The value of 5 more minutes. (part 1)

My name is Kristin Santa Maria, and I am a nurse.   More precisely, I am a Hospice nurse.    When people casually ask me what I do for a living, and I say “I am a Hospice nurse”, invariably what comes next is the sad face, the sad puppy eyes,  and always the question……..”OOOhhhhhh…….how on earth do you do that every single day?”   Even though I know this same question is coming, it always takes me aback.  Because honestly what I do, is just simply, who I am.   Please understand that I know being on the receiving end of a Hospice nurse, makes me about as welcome as the dog catcher or foot fungus.   Please understand that on the day I get the name of a patient, they also get a name…..my name.   They hear my name, as they and their family also had to sit and hear the words, “We will call Hospice in to help you, because there is nothing else we can do to extend your life.”  I fully understand that these words shifted the center of their universe.  And not for one second, I do take that lightly.   I understand the finality and weight of those words, and the fear that those words can bring.  

Please know, that as I read the history and physical sent to me from the doctor’s office that describes the nature and course of a disease process, that first and foremost, I read the name of the person that I will walk this sacred journey with.   Because to me, this person…..this Father, Mother, wife, husband, sister, brother, son, daughter, aunt/uncle, Grandparent, cousin, friend……ultimately are not defined by this disease process, but instead, who they are to others, and the depth of the life that they are currently living.  Their name connects me to WHO they are.  They are sick…they are going to die..…I get that.  But they are so much more than this illness.  And given the fragile nature of this situation, I need to help them fully live……for as long as time allows.  I will study and understand their disease process for purposes of unpleasant symptom control only.  But this season I venture into with them requires me to dig much deeper, and to be in touch with the bigger picture of who they are, who they were created to be, and what they presently need to end this race well. 

Once I have a dear one’s name in hand, and place them on my heart, I venture into their driveway.  I do this having little to no information about what sort of environment I am about to walk in to.   Sometimes I am received with open arms of people standing in the yard to eagerly usher me in.  Other times, I am met with cold, angry eyes, fearfully peering at me out of closed blinds.   And let me just say, as I enter their home, I understand am a nobody in their life.  I have never met these people.  I have never been to any of the family dinner’s, weddings, funerals, holidays, birthday celebrations, and yet, I show up on this day to begin a most painful and arduous task of walking someone through their journey home.   Sometimes I am received well and other times, not so much.  I have had shoes thrown at me, dogs sicked on me, guns pulled on me, and hostile accusations of trying to kill people……along with marriage proposals, attempts to write me in will’s, offers to adopt me, and unrefusable gifts of more baked goods than Santa Clause.   People have unsuccessfully requested for me to help end a life sooner than the number of days that their Creator allotted, while others have pleaded unsuccessful requests for me to keep them here longer than their given days allowed.   But I am a simple girl, made of skin cells just like you.  I don’t have any super hero powers, which quite honestly would be of SUCH benefit given my profession.  

But my ace in my pocket is that I am an ambassador to The Creator…..the one who designed on purpose, for purpose, the one you so dearly love and that I have been entrusted to care for during these precious final days.  And as I drive onto their property I always pray, “Dear Lord……you must give me the words, because on my own, I have none.  Just let me be your hands and feet.”  

As I walk into their home, I understand that I have about 5 minutes to size up the situation.  I have a few precious moments to understand the dynamics of their family.  And let me just say……we all have some dynamics, some more colorful than others.  I must quickly grasp the depth and nature of their faith, their hopes, their expectations, and their fears about the subject matter that is lurking ahead of us so menacingly.  As I look around their home, I quickly learn where their heart is by absorbing the family photos, the hand drawn crayon pictures on the refrigerator, and the different collections of their life.   The things we collect along the way, truly paint a picture of the journey of a person’s life.  

Within 5 minutes, I must have absorbed their past, understand their present…….and then be prepared to paint a picture that they can be comfortable with, of what is in their immediate future. 

  

When  we think about situations when someone dies suddenly, unexpectedly…….we always say “I wish that I had just 5 more minutes to say…..to do……to let them know……”   As I begin this journey with them, and as I prepare them for what is to come, I know that my biggest job is to help them understand that this is their gifted time…….this time, IS their 5 more minutes.  This is your time to say, to do, to tell, to ask.   I encourage them to make memories, and to create tangible memories that will give comfort to those that will be left to grieve.   I encourage them to let their loved ones know how big an impact they had on their life.  We all want to know that we made a difference…….that our legacy will live on……that we had impact in the lives of people.  And I do all of this while quietly directing them about pain meds, nausea meds, how to ease shortness of breath, arranging medical equipment, and incontinent supplies……and of course, managing poop.   Seriously, in the midst of dying, why do we have to deal with the issues of poop?  There is always either too much of it…….or not enough.  I also become their counselor, their adviser, their encourager, their prayer warrior, their friend.  

When I drove into their driveway, I fully understood the cost.  I understood that I would have to get close to someone that I would soon be saying goodbye to.   Yes, I know this is not my loved one…….but in the end, they allow me to fall in love with them too, even if it is for a brief moment in time.   I understood that I would get to see this family in one of its finest hours, as they surrounded and guard their dear one that we would ultimately be sending home.   I get to see them all take time off from work, school, life, and it’s never a convenient time.  And yet, they don’t complain. 

I see them all intricately weave together a schedule of care for their loved one, and arrange their lives, their schedule, their needs, where they go and how long they stay, around what is needed to be done for the one they love.  And that by no means is an easy task.  I get to see relationship wounds heal, faith affirmed, estrangements resolved, miracle moments of prodigals return, and I get to help orchestrate and encourage those very delicate, necessary, and intimate heartfelt goodbyes.    I see people's comfort zones broaden beyond anything they could have ever imagined they were capable of doing.  It’s easy to be a family on a Sunday picnic.  But to me, this is when I get to see the true core of a family.  And let me just say, these families never cease to amaze me. 

Given what I do every day, sometimes people say to me “You must be good at detaching from your emotions.”  My response to this is, “Are you insane?”  How on earth could you detach from this situation?

How could you be in the presence of a life…..a child of God……who has come to the end of their journey, and not understand how powerful and moving that is?  Because these families are so gracious to share with me this precious soul, and this intimate journey, I truly do physically feel the pain with them as we together navigate the rough waters that are ahead in this stormy season. 

While we celebrate their life, I along with them, also grieve their absence.    It is an absolute privilege for me to be allowed into their home……into their life…….and entrusted to care for THIS most delicate situation they are facing.  I am always so thankful that they share their loved ones with me for just a brief moment in time.   A moment I would have missed, had I chosen to sell cars or be an accountant for a living.  I believe that our life is a collection of moments.  And I believe that there are moments in life, that inspire the REST of your moments in life. 

I want them to know, that the moments that we share together, are the ones that inspire me to keep on doing, what I do.  Many times I share stories of the people I have cared for, with people who are just beginning this final season of life and they are afraid, and uncertain, but their stories provide comfort and peace like no medication can. 

Their stories offer some light, in what can seem like the darkest of situations.   These dear ones, live on in the work I continue to do, every, single, day.  They are, my inspiration.  The families, are my inspiration.  And I want the families to know that I don’t forget them, or the ones that leave us.  

We cry with them……..we grieve with them…….and we remember them.  

And given that I walk this gifted time with them, part of my pain is fully understanding…..that in any situation……. 5 more minutes is just never enough time. 

So when people ask me “How do you do that job every, single, day?  My simplest and most honest answer is ………“How could I not?”

Camping is an unpredictable art, at best.

When my husband approached me with the idea to take our 3 younger boys camping for a few days over Spring Break, I immediately got a warm fuzzy feeling over the idea, as I remembered fondly the experiences I had as a child growing up in a family that spent a few weeks camping every year.  The memories I have are wonderful ones of lazy days spent throwing rocks, exploring nature, fishing, sleeping in a tent after a relaxing evening sitting by the campfire and roasting marshmallows.  Even though I had not been camping in many years, the lovely memories I hold dear and my vision of creating such fond memories with and for my boys seemed like the perfect plan.  I'm an outdoor kind of girl who isn't afraid to catch bugs and snakes, and doesn't mind getting dirty.  Sure honey!.....let's go camping.  The plan was set to camp for 4 days at beautiful Stone Mountain State Park, located only 30 minutes from home, and with it being Easter weekend our trip would end with a high point of going to the top of Stone Mountain on Sunday morning for the sunrise Easter service to celebrate our risen Lord.  With that "vision" in mind and our "perfect plan" in place, we set out to have 4 days worth of outdoor adventure.  Now, let me just say that my husband has got to be the best Boy Scout in the world in that he is always prepared for everything and every situation, and he packs for any trip he goes on accordingly.  I am trying to be tactful when I say that there should never be anything we would ever want or need, because chances are, he has it packed somewhere.   But there is always that moment of truth while packing for a trip with him that I realize, that maybe we have over packed.  For this trip, the moment came when we were packing the second car, full to the top with stuff, and I see that there is a canoe still sitting on our front lawn.  Really?  We need a canoe?  After some "plan review" with him, thankfully he nixed the canoe idea, which meant we could pull out all of the gear associated with the canoe, and might now actually have the room to put our children in the car.  As predictable and prepared as my dear husband is, and as perfect our plan and vision for this trip were, it's the unpredictable stuff that one can never fully prepare for and that tends to cloud the clearity of your vision.  For instance.....one could not have predicted that our campsite would have such an incline.  More precisely, a hill.  Up and down that hill, a million times over the course of 4 days.  Sometimes walking up that hill, and sometimes falling and then rolling down that hill.  All of us fell down that hill a few times, but 3 yr old Carson just couldn't get up or down it without eating dirt to some degree.  And speaking of Carson, who could have predicted how my "less than compliant with poop" potty trainer would respond to the great outdoors?  Ok, maybe I should have predicted this one.....since he insists on pooping his pants at home, why did I think it would be different while camping?  And that kid's undies just don't contain all that they should, and we had a few wardrobe malfunctions during this trip.  One poop landed in the floor of the tent.  Of course I found it as I was crawling on my hands and knees in the tent....and you just use your imagination for the rest of this sentence.  Another poop fell out of his undies, and went.....somewhere.  I could see the evidence that he had pooped and could for sure smell it, but could not find it.  Not until I got a minute to totally change his clothes and wash him, and then found the poop that had fallen thru his pant leg and into his Crocs and he was walking around on the poop tucked in his shoes.  Gross.  Just....gross.  Thankfully, the last poop just rolled right out of his pant leg in little balls onto the road as he walked and we were able to easily kick them into the woods....well, except for the one bit of poop that landed on the bathroom floor.  Obviously he was at least trying to make it to the toilet for that one, but just didn't quite make it.  And who could have predicted that your little pooping machine would throw his jacket into the campground toilet that the occupant before had not flushed?  With all this grossness, I just sincerely thanked God for the campground laundry facilities.  And I appologize to the person who has to use it after us.  And who could ever predict that 9 y/o Everett's enthusiasm for fishing with the worms he dug up, and his wild casting of his fishing rod would result in him catching so many things?   He caught 1 fish, the sleeve of my shirt, a lawn chair, and his 5 y/o brother Harrison's arm.  Yes, he hooked Harrison right thru the arm with the wiggly worm still attached.  I had to unhook a hysterical Harrison from the end of Everett's fishing pole. We decided it was best for Everett to fish alone as his unpredictable casting was too much for anyone to bear.  Ok, I should have seen that one coming too, as Everett is unpredictable with, everything.  And who could have predicted that Harrison would find SO many treasures that he would instantly form a special bond with?  He found about 327 "diamonds"....actually quartz rocks (Stone Mountain is one giant quartz  formation), and a pile of fake poop made from rubber.  Unfortunately, all of those diamonds he found would not fit in his pockets securely and he kept loosing them, causing much emotional distress, and there was just NO fooling him by holding up another quartz rock that looked EXACTLY the same and trying to pass it off as the "mostest specialist diamond I had eva' lived for."   And then of course, he kept loosing the fake poop as he tried to "pull da' bestest eva' in da' wurld pranks" on us all by placing the pile of rubber poop in our direct path.  But it was brown, and blended in well with the dirt, and then he couldn't find it, which is probably how it was left by it's original owner in the first place.  Lucky for him I had developed a keen eye for poop, as there was real poop lurking around and I was always able to find the fake poop while looking for the real poop.  The one highlight of the trip was on the third night when sitting in the chilly tent and after our family prayers, Harrison broke out in worship to God by singing "Hungry", a song about being hungry for God's presence.  We all began to sing and worship, and all 3 of our boys sang their own version and words to the song.  That was a good moment for sure!  Unfortunately, our song of worship was drown out by the rowdy, loud, and boisterous campsite next to us with it's 40 people who misread the sign that said "11 PM begins quiet zone" for "Scream like insane people until 3:30 AM".  These crazy campers even came over to our campsite and were walking around.....appearantly looking for wood.  Several camp sites woke up to missing firewood.  Thankfully, the rowdy campers were asked to leave the camp grounds.  And who can ever predict the weather?  Especially in Georgia, which has had unseasonably hot weather so far this Spring, which my dear husband was prepared for with 2 huge fans.....just in case.  But it didn't stay hot while we were camping.  Nope, in fact, it got downright cold with temps down in the high 30's overnight.  After the first cold night my husband had to run to the Home Depot for a space heater, which he had not packed, but predictably went to get so his family would not stay cold the remainder of the trip.  We may have stayed warm the next 2 nights, but we sure were not comfortable because our air mattress seemed to have a slow leak in it and kept deflating.  Slow leak the first 2 nights, FAST leak the 3rd night, which left us sleeping on about a billion quartz rocks.  Probably the ones Harrison lost.  If I could have predicted a faulty air mattress, I for SURE would have prepared for that!  We did have a fun day at Stone Mountain park along with every other person in the greater metro Atlanta area who had predicted that Friday would be THE day to go to the park because the prediction was that nobody else would be there that day.  (we were ALL wrong on that!)  And after waiting 2 hours in line to do Skyhike, (a multi level maze of ropes, boards, and wires) my boys predictions of me chickening out, were wrong.  I did Skyhike....not very gracefully, but I did it.  And the sunrise Easter service on top of Stone Mountain?  It sounded like a good idea, but the park predicted that a record number of people would attend, so they recommended that we get on the Skylift to the top of the mountain between 4-5 AM.  Normally I would have not been thrilled with getting up at 4 AM to do anything, but after sleeping on rocks all night 4 AM could not have come soon enough.  For 3 sleepy little boys?.....not so much.  We got to the Skylift to take us up the mountain at 4:45 AM just in time to beat the crowd of people that endlessly flowed in after we did.  The slight problem with going on top of a giant quartz mountain at 4:45 AM is that it is much colder and windy up there.  PLUS, you have to wait until sunrise for the Easter service....approx 3 hours later.  Now, I know we were up there to celebrate that Jesus rose from the dead, and this was supposed to be the pivitol moment of our trip, but after the trauma of camping for the previous 3 days, I just could not find it in any fiber of my being to be happy about celebrating it up there on top of that cold windy mountain with about 6,000 other mostly cranky and ill prepared Jesus lovers.  I just kept thinking to myself, "That Skylift only takes about 30 people at a time, and there are only 2 Skylift cars, and there are approx. 6,000 people on top of this cold windy oversized diamond.  How long will it take to get them all down?"  Just saying, it was hard to relax and enjoy with what could potentially be facing us for the next 10 hours.  Fortunately for us, Everett randomly threw up on that big rock about 15 minutes after the Easter service began so we had a great excuse to leave.  We got on the Skylift to go down the mountain right as the service ended with the singing of one of my favorite childhood church hymns, "Up from the grave He arose."  As I surveyed the scene from that descending Skylift car, I couldn't help but think that I should have enjoyed the moment a bit more because the chance of me ever doing that again are slim to none.  But I had to remind myself that I am grateful that my Jesus laid down His life for the redemption of MY sins and rose from the dead on this day so long ago.  But I didn't need to be on top of a mountain to know how much I love Jesus and to be grateful for what He did for me.  In fact, I found my relationship with Jesus not on top of a mountain, but in the bottom of a valley.  Sometimes, life can be more unpredictable than one could ever expect.  Sometimes we try to recreate something in life that we hold fond memory of, only to have it dashed by a pooper in our life.  Sometimes there are unpredictable hills that cause us to trip, fall, and even roll to the bottom of the hill, yet again.  Sometimes, the seasons of life change without warning and we find ourself ill prepared.  But even in the midst of the unpredictables, we must focus on the one thing that is predictable and constant, and that is God's overwhelming love for us.  His need to protect us, guide us, and show us His love in the little things that sometimes we overlook.  With that hymn being sung, and the sight of those 6,000 people heading towards their fate in line for the Skylift, I had to once again be thankful for God's little mercies in my life, and this weekend.  I was thankful for the campsite laundry services, and for the vomit that got us off of the mountain just in time to avoid the crowd, and I was really really thankful that some of the poop from my weekend, actually was fake. 

The truth, about my trust.

What happened to the days when we could fix anything that caused our children pain or distress, with a Bandaid? Wouldn't it be nice to still posssess such Motherly Super Powers again? What happened to the days when I could answer all 936 questions about life, asked in rapid fire succession on any given day, and my children would believe it as truth?  With my younger 3 sons, I still have some SuperMom powers, but my oldest son isn't falling for it anymore.  My oldest is now 20, and he hasn't asked for a bandaid from me in a long time, and only asks about 6 questions about life on any given day and my answers are not always the ones that he wants to hear, so he doesn't always believe them as truth.  He is an amazing young man who is trying to navigate that transition to adulthood.....never mind that he is at least a foot taller than me, he is still my baby boy.  But this story isn't really about my oldest son, or any of my children for that matter.  It's about me, and current condition of my heart. We are going thru something rather distressing with our 20 yr old right now, and as his Mom, I just want to fix it and help him thru it.  But this time, I can't fix it.  I can love him thru it, but by my own hand, the fix won't come.  The situation has really been grieving me, and my prayers just haven't been easing my pain totally.  A few days ago, all day long, I had really been praying over the situation....praying for peace, resolution, wisdom, comfort, understanding, etc.  That night, I had this dream, and in the dream I could see my oldest son, and God's hand was on his head, and my hand was also on his head, right next to God's hand. In this dream, God said to me "Do you trust me with him? If you trust me, then take your hand off his head, and let go of him. He's mine, not yours. I promise you, even if you take your hand off of him, I will never take MINE off of him." I said, "Of course I trust you Lord!" and took my hand off. While I let go of his head initially, I kept going back and trying to put my hand back on his head, saying "Can't I just stroke his hair for a minute? Or, give him a pat on the head? Or how about I just fluff his hair a little bit?" Feeling like somehow, even though God's unwavering hand was firmly grasping his head, mine sort of needed to be in the mix a little bit too for some extra support.  A feeling that my hearts need to "Mother" him was somehow on the same level as God's need to Father him. I really was having a hard time keeping my hands to myself! What I got from that prayer/dream/visual was that I DO trust that God has his hand on my children, and He has a purpose for them,....but as a Mother?.... it is HARD to totally, trust that ALL of the things that happen in their life, BOTH good and bad, BOTH challenge and triumph, God has purpose for, and He will use ALL of these things to help them to become all that He created them to be. I can't fix it for him.....but I have to learn how to trust completely that God can. But that "fix" may look very different than what I THINK it should look like, and won't be in MY timing, but instead, in the perfect timing of God. We never want our children to hurt, or face challenges, or such huge insecure times in life such as the one my son is facing. But I must remember, that God NEVER wastes a hurt. He will always use it for good, if we let Him. I'm a Mother who would lay down her life for her children! I support them, encourage them, pray over them, and believe them to be exceptional people. Quite simply, I love them in a way that only a Mother can. But I must always remember, that their Heavenly Father loves them far more, and he DID lay down his life for them. I must learn how to trust that His hand will never be off of them, even during times of trial....ESPECIALLY during times of trial! I must learn to trust in the purpose of the good, AND the bad....the triumphs, AND the challenges. God has entrusted me with this son to raise by His design, and I must trust in my purpose as his Mother is to keep encouraging him, praying for him, teaching him truth, loving him, and believing him to be all that God created him to be, even when he doesn't see it in himself. But I have to ultimately learn how to trust completely and without hesitation, that God's hand is enough. He has him covered. He will never let go of him. He has a purpose, for it ALL.  I saw a quote that summed it up for me the other day.  It said, "The Cup Holder was in jail for 3 days. Joseph was in jail for 13 years. Embrace the process! Do you want to hold a cup, or a nation?"  I must learn to trust in THAT, and not to keep reaching over, placing my hand back on his head and trying to stroke him on the head or fluff his hair.....even just a little bit. 


..

Coffee pot kisses.

My day began with the sudden awareness of urgent little feet running up the stairs, and the quick heavy breathing of an excited little boy.  Harrison.  I knew it was him simply by the familiar sound of his footsteps, and the sound of his breathing.  I thought to myself, "Oh, here we go!"  As the bedroom door flew open, he yelled "Angelina Ballerina was on today!"  My sweet husband bolted upright from his sound sleep, as if he had just heard a gunshot go off.  Now that our dear son had  thoroughly dashed any hope of a casual awakening on this fine Sunday morning, Harrison turned and ran right back downstairs to watch his favorite show.  My handsome husband laid back down on his warm pillow and muttered, "Let the noise begin." 
I'm not sure how Sunday mornings go at your house, but at MY house, it is a delicate balance of trying to enjoy the last day of the weekend, and trying to get a bunch of boys cleaned, fed, and ready for Church.  And let me say, Church for us is not something we do, it is who we are.  Friday night's are for date night, and Sunday's are for Church.  Saturdays are open for interpretation.  So, my beloved and I groggily pulled ourselves out of bed, to begin the list of tasks that needed to happen in order to get us to our usual Sunday destination.  We operate as a silent, but efficient team.  One of us pulled out the breakfast food, and milk, as the other one retrieved the baby, who was by now awakened by the sounds of his older brothers singing and dancing loudly to Angelina Ballerina on the floor just below his room.  One of us gathered clothes for the shorties to wear to Church, as the other one packed up the diaper bag.  It's always a blur as to who does what.  But somehow, someone, ALWAYS puts on the coffee to brew.  It's as if, it is our magical task that gets done, without asking, without thinking, without recognition, but without a doubt, is the most important task that gets done in the midst of our busy mornings.  And I don't know if it's the intoxicating smell of freshly brewed coffee that draws us to the kitchen, or just by chance, but my beloved and I always finding ourselves standing face to face, in front of the coffee pot.  I can't tell you how comforting it is to know, that in the midst of our morning chaos of missing shoes, and answering the goofy questions like, "Will I get sunburned at church?  Should I wear sunscreen?", I can always find peace in the fact that my best friend will be waiting for me in front of that coffee pot.  No matter what is going on, I know that I will always get a kiss and strong hug in front of the coffee pot.  It's as if, it is our "romantic destination" for the day.  Just as I know the sound of each of my childrens footsteps coming up the stairs, I know that the smell of fresh coffee brewing will bring me to the coffee pot, to meet my beloved, and I will get my morning kiss. 
And these, are the moments that I cherish in life. 

OK....I suck at blogging

My name is Kristin, and I SUCK at blogging.  This was a great idea, in theory, by a friend who is just an amazing Mother, Wife, Christian, Worker, Dish Washer, and Laundry folder, and she showers and puts on makeup EVERY day.  She is HOT, and her hubby is a lucky guy.   I say this in all honesty, she really is.  Yae....good for her.  Well, let me just say, that I not only suck at blogging, but I have PILES of laundry in my room in random baskets, just yearning to be folded, and I usually run my dishes from the previous nights dinner, while I am making my morning coffee.  You have done it too, so don't be all "Oh my goodness!"  Plus, I work nights, so my nights tend to run over into the next day.  I DO shower everyday, but I rarely wear makeup, and "hot" is probably the least descriptive adjuctive there is for me.  There.  You have the dish.  I try my best to get to this dang blog, but let me say, that there are usually 428 things that hit me all at once during the course of any given day, like a battering ram against my head, that usually interfere with me actually sitting down to type it all out.  That's why I love Facebook.  You say it....your done....at the end of the day, you see what your "friends" have to say about it.  Why does blogging have to be so "interactive" anyway?  When are they going to invent some sort of contraption that will just read my thoughts, then put them down to print?  Oh....did they already do that?  Sorry, I don't even text, so I'm a bit behind.  I will once again blame it on "the others" who so lovingly occupy my time. 
I DO love to write.  And I DO love people.  Especially the ones that God put me directly in charge of on this earth.  Let me say, that I have SO many people who say "write that book!" and I am writing.  Maybe not as speedily as I need to.  (again, I blame "the others" because they can be SO distracting!) 
So here is my challenge to myself.  1. I challenge myself to POST on this stupid thing (the blog) at least 3-4 times a week.   2. I challenge myself to post without going through 600 proof reads because I fear you all will judge my grammer and punctuation.  "JUST POST IT WOMAN!" (said by my 18 y/o "other")  3.  I will apply my favorite scripture, "Don't be afraid, just believe" Mark 5:36  Because fear, is Satan's way of stopping us from doing what God has called us to do in the first place. 
There you go.  I just rambled, and I won't proof read it. 
Kristin
a.k.a. Kiki

The questions of a 3 yr old.

This morning, as I tried to drink my first, precious sips of coffee to get my day started, I could not help but notice that my 3 y/o son, Harrison, standing next to me in his frog pajamas, already had a few questions for me. Now, anyone who has lived with a 3 y/o knows that on any given day, they ask about 783 questions, usually in rapid succession, most of which make no sense, and have absolutely no answer at all.  For the most part, I am able to  muttle thru them with a quick Yes or No, and move to the next task at hand.  There are those questions that require more attention, and time to explain, and occasionally will leave me a bit amazed at their level of understanding of some pretty deep things.  But for the most part, their questions are an odd concoction of thoughts and ideas, mixed in with things they hear from friends or on T.V., and are usually somehow tainted with what their immediate needs are, such as what they are about to eat, what they are about to do, or if they need to go to the bathroom.   I decided to jot down some of the random questions one day as they were being shot in my direction, and let me say, the results were rather interesting.  Here is a sampling, of the peculiar thought process of a 3 y/o boy.  

Do I have lungs?  Do cats drive?  Is the Easter bunny coming today for New Years?  Who's bringing us dinner?  Do my drums make me cough?  If I take a shower will I melt?  Did you know green, smells better than red?   Do germs make music?  If I stick my finger in my ear, will I pop my brain?  Can I be in charge?  Can I go to Texas today?  What comes out of my belly button?  Do dogs have mom's?  Where does dark come from?    Do you allow monsters in the house?   What happens if you punch yourself?   Why do you have white speckles in your hair?  (white "speckles" at my scalp, indicate a touch up is needed)  Does our house run out of batteries?   Do you know anything about bats?   Do you know anything about chocolate?   Do you know anything about worms?   Do you know anything about aliens?   Do my muscles smell good?   Do bugs poop?   Are you going to grow little someday?    Does Jesus live in me?  Is he all squished inside of me?   Does he want to get out?   Where did I come from...Costco?   Did you have a coupon to get me out of your tummy?   When I grow up, can I marry you?   Can it be my birthday today?   Can it be my birthday tomorrow?   Can it be my birthday on Saturday?   Why do my fingers always stick to my hands?    Why does it get dark when I close my eyes?   Mommy, are you a girl?   Does Daddy know you are a girl?   Do cowboys know how to dance?   Do cowboys like to eat popcicles?   If bugs are lost, do they cry?   Can I have a gorilla?   Can you put the refrigerator in the mailbox?   Does my feet need to potty?   Why do my feet like shoes so much?   Do you think my poop is pretty?   Do you think YOUR poop is pretty?   Do trees get mad?   If I play baseball, will my head hurt?    Why can't I fly?   Why do you like to wash dishes so much?   Can I drive?   Does our fish have a cell phone?   Why doesn't our fish have friends?   Can we go to Disneyworld after dinner?   Why does Daddy kiss you so much?   Do you love Daddy or something?  (the answer to that is YES!!!) 

After writing these down thru the course of the day, and reading back over them, I had to laugh at myself, remembering an incident earlier in the day, when I had actually tried to reason with him about why he needed to eat something for lunch, other than his favorite, peanut butter banana.  My question to him about what he might want to eat, other than his favorite peanut butter banana, must have been as bizarre to him, as some of his questions were for me.  Clearly, reasoning was not something I should have attempted with a 3 y/o.  The direction that their little brains go, at any given moment, can be excited, entertaining, and frightening, all at the same time.  It's always a reminder to me, that they absorb EVERYTHING happening around them, and I must mind my actions and words, because they will always mirror it, and usually have more than a few questions about it.  And those questions....ALL of them.... require answers.  There are the questions that they ask every single day, such as Harrison's daily question, "Who's bringing us dinner?", that you have to answer every single day, even though you  have absolutely NO idea why they keep asking such an odd question, but you can place a bet on the fact that tomorrow morning, they will ask it again.  Then there are those seemingly random questions that they ask, that give you a brief glimpse into what their minds are trying to digest and process at that particular moment in time.  The trick for me as a parent, is knowing which questions can be answered with a Yes or No, or the questions that I had better invest a bit more attention, and time.

Sleepovers are all fun.....until someone throws up.

Everett, my 7 y/o, has been asking to have a sleepover with some of his friends, for as long as I can remember.  The delay has not been if  Everett was ready, but if his friends were ready to stay a night away from home.  It has been one of the goals in his life, and he has spent many hours imagining and planning all of the fun things that he and his friends will do......most of which somehow involved explosions of some sort.  (he has a huge imagination)  With the new backyard swing/playset/fort thingy that Santa somehow managed to sneak in for Christmas, Everett felt this was the perfect opportunity to have friends over for a night of good times.  He invited 2 of his buddies to come home with us from Church to spend the day, and sleep over.  None of the boys had ever spent the night away from home, so there was discussion among the parents regarding a backup plan, just in case any of the boys stout bravery at 1 P.M., began to fade at 1 A.M.  With the security of a backup plan in place, we loaded up, and headed home.  The day was filled with lots of laughs, and LOUD kiddos running around the yard being pirates, indians, spacemen, and whatever their little brains could come up with.  At age 7, there is not a whole lot more entertainment that is needed, past their own imaginations.  They do however, need food.  So we decided to crank up the ice cream maker, and get some pizzas.  After a successful dinner, we decided it was time to institute a "calm" activity, in hopes of getting them to calm down enough to eventually go to sleep.  (yes, we dream big around here)  We laid out a huge blanket, and some pillows in front of the living room T.V., and popped in a movie, "Night at the museam, 2".  The three 7 y/o boys decided that the blanket was a boat, and NO little brothers were allowed, much to the disliking of my 3 y/o, Harrison, who was banished to the couch.  About 1/2 way into the movie, I noticed one of the boys rubbing his tummy and making a face.  I asked if he was OK, and he said he was fine, and that he must have eaten a cookie that he didn't like.  As I watched him, fidget from the comforts of the  boat blanket on the floor, up on to the couch and curl up in a little ball, much to the disliking of a very disgruntled Harrison, it became clear that we were in serious trouble.  Harrison, who was up WAY past his bedtime, and feeling a bit cranky by now, was not thrilled that now one of the boat boys had invaded his space on the couch, and kept crying that he wanted to sit in the very spot that his intruder now occupied.   After asking the obviously distressed little boy if he was OK several times, and each time him trying in vein to reassure me that he was, in fact, feeling fine, and having fun,  I decided I had better call his Mom, in hopes that she could determine if he really was feeling bad, or if I was over reacting.  As he spoke quietly to his Mom, I heard him cough one of those little coughs, that every Mother knows, precedes vomit.  Yes, there it was, and I knew what was coming next.  So did his helpless Mom, who from the other end of the phone,  yelled, "RUN to the bathroom, QUICK!!!"  That little "cough" instantly threw the entire universe into slow motion.  I watched from across the room, in slow motion, his poor body heave up every speck of nutrition he had ingested in the past 2 days.....all over the phone, the couch, the floor, and any toys lying nearby.  Gallons on vomit, rejected from his little body, projectile style, as he held my now vomit covered cell phone in his hand, and his Mom listening on the other end. 
Let me just say, that a sleepover is all fun and games, until someone throws up. Then, what began as an exciting, fun night of good times, can disolve in a matter of seconds into a chaos, that one must experience first hand, to really, fully appreciate.  My husband jumped up to help the little guy, and scooped him up to the bathroom....I ran to get a bucket and immediate towels from the kitchen.....my oldest son Hayden ran to get big towels from the bathroom, and scooped up baby Carson who was crawling directly and excitedly towards the fun....my 3 y/o Harrison, saw his opportunity to now sit on the part of the couch he so desired, and did just that, right in the middle of the vomit.....our other guest, who obviously has an aversion to vomit, began to cry, and pace back and forth, saying, "Oh no.  There is vomit everywhere.  I'd better go home now."    What started in slow motion, was now going in fast forward.  I didn't seem to have enough hands, or mental capacity, to direct everyone quick enough.  I'm trying to comfort and clean a very sweet little boy, who, as he was covered in his own vomit, was appologizing profusely for what had just happened, and at the same time trying to comfort another very distraught, obviously traumatized, little boy who was by now REALLY pacing and crying about all of the vomit, while running his fingers thru his hair, and his claims that he was now sick....HOMESICK....and that his Daddy needed to be called immediately to come and get him.  This, while telling my hubby to put Harrison, who had so triumphantly reclaimed his rightful place on the vomit covered couch,  into the shower.  At the same time, I am telling my oldest son what to do with an 11 month old baby who NOW decided he needed a bottle and cuddle from Mom, and was making his demands known.  I called the poor Mom, who had just listened in horror as her baby boy threw up at his first sleepover, and let her know what was going on.  She said she was already on the way over to get him.  I then called the other little guy's Dad, and inform him of the "issue" at hand, and to let him know his son was now, without any shadow of doubt, certain that he was ready to go home.
With all of the chaos, I had not even had one second to look at Everett, who had started this day with such excitment about his first sleepover.  As I was in the kitchen, filling the water on the carpet cleaner, I looked up to see my sweet Everett, standing in the middle of his blanket boat....the lone survivor of a deep sea adventure that appears to have run aground.  He stood there, silent and still, with tears in his eyes and his hands out stretched, as if all of his dreams had just slipped thru his fingers like sand.  Then, it was time to comfort him.   As I gave him a hug, I tried to reassure him that there would be plenty of other sleepovers, and reminded him of all of the fun he and his friends had earlier in the day.  Then his friend, who was by now feeling much better after the offending contents of his stomach had been rejected, came over and said, "I'm feeling much better now, can I stay?"  There was a slight spark of hope in Everett's eyes with the possability of salvaging this wrecked ship, to which, I had to reply, "You know, I think we've all had enough excitment for one night.  It's time for everyone to go to bed."  His other friend with the vomit phobia, never once diverted his thinking from "Yes, get me outta here quick!"  So, as my husband made arrangments with this boy's Dad to get him home to safety, our other friend was taken home by his Mom, who was so kind to stay for a bit, and helped clean up the mess. 
When all was said and done, and his friends were in the safety of their own homes, there was some comfort for Everett with a midnight run to Quicktrip for a donut, and the promise of another sleepver in the future, with even bigger plans for fun, and maybe this time, one of the fun things would involve an explosion, of some sort.