Our Disney Trip : Travel Day

If you were to ask someone how they read a book, I guess most people would say "From the beginning. Duh." Or maybe their response would be "From page one" or maybe "From Chapter One". A few years ago that might have been my answer too. But now I would answer "At the dedications and acknowledgement page." Or maybe even "The Table of Contents". Surely many people skip those and jump right to the heart of the story. Still, I think that any good story has a story behind the story. An author will often set the tone for the pages that follow the opening pages. I figure if they take the time to include it in their book, shouldn't we take the time to read it.

Such is the case with our trip to Disney. Isn't there always a story behind the story?  For those who know me and Tony well, it comes no surprise that we are planners. We booked our trip months ago, with our park restaurant reservations, condo/hotel booking and flights firmly in place. It's always the last minute details I find to be the most stressful.  Honestly, for me I felt the stress begin to creep in about a month before our trip when Elise started to present with upper respiratory symptoms. Sadly, she rarely goes two months between illnesses and with her compromised immunity, it is almost always turns into a bacterial infection needing antibiotics. The good news is that she was getting this illness out of the way in enough time to get really sick and to be on (and off) the prescribed drugs before our trip. Or so you would think. Three trips to the doctor in three weeks and three separate prescriptions for antibiotics later, she finally recovered. (Running 104 degree fever five days before our trip after two solid weeks on prescription drugs had me stressed to say the least). True enough, the pink stuff was going to go to Disney with us, but alas, her coughing was minimum and she was mostly healthy. During that medical fiasco I found myself visiting my beloved eye doctor not once but twice fighting not one, but two , separate eye infections. Packed alongside Elise's pink antibiotics would be my eye drops. Swell.  But, alas, we're off and running and pumped for a GREAT vacation.

With the crazy week of cleaning, shopping, errand running, bill paying and packing behind us, my dad drives us to the airport without a hitch. Plane was on time and we're all pleased with how stress-free our trip is so far. The kids are equally enthusiastic about their first ever plane ride. Well, actually, it was Adam's second. We flew to Arizona to visit Bil and Thel Keane of the Family Circus cartoon when he was 14 months old. But that really doesn't count, right?  The flight attendant catches wind of it being their first flight and even welcomes them aboard by name over the loud speaker.  It truly was a great start. The flight itself was a little bumpy--literally. As we left St. Louis we approached some inclement weather the closer we get to Georgia, which was from where we were catching our connecting flight. Turbulence rocked the plane pretty steadily the entire flight. The good news is the kids were none the wiser. As far as they knew, it was par for the course. For me and Tony... well, we hoped it wasn't Oceanic Flight 815 all over again. 

Fortunately, we had plenty of time to walk to another concourse to catch our second flight.  The bad news is that our second flight was delayed. At first it was only by about 45 minutes. But over the course of time, the delays mounted to 3 1/2 hours. Ugh! The torrential rains in Orlando was not helping matters. Frustrations mounted for me and the kids. Our proposed time-line was perfect. Reach Orlando around 3 p.m. and drive to our condo,  do a little grocery shopping as a family to stock our kitchen for breakfasts and snacks in the park and in the evenings, and a nice first dinner to kick off the trip. Ahh, perfection. But it was what it was and now our flight was arriving around 6:30 in the evening. So much for our plans. Still, we plod forward and reach our destination albeit tired and hungry. Enter condo check in.  Picking up a bucket of chicken for dinner, we drive to the resort. The first mistake is that we wait in the car while Tony picked up the keys. With three very hungry peeps waiting on him, Tony is taking FOREVER! The aroma of KFC is wafting through the car. The kids beg to eat while we're waiting but its a rental car and eating greasy fast food chicken in the car may not be wise. I don't want to own the car when we're done paying the fine for grease stains. I tell the kids that it should only be another minute. After all, he's already been gone 20 minutes. After 30 minutes and a whole lot of impatient glances in the rear view mirror looking for him, I finally call him. It is 8 p.m. and did I mention we are tired and hungry?? Ten more minutes and Tony's back in the car. They were trying to sell him a time share. What?? We're using a time share that we own....well,  more to the point, Tony's parents own, which I guess is the fact that they were blissfully aware. SALE...DOLLAR SIGNS....STUPID.  All kind of things they must have seen when we stepped foot on their property. Sadly, Tony is kind and wasn't forceful enough to put an end to their sales pitch. Apparently a family in the car didn't matter to them. Back at you, stupid salespeople. Thanks. I feel better getting that off my chest.

The night ends pleasantly enough. We ate and unpacked, marveling at the beautiful condo we have for the week. Sweet. Tony takes pity on me and Elise and leaves us to get some sleep while he and Adam venture out to get our food from Wal Mart. Weather was peaceful for now, forecast was great for the week. Despite a few bumps in the road, we're off to a good start.

Amazing Race or is it just a Rat Race

Reality TV took off and running with the premiere of Survivor a decade ago and a slew of reality shows have been born ever since: Hell's Kitchen, Big Brother, The Bachelor(ette) and, our personal favorite, The Amazing Race. And those are just the ones that have stood the test of time on network TV. Even several seasons later, I tune in to The Amazing Race faithfully. On Sunday nights I try not to move my behind from the couch as I watch teams race around the world for the ultimate prize of one million dollars. It's a fun way to be introduced to various countries and cultures, with entertaining challenges to complete. But it's the people watcher in me that keeps me entertained. The  12 competing teams are comprised of two people each, often related, but not always. There are also best friend teams and dating or engaged teams. I think once there was even a divorced couple teaming together. Hilarity ensues when you watch these people running around foreign countries, completing difficult, dangerous or entertaining challenges.

I've been known to joke with Tony that the show would be the demise of our marriage. Actually, I think I am smart enough to know that I would never entertain the thought of auditioning for a show like that with my beloved husband.  While I love my husband, he can be a control-freak. And I am not exactly a door mat. I think we would butt heads. He would yell and I would cry. All I can say is that the camera men would love us. Who doesn't enjoy a little wife bashing and throw downs? In theory Tony would be a good partner. He is very intelligent and has a great sense of direction on foreign streets. Dangerous or difficult tasks involving heights would not be a problem. But.....I have more common sense. While he's got the brains, I've got more common sense. Tony is more impulsive and when I would make a persuasive argument of why he should listen to me, I think my pleas would fall upon deaf ears. I don't see us working well under pressure for extended periods of time. I think that would be more the issue. We've weathered enough crises in our marriage to know that we do pull together when we need to. But for weeks on end with the stress being continual? Nope. Divorce would be a definite possibility.

With the determination of a contestant and having the need to accomplish as much as possible into my day, I squeezed in two weeks worth of grocery shopping today between dropping Elise off at school at noon and needing to be at a board meeting at 1. Clearly doable in my mind without my daughter to slow me down.  Even taking into account the drive time and putting away the groceries, I seemed to believe I could tackle it.  In reality, this adventure began an hour earlier when I decided that with about 45 minutes before school drop off, I could hit the large local warehouse for some bulk shopping for the church.  If I actually stuck to the three items on my list, it was a no-brainer. In and out with time to spare. Ohhh, but how often do you actually stick to the plan? Thirty minutes later I am checking out with my $110 worth of personal goods on top of the church list, which had to be rung out on two separate check outs to keep the receipts itemized. The plan sort of took a nosedive when I realized Elise had to be at school in 22 minutes and I've forgotten to plan for lunch. OOPS! It was while she was eating her ginormous piece of pizza when the cashier from the check out lane from whence I had come tapped me on the shoulder. "Ma'am, two items got separated from your orders. You forgot to buy and pay for the paper towels and napkins." Clearly Mom brain had affected my ability to notice the 12 rolls of paper towels and 2,000 count of dinner napkins had been left behind. After waiting for the person ahead of me to check out and watching the clock while Elise is choking down her pizza in the store and then in the van, we get out of there and to school with precisely 1 minute to spare. Breathe.

But, no....Not yet.  Remember, I still have intentions of going to the grocery story.  Heaven forbid I spend an hour in down time before my meeting. Nope. Gotta squeeze one more place in. And like I mentioned, it's not exactly a short list. My heart rate had recovered enough that I felt up to the challenge. And, man, what a challenge. For the sake of time, I chose the Schnucks next to Elise's school, which is close to her school but not close to home. Not a moment of brilliance since the drive home will offset the time savings...But anyway.... While I've been in this particular store a handful of times, it's not my Schnucks of choice. And, unlike most of my trips to the grocery store, I failed to re-write my list in order by which the foods are found in the store. Yes, I am one of those people who groups like-items together so it reads like a map of the store. Today was a lesson in reinforcing why I take the time to do that. I spent 15 minutes in the store and never left the produce section. Back and forth on my list -- even venturing into the meat section ever so briefly to only find myself back in produce to find the fresh ginger that I missed the first pass. Oh, and don't get me started on not being able to find the green onions. The Friendliest Stores in Town? Maybe I would know that if I had actually found someone to help me. Just so you know, there is a wall aisle completely hidden from the rest of the produce section where they keep the green onions. Once I actually successfully left produce, I knew the next few aisles would be where I could find mango chutney. Or so I thought. Finally a stock person told me where I could find it and even escorted me two aisles over to find it. Maybe it was the look of exasperation that told him I was about to lose my flippin' mind. But yes, he was friendly. When I was officially done with my list I realized that I had forgotten the fruit snacks. They weren't on the list. I didn't remember actually being in that aisle so instead of asking I did a pass back through the store. Couldn't find them. They ended up being in the cereal aisle, which makes sense because that's where they are in my usual store. Can I say that while I kept my composure on the outside, I was seething on the inside and felt that my blood pressure had to be high for the moment. Stress over fruit snacks. Stupid.

When all was said and done, I made it home, got the refrigerated and freezer stuff put away before venturing back out for my meeting. I was only 5 minutes late. Kudos to me. But lesson learned, my friends. Apparently, navigating through a new grocery story proved to be as much challenge as my little heart could manage. Amazing Race is probably not cut out for me, ya think?

What a Difference a Day Makes

As I reached for Elise's little hand to fit snugly into mine leaving Bible study this morning, I glanced over as she eagerly accepted, skipping to the time of my step. I smiled back at her, thankful that she still embraces the public affection and declaration that she and I belong together.

Yet each passing day reminds me that she is only "mine" for a time. Soon her days will be filled with full time school, friends, after school activities and boys and you will find my name at the bottom of her priority list. God was really smart when he designed children to grow up slowly, gradually, and over 18 years. Can you imagine us humans weaning our babes and  pushing our babies out of the nest in the first 2 months? It would never happen. Never.

It's also in God's grander plan that the steps are baby ones along the way. Those milestones are God's way of telling us as parents to back down just a bit and allow those same metaphoric baby's wings to stretch to prepare for flight.

Our household is no different than any other with a preschooler living in our midst. She's graduated from the diapers, the crib and high chair -- and most recently her toddler bed. That was my first "aha" moment this year. After spending a week refurbishing old furniture to become her new furniture and creating a "big girl room" she slept in her new room for the first time January 1. Along with the toddler bed, the rocking chair that adorned the room was cast aside.  It didn't seem to "fit" in the scheme of her grown up room.  Though surprising to many, Tony and I still rocked Elise each night, with her taggie blanket firmly in her right hand. The said rocking never lasted more than one minute, maybe up to five if she was feeling particularly needy. I imagine the rocking was more symbolic than practical at this point, still clinging to a routine that was familiar and comforting. When I told her we would have to go into the playroom to use the rocking chair, she said that was OK. She didn't need to be rocked anymore. My heart strings pulled just a little knowing that the last time I had rocked her was, well, the last time.

All these little transitions were going smoothly and I felt surprisingly OK with my little girl suddenly being a bigger girl. It reminded me of Adam several years earlier making those same changes and also being so excited about them. I suppose it's because I was taking all this is stride that it caught me off guard when she announced along with the rocking chair, she no longer needed to sleep with her taggie blanket. "OK, honey. If you say so." I told her several hours before bedtime. I didn't believe her. Her taggie was to her what an imaginary friend or a favorite stuffed animal is to another child. It was a part of her. From early morning until bedtime her taggie was by her side from the time she was old enough to consciously make it part of her day.

It was while Adam was in his second year of preschool that I received this blanket as a gift from his preschool "assistant" Diane. Her mother had lovingly hand made a blanket adorned with tags of different textures, patterns and colors. This was a phenomenon I had known nothing about but has since gained its popularity here in town.  Diane presented it to me and I treasured it in her first year, laying it along side her in the crib. When she grew old enough to choose it as a "lovey" she did. Much to my chagrin, it would follow her all day like a faithful companion. It only left the house to go to the hospital with her when she had rotovirus and was very ill, when she had surgery to remove her adenoid and tonsils, and when we travelled out of town. Otherwise, in the interest of not losing it, it stayed in the house. I even scrap booked a page about her blanket, mentioning the one particular tag that Elise seemed to be drawn to. As far back as we can recall, Elise would turn her blanket around in the dark, searching for the one tag that brought her comfort. She would take that particular tag between her thumb and index finger and stroke it as she fell asleep. On more than one occasion, I would check on her at find her taggie still clutched to her heart.

When she publicly declared her independence of her taggie, I didn't believe my ears. I blew off her warning because I knew better. This was one habit not easily broken. But to my consternation and to our utter shock and amazement, she planted that taggie at the foot of her bed at bedtime and snuggled in to sleep that first night without batting an eye.  And there it stayed, night after night, tucked into the foot board like a discarded toy. Tony and I had more than one conversation that week feeling like we needed to intervene. This was her baby and being a big girl didn't mean she had to give it up. My heart sank. Night after night I would kiss my girl good night and find her taggie in the same position as the night before. No amount of coaxing could convince my independent daughter that it was OK for her to still want her taggie.

The blanket has only moved twice since that time. When her new bedding finally arrived, she placed her taggie on top of the shelf with her well-loved stuffed animals. But when her reconditioned night stand was finished behind the other furniture and placed in her room only two nights ago, she moved her taggie to its final resting place. It sits on the bottom shelf of the night stand, neatly folded. Not used anymore but at least still in view and, in her view, a place of honor.

I guess this is the start of many "aha" moments for me that my little girl is growing up. I guess I don't want to take any experience for granted anymore though. I never realized before what a difference a day makes.

Confessions of a Novice Cook

I think I established in a previous blog that I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I have aspirations one might say. Things that I would like to do differently, more efficiently or just plain better. Cooking is one of those things. Over the years I think I have become a good cook but certainly not a great one. Until I got married I had only made a handful of actual meals. It wasn't until my last name changed by marriage and I became a full time family of 4 that I realized things had to change. Never mind me. I had made do over the years but my husband and two boys had to eat.

As good as my mom was at being a cook, she wasn't a varied one. I could probably take 10 minutes and write down all the recipes she made while I was growing up. Once I got married, I probably asked for a handful of those recipes, but honestly, after eating them for so many years, there weren't too many I wanted.  So I launched into my year-long quest to establish myself as a cook. I subscribed to Quick Cooking (the best kind for a full time employee with a full time family of 4) and began to cook away. Every night I would lovingly prepare a new recipe to be met with a thumbs up, thumbs down, or in our lingo, a do over or never again status. My grateful husband's accolades were often countered by my exceptionally picky step sons' dislikes. It was after our first wedding anniversary when I remember Brandon looking at his beef stew with the most perplexed look on his face.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Beef Stew." I answered. "Why"

"We've HAD this BEFORE" , he said in disgust. It was in that moment that I realized that maybe it was time to close the magazine and start making something for a second or third time. I was creating monsters. Clearly.

Here I am 12 years down the road and it's only in the last 2 1/2 years that I have re-opened cooking magazines -- this time Cooking Light and Family Circle recipe inserts -- to expand my cooking horizons. Time to take my 2 inch cooking binder of typed recipes divided by category, and start updating my cooking. Not that any one's complaining. Over the years I've kept my cooking fresh and new and, honestly, I have so many recipes I could probably go a full two years without ever having to repeat a dish.  But in the last few years Tony's cholesterol has elevated and both of us have had to watch our calories a little more than in past years. Something about being 40....blah, blah, blah.

Like I said, I'm a good cook, but not a great one. Friends will post statuses and links to these fabulous sounding dinners and amazing desserts and I realize I want to be better. Sure, I make some fancy sounding dinner at times And they are good. I make some mean mashed potatoes, awesome asparagus.. And my chicken tenders--the best I've ever tasted. But I realize I could be better. I want to use more varied vegetables and learn to make those fancy dishes I read about. And that is where my New Year's Aspirations kick in.

Tonight, leeks are on the menu. Potato and leek soup actually. Give me bok choy, eggplant, or a spaghetti or acorn squash, I'm your girl. But until this week, if you had handed me a leek, I would have asked you what it is and what do I do with it. Yes, leeks. It's what's for dinner.

Wish me well in the kitchen, please. I sliced the tip of my pointy finger tonight chopping the potatoes. A few months ago it was my pinkie finger. I have serious issues with knives.  A knives safety class might be a really smart part of my 2010 cooking adventure. Stay tuned!

Sleepless in the Suburbs

As I lay on the couch last night in the middle of the night, awake for the umpteenth time, I was thinking how the previous several hours felt like a comedy of errors. The story actually begins about the 19th of this month when Adam started complaining of a sore throat.  His throat was indeed red with his enlarged tonsils. Whenever he has a sore throat, it takes me back to the end of February 2007 when I proverbial kick myself for not getting his tonsils out while we had his adenoid removed.  But lest not I digress. No fever, no other symptoms but we keep him from helping out in hospitality at church and keep an eye on him, giving him our preventive medicine prescribed by the doc for just this situation on top of cold medicine to sleep. And I pray, hard.  Not that there is ever a good time to be sick, but this was an especially bad time to have the symptoms creep up on us. Adam's cello and chorus concert was just a mere 3 days away, as his class party, and lest we not forget, Christmas. Just a few weeks earlier he had suffered through the stomach flu so this just seemed especially bad timing.

By Monday, Adam's sore throat is not as sore but he gets the sniffy nose. Typical progression for him. But no fever and he's not feeling all that bad. But enter Elise. She is starting to sniffle too, throwing away Kleenex as if they grew on trees. There was a box of Kleenex lining the trash can looking as if they belonged back in the box. Seriously. One little wipe on the nose does not mean the Kleenex is used. Arggh. But again, I digress.

I tell Adam, "You are going to the concert whether or not you are sick. You can't miss it. No way". He agrees. Just get through Friday, I think to myself. After Friday, feel free to be sick. Please. God had mercy on us and Wednesday came and went, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day. We made it. No worse the wear. By Christmas weekend, Adam is fine.

Elise being who she is with the chronic sinus issues begins to cough at night.  Only at night.  The cough lingers all week progressively getting worse. Which leads me to last night.  If you follow me on Facebook, you know that Tony has been sanding, refinishing and painting new furniture for our little darling and started painting her room yesterday. Because the room was empty, Elise needed alternate sleeping arrangements. On her old mattress on our bedroom floor was the plan. Our plan. Not Elise's. God love her (and us, too!) she can be stubborn. Maybe it is typical little girl strong willed bent, or the second born temperament, but she is headstrong. And anything having to do with food or sleep can be an especially difficult issue to force. Trying to pacify her, we cajole her into obedience by saying she can sleep in our bed and we'll use a night light in our bathroom. Agreed.

Elise is tucked away into bed, fully medicated and quiet. Battle won.  The next battle for me was deciding to up my sleep medicine that night. No small undertaking at this stage in the medication challenge. After my latest frustrating sleep study results, it is decided that I need to pursue resolution to this stubborn problem an entirely different direction with new meds. A gradual increase by 100 mg. per week for 6 weeks until my medicine reached the maximum dose of 600 mg. Sounds like a lot but for seizures (the true use of this drug) the medication is usually dosed at 1,500 to 2,000 mg., so my dose is actually quite small.  However, with each 100 mg. dose it is reported dramatic day time sleepiness for the first two to three days of increase. Thus, the increments need to small and infrequent, and to this point was every Friday night so that if drowsiness was going to occur, it would be on a weekend when I had my husband for back up. Usually when the doctor has warned me of this grogginess (feels like a sleepy hang-over), it hits me like a mack truck. Making my final leap to maximum dosage was going to be the toughest and there really is no good time for it. Since Tony is home on vacation through Sunday it really needed to be now or never.

We hear her coughing in bed for about an hour and decide to up her medicine dose. This quieted her for about an hour, long enough for me to crawl into bed on the other side of her. What I didn't realize is that the previous hour would be the quietest of the night. No sooner am I tucked into bed next to her, groggy from my sleep meds, does she start snoring--and then coughing--snoring some more--coughing some more and just for a bonus, kicking me in the back at regular intervals. This was definitely not working for me. Not at all. After laying there for about an hour, watching the clock near 11 p.m. I leave the comfort of my own bed to lay on her crib-sized mattress on our floor. Maybe if I hadn't been so tired it would have occurred to me to move her onto the floor and for me to stay in the bed, but I was too tired to think clearly. Obviously.  Maybe being a few feet away from her coughing would make it easier to sleep. You'd think anyway. Finally, midnight approaches and I ask for back up. Tony has wisely grabbed his pillow and a blanket and had been crashing on the couch. I don't know if it's because he saw me on her mattress or heard her coughing every 5.5 seconds but he was wise enough to sleep far, far away. He obediently comes upstairs to re-medicate her, probably bordering on a dose big enough for Adam, but we were desperate. Here is where True Love showed herself by Tony offering me the couch so that maybe I could get a few hour's sleep. The bad thing about sleep meds is that you have to sleep a minimum of 8 hours to not be groggy the whole next day. And with the risk of that anyway, today was not looking good.

The rest of the night I slept fitfully on the couch. Not that I am complaining; I'm not. I certainly had the better end of the deal. Poor Tony's been working his little heart out all week on Elise's room. He needed a good night's sleep more than me. But he also knows how I am when I'm extra sleep-deprived. Again, I'd say it's not pretty. My night's end came around 5:30 when I feel my precious little one tap me on the back. "Time to get up now, Mommy?". Back to bed, honey. It's still dark out. As far as I know she complied. Until 6 a.m. Repeat. Finally at 7 a.m. she made one last attempt to get up.  For the life of me I couldn't figure out how she wasn't sleeping until 10 since she had been coughing all night, but here she was ready to start the day. Blindly, I turn the TV on for her and crawl back into my bed. Certainly not a finest Mommy moment but too tired to care. I vaguely remember mumbling something to Tony about her being awake. I'm not sure but I think he dozed back off. At some point though, he did get up with the kids while allowing me to sleep until 9.

Come to find out she asked to sleep in her bed on the floor at some point during the night--or maybe it was during the early morning attempts at starting her day. Apparently Tony's sleep was not exactly quality. All I can say though is that I'll be glad to leave 2009 behind as long as I can leave behind our own version of musical beds and start fresh with 2010!

Humble Beginnings

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you. You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger (because there was no room for them in the inn.)" (Luke 2:12b,7b).

Arguably this is one of the most well known and retold stories of all time. Growing up I can imagine Jesus asking his mother to retell the story time and time again. The odd circumstances surrounding his birth -- from his conception to his actual birth. A miracle given from God for all time.  I also imagine Mary never expected her first born child to be born under the intrigue and hand of God Almighty himself.

Personally, I look at the details surrounding my birth and find them rather unremarkable. Yes, I had the RH Factor resistance and received 7 blood transfusions pre- and post-birth after being given almost zero chance of survival.  My mom said you have never seen a needle until you see one long enough to be inserted through your abdominal wall and  into your womb. Never mind the little injection needles; they are nothing, she would say with a smile.  Perhaps my story is fascinating enough that my children, particularly Elise if she is lucky enough to be blessed by children, would enjoy hearing retold over time.

I suppose it is the ordinary nature under which most of us are born that I never really thought much about my parent's early years either. Obviously my mom has a unique story of her childhood, but honestly, I never really took a closer look into the life she lived before the internment until this last spring as I watched the SHOAH Foundation tapes.

She was born one wintery day in the late 1930's in a little village named Veliko Srediste in the South Banat district of Yugoslavia.  Despite the translation in German for Veliko to mean "large", this small Serbian town is often not found on maps. The largest town nearby would be Vrsac located near the Hungary border. Before the Russians invaded her small village,  my mom recalled beautiful trees and gardens that cascaded across the acres often found between homes. Mountain peaks were visible along the outside of town. The small homes were overshadowed by the beauty of the countryside. Yugoslavia was a beautiful green, lush country.

Born to mother Anna and father Franz Bohn, her earliest rememberances began around age 5 while living with her mom's parents Anna and Thomas Dernetz and her Uncle Josef, who was approximately 15 years old. It was not uncommon for multiple generations to live under one roof. The house the six of them lived in was a small white-washed home with dirt floors. When asked about the details of the home for her visual history testimonial, she could only recall two rooms, the kitchen and a bedroom. The central piece of the kitchen was the homemade kitchen table and chairs. The memory of the bedroom was limited to one, recalling sitting on the edge of a bed playing with her doll as her mother said goodbye-- the prison guards waiting nearby to escort her to go by coal car to Russia as a slave laborer.

When asked she could only recall a handful of happy memories from the first few years of her life. Sadly, even the earliest of memories distinct from the concentration camps were marred with abuse and hardship. Her favorite memory was of a beautiful mulberry tree in her yard. The fruit was plentiful and she recalled being covered in red juice from eating as much as her belly desired.  She also remembered going in the orchards with her mom as her mom worked. She would run and play and explore nature, gathering small flowers, trying to keep out of her mother's way. Times were not easy but my mom remembered them being carefree days since my grandma insisted she was too young to help out.

As she was recounting memories, it struck me that what she did remember was solitary. The other children she remembered  interacting with were older school aged children, who were too busy with school work and helping out with chores to take time out to play with her very often.  Having grown up as an only child without memories of having friends until she was in America, my mom was very purposeful in providing us siblings and to create a lot of happy memories for us growing up. Every generation wants their children to be happier and have more than what they had the generation before. My mom was no different in that desire. And neither am I.  I want to give my kids as good a childhood as I had, if not better. We cannot change or re-write our history but we can preserve it by talking about it and making sure that we do not leave this earth with stories that are better shared.  Every day we are creating that 'history' for our children to one day talk about with their children and the generations to follow.  And that legacy is one I am proud to claim as my own and pray will become a family tradition.

Sweet Silence of Relief

Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Joy. Agape love. Romantic love. Accomplishment. Satisfaction. These are all common attributes and emotions that if asked, what is your favorite, likely one of these would be your answer. Afterall, who doesn't want to be happy or joyful? We all want to experience love from another human being. Content and peacful in the midst of our circumstances.  They are all emotions any of us would like to experience at any given time.

In our day of want and greed and keeping up with the Joneses, I'd bet that a lot people polled would answer accomplishment. Men in particular are driven by their careers and find a lot of their identity wrapped up in their successes at work. As a mother, I certainly judge my accomplishments by the house I keep, the raising of my children, and the health of my marriage.  Are my kids polite, well behaved, educated? Is my life in order or chaos? Would my husband see me as the Proverbs 31 woman, finer than gold, satisfying his needs so that he is not tempted by pornography or by other women? Accomplishment is a big one for sure.

While there is certainly nothing wrong with any of these "answers" mine is actually quite different. For me, my favorite emotion is relief.  Oh, the joys of relief. 

Finding the right combination of medication to be free of pain.

The relief of financial burdens by an unexpected gift or raise or bonus. Or in today's economy, finding a stable career after under- or un-employment. Relief that the mortgage or rent is paid and you have food on your table.

Finding your lost keys or wallet. Relief.

The relief of loneliness and fear when your loved one returns from serving our country in war-times.

Whether it is the simple every day moments you find yourselves breathing a sigh of relief -- the grouchy child has just fallen asleep at naptime, or your to-do list is checked off and you can sit back and relax -- or the major moments, selling a home and moving or completing a huge project by its deadline--relief is an awesome feeling.

Whereas I look at being happy or joyful as being more subjective and elusive on some days, relief is something I find myself feeling several times a day. Ahh...you can almost hear it.