I absolutely do believe Nebraska needs a Safe Haven law. A few months ago a young woman gave birth at a local hospital, then abruptly left, abandoning her newborn in the safest place possible. I was furious when her picture was posted on the front page of the paper for all to see and point fingers at. If we all want to point fingers, let’s post photos of every parent, both male and female, who has abandoned his/her child in this great state. While it was a sad fact that this young mother left her baby without future plans (like a family through adoption), the child was safe and healthy and well-cared for.
You know what, perhaps I will buy newspaper space in the Journal Star if we don’t pass a Safe Haven Law. It will say:
MY FRONT PORCH IS A SAFE HAVEN. ALL BABIES WELCOME, DESIRED!, AT THE PRAIRIE BOX. MY NAME IS REBECCA, MY HUSBAND’S NAME IS JEREMY, AND WE WILL TAKE YOUR CHILD.
Oh wait. We’ve already said that once haven’t we… Well, there you have it. We will say it again.
She looked at me with a combination of expectancy and wide-open child’s delight.
“So. Should we do crafts?” Her shoulders shrugged and hands were up in the air in question. “…Or paint? Or blow bubbles?”
The Big Three had been listed. These weren’t any activities she was presenting to her very weary, still-in-recovery mom; they were were Big Three. The Best Three. The Only Three Activities that could possible appeal to an active 3 year old on a sunny afternoon.
My Big Three were sleep, lay around contemplating sleep, and maybe a bit o’ television.
I’m beginning to think that Liv and I have different goals for our days. ; )
Swallow. Pain. Talk. Pain. Drugs! Ah. Ensure. Swallow. SoBe Vitamin Water. Swallow. Ouch. Pain. Sleep. Mmmm… Swallow. Ouch. Sleep. Mmmm… Livia. Loud. Bouncy. Ear pain. Ouch. Drugs! Ah. Sleep.
Thanks to my sweet NC friends for sending such beautiful flowers. I love you, Charity and Andy (and I’d mean that even if I wasn’t on vicodin!).
With all the gunk that surely was stored up in my tonsils, I felt like I deserved to lose 3 pounds yesterday morning, not just a few ounces. However, the real reward is ditching those tonsils–so all is good.
The outpatient surgical rooms were small but adequate. I know they were doing a number of cateract and tonsil procedures yesterday, which was keeping my nurse jumping. The anesthesiologist, despite receiving a negative pregnancy test from me, opted to avoid using one drug that can cause facial and cranial deformities in fetuses. The trade off? I would be able to recall walking into the operating room and might also feel a bit more anxious without this specific medication. Not a problem… Their OR was much smaller, much less scary-looking and less frigid than the ones at St. Elizabeth’s I visited last fall. The oddest moment came when the anesthesiologist was giving me medication on the surgical table and she told me I might feel burning sensations in, er, the nether regions before falling asleep. It was then that I questioned if they were performing a tonsillectomy or not. (!?!) Fortunately, I awoke in the recovery area and all that was missing was my tonsils.
Drugs are strange things. In recovery I remember feeling like my head and body were huge, like they were filling up the room. I’m not an altered-state kind of girl… I like the feeling of a normal-sized cranium, thank you very much.
Yesterday Jeremy and I were home before lunchtime, and I was even able to eat a few Ritz and the insides of a Fairbury hot dog while my throat was all numbed up. Today, though, is another matter entirely. My upper throat is killing me and I feel like I’m speaking in a strange Marlon Brando dialect. Swallowing, while of utmost importance for hydration, is so not my friend.
What I’m wondering is, how long can an extrovert stand being silent? : )
**Note: Bloggers on narcotics are not responsible for misspelled words, poorly constructed syntax, or inappropriate admissions.
Sorry, guys. This blog is getting so lam-o. And there’s nothing I really feel like doing about it right now.
I’m facing down a tonsillectomy this week and I am very ready to get it over with. Enough thinking about a painful recovery (as everyone seems to be telling me, adults deal with tonsillectomies much worse than children) and enough taking antibiotics to attempt to clear out the strep infections. Out, out damn tonsils! (Thanks, Shakespeare, for that line. Sorry to misquote you–it’s a cultural thing.)
To make an attempt toward mildly-interesting rather than all-out-boring, I leave you with a few questions…
Three year olds: Annoying or charming?
Tea: Iced or hot?
Pixar: Monsters, Inc or The Incredibles?
Summer: Take it or leave it?
The USA: East Coast or West Coast?
Sports: Social event or serious fan?
Email: Gmail or Yahoo?
Tonsils: In or out?
Latenight Blogging: Procrastination or honest work?
There are some right and wrong answers here, people. (Of course MY three year old is charming… and brilliant… and radiantly beautiful… and only a teensy bit on the annoying side.) Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I still feel like I should be able to look out my back door and see a rainbow over Zion.
There was an interesting article in Saturday’s Journal Star about an academic program in homemaking at Southern Baptist Seminary. It definitely caught my eye as academics and homemaking are rarely referred to in the same sentence.
I don’t know that a seminary is the place to have this type of program—it definitely strikes me as odd. But here’s what I thought after reading the entire article: SIGN ME UP.
Huh?
Coursework will include seven hours of nutrition and meal preparation, seven hours of textile design and “clothing construction,” three hours of general homemaking, three hours on “the value of a child” and three hours on the “biblical model for the home and family… Women also study children’s spiritual, physical and emotional development.
This is what I do! (Well, most of the time.) These classes are the type of help I need! Would I like to learn how to make more nutritious choices for my family? Yup. Do I know anything about clothing construction? Nope, refused Home Ec as a junior higher and denied my mom any opportunity for instruction. But would I like to learn now? Yup again. Do I need advice about my child’s spiritual, physical and emotional development? Yes. (Any person who thinks s/he’s above needing wisdom is fooling herself/himself.)
Like I said, I’m not certain a seminary is THE correct place to hold classes on homemaking, but I would love it if a college around here offered a few classes on this thing. What I find interesting about an actual concentration in homemaking is that it legitimizes the practice. All these folks, including the commenting anons on the LJS, are up in arms over the idea of women being forced into particular roles. The truth is that I chose this role; I chose to stay home rather than work full time. And while I would expect to be supported if I chose to pursue a degree in theology or counseling, why wouldn’t I want the same thing if I actively pursued homemaking?
Oh, there are so many facets to this topic. I’m going to stop at this point, but I’d love the discussion to continue in the comments or perhaps in future posts.
I haven’t posted many garden pics this summer because I’m not doing much gardening–Jeremy is! I love my gardening man. He created a new stepping stone walkway in the former mud-bogged backyard after distributing yards and yards of new dirt. He planted the grass, kept it watered all summer long, picked and planted our annuals and some perennials, too, and keeps up with it all. He also composts, which satisfies the green homemaker within my soul. I may be a rare wife to admit this, but I even like the sweaty yard smell he wears after a few hours outdoors. [smile]
The following photos show my zinnias (a perfect flower for Nebraska summers), and Before and After shots of our backyard.
Yesterday Livia decided to become Caillou and Jeremy, for some reason we still don’t know, was assigned the role of Caillou’s baby sister Rosie. (By the way, Caillou is the one PBS character I really don’t like because he’s whiny. Liv hardly watched this show when we did have cable access!) The 3 year old logic continued with my assignment as Caillou’s dad.
This morning Livia informed me that Daddy is a little girl with a beard.
I’m still giggling about it.
