Pink Roses

Seven years ago this evening, a handsome young man came to the doorway of the Daisy House with a single solitary pink rose for me. He had come to take me on a date-our very first-to go out to dinner and see the Shockers play basketball. I was so excited.

It had been only one short month that we'd known each other. We met on a retreat for young adults at the retreat center where I now work, oddly enough. I was on the retreat team and Andrew was going on the retreat with his sister. I remember thinking when he checked into the retreat that he definitely looked like "my type." You know... the tall, skinny, nerdy-but-cute type to which I had always been drawn. The next morning at breakfast, I was serving and he came through the line. I said, "You're Andrew, right?" He was shocked that I knew his name and asked me about it as I came to sit down for a meal near him later that day. I just said that I'd been working on remembering all the retreatants names... which was mostly true... kind of.

That was our first official conversation. The next few weeks would bring me many opportunities to flirt with this new man that I'd met. He was at our house for the Super Bowl party that year and I remember we sat next to each other the entire night. A few days after that a bunch of us went out for his sister's birthday and ended up back at the house afterwards. I was finishing crocheting my first scarf, and as I finished, Andrew decided he would wrap it around his head to model it. His wonderful sissy - Thanks Marianna - said "YOU SHOULD TAKE A PICTURE TOGETHER!" So Andrew scooched over next to me and we took our first photo. Did I mention he put his arm around me? I was all a flutter.

Then Mardis Gras rolled around and I thought I would be watching American Idol by myself as I waited for the other young adults to arrive for Rosary night. Then Andrew called me up and asked what I was doing. I said I was just going to watch TV and make brownies for Mardis Gras until everyone arrived, so nervously I suggested he come over and join me. I thought for sure it would be awkward since it was our first time alone together... but I don't even remember watching TV at all. We talked non-stop. And when it was time to make the brownies for the Mardis Gras celebration, I became even more smitten with this man when he pulled out his white apron and got ready to cook with me.

So when he arrived on my doorstep that chilly February evening for our first date... I had a hunch that something wonderful was beginning. And after that evening of talking and cheering for the Shocks and hanging out together, I came home, said night prayers with Andrew and hugged him goodbye. I walked into my room, opened my journal, and wrote "I think I just went on my first date with the man I'm going to marry."

Pure Country - 20 years later

Thanks to some very generous Christmas presents in the form of cash, Andrew and I were able to take a RARE but AWESOME expensive date night. Last weekend we double dated with George Strait and Martina McBride-- and we were so privileged that they serenaded us!!

The concert was phenominal. Easily in my top five. But there was one thing that I was not prepared for...

I was super duper pumped to see George. I love his music. I love his swagger. I love his country-boy-ness. I used to imagine myself to be Harley in Pure Country. Perhaps some mysterious cowboy would come sweep me off my feet. So I went to the concert all excited to see this man:

(Yummy)

After Martina gave a rocking 70 minute performance, my excitement built even more. The intermission ended, and I was more excited. When the lights dimmed again, I was practically beside myself. And then... this man walked out:

(Jigga-what?)

Holy Grandpa!!! When did THAT happen?? I leaned over to Andrew and said, "Awww... he looks like a Grandpa... I kind of want to give him a hug." There were at least 10 other moments like this through George's performance when I leaned over to Andrew and commented on how much older he looked than I thought he would. I mean, people, it blew my mind! Then George announced that his son had just had a kid.  He actually IS a grandpa!!!  

Dear Paula Cole, in answer to your question, "where have all the cowboys gone?"... I say "They're still around.  They've just aged... A LOT."

Now I don't know why I was so shocked by this. When Pure Country came out, I looked like this:

(Technically this was 1994... but close enough.  Check out those glasses!)

And now, I look like this:

(I'm the old one.)

Could someone explain how 20 years just blipped out of my life?!

Happy Birthday, Amelia Grace!

Today our little wedding gift from God turns five years old. I can hardly fathom how quickly those five years have flown by. But what better to do on her fifth birthday than direct you to some of my favorite past blogs all about her:

1) World Record Breaker - June 2006
2) Hello, My Baby... Hello, My Darlin - August 2006
3) Amelia Grace - a Birth Story - February 2007 and Super Cute first photos!!
4) Just Cute - June 2007.
5) Mia goes mobile! - Sept 2007
6) Adventures in Nursing - Oct 2007
7) Fashion Faux Pas - February 2008
8) Mia turns TWO, then THREE, then FOUR and starts pre-K!!


Happy 5th birthday to the smartest, most beautiful, neatest little 5-year-old I know! I love you!

Has it been a year already?

Happy Birthday, Little Will!

It's hard to believe that it's been a year since all this went down.  What a crazy pregnancy... and a crazy day that was.  But our little 33-weeker is turning ONE today, and he is such a blessing!!  Here are two never-before-seen photos from the first time I got to really hold him:

I can hardly believe how very tiny he was... how many tubes he was hooked up to for two weeks... the apnea monitor he was hooked up to for 2 months... or the way we had to keep him away from people for fear of germs his entire first winter.

Because nowadays he just seems like a normal one-year-old to me (if only just a bit smaller.)  He is crawling and cruising and babbling.  He's the sweetest little baby.  Happy most of the time. Very laid back.  Probably the easiest of my three, and it's not like the other two were terribly difficult babies.    He has been a blessing to our little family in so many ways!!

I love you so much little WSU!  I can't wait for many more years of getting to know you.  Happy FIRST birthday!!

Emblazoned Memories

A year ago today was a very difficult day for me. And I've found myself lost in the memory on multiple occasions in the last week, so perhaps getting it out will help me to deal with it a bit better.

The day began much like many of the days leading up to it had started. I once again was scheduled to go see the pregnancy specialist for another sonogram. Had the placenta moved out of the way? Could I finally look forward to the natural birth that I'd longed for since Vince had been born 2 years previously? Or was I still looking at a 36 week c-section (just to make sure I didn't go into labor with U3)? Stupid placenta previa.

But I was confident. I had been praying and praying to St. Girard and St. Therese and St. Gianna. It was almost my 30th birthday! I just KNEW that the placenta was finally going to be moving on up. So when the kiddos ended up sick and Andrew couldn't come with me to the appointment, I wasn't terribly disturbed by the news.

I continued drinking the insane amount of water required for a sonogram as I drove down to the office near the hospital. I prayed as I drove. I talked to Mary and all my Saint friends as I parked in the large parking garage and began waddling my pregnant self across the walkway and into the building where the specialist's office was.

I got called back and laid down for the sonogram. I could see it when she pulled the picture up. Crap. No movement. Same stupid placenta in the same stupid place - right over the baby's exit. Oh well... I guess I wasn't terribly surprised. Just disappointed again. But we still had 5 more weeks before the scheduled surgery. Maybe it would move! It still could move! Then, as per every other appointment, I had to go sit in the room and wait for doc to come tell me "officially" that the placenta hadn't moved. What was the point of this waiting anyways? I had already seen it on the sono even if the sonographer wasn't allowed to tell me anything.

But then Doc walked in the room. Something was different. She sat down across from me. She touched my knee. And she said, "Kristi... I think it's an accreta." I stared at her blankly. I knew what an accreta was -- I was the queen of internet research after all. And I knew what it meant. It was serious. Way more serious than placenta previa. I began to cry. "Look, every time I've seen an accreta on a sonogram, I've been right," she continued, "but maybe this time I'm wrong. I'm bound to be wrong some time." "You'll have to have a c-section at 34 weeks. And we'll do a hysterectomy at the same time to stop the bleeding." "I know it's early, but the most recent study shows that 34 weeks gives the best chance for you and for baby."

I don't know what I said. I asked some questions. I stared blankly at her. I cried uncontrollably. It just didn't make sense. I'd never had a c-section before. I'd never had a d&c or a uterine surgery. I didn't take drugs. I'd never had an abortion. There was NO reason why I should have accreta. "These things just happen sometimes," she said.

Why wasn't Andrew here? WHY DIDN'T I FIND A BABY SITTER FOR MY SICK KIDS?!!!

The doc wanted to take me back to the sono room to show me what she was seeing. She and the sonographer and the PA were pointing out all of my veins showing up on the monitor. The blood flow seemed to be going through my uterine wall instead of just in the placenta. "Wow," they commented, "look at the blood flow. Just amazing." Amazing??! Seriously?!! I'm still crying. I'm scared out of my mind. "We'll schedule and MRI to see if we can confirm the accreta."

My sobs were more than audible. Doc said, "How many kids do you have at home?" I told her two... this was our third. "Well three is a good number. How many more did you want?" I was aghast at the question. Was it supposed to make me feel better?? But I politely said I didn't know and just agreed that I was blessed to have the three I had. She told me she liked my headband. She continued with some other small talk trying to calm me down and make me feel better. "I probably don't need to see you again, Kristi, until the surgery. But you're welcome to make an appointment in four weeks if you just want to ask questions. We'll deliver you one week after that."

Sigh... I made my way out to the receptionist's desk and booked the appointment. I tried hiding my puffy eyes and face as I made my way through the waiting room and out the door. I'd seen so many other extremely upset pregnant women in that waiting room. I didn't want to alarm any of the ones that were waiting today.

I made it out to the car, opened the door, sat down, and began sobbing. The only person I could think to call was Sister Sophia Grace. The poor sister that answered the phone sounded so much like her that I just started sobbing my story to her. Finally she stopped me and told me that she was so sorry, but I must think she's the wrong person. She gave me Sister's voicemail. Then I had to call Andrew and my mom. They told me to calm down so I could drive home.

By the grace of God... and that's the only thing it could have come from... on my drive home I had the thought, "Well, we've always said that we would have as many babies as God would give us. Maybe He only wants to give us three. Or maybe he needs us to adopt a kiddo and the only way he can show us that is by removing my fertility now." It was so strange feeling acceptance, and anger, and fear all at the same time.

I finally made my way to the house and fell into Andrew's arms. What are we going to do? Are we going to be okay? What if we can't have any more kids? What if this is it?

The rest of the day was basically a blur. I think I went into work and muddled through a couple of hours in tears before they finally just sent me home. I emailed our closest friends and had Andrew call his family. We needed everyone to pray... and we would keep praying.

I think I called my regular OB and went to see her as soon as possible to ask questions... none of which she would answer until we saw what the MRI said.

This emotional day... burned into my memory... was just the beginning of the hardest month of my life thus far. So many fears. So many hopes. So many prayers. So many tears. But they would all lead up to a miracle. A miracle surgery. A miracle baby boy. And a year after all of these events, I still get lost in the sea of emotions that they caused. They say that time heals everything... and I'm sure it does. And I have a feeling that the next month is going to be full of healing.

The Catholic Chameleon

I began writing the following blog back in August shortly after my new boss "took office"... but I never got around to publishing it. So before I give you a new post... I give you something older...

So I'm sitting at a staff retreat at my very Catholic place of work last week, and our new director says that in order to get to know us, he wants to play the "What's your favorite ...? " game.

This sounds fun to me. I always like getting to know my coworkers better. But I was not prepared to be fourth in-line as we went around the circle. So he starts off with, my one most favorite movie is... and we are left to fill in the blanks. As the director announces his, my mind is already scrambling. I can't really say my REAL favorite, can I? It's so not holy. Then the second person announces their fav - (one that I've not heard of, but surely it isn't as bad as mine). Was his even rated R? The third person passes! OH NO! KRISTI!! THINK OF SOMETHING MORE APPOPRIATE THAT YOU REALLY LOVE! Dirty Dancing? Pretty Woman? Which is the lesser of two evils?? Julia Roberts is walking around in my head in her big ole hooker boots, and it's my turn so out it comes. "My favorite move is Pretty Woman." Oh crap... am I gonna get fired?

But the question kept moving around the circle and mine was quickly forgotten (I hope). And then came question #2. "My favorite TV show is..." Uh oh... Why do all of the shows have to be on hiatus for summer? I cannot, for the life of me, remember any okay sitcoms that I watch during regular season. And it's my turn... THINK FASTER BRAIN... "My favorite TV show is The Bachelorette." Someone in the peanut gallery says, "That really IS a guilty pleasure." Oh sheesh. I offer a crooked smile and secretly pray that someone else says something a little bit raunchy. Praise be to God for one of our cooks who said they were going to say "Jersey Shore" but decided against it.

----

Well... it's December now and I still have a job... so hopefully my favorites were forgotten and my coworkers can go back to believing that I'm a sweet little naive Catholic girl who only watches stories about saints....

Six years ago today, I awoke in my room in The Daisy House, and I was sad. It was the first Thanksgiving in my 25 years that I was not waking up in the same house as my family. I called Mom. Crying. "Mom... I miss all of you."

"Oh, Kristi..." She assured me. "We will see you tomorrow night. Besides, you'll have fun with Andrew's family." Perhaps she was right, perhaps she wasn't, But that didn't really matter to me. I wasn't just sad because I missed them. I was sad because it had just hit me that things were actually shifting in my life. And I was going to have to figure out a new "normal".

That morning marked the beginning of the mad juggling of families that now encompasses the majority of our holidays. I suppose most every young family goes through this (at least if they are blessed enough, as we are, to be on good terms with both sides of the family). And it seems to get a little tougher each year... As a new sibling gets married... Or another kid comes along.

I wonder at what point people stop trying to do everything with each family and just start developing their own family traditions? I assume this must happen at some point. I mean how else would kids learn about the tradition of waking up in your own house on Christmas morn and anxiously running down to the tree to see what surprises they would find?

Then again, I still don't think I could bear not seeing our families during the holidays. Sometimes it's a week before or a week after the actual day, but we still get together and break bread and do our best to have fun. It's all part and partial of giving thanks and sharing the love I guess.

At least this morning I didn't wake up in tears. Nope, 6 years after that first weepy Thanksgiving, I woke up, kissed the baby next to me, hollered (hushedly) at the other two to quiet it down, and began a baking frenzy to get us through the next 4 days of eating. No tears this year. Just a grateful smile on my face to have so many loved ones to visit and hug and be merry with.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!