Shine bright like a diamond!

I'm home sick today and finally, finally, after sleeping most of the day, I have a little time to myself to put down in words the amazingness that was Girls' Weekend.

Some of you might recall I was less than enthusiastic about the trip in the very beginning. Not because I didn't very much want to see and catch up with this bright, hilarious, wonderful group of women, but because I worried about being away from my kids for three days and leaving Lester alone all that time with two 3-year-olds and a 2-year-old (can you imagine?)

But I am SO glad I went.

The obvious reasons need little explaining. I had three days of free time - truly free. No demands whatsoever from anyone. This was unspeakably glorious! I also ate amazing meals (it's NOLA, hello!) and drank delicious cocktails and then could sleep in the next morning. People without children have no idea the luxury of being able to wake up naturally after a night of healthy drankin'...
I got to laugh and talk with women I like and admire and missed. And I met C. Thomas Howell on the way home!!! What's not to love, right?

But the real boon of the weekend came entirely unexpectedly.

I anticipated all the laughter. I anticipated all the great conversation. I did not anticipate all the crying. Or all the encouragement. All the building-up. All the intense, but loving, scrutiny and accountability -- the kind that can only lead to self-improvement down the road. I had no idea all that was coming. Or how much I needed it.

But from the first moment we all sat down for a meal, there were confessions, tears and support (all before dessert). Apparently, before I arrived, the same thing had happened at dinner with another woman. And before I left New Orleans, it would happen again  -- and again. Each one of us had things we needed to say, to reveal or to lament -- about marriage and parenting, careers and friendship, love and ambition, transgressions and regrets, loneliness and self-doubt. And when one of us would venture out into the water of vulnerability, all the rest of us would swarm around her like bouys, arms outstretched. Sometimes to pull her in for a hug; many times to push her on to truth.

It was, in a word, DEEP.

I knew I'd missed having girlfriends around, but even I was stunned by how needy we all seemed for sister-love.

Back at home, we all marveled at how emotionally naked we'd gotten -- after not being in the same place all at the same time for more than 10 years.

One of my girls sent us this message afterward, which I've edited a bit, to protect identities.

Was talking to my good friend, XXXX, this morning. She just got back from a long girls' weekend of her own - a birthday celebration at a Miami spa. I think her group had six gals, all of whom are friends from high school.

Anyway, she mentioned that the weekend had been insanely intense: in-jokes, crying, liquor, sleep, laughing, confessions, etc. She said it felt like an exorcism or maybe a rebirth. That beyond the ties of love, husbands, kids and friendship, there was the specter of their shared mid-40s. And that, my friends, is a scary place to be.

That must be what we tapped into in New Orleans. That this time in a woman's life opens her up to much intense emotion and self-reflection. Because how else to explain how quickly we reached that amazing place where we showed ourselves to each other after so many years apart? It definitely could have gone another way, but by the time we all got to [the house in New Orleans], it was ON.

I'm turning 45 on Sunday, and can I tell you how excited I am about it?! And I wasn't, really, before our NOLA retreat. These past couple of years have been especially tiring and scary. I've been lower than I've ever been in my entire life ....But New Orleans brought me back to life in a surprising way. I can face my new life with renewed passion and energy.
 
She is so right, y'all! Reading that again, I get all goosebumpy. My life is not on hold (remember that post from just a few days before I left for my trip?) I just need to approach my life with renewed passion and energy!

Since coming back from NOLA, I started Sugar-Free February, determined not to let sugar continue its chokehold on me. I'm not saying I'll never eat another sugary thing, that's ridiculous. But I want to be in control of what I eat, not the other way around. My girls helped me to get to this point -- they made me KNOW that I can do it. They also encouraged me (as many of you have as well) to take the time to get to the gym or to yoga and believe that my children will be just fine for a few hours a week without me -- even if I work all day long. I'm mulling that one over, but I'm much closer to pulling the trigger on at least ONE night of yoga a week than I was before my trip.

And maybe most importantly, we have all started talking about writing a book together -- and have a conference call planned for tomorrow night to talk about what that book might be, what it might look like, what do we regular gals -- wives, mothers, friends, writers -- have to say that hasn't already been said a million times.

But we know that whatever it is, it will somehow tap into the unofficial theme we adopted over the weekend, a running inside joke about a comically-sung Rihanna tune that somehow turned into our mantra: Shine Bright Like a Diamond.

Because whatever we do, wherever life has taken us or will take us, we know we all have the ability, the capacity, the responsibility to shine bright in our respective worlds (whatever that means to us individually), like the diamonds we are.

Food!

Friends!

Faraway friends who crashed the weekend! (So glad she did!)

Fuel!!

The French Quarter!

And the Fountain Lounge, where a five-hour sweat lodge, over never-ending cocktails, went down. I will never forget this night. EPIC.

I highly encourage you all to take a girls' trip, if you haven't done one already. You'll be so glad you did.

This is marriage (A blog post by someone else, but totally endorsed by me)

I'm honestly not sure what the blog protocol is here, but I am going to re-post another blogger's work. I'm not taking credit for it. It's just that a link would not be enough.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-cariello/this-is-marriage_b_4661093.html

Carrie Cariello

This Is Marriage

Right now I'm sitting in a hospital.
I am waiting for my husband, Joe. He is gowned and unconscious, undergoing a surgery called a discectomy, where they cut a teeny tiny hole in his lower back and shave away the bulging disc that's been infringing on his sciatic nerve for five months.
This bulging disc has likely been in progress for years -- decades, even. Years of poor posture and carrying toddlers and stacking wood has contributed to the slow pop of an unhappy disc. And finally, a heavy deadlift at Crossfit was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.
About an hour ago I watched while Joe undressed and put on his pale blue hospital gown. I watched him kick off the new brown shoes I made him buy during a recent trip to the outlets, so I could get a pair of orange suede heels half off.
Dressed in light blue scrubs, the surgeon popped into the room just as Joe settled into the hospital bed. The two of them started to go over the procedure, to talk about how Joe would not breathe on his own during the two-hour surgery. I focused my gaze on the toe of his brown shoe sticking out of the shiny bag.
And I thought; this is marriage. One day you're shopping for shoes at the outlets and just a few weeks later, the new shoes your husband reluctantly bought for himself will sit, discarded, in a room down the hall while someone else breathes for him.
I write a lot about raising our five kids and our son Jack's autism and teamwork and blah blah blah-dey blah. But the truth is, some days this marriage is so hard. It is so hard I can barely breathe. No one -- and I do mean no one -- makes me as angry, as frustrated, as enraged, as this man does.
The biggest argument we've ever had -- and believe me, we've had some doozies -- was over Oreos. Yes, you read that right: the biggest fight I've ever had with my husband was over a chocolate wafer cookie. (To be fair, they were double-stuffed, and I think that ups the ante a bit.)
We'd been married less than a year, and I had to go to a dinner for work. It was incredibly boring, and I spent most of the long evening nodding my head and looking forward to going home, climbing into my pajamas, and eating a few cookies before bed.
I walked into our apartment just in time to see Joe holding the empty blue cellophane bag -- plastic cookie divider cast aside on the floor -- and shaking the last of the chocolate crumbs into his mouth.
I was outraged. How selfish! How greedy and thoughtless and disgusting. Before long, the argument took on a life of its own, launching itself from a Nabisco product to everything that was wrong with us as a couple. You never think about anyone but yourself! You overreact to everything!
We didn't speak for days.
In the middle of huge arguments like 'The Great Oreo Fight,' I often have the sensation I am teetering on the edge of a large abyss, that Joe and I are separated by the deepest chasm. Married, yes. But also so very alone.
I know divorce. I've personally experienced three divorces, not one of which has been my own. I am not afraid of divorce. But somehow, thus far, Joe and I have always managed to cross the gulf that separates us. To buy a new bag of Oreos and move on.
This is marriage. It is standing on the edge of the abyss and saying, I choose to stay. Today, I will stay.
As Joe's leg pain worsened and two cortisone shots did nothing to help the inflammation, to relieve the pressure on his aggravated nerve, it became clear that surgery was the next step.
Once he explained the recovery to me -- no lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk for six weeks, no driving for two, no twisting or bending -- I developed a plan for him. He would go to his parents for at least a week, where he could rest and recuperate without a 55-pound four-year old launching at him like a cannonball. When he came home I would drive him back and forth to work.
But Joe didn't want this. He didn't want to go to his parents for that long and he didn't want me driving him around and in general he didn't want me to be the boss of him. It was infuriating.
I confided in Jack's psychologist when we met to talk about his anxiety over fire drills, figuring she would take my side. She didn't.
Instead she said, "I hear fear in your voice. So why do you go straight to anger? Stay with the fear a moment. Let yourself feel it."
Sitting on her light brown couch with a giant Elmo peering over my shoulder, I did. I let myself feel my fear.
For the first time since June, I talked about how scared I was to see Joe's health decline, to see him wait ten minutes before getting out of the car. I wept describing how he struggled to toss the football with the boys and twirl our daughter Rose in the air.
How terrifying it is to see the strongest man I know falter.
This is marriage.
A few years ago I got up in the middle of the night for some water. I walked towards the door as Joe came out of the bathroom, and when we passed each other sleepily he reached out his arms and hugged me for a long moment.
For days afterwards I lived with that moment in my heart and my mind. I marveled that this person could love me so instinctively, so thoroughly, to reach out half awake and embrace me without even thinking about it.
It is this memory I cling to like a life preserver when the storms of marital rage and frustration sweep over me. This is the Joe I am thinking of now.
Shifting a little in my hard plastic chair, I go online and look up Webster-Merriam's definition of marriage. It uses weird words like state of being united and recognized by law and intimate union.
But to me, it's so much more.
It is sitting in a hospital fifteen years later and realizing it wasn't about the cookies after all, that I went straight to anger in order to avoid the really scary thoughts; you don't love me enough and I have made a mistake and this marriage will never work. To avoid my fear.
It is finding grace again and again in the small gestures; buying shoes and eating Oreos and spontaneously embracing in the dark hours of the night.
It is complicated and raw and tender and long and giddy and miserable and scary and exhausting and exhilarating and broken and yet whole and I know this is a lot of adjectives but they're all true.
It is waiting, waiting, waiting for the surgeon in the blue scrubs to tap me on the shoulder and tell me it all went fine, that within a few hours my husband will slip on his new brown shoes and walk out of the door -- sore from surgery, groggy from anesthesia, but free of the live wire that has electrified his leg for the past five months.
That he is breathing on his own so I don't have to do it alone.
This is marriage.

###

Yesterday, Lester was an hour late coming home from a meeting. He is so reliable and punctual and considerate of me being home alone with the kids that my first thought was that something was wrong.

When I called him and got no answer and then texted him and got no answer, I was certain he had died.

This sounds extreme and ridiculous I know, but you don't know how dependable my husband is.

I bathed the kids and put them all to bed, but inside I was jittery. When I imagined my life without him, the kids' lives without him, OUR lives without him, I actually started shaking. I would be bereft without my friend, my love, the best father to Cary, Dean and Clair ever. I prayed and prayed that he was safe.

When he finally called - his phone was in his checked coat, and his dinner date had extended their meeting unexpectedly - I was so relieved! I nearly cried.

But then I got mad: I don't care that you were late. I don't care that I had to do the nighttime stuff alone. I DO care that you didn't call when it got late; you know how I worry. Why didn't you have your phone on? You have three kids at home, you have to be reachable. What if I needed you? Why is it so hard for you to keep your phone with you??

I didn't "stay with the fear" because anger felt so much better!

It was shortlived. When Lester came through our front door, all I wanted to do was hold him, and press my face into his coat, which was cold from the night air. But his familiar cheek was warm against mine, and he was home; he was safe. He came back to us so I wouldn't have to do it alone.

This is marriage.

My generation's MLK

Today, I am overwhelmed with admiration and immensely thankful for the life of Nelson Mandela. What a life he lived! What a legacy he leaves behind! 

I am also praying that Mandela's life's work doesn't stop with his death. I sincerely pray that those who are inclined to hate people -- because of the color of their skin, or their sexual orientation, or their body shape or economic status -- will one day be moved nearer to love.

If the world envisioned by Martin Luther King Jr. and the great man they called Madiba can truly be realized, then I won't have to fear for my little brown babies as they grow and go.

Your dreams are my dreams, Baba Mandela.

May our dreams someday come true.

 
“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” —Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela

Showing some Koco's Pub and neighborhood love

Last night Lester had to work late and it was gym night. So I knew coming in the door after work that it was all on me. Usually, that is just fine. Not even a second thought.

But yesterday, for some reason, the prospect of being home alone during the witching hour with three crazies, preparing leftovers, cleaning up the dining room, kitchen and (at least three times) the living room, pleading and cajoling to get them in their pajamas and in the bed etc. etc...well, let's just say it did not sound appealing to me.

So on a whim, I decided to throw the crazies into the car and go grab dinner, somewhere, anywhere. I thought of Chik-fil-a, and of Friendly's and decided they were too far. But I knew I wanted someplace that would be fast, cheap and family-friendly. So I ended up at a restaurant right around the corner (a block down from the Red Canoe) called Koco's.

I've been there several times before with Lester, or with friends and even once with members of the board of the Green School, for a board meeting. (Cocktails + crabcakes = best board meeting ever!) But I never thought to bring the kids.

I'm so glad I did and I know we'll do it again!

The place is so family-friendly, it even has a big area in a corner with trucks and toys and crayons and coloring books. There's a half freezer on the floor, stocked with Popsicles. And the wait staff is SO helpful and friendly and accomodating, it was just like being home with family. At one point, while reaching for a toy on a shelf, Dean slipped and fell into a milk crate on the floor (it was actually pretty funny how stuck he was in that crate). Before I could get over there, a server had rushed to his aid, picked him up, hugged, rocked and soothed him! It was amazing and so, so sweet.

No one cared when trucks were being rolled all over the floor; no one batted an eye when a play telephone came crashing to the floor. Our server (whose son is in the 4s class at the kids' school) brought us a ton of extra napkins without me asking and brought Clair a plastic cup full of lemon slices because she noticed they were keeping her occupied and quiet(ish).

While there, I ran into the owners of the Red Canoe, who have become friends of ours, and at least two sets of diners came over and chatted with me, or played with the boys and cooed over Clair.  I loved the laid-back, familiar feel of the whole night. It was such a low-stress evening, I left there feeling like I had made the best parenting decision of  recent weeks. (No dishes when we got home confirmed that feeling.)

When I think about us finally, finally being able to move to a new house someday, I literally cannot tell you how excited I get about leaving the City: for lower taxes and better schools, green grass and closet space, clean streets and corners unoccupied-by-teenagers in low-slung pants.

But then I think about things about our neighborhood that I really love -- the park, the Red Canoe, the cozy, family-feel of their school, the pizza place with the best po' boys on Earth, the growing stretch of retail and restaurants along Harford Road, etc. -- and I get a little sad.

I now totally add Koco's Pub to this list. I wish we could go there every night!

Pause to give mad props to my husband...

Every day for the last 10 days, I've gotten a gift from my husband.

Every even-numbered day, the gift has been a voice message that he recorded from one of my dearest friends or family members. He then took the voicemail, attached it to an email with his own little message, and sent it to me.

The first one - on May 4th - was from one of my closest friends, the woman I was supposed to visit in Atlanta, Neelofer. Her message made me cry (of course), because she started crying when she was talking, remembering how we met freshman year in college and how we've been a part of every big moment in each other's lives since, loving one another and caring for one another the way only best girlfriends can.

Lester's note, attached to the email, also made me cry. It was a quote I'm sure he found on the Internet, but it was so appropriate for her, and, actually, for so many of my other true friends.


"True friendship multiplies the good in life and divides its evils. Strive to have friends, for life without friends is like life on a desert island... to find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing."  --- Baltasar Gracian

Other voice messages have been from my awesomely supportive friend Kelly; my oldest and dearest friend Desiree', who HATES doing that sort of thing, so I was so touched that she actually talked for almost 2 minutes; my sister Kadija, who wrote me a poem and cracked me UP; and my 96-year-old Granddad, who spoke for a grand total of 14 seconds. Here's what he said: "Happy birthday, Tanika. I hope you're having a lovely time. You are a lovely girl. Have fun. Granddad."

Ha!! Man of few words, that guy is.

On the odd-numbered days, Lester has given me some small gift, usually left in a conspicuous place, so I'll find it by surprise, or once he hand-delivered the gift to my office.

There's been a tube of chocolate-caramel balls, a Starbucks gift card, a gift bag of fancy ginger ales, THIS oh-so-sweet book:

Having Lester's support in everything I do means the world to me.

And the doozy of all doozies -- concert tickets to see my boo Justin Timberlake during the Legends of Summer Tour in August!!!! The concert tickets are spectacular, but even more impressive is the fact that Lester is going to go WITH me to the show! Let's just say he doesn't share my enthusiasm for JT.

But he does like that Suit-and-Tie song, and in fact, in the note card to me along with the gift, he paraphrased lyrics from it: "Here's to the woman who showed me a few things about love."

Awwww....(I also cried reading that one, of course.)

In between planning and executing all this gift-giving, Lester managed to participate 100-percent in the planning and executing of the boys' 3rd-birthday cookout, he's been holding it down with me at home while Michelle has been out sick, and he STILL managed to get me a Mother's Day gift (something small and sentimental I'd asked for a long time ago, before I knew he was doing this 40 for 40 thing.)

I've got 30 days (!!) left before my actual birthday, and I have NO idea how he's going to keep this thing going. He's pretty much touched on almost all of my sweet spots -- friends, family, chocolate. I keep wondering who else he recorded, what additional sweetness could possibly be coming. Besides a 3-lb. lobster dripping in lemon and butter, I don't know what else he can pull out of his hat.

A big part of me feels embarrassed by all these riches. But mostly I'm overwhelmed by his generosity, his thoughtfulness, his understanding of who I am and his amazing, amazing love.

In my 20s and early 30s, I made a lot of bad decisions when it came to romantic relationships. I suffered a lot of heartache and loneliness and even some outright humiliation at the hands of men who didn't measure up. I prayed and prayed that I'd one day be blessed to have a husband who'd love me the way I knew in my heart that I deserved to be loved. I knew I had to make better decisions when it came to choosing people to love. And I admit that I (finally, finally) made a good decision to date Lester, someone who was outside my "type," 9-years-younger and not a narcissistic commitment-phobe.

But I had no idea that the stars would line up the way they have. I thank God that He knew my heart would agree with my head on this one! And I'm so thankful, so grateful, so humbled to be Lester's wife, partner and friend.

When Lester quoted Baltasar Gracian (whoever that is) in the email when he sent Neelofer's voice message, it didn't occur to me at the time, but now I know, with absolute certainty, that the quote most aptly applies to him:

To find one real friend in a lifetime is good fortune; to keep him is a blessing.

My take on the "news" and pop culture

As a former reporter, I follow the news with a certain insider's bemusement and jadedness. And also, of course, affection for the work of real journalists. But mostly, since leaving the field in 2008, I have been able to just follow it as a reader/layperson. And that's pretty cool.

Like, I can totally laugh at the fact that Beyonce-gate has become "news."

When I worked in the Features department, I probably would've had to write about this "shocking controversy" instead of just laughing at it, and solicit "experts" and whatnot for comment. Whatev.
Despite all the earnest coverage of this "fraudulent affair, "my favorite Beyonce Inauguration lip-synching quote belongs to Stephen Colbert: "It is now official. Jay-Z officially has 100 problems."
HA! That cracked me up.

Also, what is the deal with this dude Manti Te'o? I understand why the story is titillating and gossip-worthy, but I'm not sure I get why it's "news."

Speaking of football players, the Baltimore Ravens are in the Superbowl this year! This is actually pretty exciting, even for me, someone who is not a football enthusiast, and even for Lester, who is a diehard Redskins' fan for life. (HTTR!!) Living in Baltimore, you can't help but get caught up in the entire city's excitement, and purple everywhere, and admiration for Ray Lewis, who has had quite a career.

And also, there's the built-in storyline of this year's Superbowl: two brothers coaching opposing teams for the Superbowl championship title. Can you imagine being those boys' mother?? Who do you root for? Ugh! The stress.

My boss, a total Ravens fan, found an old picture of the two coaches, the Harbaughs. Lester and I looked at it last night and Lester laughed so hard at how the boys' adult personalities are totally evident even in this childhood photograph.

Ravens coach on the left -- the nice one! Blah-blah-blah other coach on the right -- evil, scowling, destined to lose the Superbowl one.

It made us wonder about what childhood traits of Cary and Dean's we will recognize in adulthood. And we thought a lot -- again -- about how people just are who they are, despite what parents think about how we are "shaping" kids into adults. Obviously, we have some influence -- and God knows bad parenting can screw folks up for life!! -- but for the most part, we're just here to help them be the best people they were already programmed to be. That's actually kind of freeing. Takes the pressure off a bit, no?

But on the other hand, that also reminds me of a fascinating New York magazine story that ran this week with the headline, "Why You Never Truly Leave High School."  The article spends a lot of time talking about how we are all shaped so much by our high school/adolescent experiences and emotions.

"Maybe, perversely, we should be grateful that high school prepares us for this life," the article says near the end. "The isolation, the shame, the aggression from those years—all of it readies us to cope. But one also has to wonder whether high school is to blame; whether the worst of adult America looks like high school because it’s populated by people who went to high school in America. We’re recapitulating the ugly folkways of this institution, and reacting with the same reflexes, because that’s where we were trapped, and shaped, and misshaped, during some of our most vulnerable years."

Isn't that interesting? I actually had a fairly normal high school experience, not too high on the shame or aggression or isolation, nor too high on the popularity or the partying either. It was just normal. Which, I guess, according to this article, might be a clue as to why my adult  life is somewhat normal (comparatively speaking).  I dunno. But it is an interesting thing to contemplate. And also one more thing for me to think about when raising children. You know how I have been all about the synapse-building because of the whole birth-to-3 theory?? Well, dang. Now I gotta make sure these kids have a normal high school experience, too! The pressure!

(I joke, people. I joke. Sorta.)

Anyway, one last pop culture thing to mention here. Have I ever shared my undying love for Justin Timberlake? Oh yes, JT is so my boo! :-) He's been busy making movies and getting married to Jessica Biel (blech!) and whatnot, so he hasn't released any music pretty much since he brought sexy back in 2006.

But now, he has REALLY brought the sexy back, with his new single "Suit and Tie."

I love this song and the lyric video! It totally makes me think of my early days of dating Lester, and how he made me feel. I'm a sucker for a gentleman in a nice suit and tie, and Lester is amazingly good-looking when he dons one. And plus, the song makes me want to go out in a dress and heels, get a fabulous cocktail (or two) and dance. I haven't felt like that since before I got pregnant with Clair.

All pressed up in black and white
And you're dressed in that dress I like
Love is swinging in the air tonight
Let me show you a few things
Let me show you a few things
Show you a few things about love
While we’re in the swing of love
Let me show you a few things
Show you a few things about love...

Lester totally did that for me. He showed me "a few things" -- and then some -- about real love.

I pray Cary, Dean and Clair find that kind of heady and long-lasting feeling with someone worthy of them one day.

Little baby Davises, I hope you read this some day. That right there is news you can use.

Proud of our affectionate household

Last night, I had Clair on my lap and the boys were strewn across the couch pillows "reading" to me.

They read "Bark, George," and "Picky Nicky" and "Good Dog, Carl!"

At a certain point, Cary went and got Llama Llama Misses Mama and they took turns "reading" it. Dean, ever the actor, made extremely realistic crying noises when we got to the part where an overwhelmed-by-preschool Llama Llama cried at the snack table. This made Cary decide to do the same when it was his turn to "read."

"A-hee-hee-hee," he said, with his face all scrunched. "Llama Llama wants his Momma!"

Cary's performance was much less impressive than his brother's. But Dean must've been moved, because he reached out, put his arm around Cary and said, "It's OK. It's OK, Cary." And then he kissed him on the cheek.

Cary smiled.

Then, he read the part again (pretend tears and all). This time Dean bear-hugged his brother and they toppled over onto the couch, giggling, while Dean kissed Cary again.

Clair laughed at the spectacle.

Cary caught a glimpse of his laughing sister, and climbed over to me, leaned in and kissed Clair.

Clair laughed some more.

Then Dean moved in for a Clair-kiss. He took two.

She was in heaven! So was I. Eventually, we were all stealing kisses from one another, and laughing. It was fantastic.

Then this morning, Clair was playing on the floor with her toys. After eating his breakfast, Cary came into the living room, sat on the floor next to her and said in a high screechy voice, "Hi Baby Clair. Hiiiiiii! Hello! Hello, Baby Clair. I am eating my vitamin. Hello!"


As we were leaving, Dean made sure to say "Bye-Bye" to his sister, even stopping to wave energetically at her as she sat on the floor. They are constantly making sure not to leave her out. They even say "Bye-Bye Baby Clair" to her empty car seat when we arrive at their school every morning.

I know there will come a time when the three of them will fight like crabs in a barrel and plot against one another mercilessly.

But I can't help but pray that they are building a foundation of love and affection for one another that will survive the teen years and sibling rivalries and 8 million episodes of "He-won't-stop-touching me!!"

I know it is taboo these days to be proud of your kids. Anything you say in the way of pride about their behavior or intellect or personalities gets construed as "bragging," and people are somehow more annoyed by people who are proud of their kids than people who do nothing but complain about them.

But you know what? I am proud that my boys are affectionate with their sister. It makes my heart so glad, I cannot even tell you. I seriously burst with joy when they constantly ask about her and rush to bring her a toy when she cries, or try to talk to her in baby talk or kiss her little cheeks.

And I am proud that they are affectionate (sometimes) with one another. 

I am proud to say that in our house, they have learned to love freely and openly. In fact, they will probably be sick of kisses by the time they're old enough to say so. That makes me tremendously happy.

Many aspects of my kids' personalities and life trajectories I will have absolutely no control over. But at least when it comes to this one thing -- showing them what love and affection looks and feels like -- I am proud of the example Lester and I are setting.

Happy Easter!

Today, I give thanks for the awesome love of Jesus Christ, for on this day He rose from the dead just for me (well, and all of humanity.) :-)

As a parent now, I really do get how great a love can be for a child, even that it might cause you to say you'd die for that child if you had to. But to die for children you've never even met? Children not even conceived? That's a love I will never be able to fully understand. But I am grateful, extremely grateful for it, and humbled because of it. I hope I can always live my life in a way that honors a love that great -- and that teaches our boys to honor it, too.






Today, we're having Easter dinner as a family at the hospital cafeteria, my parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, Lester, the kids and me. It won't be the best Easter cuisine we ever had, and Rashad, two floors up, won't be able to enjoy it with us. But at least our entire family will be together at Washington Hospital Center, celebrating this day of new life, resurrection and promise -- three words that speak to Rashad and his life more than any other words I can think of.

Pre-Easter Miracle! (And bonus video of laughing babies!)

Re-posted from an e-mail sent to friends and family today:

Friends and family,

I have not posted an update in a couple weeks, mainly because for awhile, not much was changing. Rashad was there, but barely so. His eye would open, giving us hope, but there wasn't much behind his rheumy stare.

And then, in the last week or so, Rashad started showing more and more signs of awareness. If you directed a finger at his eye, no longer would he just stare, unblinking. In fact, he began following us -- slowly and inconsistently -- but following us, nonetheless.

His grip got stronger and he'd squeeze more often on command. He would sleep most of the day and night, but grimace when the nurses cleaned his tracheostomy tube. Once, when a nurse pinched his toe, he subtly jerked his arm back, as if in pain.

And then one day, one blessed day last week, we walked into his room and his eye was clear as it ever was. He was AWAKE!
We could see him in there, plain as rain! My Mom gushed and loved all over him, and then asked him if he was OK. And Rashad NODDED HIS HEAD! She asked him if he was in pain and he NODDED HIS HEAD!

For those of you who may have missed my Facebook update earlier this week, that is the miraculous good news I wanted to share with you today: Rashad is awake. He is no longer in a coma. He is no longer unconscious! He is awake just like you or me! Our prayers have been answered.

The nurses are astounded! They have shared with us that when Rashad first came in the hospital, "no one would have bet a nickel that he was ever going to wake up again." It's clear the doctors didn't believe he would either. It's only in the last week that they ordered leg braces for him that are meant to stimulate the muscles and help prevent atrophy. Clearly, they thought he would never need those muscles again. Well, the Lord -- and Rashad -- has proven them wrong.

Thank God! (You know how people say that sort of absently? No, I really and truly mean thank GOD!)

And in the time it's taken me to get my act together long enough to send out this update, there's even more good news.

Rashad mouthed "Hi Mommy!" to my mother! (He also mouthed that to my Dad, but oh well!)
He mouthed "Hi baby" to his girlfriend, Cortney.
He can't say my name, but when I ask him if he knows who I am, he nods.
He can sometimes pucker when my Mom kisses him.
He moves his left arm so much that nurses have had to restrain it. (He's pulled out tubes!)
He can hold onto a little Nerf basketball, and even sometimes reach for it if it rolls onto his lap.
Cortney says he smiled yesterday when a friend in his room was playfully teasing him.
And when my Mom asked him if he could stick his tongue out, he did it! Slowly and wobbly, out his little pink tongue came!!
We all cheered like he had climbed Mount Everest. Which of course, he might as well have done.
Although he is still battling lung infections and scarring, the doctors have just about weaned him off the ventilator.
In fact, today, he is likely being moved to an Intermediate Care ward -- a sign that doctors no longer believe he is in "critical" condition.
That is wonderful, wonderful news! (Don't worry; we're taking all your cards and notes and stuffed animals with him to the new room!!)

Neurologically, however, we don't know what's really going on.
He is clearly agitated and frightened and confused. When we hold up a picture of his daughter, he stares and stares and stares, but he doesn't say her name. He doesn't consistently respond when we ask him questions, sighing instead, and turning his head away. And sometimes, he answers yes when he should answer no. His heart rate skyrockets when the nurses are cleaning his trache tube. He seems to have very little control of his movements.

The neurosurgeons have been largely silent about what they think about his progress. They seem not to want to give us hope that he will continue progressing. It's entirely possible, they've said, that Rashad may get better. Or he may stay this way -- childlike and barely mobile -- forever.

Once again, we refuse to believe that.

Rashad WILL get better and better. Day by day, week by week.

So even though we have happily spent the last few days rejoicing and praising God for His OBVIOUS miracle, it is now time again (just before Easter, no less) to get back on the prayer grind.

We want Rashad healthy and whole -- back home with his family, fully functioning physically and neurologically. So, if you have any prayer left in you -- please offer some up for him along those lines.

I can't thank you ALL enough for all the love you have given us during this time. I have never, ever felt so much a part of a community. Your goodness (truly) made me KNOW even during my darkest moments, that this was going to be OK. Thank you all for that assurance. I love you all -- and best believe you will be invited to the party we hold in his honor when he's back to normal again!

Praise God for all of you. God bless you! And, sincerely, thank you.

###

And now --what we've all been waiting for: Electronic proof of Cary's adorable silliness! And Dean's spastic, I'm-an-evil-villain laugh!




Now I ask you? What could be better than that note and these two laughing babies??

Happy Love Day!

Valentine's Day Things I Love List:

1. God
2. Lester
3. Dean and Cary
4. My Mom, Dad, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins
5. My friends, both old and new
6. Chocolate
7. Seafood
8. Naps
9. Traveling
10. Taking a nap in some fabulous hotel while traveling
11. Reading
12. Laughing
13. Old movies
14. Dessert
15. Giving gifts
16. Getting gifts
17. Pedicures
18. Great conversation
19. NPR
20. Pajama pants

I could probably think of a gang of more things I love, but I'll leave it at that. We'll be here all night.

So today, my thoughtful, romantic little boys gave Michelle and Kristie Valentine's gifts:

They gave Kristie a card and a Godiva chocolate bar. And for Michelle, they bought a red-and-white planter, filled it with Hershey's kisses and red-foil-covered chocolate hearts, and stuck two balloons on sticks in the planter. I thought it was totally cute, because the balloons said, "Kiss me," and the planter was full of kisses. Get it?! And...she can re-use the planter again, if she ever wanted to. Maybe she has a green thumb? I dunno.


I used a Sharpie to cross out "Mine" and write "Ours" on the planter. Isn't that cute? OK, well my sister Tahira, who is a teacher, and has far better handwriting than mine, did it. But it's still cute!


The boys also bought their Daddy two children's books with "Daddy" themes, because Lester is always lamenting how few children's books recognize fathers. (There are way more than there used to be, but still "Mommy" books outnumber "Daddy" books probably by 10 to 1.)

I have always been a sucker, sucker, sucker for Valentine's Day (I'm a big ole sap) so I love it that, now that I'm a Mom, I get to give even more people gifts on this day.

So I guess that's one more thing to love! Yay for love day!!

Oh! I also love, love, love how cute the boys are taking a bath in the big tub!
This is new, folks. They don't quite have the hang of it. Cary tried to drink the water and nearly killed himself, and Dean kept sliding around in the tub, splashing like a madman, getting water in his and Cary's eyes. He also mistakenly thought he could practice his newly-discovered crawling skills, in the tub. It was all hysterical! (Too bad I can only post a few seconds of it):

Cary and Dean in a nutshell

Since this blog is new, I thought I'd bring folks up to speed on the basics about Cary and Dean.

Cary Glenn - Baby A
Born at 2:21 p.m., May 11
4 lbs., 4 oz.
Stayed in the NICU for two weeks, mostly because he was not a fan of eating. He'd rather sleep instead. (Boy, how I wish he retained some of that last part.)

Cary, Day 2


Dean Ezra -- Baby B
Born at 3:50 p.m., May 11
4 lbs., 10 oz.
Stayed in the NICU for one week, and ate up all the food the nurses gave him. (He has absolutely retained that.)

Dean, Day 2

(Careful readers will notice that these babies were born 90 minutes!!!! apart. Gracious. THAT was an ordeal.)

Cary started out sleepy and floppy and in need of lots of snuggling. Dean was intense and highly-excitable, with a piercing wail.
Today, Cary is not as good a sleeper as Dean, and his muscle tone is still lower than Dean's but he can move like a stealthy athlete.
Dean is still intense; when he's upset, it's extremely difficult to calm him. But he is more independent than Cary, and can play for long stretches, quietly observing the world around him. Cary still needs to be in a lap or on a shoulder more often than his tired parents would like.
Cary is silly; his infectious giggle cracks Lester and me up till our bellies hurt.
Dean is stoic; you have to work hard to make him laugh. But when you do get him going -- oh, the sound is so satisfying! His smile and belly-laugh melts your heart.
One thing we've noticed lately: When Cary wants to be held, it's because he needs love from us. He soaks it all up and smiles and glows. It makes us feel good to be able to meet his needs with simple hugs and holding and kisses.
Dean, on the other hand, needs love, too, but also gives it back. He hugs us, and squeezes our necks. He cuddles his head into our bodies and snuggles in tight. When we say, "Kiss!" he opens his mouth, leans in and rests his drooly lips on our foreheads or chins. It's adorably sweet.

We can't wait to see how they grow and develop, what they'll be like as toddlers or pre-schoolers or (gasp!) teenagers. Will they stay basically the same, or will they flip-flop personalities the way people say twins do? Will their personalities clash or complement? Will their inevitable epic fights be eclipsed by an even greater loyalty and love?

We have so many questions and, thankfully, God willing, the rest of their lives to discover the answers.

Cary (left); Dean (right)