In a small way, Christopher was a miracle child. A couple of months before Sue became pregnant, I was trying to console her because her doctor had found what he called cysts on her ovaries and recommended she get a hysterectomy. That’s a pretty big jump from a possible hysterectomy to being pregnant. I guess you could safely say the doctor’s prognosis was wrong.
Sarah was unexpected too. Just a few months before Sue became pregnant with Sarah, she had a miscarriage and we honestly thought there would be no more children. This time, we were wrong.
I don’t think it would be a surprise to any of my other kids if I admitted I really wanted a girl this time around. I love my boys but we had to balance things out a little, even though Amy joked about wanting to be the only girl. At least she said she was joking.
Anyway, due to Sue’s earlier miscarriage there was a lot of testing and checkups this time around, including several tests that would tell us what the gender was. As I’ve said before, I’ve always viewed knowing the gender of the baby beforehand like Christmas; you ask for what you want but you take what you get. But one day as I was in bed recovering from having my wisdom teeth removed, Sue came back from her latest doctor’s appointment and put a bonnet in my hand. It was her way of making me feel better, and I was ecstatic!
When she was born, Sue spent the night in the hospital. Then next day when Michael, Christopher and I went to pick them up, Christopher was very excited. His Mom was only gone overnight, but at 2 years old, that was too long for him; plus he had a new baby sister. He crawled up on the bed to hug Sue just as the nurse brought Sarah into the room. Sue began to change her diaper before we left and Christopher was watching everything she was doing. When the diaper came off it was obvious to him that this one was ‘different’ than he was. “Mom”, he said, “She’s broked!”
The next day, after her first visit to the doctor, the hospital called. Her bilirubin count was too high and they were concerned she might get jaundice, so they asked us to bring her back the next day and they would keep her for a couple of days to see if they could get it down. I was okay with that. I knew it was the best thing for her, but they didn’t bother to tell us that the only place they admit newborns to is Neonatal Intensive Care. We walked into the office and as I handed her over to the nurse, I could see through the windows at all the little babies in incubators with all sorts of tubes and machines attached to them. Suddenly, this wasn’t a minor thing anymore. My baby was going in that room too. I have to admit I couldn’t hold back the tears. Looking back now, it seems a little silly, but at the time, it was tough. But tough or not, she looked so cute. They put a blindfold over her eyes so the lights wouldn’t damage them and they used a surgical mask to fashion a covering for her bottom. She looked for the world like she was sunning herself in her bikini.
In so many ways, she was the perfect last baby. She very seldom cried. When we put her in her crib she went right to sleep. In the morning, if she woke up before we did, she would lay there or play with a toy until she heard us moving around and then she’d stand up and wait for us to come get her. She never used a pacifier, was easy to wean off the bottle and even easier to potty train. In fact, she only had one night time “accident”, and that was when she was sick.
She did have her dark side though, she was the only one who ever wrote on walls (a lot) and she had the most annoying habit of picking at wall paper until she could rip off little pieces off the wall. It took a while to break her from those habits.
Oh, and she was also very attached to her Daddy. Where ever we went, I was either carrying her or holding her hand. She also had to have the seat right next to me, whether it was at the theatre, a restaurant or church. Even now, she still sits beside me in church; sometimes right against me. And I love it.
My favorite all time picture was taken at Douglas’ wedding. A couple of the groomsmen couldn’t show up so when it came time for the wedding party to dance someone asked if I would dance with Amy. I categorically cannot dance, but there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to dance with my baby, so I said “Absolutely.” As we moved around the dance floor with me trying very hard to stay off her toes I hear this voice yell, “That’s my Daddy!” I turned to see Sarah running out onto the dance floor and she grabs onto my leg. So, I bent down and picked her up in one arm while holding Amy with the other, and the three of us finished the dance. Someone took a picture of us – me and my two girls -- Amy at 20, Sarah at 4.
Sarah’s a senior this year and I am going to be so sad when she goes off to college. She’s going to the same school Christopher goes to so that will be a good thing. He will keep an eye on her so that will keep her save and she’s really smart so she will do fine, I’m just not looking forward to not seeing her every day, even if it’s just to yell at her to pick up her room.
I’ve had a kid in my house since December 26, 1972, almost 39 years by the time she goes off to college. I know I’m going to find myself in her room some days; looking at her stuff, smelling her smells or just remembering. And that’s just because she’s going to college. By the time she’s ready to get married and move away permanently I’ll be a basket case.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Number Four
If any of my kids go into politics, it will be Christopher. He has such a unique blend of compassion, wit and charisma. He doesn’t just make friends with his friends; he makes friends with their brothers and sisters, their parents and in some cases their grandparents. There are several families who think nothing of coming home and finding Christopher in their den watching TV, whether their kids are home or not.
It started early on. Even when he was little he liked people, and once he was your friend he was your friend forever. When he was in the 2nd or 3rd grade one of his friends broke their arm and had to sit out recess for a week or so. Christopher sat out with him because he didn’t want his friend sitting out by himself. When his baby sister Sarah started kindergarten, he went to her room every day, several times a day to see if she was alright. Okay, so he can be a little pesky too.
In the 3rd grade, when he started playing basketball and his brother Michael was in Air Force basic training, Christopher wanted to send him game pictures. Christopher was the only white kid on his team, and was blonde to boot, but he made sure we wrote on the back of the pictures which one was him so Michael would know. He didn’t see color, he saw basketball players.
After we were up here a few years and he was in the 7th or 8th grade, every little kid in school treated him like he was some sort of hero. Whenever he was singled out for something during assembly, he would get standing ovations from the little folks. Why? He paid attention to them. He would speak to them, give them “high 5s”, or just acknowledge them in some way when they passed in the hall.
And it wasn’t just the younger folks. He went to visit senior citizen homes and played checkers with them. Once, during pregame warm ups for a high school basketball game he ran over to the stands and shook hands with a friend’s grandfather he had met briefly the day before and welcomed him to the game.
If you saw him do things like that once or twice, you could say he planned them, but he didn’t. He just does it and he’s that way every day. Did he graduate with honors? No. And the only water he walks on is in my mind, along with his brothers and sisters, but he is a special kid. I wish I could say I had something to do with him being that way, but I know that caring and unselfishness like that comes from a much higher authority than me.
It started early on. Even when he was little he liked people, and once he was your friend he was your friend forever. When he was in the 2nd or 3rd grade one of his friends broke their arm and had to sit out recess for a week or so. Christopher sat out with him because he didn’t want his friend sitting out by himself. When his baby sister Sarah started kindergarten, he went to her room every day, several times a day to see if she was alright. Okay, so he can be a little pesky too.
In the 3rd grade, when he started playing basketball and his brother Michael was in Air Force basic training, Christopher wanted to send him game pictures. Christopher was the only white kid on his team, and was blonde to boot, but he made sure we wrote on the back of the pictures which one was him so Michael would know. He didn’t see color, he saw basketball players.
After we were up here a few years and he was in the 7th or 8th grade, every little kid in school treated him like he was some sort of hero. Whenever he was singled out for something during assembly, he would get standing ovations from the little folks. Why? He paid attention to them. He would speak to them, give them “high 5s”, or just acknowledge them in some way when they passed in the hall.
And it wasn’t just the younger folks. He went to visit senior citizen homes and played checkers with them. Once, during pregame warm ups for a high school basketball game he ran over to the stands and shook hands with a friend’s grandfather he had met briefly the day before and welcomed him to the game.
If you saw him do things like that once or twice, you could say he planned them, but he didn’t. He just does it and he’s that way every day. Did he graduate with honors? No. And the only water he walks on is in my mind, along with his brothers and sisters, but he is a special kid. I wish I could say I had something to do with him being that way, but I know that caring and unselfishness like that comes from a much higher authority than me.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
My Box
Just before Christmas 1987, I noticed a gift under the tree from Sue. It was brightly wrapped and a bit bigger than a shoe box. I’m not one to shake gifts or try to guess what they are, and I don’t poke around the house the few weeks before Christmas trying to find out what I’m getting. There were too many bare or skimpy Christmases when I was growing up not to appreciate whatever I get, even the can of Coke Sarah gave me when she was 2.
Anyway, Christmas morning as everyone was unwrapping things, I noticed Sue was watching expectantly as I opened that one gift. I had already assumed it was shoes but I was very much surprised. It was a doll, a handmade, ceramic doll. At first, I thought she had gotten the gifts mixed up and had meant it for the little girls next door, but she said, “Read the card.” She had handwritten a note explaining that the doll was a replacement for the child she had not been able to give me.
Heck, I wasn’t even expecting a child, nor did I think we were trying. We had already gone through all that with the chaplain before we had gotten married. But I could see that the doll was important to her, and that made it important to me, so I kept it. And I still have it. She will be 24 years old this Christmas.
She’s in a bigger box in my closet along with all the other bits and pieces of my memories. There are pictures of course, but there are other things too. There is the cover for Christopher’s cast when he broke his arm and the “chops” he just had to have after seeing cowboys wear them in the movies. Not chaps, but chops. That’s what he called them when he was about 2. There’s a plaster hand print Sarah made at school, a report card or two and picture pins of Amy and Michael. There are even teeth left out for the tooth fairy.
There is only one thing that used to be there but is now gone --- a wind-up toy that belonged to Douglas that I gave back to him to decorate his first son’s room.
There are a lot of little things in that box, but they bring back big memories.
Anyway, Christmas morning as everyone was unwrapping things, I noticed Sue was watching expectantly as I opened that one gift. I had already assumed it was shoes but I was very much surprised. It was a doll, a handmade, ceramic doll. At first, I thought she had gotten the gifts mixed up and had meant it for the little girls next door, but she said, “Read the card.” She had handwritten a note explaining that the doll was a replacement for the child she had not been able to give me.
Heck, I wasn’t even expecting a child, nor did I think we were trying. We had already gone through all that with the chaplain before we had gotten married. But I could see that the doll was important to her, and that made it important to me, so I kept it. And I still have it. She will be 24 years old this Christmas.
She’s in a bigger box in my closet along with all the other bits and pieces of my memories. There are pictures of course, but there are other things too. There is the cover for Christopher’s cast when he broke his arm and the “chops” he just had to have after seeing cowboys wear them in the movies. Not chaps, but chops. That’s what he called them when he was about 2. There’s a plaster hand print Sarah made at school, a report card or two and picture pins of Amy and Michael. There are even teeth left out for the tooth fairy.
There is only one thing that used to be there but is now gone --- a wind-up toy that belonged to Douglas that I gave back to him to decorate his first son’s room.
There are a lot of little things in that box, but they bring back big memories.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Out of the Icebox and Into the Oven
I did not live in an air conditioned house until I was a junior in high school, and even then it was one of those small window units that only cooled its immediate surroundings; the other parts of the house were varying degrees of cool and hot. Before that time, it was open windows or fans, and sitting on the front porch after supper so the house could cool off enough to go to sleep. Growing up, I thought nothing of spending all day out in the heat and humidity, either playing when I was a kid or working outside when I was a teenager. At that time the heat didn’t bother me at all.
Then, after I joined the Air Force, I spent the next 6 years on the edge of the desert in Southern California. It was less humid yes, but still hot. It is true that a dry heat is not as uncomfortable as the humid air, but let me tell you, 110 degrees is hot, with or without the humidity.
Anyway, after a year in Alaska I went right back to humid Arkansas and stayed there until 1981. So up until I was 29 my summers were toasty. I was used to just chucking my shirt when I got hot working outside or rolling down the window in the car – “God’s air conditioner” I called it. I rarely used my car air conditioner. Then along came Monterey.
For 4 years, I lived in an air conditioner. I think I said before the daytime highs were 65 and nighttime lows were 55 almost all year long. Well, I looked it up. Officially, those numbers are 62 and 48, which is even more to my point. It was perfect weather for a hot tub, but it sure did a number on internal temperature tolerance.
So, after getting my orders I set out for Charleston, SC with Sue, Amy and Michael. Douglas stayed the summer in California with him Mom. It was late May and we made plans to stop in Houston, TX, and Montgomery, AL to see friends before heading to Loudon to see my Mom. We got to Houston the next night at around midnight. It was stifling!! It was still so hot and humid the windows fogged up. After a couple of days, it was on to Montgomery and more of the same. By the time we reached Loudon I was ready to melt. We actually cut our stay in Loudon by a couple of days because I couldn’t wait to get to someplace cooler. Each of these places had air conditioning, but that didn’t help when you went outside.
We were going to stay with Sue’s aunt when we first got to Charleston until we settled into the base and found a place to live. We got there on June 5th, and I’ll never forget it. It was 95 degrees and felt like 300% humidity, and her aunt didn’t even own a fan! I roasted all night! The next morning I was going to go to the base to sign in and Sue was going to look for an apartment. She asked me what I wanted and I said, “The first place you find with a working air conditioner!”
We eventually adjusted, at least a little. However, to this day, I still can’t take much of the heat and it’s all because of the time I spent on the central California coast. But oh, what a place that was. I’ve been back several times and sometimes think I would like to live there again, but I know it’s changed. More people, more expensive; probably nowhere near the paradise I remember. But it’s still nice to dream.
Then, after I joined the Air Force, I spent the next 6 years on the edge of the desert in Southern California. It was less humid yes, but still hot. It is true that a dry heat is not as uncomfortable as the humid air, but let me tell you, 110 degrees is hot, with or without the humidity.
Anyway, after a year in Alaska I went right back to humid Arkansas and stayed there until 1981. So up until I was 29 my summers were toasty. I was used to just chucking my shirt when I got hot working outside or rolling down the window in the car – “God’s air conditioner” I called it. I rarely used my car air conditioner. Then along came Monterey.
For 4 years, I lived in an air conditioner. I think I said before the daytime highs were 65 and nighttime lows were 55 almost all year long. Well, I looked it up. Officially, those numbers are 62 and 48, which is even more to my point. It was perfect weather for a hot tub, but it sure did a number on internal temperature tolerance.
So, after getting my orders I set out for Charleston, SC with Sue, Amy and Michael. Douglas stayed the summer in California with him Mom. It was late May and we made plans to stop in Houston, TX, and Montgomery, AL to see friends before heading to Loudon to see my Mom. We got to Houston the next night at around midnight. It was stifling!! It was still so hot and humid the windows fogged up. After a couple of days, it was on to Montgomery and more of the same. By the time we reached Loudon I was ready to melt. We actually cut our stay in Loudon by a couple of days because I couldn’t wait to get to someplace cooler. Each of these places had air conditioning, but that didn’t help when you went outside.
We were going to stay with Sue’s aunt when we first got to Charleston until we settled into the base and found a place to live. We got there on June 5th, and I’ll never forget it. It was 95 degrees and felt like 300% humidity, and her aunt didn’t even own a fan! I roasted all night! The next morning I was going to go to the base to sign in and Sue was going to look for an apartment. She asked me what I wanted and I said, “The first place you find with a working air conditioner!”
We eventually adjusted, at least a little. However, to this day, I still can’t take much of the heat and it’s all because of the time I spent on the central California coast. But oh, what a place that was. I’ve been back several times and sometimes think I would like to live there again, but I know it’s changed. More people, more expensive; probably nowhere near the paradise I remember. But it’s still nice to dream.
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