceremony. Can you see her lip gloss? She sneaked that to school that day.)

Deborah is a very kind person. She's gentle, considerate, and polite. She is a social butterfly, always ready for personal interaction. Right now she and her Daddy are out of a birthday date, having lunch together. In a few hours, Beppe' will come over and we'll have yet another birthday meal. At her request, quiche is the main dish.

Dear God, I'm so very thankful that you let me be Deborah's mother. I'm thankful for the life you've given her, for the safety and health you've blessed her with. She has given us so much joy and I'm thankful. Thank you for loving her more than I am capable of. Thank you for loving her enough to give your Son for her. More than anything, I ask You to continue to draw Deborah to You. Give her a tender heart that always follows hard after You. Draw her into a life of being a student of Your word and a pray-er. Give her a hunger and thirst for righteousness. Equip her with all she needs to be a leader in doing what is right and standing against what is wrong. Help her to be a lover of the things You love. Thank You. Amen.

quiche

Deborah will be eight tomorrow. Yesterday we celebrated nearly all day. Kalyna slept over, we went swimming and to Chuck E Cheese. It was wonderful.

I told Deborah that we'll have a special birthday dinner on Monday and invite Beppe'. She was happy about having two birthday celebrations. When I told her she got to choose the menu, her eyes got big and she said after only a second's hesitation that she wanted my quiche.

So tomorrow evening we'll eat quiche and tell Deborah tales. It's going to be delightful, I know.

 

happy birthday to may

Today, May 12, is my mother-in-law's birthday. We don't get to celebrate it with her, as she's in the Netherlands visiting her siblings and other family. I miss her and am thankful to have arrived at this place. When Gordon and I married, and even years into our marriage, I felt little affinity with May. She was my polar opposite and all the qualities I was struggling so hard to accept in my new husband, May seemed to possess in even more concentrated doses.

I wasn't a nice daughter-in-law. I was moody, impatient, petulant, and angry. I was guarded, self-protective, and secretive. May had more reason than anyone to retaliate, poison others against me, "get in her son's ear" about me. She didn't do any of those things. She loved me in spite of me. She gave kindness to me when I was terribly undeserving of it. She overlooked dozens and dozens of offenses and kept sowing love into my life.

I am thankful for the work of the Holy Spirit in her life as I have been a primary beneficiary. May is forgiving and has consistently shown love and nothing less to me.

When my father-in-law died in 2002, I felt I'd lost the only Dykstra family member I could identify with. He was the one I was comfortable with and frankly, I couldn't imagine my life in the family without him to neutralize and mellow things for me. But through that loss, God opened my eyes to see May for who she is rather than who I thought she was. One of the great ironies of it all is seeing similarities in us. Who I thought was a polar opposite isn't that different from me after all.

I respect May for many things. I respect her for the grace she showed me and continues to show me on a regular basis.

Her walk with God is intimate, personal, and powerful. She prays, reads her Bible, and consistently seeks hard after God. I hope when I'm her age, I'll be like her, still seeking God with all I am.

I respect and love May for being the mother of the most wonderful man I know. Gordon is a man of character and integrity and I know May is largely responsible for that.

Maybe, way over in Holland, May will read this. May, happy birthday. I love you and we miss you enormously - especially on Saturday evenings.

Happy happy Birthday.

 

happy birthday stephanie

22 years ago today, Stephanie Elise bounded into our world making me and many others much richer. I'm thankful. She was my world, my life.

She's no longer a precocious child, but rather a woman who will experience the joys of motherhood for herself this year.

We are 2500 miles apart, but a day doesn't pass when I don't think of her and pray for her.

Stephanie, I hope this year is your best ever. Be blessed. Happy Birthday.

 

18 years ago today.

February 20, 1989

I have humbly observed that every mother thinks her pregnancy, labor and delivery is the only one the world has ever known. Logically, women know otherwise, but when it comes down to the bare bones, yes, she alone has experienced true labor and delivery.

I have tried my darndest not to be that kind of person. Not that I'm not that kind of person, I actually am. I truly believe that MY pregnancies, labors and deliveries are really much more significant and colorful, than anyone else's. However I have tried not to act like that is what I believe. When women sit around and talk about dilation, mucous membranes, episiotomies, stitches, ripping and tearing, I have, for the most part, let them have their moment of fame, pretending that I actually believe that their's, not mine, was the more interesting. Today all of that changes.

18 years ago today, I had a baby. We named him Christopher Michael. (Stephanie wanted to name him Christopher Robin after the boy in Winnie the Pooh).

It was one of those dreadfully long pregnancies -- 14 or 15 months, depending on my mood. He was due on February 12. On the 13th I cooked up a plan to make him come on my birthday (the 14th). I went to Wal-Mart and bought a bottle of castor oil. That choice was one of my many poor choices in life. All evening and into the next day I heaved and poohed, heaved and poohed. I vowed if anyone suggested castor oil ever again that I'd slug 'em.

I threw up enough to recycle the castor oil 17 times. The slime that I projected out of my being was, as you may have guessed, very oily. Running to the bathroom, I threw up in the living room, several times, hence the stain in the middle of the living room carpet. We never got it out.

I was committed to Bible memorization throughout my pregnancy. I laid in the bathtub every night reciting and / or practicing long passages of Scripture. I worked on Deuteronomy 28, but never mastered it. I mastered Psalm 23 and Psalm 121.

Stephanie's labor had been long, laborious, and unpleasant. Being a wise woman of 23, I contrived a plan to outwit the system. I planned to stay home until it was time for him to come. I had not enjoyed the prolonged naked exposure the first time around and thought I'd circumvent a lot of that this time.

I went to great lengths to make sure things went just right. I pre-admitted myself. (Does that hospital still have that idiotic system of making a woman in labor sit in admitting filling out insurance documents?) Well, they were only going to abuse me like that once. Second time around, I was wiser. I was totally prepared.

February 20th was a Monday and I was scheduled to be induced at 7:00. At 5:00 I woke with a bang -- a big contraction. Being a reasonable woman, I showered, rolled my hair, put on makeup, barely able to stand for the pain.

Since I was supposed to be induced at 7:00, my mom phoned to check on me. When she learned I was in labor she came over. The contractions were very powerful and about a nano-second apart, yet I was committed to not be at the hospital before 7:00. Humbly, Mama suggested several times that I re-think my plan and head to the hospital.

Kent and I were separated at the time, but he showed up to take me to my pre-scheduled 7:00 induction at 6:50. I laid down in the backseat of my little station wagon and away we sped. The pain seemed unbearable. I began quoting my Bible passages for comfort, getting louder and louder during contractions. "I look up to the mountains--does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth? He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never tires and never sleeps...."

When we got to the hospital I told Kent to go in and tell them I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in till my bed was ready. (Yes, I really said that.) Kent knew enough not to argue with a woman growling Bible verses. He left me there in the car screaming Psalms 23. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.Yeah, though I walk through the valley, thank you Jesus..."

Inside the hospital, Kent told them what I'd told him to: I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in until there was a bed ready for me. The nurse said to Kent, "Mr Rose, that's not how we do things."

Wisely, Kent said, "Then you go tell her." The nurse came to the car with a wheelchair and away we sped again. Within seven minutes I had a beautiful baby boy.

Without contest that delivery was my fastest. It was intense, but there's a lot to be said for brevity.

When Christopher was placed in my arms in the delivery room, all I could say was,"Oh my son, my son." I was so happy. My thoughts weren't coherent though. I said the same thing over and over. I felt silly saying it, but it was all that would come out. When I opened my mouth, it would pour out again, "My son, oh my son."

Christopher was a picture of contentedness. I loved showing him off; he made a good impression every where he went. He smiled, cooed, laughed and delighted people wherever he was.

He had the chunkiest, roundest little body making him heavenly to hold. Oh how I loved him.

Oh how I still love him. He's 18 today. Soon he'll finish high school and be moving on to college. He's a good worker, a kind person, still gentle just like he's always been. A perfect gentleman. Now instead of a chunky round baby, he's a long and lean man.

My verse for him is Proverbs 22:23,24 "He who has a wise son delights in him. May you father and mother be glad. May she who gave you birth rejoice." I'm still praying that he'll always be wise and I know that the one who gave him birth does rejoice in who he is.

happy birthday to me

I received this lovely birthday greeting and am still basking in its make-me-feel-good-ness. Stacie made my day with my first birthday greeting.

"Happy Birthday, Valerie.

You always write such eloquent birthday tributes to those you love and this simple greeting seems so pale in comparison.

What do I love about you: You have the most wonderful humor. You can make me laugh like no other and you laugh with me so whole heartedly. Your writing is so fun to read because it can make me laugh though you are so subtle in the effort. I'm so impressed.

You are a great listener. Truly. You don't interrupt (like me) and I always feel like you really hear. Poor souls that have no one to listen. You listen to me blab on about what I made for dinner, what I wore to work, all the places I went, blah, blah, blah. Wonderful.

You are a willing learner. I mean, you've learned to sew, candle make, quilt make, cake decorate, genealogy sleuth, write, etc? You do it with gusto and competently. I stop before I start because I know I can't be an "expert".....

You are humble. Yes, you are and no, you haven't always been.

You share freely and graciously your mistakes, mis-judgments, hurts, pain, embarrassments, social errors, mis-steps, etc. There is something "freeing" about it when you share your confessions so honestly. God bless this trait.

You are a wonderful sister. I love you so much and I am so blessed to have such a dear dear friend and confidant. You are important to me and I miss you ever so much. Happy birthday, Stacie"

And then, lo and behold, my sister Diane wrote:

"My favorite thing about you is how much fun you are and how easy you laugh. I was thinking about this today, and I've decided that we Callahan kids enjoy ourselves like no others. I mean literally; we enjoy OURSELVES. I enjoy me, you enjoy you, etc., etc. No one laughs harder at our funnies than we laugh at our own. That's the mental picture I got when I was thinking about you today. I could see you making a funny comment and then slapping your knee real hard and laughing boisterously! I laughed just thinking about it (because that's what we do; we laugh at ourselves).

You and I have had soooo many fun times laughing at ourselves and at each other. Do you remember the time we were at the motorcycle rally in Colorado and a guy walked off after talking us near-comatose? Before he was out of earshot, you turned to me and said, "He bores me."

I could go on and on, but you have already written about most of our funniest times, so mine would be redundant and not near as entertaining. You are a great writer. I always laugh out loud when I read your blog.

On a serious note, I appreciate how transparent you have become. You used to protect yourself at all costs, but you have become very vulnerable and "real." I truly appreciate that, but especially since I know how hard it must have been for you.

I remember vividly the day you were born. Do you remember how much I doted on you when you were a little girl? I know, I know, you remember what a witchy older sister I was, but maybe in the recesses of your mind, you can conjure up a memory of when I used to call you "To-Val." Strange nickname, I know, but it was my pet name for you.

I love you and wish you the very happiest of birthdays. Diane"

I couldn't have asked for more feely goodies in one day. But another one came from my aunt, Jill.

"I love you because you are funny. I love you because you are articulate. I love you because you are intelligent. I love you because you so obviously love me! I love you because you are strong.I love you because you are warm and supportive. I love you most of all because you are you! Jill"

Beautiful. I had all I needed for days and days of high spirits.

You know how I hate talking about myself. Ok, so that's a lie. But you know how it's so much cooler if someone else toots your horn rather than you tootin' you're own? Here's my rootin' tootin' niece Mindi tootin' me up:

"Valerie, I know that you cannot know what you mean to me. As a child I always felt a bond to you because I was often told that I was so much like you. Little did I know, that the adults in my life were referring mostly to negative traits that we had in common, namely stubbornness. As an adult, I still feel a close bond to you, and now it is because there are traits that I see in you that I admire and want to develop in myself. I admire you as a mother and a wife. I admire your commitment to your marriage, and your commitment to raising your children to be kind people. I admire your skills in the domestic life you lead, as well as the way you push yourself to try new things all the time, even if those new things lead to "butthole roses" in a cake decorating class. I admire your transparency. It is ever so humbling to admit our shortcomings. If you are anything like me, humility is not our strong point. I appreciate your open mind, and for proving that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. I in no way think you are old or a dog, but I can't think of a better metaphor. Who would have thought that a little country girl from Arkansas, would grow into a tree-hugging, Wal-Mart boycotting Canadian. (All said in jest, of course.) I do admire you Valerie, and love you dearly. I hope your birthday is fabulous. *ching ching*

When the goodness was just too much to imagine anymore, my sweetheart added this to my day's blessings:

"I love you because you hung on. It has not been easy, but you kept getting up each morning and caring as you could, without going anywhere. I love you because you have learned through much pain to adjust to my weaknesses without kicking back. I love you because you keep trying new things, even when the last thing didn't work out like you planned - including things between us. I love you because you love our kids, and do your best to bring out their best, even after they have annoyed you into temporary isolation. And, I love you because you kept on laughing at my weird, silly, and sometimes asinine comments, and then went and cooked a meal or did the laundry or just prayed for all of us. I guess if you get right down to it, I love you because in spite of how life works out sometimes, you have been faithful to me, our kids, our life together, and our common Lord, in big and small ways, even when it was the hardest thing in the world for you to do. And I'm thankful to God for it. Will you be my Valentine, Valerie? Love, Gordon"

This has been a most glorious birthday. I don't think I've ever received so many kind words. I'm truly blessed.

happy birthday diane

Today is my sister Diane's birthday. She is the oldest of my siblings, eight years older than me. Diane married Herbie right out of high school, the summer before I started 4th grade. They moved away shortly thereafter. Fortunately for me, they moved back when I was in high school. After I married, she and I became best friends. As the years rolled by, we got closer and closer. Finally we were so close and so similar that I wondered if it were possible to be any closer. We thought so much alike that when she phoned me from Canada in the summer of 1992 and said, "Guess what? I met your husband last night," I took her seriously. Sure enough, four months later Gordon came to Arkansas and we hit it off. Diane got that ball rolling on her very own.

My best memories from living in Arkansas as an adult have Diane in them. We talked almost every day and laughed at nearly anything.

(When I was little, I took great pride in being told frequently that I looked just like Diane in this picture. Isn't she cute? She was three years old here.)

While I was in Arkansas recently, Diane got a hotel room with one king size bed. She, Stacie, and I stayed up talking into the early morning hours. As you may know, Diane is the only sibling that is of normal body proportions. Stacie and I quickly carved out our niche on both edges of the bed. When Diane came out of the washroom, she found Stacie and me sprawled out greedily. Diane stood at the foot of the bed, stretched out her hands about 4 inches apart. As she motioned down the center of the bed, she asked, "Is this my crevice?"

(Here's my sweet sister when she was in third grade.)

A good sport, Diane accepted her fate of sleeping between her rotund sisters. Up at the crack of dawn - she said we both snored - Diane got dressed and ready for the day. When she came out of the bathroom, she again positioned herself at the foot of the bed. The time she clapped her hands lightly and said, "Time to wake up Little Cherubs."

Diane has always been quick to laugh and see the funny side of things. This of course is one of my favorite things about her. I have a fine repertoire of Dianisms that only a person who knows her could appreciate. "By crackies," "them selfish giraffes," and many other Barney Fife expressions. (She mourned and phoned all her kids when Don Knotts died.)

Diane is smart, an inquisitive researcher, a knowledgeable Bible teacher, a loving, devoted wife and mother. She loves a challenge and doesn't shy away from hard work. She did the tile work in their new home. It is beautiful and impressive and one would never guess it wasn't done by a professional. Diane takes pride in whatever she does, always doing her best.

She has many gifts and talents, but her ability to laugh and make others laugh are my favorites. Her wisdom, gained from years and years of being a student of the Bible, is what I most respect about her. I love and respect her very much.

Diane, I hope this birthday and this year are wonderful. You bless my life in so many ways. I'm thankful to God that you're my sister. I love you. Happy Birthday.

 

gordon's birthday

(My honey, Gordon)

Tomorrow is my Gordo's birthday. We had our birthday celebration tonight. We had his mother over for birthday supper. He chose taco salad for the menu and I made an apple pie for desert.

I wrote a poem for the girls to read to him. I am no poet, and I know it. Therefore, I felt like quite the achiever getting this to rhyme. It won't win any awards, but it goes like this:

On this your 44th Birthday
To honor you in a special way,
We’d love to tell you o’er and o’er
Of your many traits that we adore.

We can’t list them completely,
Because we’d all get sleepy.
But let us name a few,
To thank you for all you do.

Do not be disappointed
With our gifts so disjointed.
Our gifts may be small,
But our love is very tall.

Corny, I know, but can't you feel the love?

His big gift was a Space Pen. Does that sound like a lame gift? Let me assure you it's not lame. It happens to be an expensive writing devise designed for astronauts. Now when Gordon is investigating accidents in 30 degrees below zero, his pen will not "freeze up." Matter of fact, he could go to the moon and his pen would write. He could boil and write me a love note at the same time. He could go to the depths of the sea, and his pen would still write. This pen is no small potato.

We also got him a gift card to see "Fighter Pilot" at the IMAX. That is right up his alley.

Now about those small disjointed gifts. They were little things with notes attached to them.

A bag of mints - "Thank you for your commitMINT"

A package of bacon - "Thank you for the work you do to bring home the BACON"

A SKOR bar - "No matter how you slice it, you SKOR big with us."

A box of SMARTIES - "You're the SMARTest daddy we know."

A package of EXCEL gum - "You are an EXCELlent daddy and husband."

A bag of LAYS potato chips - never mind what was written with them.

Happy Birthday Noogie Boy. I love you.

(When I call Gordon Noogie Boy, he returns the favor by calling me Pudgy Girl. Gosh, I love this guy.)

deborah's party

Deborah's birthday party didn't turn out quite like we'd hoped. Several friends and cousins came, but no friends from school came. I worried that her feelings would be hurt.

She dressed in her prettiest dress and waited expectantly for her guests. I sat back nervously praying she'd have a great time even with fewer kids than expected. Her four guests arrived and soon she was absorbed in play and fun. She ate lunch, played games, had a candy treasure hunt and water balloon "fights," opened gifts and ate cake. (Unfortunately in my efforts to get the cake "just right" I spelled her name wrong. Debororah.)

Evening came and everyone went home. Deborah came and sat with me when she was dressed for bed. I asked if she'd had a good day, and without a moment's hesitation she said, "Mama, I had a GREAT day." I was blessed.

Last night Gordon worked so Deborah slept with me. She was asleep when I went to bed. I studied my sleeping baby who's growing up very quickly. Although she's a physically fit little girl, she still carries lots of baby fat in her cheeks. He face is darker than usual, kissed by the sun. At seven years old, a very big seven, she still sucks her thumb when she sleeps. I gently pulled her thumb from her mouth. Her calloused-from-the-monkey-bars hand was quick to wrap around my fingers, just like a baby.

Struck like so many other times how quickly the kids are growing up, I prayed the prayer I've prayed many times: "Teach me to number my days so I can gain a heart of wisdom." (From the Psalms)

rachael is 11

Breakfast in Bed for an 11 year old.

Rachael’s 11th Birthday

Today is Rachael’s 11th birthday. We are at the World Water-park in West Edmonton Mall enjoying a day of paradise.

Eleven years ago today in Calgary Alberta we welcomed little Rachael into our world. After hours and hours of traveling a painful few inches, she graced us. What glory it was to hold those almost 10 pounds of pink soft warm flesh of my flesh. I studied her for hours. My fingers kept returning to the cowlick on her forehead. I rubbed that smooth-as-silk spot over and over and over. (Rachael dubbed it “pocket” when she was two or three). Without taking my eyes off Rachael, I asked Dr Savoia if she noticed Rachael’s cowlick and she responded graciously, “She’s so stylish.” (Remember women gelled their hair in 1995 to create that look Rachael was born with.) It was a marvelous experience welcoming Rachael in this world. My life was more colorful and full thereafter.

Gordon came to the hospital with a white lace dress with pink ribbons. When I opened it, I was taken aback by its size; 18 months. When I pointed that out he said, “But it’s so small.” She couldn’t wear it until she was one. I have it hanging in our guest room on the wall with an outfit from all my newborns. Her’s is the biggest, but that memory of a proud first-time Daddy buying her a dress was too sweet to forget.

(Rachael and her daddy, 1998)

Rachael was a wonderfully content baby. She cooed and smiled and was too beautiful to describe. After she was born, I missed my Arkansas family so much. They know how to properly dote on babies. I wanted someone to meet my precious baby who knew how to ooh and awh appropriately.

I remember the first time Rachael laughed like it was yesterday. I had her sitting in a carrier on the kitchen table. I was beside her paying bills and sipping iced tea. I took a drink and when the ice hit my lips, I inadvertently made a big “slurp” sound. Rachael cackled. I did it again and again and each time she burst out in a raucous laughter. She did it so long and so hard I had time to phone Gordon, Mama and my sister Stacie. I would slurp my tea and Rachael would cackle heartily as I and the person on the other end of the phone line laughed along.

Not long after that experience we had a similar one. This time it was me eating an apple. The crunch of me biting into it sent her into another laughing spell.

When Rachael was three months old, I stepped over Gordon’s pants that were on the floor and bang!, I was pregnant again. So at 13 months she became a big sister. She was, and is, a great big sister and has always had a big space in her heart for Hannah. They were inseparable and practically still are.

(Rachael, Christmas 1997)

When Hannah was three she did something at the dinner table and Gordon rebuked her. Rachael quickly spun her head to her daddy and with no timidity whatsoever pronounced, “I don’t appreciate you talking to my sister like that.” To say that Gordon and I were shocked is an understatement. Gordon rebounded from the shock quickly and told Rachael he was Hannah’s daddy and it was his responsibility to train her. As adamantly as her first statement, she declared, “Fine! I’ll break your bus!” (Gordon works for the transit system). It was terribly funny, but we held our laughter in check till we were alone, then Gordon said, “Imagine that at 11.”

Today she is 11. I’m thankful to say she’s wonderfully sweet, innocent, helpful, and responsible. She is a pure delight.

Tonight I’ll lie beside her for a few minutes when I tuck her in. We’ll talk about her day at the water-park and as she talks, I’ll be rubbing that still smooth-as-silk pocket on her forehead.

I love my sweet Rachael way more than I have words to articulate. She brings a little touch of heaven to my world.

Happy 11th Birthday Rachael. I love you.

happy birthday michael

(My brother Michael with his granddaughter, Annabelle.)

Today is my only brother's birthday. He is six years older than me. I decided to forgo the opportunity to tell of my youthful victimization at his hands. It would probably bore my readers to hear how I lived in fear of him as a child; how my friends wouldn't come over if he was home because they didn't want to be lassoed; how he nearly took my life every time we swam in Rock Creek; no, I don't want to ride that horse today. It being his birthday, I will recount good memories. I have many.

I don't recall exactly when Michael stopped tormenting me. Maybe it was about the time I stopped annoying him. At any rate, there came a time when I shifted from fear of him to awe of him. He became my hero and I loved telling people he was my big brother. I was very proud of him and desired to please him. Unfortunately I had two left feet when it came to sports, totally ruining the Callahan legacy of athletic heroics. I remember with many shudders and grimaces the first PeeWee basketball game I played. That was the day the world learned that I wasn't a natural like my big brother and sisters. I was so ashamed that I didn't make him proud.

I remember a few times when he smiled at me in public and I felt like a million bucks. When he was in 11th grade, he was sent to my 5th grade class to collect a podium. While getting it, he smiled at me. It made my day that Mike Callahan, basketball legend, smiled at me among my peers. One boy leaned over and said, "Valerie is he really your brother?" I replied with pride, "Yes, he's my brother." (Michael, first grade)

 

Once Michael became an adult, I admired new things about him. He was strong and a good worker. I continued to love his smile. Something in me felt like the world was a better place when I saw my brother smile. His smile literally lit up my world.

As I got older still, I learned more and more about him. I loved his knowledge of history and I grew to love love love his wacky sense of humor.  

When Gordon, Baby Rachael, and I lived in Calgary, Herbie, Diane, and Michael came for a visit. It was a short visit, but I laughed the whole time and still smile thinking of that visit. Michael was such a breath of fresh air. Within his first hour of sitting in my living room, he asked if there was a Wal-Mart close by. I answered yes and asked if he needed to go there. He replied, "No I just need to know one is close by."

When we ate at Swiss Chalet, we were seated by an Asian hostess, our waitress was Asian as were the other waitresses. Michael studied our surroundings briefly then leaned over close and whispered Barney Fife style, "These Swiss people look suspiciously Oriental."

(Michael and Lawana,

 Michael ordered poorly, but we didn't know that until our plates came. He got a dinky portion of chicken, baked beans, and coleslaw. I, on the other hand, got a hearty-looking full plate. Michael contrasted my covered plate with his own which looked like it came from the kids' menu. He ate his meal in a few bites then leaned over to me and asked if I was planning to share "the bounty."

On that trip, Michael had a minor bike wreck. He went to the hospital with what he thought was a broken hand. This was where he learned that some find his southern accent hard to understand. Michael told the doctor he'd had a wreck and the doctor replied, "Reek? What's a reek?" Michael spoke as plainly as he could, which for some reason caused him to shout: "It's my hand. It's dealing me some misery." Eleven years later I still say, "dealing me some misery," when things aren't going well.

He complained bitterly about how customs had stripped him of dignity. They searched all his belongings. He wasn't prepared for that. Referring to them going through his underwear, he said indignantly, "I felt so violated."

Last year when my cousin Cindy took a bad turn with her cancer, her siblings and cousins each filled in a questionnaire that we circulated among ourselves. The original idea was to cheer Cindy. It turned out to be a hilarious exercise that cheered us all. One question was, "If you were a crayon, what color would you be?" Michael responded, "I guess I'd be one of those over-sized flesh-colored ones."

Another question was, "What do you notice first about a person?" Michael answered, "the eyes of a beautiful large-breasted woman."

Michael is big and strong and smart. He is like a great big teddy bear; someone I want to hug. I've seen him cry twice. He cried when we hugged goodbye before I moved to Canada and he cried when we hugged after I lost custody of Stephanie and Christopher. Both of those crying hugs meant the world to me.

I know of another time that Michael cried. I didn't see it, but I heard about it. It's a "God thing" story.

 

(Michael's senior picture)
Occasionally life takes me to the dark dark island of depression. On this island, truth and reality gets lost to me. In 2002 I was on that island and it was as dark as any darkness I'd ever known. Without having been there, a person can't possibly comprehend it. I was convinced that my husband and children would be much better off without me. I was convinced it was an unselfish act, one that would truly improve their lives. I wanted their best and felt I only hindered it.

I struggled to get the nerve to take my life. One particular night, I laid in bed contemplating the details. As I was convinced my husband and kids only stood to profit from my death, I was nagged by the hurt I'd inflict on my other family members. I was torn between doing what was "best" for some and what would hurt others. After much rationalization, I concluded that it was best for everyone.

The following morning my mom phoned. Michael had just left her house. The night before (the same night of my struggle) he drempt I died. His dream upset him terribly and he wept as he told Mama about it. Did Michael pray for me after his dream? I have no clue. But once I learned how Michael's dream upset him, something awakened in me. Awareness that my life mattered was birthed in the midst of my darkness. It was the impetus of recovery. All because my brother cried.

Two perspectives of the same night. Seemingly insignificant, yet it made all the difference.

Happy Birthday Michael. I love your smile, your sense of humor, your smarts, but especially your sensitivity. You're a great big huggable teddy bear. I love you.