Just like AJ

Last week I had a sinus infection which required a trip to the doctor to get some meds.

Honestly, I could have skipped the doctor, I just needed the z-pack.

My doctor was out for the week so I saw the visiting doctor.

As she was going through my file she said, “So you are writing an autobiography? Have you had an interesting life?”

What? Ah, must be wrong file.

“It says something about an adoption?”

“Ohhhhh, yes. I had to write an autobiography for the home study. No, I’m not publishing anything.”

“You have your own kids and now you are adopting? You are just like Angelina Jolie.”

Actually I could see her point. We have lips, we have breasts, we have legs, …really the comparisons could go on and on.

Except that it kind of bugged me.

We not adopting because we want to be like Angelina and Brad, we’re doing it because we have room in our hearts for another child. And I’m not so sure it’s good that everyone’s first reference for adopting should be Angelina. Maybe it should be your neighbor or friends, someone you see at your child’s school so that it doesn’t seem so strange or different to adopt.

“You are just like Angelina Jolie.”


Our Thanksgiving Break

Thanksgiving is a time of family, food, and fun.

We had all of that.

Plus a whole lot of vomit.

Yes, family, food, fun, and vomit – all parts of our Thanksgiving celebration.

And unlike many of you who only had three days of family time, our family was lucky enough to have 9 days off together.

Yes, nine days of being together (sleeping in the same room allowed for a quick response time)

Nine days of food (aka Gatorade and Saltines).

Nine days of fun (My entire next paycheck is headed to Redbox).

Nine days of being thankful for our washer and dryer (vomit, enough said).

And while I am thankful for that time spent with my family, I am hoping the 12 days of Christmas turns out differently.

A Stroke of Luck


Did you hear that?

That sound was my whole body exhaling.

Truth be told I’ve been holding my breath for the last five years.

We’ve reached a milestone around here and it’s reason for us to celebrate.

My husband had a stroke at the age of 34 exactly five years ago.

Whenever he talks to doctors they ask, “So when exactly did you have this stroke?”

My husband hums and haws and mentions something about late 2008.

I allow him to finish and then say, “It was August 2, 2007. It happened around  9:30 AM. I was wearing a black skirt and green skirt when I got the call. I had a two year old and a five year old at the time.”

My mom noted about the upcoming anniversary, “It’s just gone by so fast.”

No, it hasn’t.

For me, I remember everything – from getting the call, calling the babysitter, crying to my dad on the phone, to waiting around for more tests and doctors visits.

In the last five years we have visited more “ologists” than I care to remember.

With every migraine headache Derek had, I tried not to panic.

But…now that my husband has reached the five year milestone I feel like I can breathe a little easier.

We’re here today with big smiles on our face and feelings of being tremendously lucky. We are thankful for every day we have together and feel tremendously blessed in our life.


A few days ago we took my two youngest to the children’s hospital in our city. We were there to find out more information about their recently discovered blood disorder and how it will impact their lives. In the days leading up to the appointment I was having a bit of a pity party for myself, silently saying  “Why us again?”

When I was in my twenties I had a warped sense of protection. I felt that if I knew someone who went through something my family would not go through it. I know someone who lost a child therefore we will not. I know someone who got a divorce therefore we will not. I know someone who lost their home therefore we won’t.

Now that I am in my thirties, I realize life doesn’t work that way.

I knew someone who had heart surgery. Well my husband needed it too.

I know someone who had a miscarriage. Well I had one too.

I knew someone who had a stroke. Well my husband had one too.

Our children’s appointment was on a Wednesday at noon. After parking our car, we found our way to the patient waiting room.

We found ourselves sitting in the Blood Disorders and Cancer waiting room.

It was there where I decided to stop sulking and just be thankful.

I saw kids of all ages and races who were ill. Some were wearing masks, some were in the isolation room, some were crying, and some were listless while being craddled by their parents.

These parents had surely asked “Why us? Why my child?”

As I watched my two smiling kids play in the room I felt incredibly blessed and ridiculously lucky.

We will be back to see more doctors and we will continue to worry for a long time.

But for now, my kids are happy, healthy, and home with me.

And that’s all that matters.


Words are powerful.

They can be arranged in so many ways. The arrangement can be helpful or hurtful.

When I told people I was pregnant with my fourth child I received many responses. I wrote down several which left a negative impression on me.

*Congratulations, I guess

*Wow, every time I see you, you are pregnant

*You do know how this keeps happening, right?

*Wow, you and your husband need to buy a tv

This baby was very much planned for, he just happened to have been conceived several months earlier than intended. But still, he was most definitely wanted. The responses shocked me but I saved them with a purpose in mind. My plan was to print them next to a picture of our new baby and say how callous people could be about such an amazing event.

Well, that wasn’t to be. But I still remember the words.

Yesterday, someone’s words stung me unintentionally.

I had my yearly appointment with my gynecologist/obgyn. As I sat naked on the examining table with only two paper cloths covering me, I found it unbelievable I could hear the heartbeat check of someone else’s baby in the next room. As clear as a muffled beat can be, I could hear it.

My doctor came in and said, “Hello…How’s the baby?”




I finally managed to spit out, “You mean the two year old?”

“Sure, two is still a baby.”

Then she actually opened my file. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I forgot.”

I’ve seen this woman roughly four times in the past 9 weeks. I should look somewhat familiar. At the very least, she should have opened my file before coming in.

“How’s the baby?” 3 simple yet powerful words. Words that still make my heart hurt.

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

So yesterday I learned several things:

1) My doctor’s nurse has to work on her small talk. After waiting for 30 minutes in the waiting room she brought us into the sonogram room. She began typing on the computer while I began shaking and breathing hard.

“So how’s the weather outside?”

Derek and I looked at her and thought, “Really, that ‘s the best you can come up with?

Uh, it’s nice. Cool.

“Oh good. I’ve hated this weather lately. So depressing all this cold weather.”

Hmm…actually we’re under brush fire alerts since it’s so hot and from where we are sitting we have a different definition of depressing.

2) My doctor is a huge music fan. While sitting in the waiting room I heard the secretary bickering about seat availability, row c, and only 12 left. Apparently she was desperately trying to get one of the remaining 12 Diana Ross tickets for her concert in Dallas tonight. When our doctor came in she said she just had to have one of those tickets – it was a once in a lifetime experience and she had to be there. She was quite annoyed since the newspaper listed tickets from $60 – $120 but they were actually $360 for row C.

3) I’m urging my children to go into the medical field. Apparently $360 is really only a drop in the bucket for a once in a lifetime experience. Last year my doctor spent $2500 to see Prince in concert. With the amount of times I’m going to see her she will be able to tour with Prince.

4) There is no real change with the baby. We are still day by day and will be for however long this pregnancy lasts. But…we are still climbing a mountain and going to give it our best fight.

In tribute to my doctor and my theme song for the day let’s hear a little Diana