Take a Big Whiff...that's the smell of change Baby!

So things they are a-changing in the fam. What, pray tell, could usher in even MORE change than we've already had? Plenty, dear friends.

1. We have made the (tough) decision to enroll Aiden and Devyn in a different school next year. Lots of reasons really. Primarily because God has blessed us with the opportunity to educate them in a manner we always wanted for them, so we are taking Him up on the offer. In addition to that, Aiden would not have had the same first grade teacher that Devyn was blessed--and I truly mean blessed--next year. She now teaches 2nd grade and while Devyn's teachers have been great following her first grade year, they have NOT been a Mrs.J. She.Is.The. POO. It breaks my heart that Aiden wouldn't have her next year--so, due to that and the aforementioned reason, the kids are both moving to a different school. Together, which they're very stoked about, I might add.

2. Mike has a new job in Naval Warfare. We are headed to an LHD, or Landing Helicopter Dock in the terms of a Naval Assault Ship. This means, NO BAHRAIN IN SEPTEMBER!!! WHOO HOOO! Hallelujah and praise the Good Lord.

3. I am venturing back to school to take a class in the language of medicine, which may be a stepping stone to a new career for me...I'm merely getting my feet wet right now, but so far it's a good, tepid temperature, and not too shocking to the spirit! When I was three years old, my "Grown-Up Job" was going to be nurse. That's all I wanted to be. Then, when I was around 16, I went insane and decided to major in something else entirely and I mean ENTIRELY different. I enjoyed it, but still, it's not where my heart lies. There is still a very, VERY large part of me tht wants to be in the medical field as an RN, so that's what I'm pursuing. Trust me, I'm scared to bits. I don't know what lies ahead of me...but, I do know I'll regret it for the rest of my days if I don't give this a good hoo-ra. I will either come out completely crazy as a June Bug or a bonafide Registered Nurse--either in Pediatrics or Obstetrics...

there's more, but it's bedtime for the kiddles...

The Wish List

Remember when the Sears WishBook was ACTUALLY a BOOK and not a pamphlet? Such a travesty. Nearly ruined Christmas this year when the Target Wish Book was MUCH bigger than the Sears WishBook. I digress...

Wishes for this year...and there are nine of them...

1. That the scheduled deployment to Bahrain will be 90 days and NOT 180. Read: 3 months. NOT SIX.

2. That the Hokies will actually win a Bowl Game tonight. Because it's rarely happened before. I love them, but BOY do they choke when it matters.

3. That I will continue on my quest to truly simpfly our family life and spend more time together doing silly, fun family stuff.

4. That my children's confidence will continue to grow, and their understanding of God's love for them, as well as ours, will grow..and grow...and grow...

5. That the endeavour I am about to begin will be fruitful, and won't leave me shaking my head...

6. That my husband will continue to have a fulfilling Naval career...

7. That my extended family will find peace after losing my grandfather last month.

8. On a selfish note, that the four of us will be able to travel to London this fall after our scheduled trip was cancelled when the last deployment was extended.

9. Finally, for laughter, joy, sadness that makes us grateful, anger that makes us mature, and melancholy that makes us comfortable to fill our home and the lives of the four of us.

Happiest of New Year's to you!

That's a Wrap...

Today is New Year's Eve. The end of a rough year for the O's (that's us). While my parents were here last week I remarked to my mom that Mike and I had only spent three weeks together since LAST Christmas; she,thinking I had to be wrong, went to the calendar to count it up. Sure 'nuff, three weeks. Do I keep harping on this deployment? I certainly think I do. Just one more reason I'm glad to ring in the new year. It's often said that we can't truly look forward without looking back to realize the lessons learned. So, with that, here are 2008's lessons learned for me:

1. You should always, ALWAYS ignore the screaming dude in the celica with the Tennessee plates in the WaWa parking lot. Because he's wackadoodle.

2. Neighborhood conflicts are best left alone.

3. Tornadoes are not,NOT your friend.

4. Wisdom imparted often comes from the children in your life, and not the adults.

5. You should never be afraid to have no idea what you're doing when the thing you're doing is seemingly the craziest thing you have ever done.

6. No matter how many times you steam-clean the carpet, you'll always have to do it again. And again.

7. Nothing is stronger than good prayer and good coffee.

8. The plumber can be your best friend. Especially if you call him three times in three weeks.

9. Nothing is sweeter in this life than simply being in a room with the people you love. Who cares if you're not doing anything at the time. Just breathe them in.

10. It all boils down to family. They are the Heaven God gives us here on earth until we get there.

That's it. Tomorrow will be the things I hope for in 2009. Here's to Hog Jowls, Black Eyed Peas, Cornbread and Boiled Cabbage. None of which I've ever eaten. I'm Southern...not crazy!

Cornbread Dressing, Gorgonzola Prime Rib, and Pumpkin Pie Fantasy

And that's part of our Christmas supper menu. The rest?

Spinach Salad with Feta and pears
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Mango Cranberry Relish
Spirited Eggnog
Southern Iced Tea
Cranberry Prosecco

and for baking goodies for the neighbors and mailman and (yes) the trashman,
Peanut Butter Balls (not Buckeyes. Cover the whole thing in melted chocolate for cryin out loud. That bare spot is just a mean teaser).
Bourbon Rum Balls
Molasses Oatmeal Cookies

This is me trying to keep my mind on other things. Nine days ago my Grandaddy passed away after a ten year presence of Alzheimer's Disease. I drove home and sat with him in the hospital to give my mom a break, then after MUCH deliberation and convincing on the part of my family, decided to go ahead with Mike's and my trip to Las Vegas for the weekend (Well--LATE Thursday to EARLY Monday). His funeral was held the day we flew out. Hello, Family Guilt. Not that I got that handed to me; but it was I that felt guilty. But it was my mom's best friend who reminded me that I was there with my family when no one else was--when all the other family was elsewhere, and that my husband had been gone the better part of the year--that I needed to be with him and cultivate our marriage. She was so right. Mike and I had the most spectacular time. It was very, very needed and for the first time in a really long time, I found myself relaxing.

Now, however, it's "back to reality...whoops there goes gravity..." and the fall-out from my Grandaddy's death is beginning to rear it's ugly head. I'm not going to go into specifics here, but let's just say the Hatfields and the McCoys have nothing on us.

So, for that reason, I'm thinking on other things...things that are good, and pure, and right, and true and enjoying my darling, precious family. And I'm just thankful.

Tomato Soup Cake and Lives Saved...

Ok, so this is to formally put any and all speculation to rest. Two of my friends who read my blog have asked me to explain Tomato Soup Cake and how I ended up saving Devyn's life twice. Now, I'm going to include a recipe for the cake; however, it's NOT the recipe my mother-in-law has perfected. I don't have that recipe because it has some secret ingredient in it and I think you either have to have kissed the Pope or been Brule by blood (my mother-in-law's family name), or to have been French Canadian by birth. So! Here we go!

Tomato Soup Cake is a very Southern dish. Go figure, because my mother-in-law is originally from New England, and hard-core Northern at that. Her great-grandfather was Whaler, and her mother still has the craziest strongest accent from Fall River, Mass, EVER. Anyway, she makes this cake once a year. It's a spice cake with nuts and fruit (raisins usually). It's ridiculously moist and although the name conjures up probably some really yuck stuff, if it's done right, it will BLOW YOUR MIND. Here's the recipe from allrecipes.com.

INGREDIENTS (Nutrition)
1 (10.75 ounce) can condensed tomato soup
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup white sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 cups self-rising flour
1 cup raisins

DIRECTIONS
Combine the tomato soup and the soda in a bowl, and let it stand.
Cream sugar, egg, butter, salt, cinnamon, and cloves. Mix in tomato soup and soda mixture, and then flour. Stir in the raisins, and pour the batter in a greased baking dish.
Bake at 325 degrees F (165 degrees C) for 1 hour, or until done. Cool the cake, and top with cream cheese icing.

Ok, now...how I managed to save Devyn's life. Twice...
She was about ten months old and she and I were in the kitchen while I was making supper. She was in her high chair and was happily enjoying some Zwieback toast while babbling to me about what Elmo had done that day on Sesame Street. She pretty well stopped babbling immediatly and I thought something had caught her attention, but when I looked over, she was very slightly blue. I grabbed her out of the highchair and threw her over my knee and started doing infant Heimlich on her back. It took about 15 seconds before the piece of cookie that was stuck in her throat shot across the kitchen. So. That was experience number one. Experience number two was much, much more magnanimous...

We had been in London about two months and Mike was off playing soccer one evening (it was a Monday--how do I remember that?). Devyn was 23 months old and I was again, in the kitchen cooking her supper. She was having chicken and green beans. Again, weird how I remember that. Now, it should be noted that the temperature in London during the summer can reach about 99 degrees, no breeze. Oh and no one has air conditioning. Read: miserable. Because of that, we had both french doors open and our windows, which were not typical sash windows. These had a handle that you turned and the windows opened inward from a side hinge. Hope that makes sense. Anyway, Devyn walked past the kitchen and said, "Mommy, I go play, k"? and made her way into the living room where her toys and the t.v. was. I brought her dinner in about 5 minutes later and sweet girl wasn't in there. So, I thought she was probably in her room playing or we had just launched into a game of hide-and-seek without my knowing it. I started playfully calling out to her, "Devyn...I need my baby bug"! Five minutes goes by without her answering and I was starting to get nervous...I had gone into every room of our apartment, which added up to five without finding her. I decided to go back into our bedroom and as I'm walking past our master bathroom, I hear her little voice..."Bye bye Mommy, I go fly now". I swear it was like slow motion. I looked in the door of the bathroom and there is sweet girl, standing in the open window (there was no screen) waving to me. We were on the third floor. She was standing on the outer ledge of the window on brick, three stories above concrete. I don't have to tell you that my heart stopped. I very, very carefully and calmly told her to look at mommy and stand as still as she could. I made it over to her (only about four steps, but honestly, it felt like a mile), managed to grab her wrist and pulled her as hard as I could. She fell onto me and we both fell back onto the tile of the floor. I held her more tightly that I think I ever had.

She was afraid of windows for a long time after that, but thankfully has no memory of the event. I however, will still close my eyes sometimes and I can see her falling out of the window, even though, praise the good Lord, she never took that fall. Mike thinks I had some post-traumatic stress afterwards and maybe I did. Whatever the case, God allowed me to keep my calm and keep her safe twice.

Ok, story told. Or stories apparently!

Thanksgiving...and all it's drama...

Seriously. Madness. My poor sister-in-law-to-be. My poor little girl. The following is a SHORT account of Thanksgiving weekend...proceed with caution...

Friday, 4:30 pm
Arrive at my in-laws for Thanksgiving with the whole fam--anticipating Tomato Soup Cake (doesn't appeal? Fine. More for me. You don't know what you're missing!), copious amounts of Sweet Potato Souffle, NCAA Football (yeeeahh, Hokies!), good, family bonding and just generalized relaxin.

Friday, 4:59 pm...
Hell is about to be unleashed...

Friday, 5 pm.
Hell, unleashed. There is a bark from the family dog, a horrifying scream and Mike grabbing Devyn and sprinting to the bathroom.

Friday, 5:01 pm.
Realization that dog has bitten Devyn. Square on her face and caused a rip on the bridge of her nose about 1/2 an inch from her eye. Subsequent injury to the side and underside of her nose.

Friday, 5:05 pm.
We whisk Devyn off to see Mike's aunt, who by the grace of God, is a plastic surgery nurse. Sweet Aunt cleans Devyn's wounds and fixes her up with six or seven suture strips and Derma-Bond. We go to Mike's family's home and eat a lovely dinner of Italian food. I collapse at the end of the night, exhausted, physically and mentally.

Saturday, 7:45 am
I start making two loaves of Pumpkin Bread. Which. Was. Wonderful.

Saturday, 9 am
Soon to be sister wakes with a killer stomach ache, which turns into poor girl in bed all day, fending off the demons of a possible stomach flu or food poisoning.

Saturday, 3 pm
The Hokies win the Commonwealth Cup, beating UVA. Yeah Hoos...Hoos your Hokie now?

Saturday, 7 pm
Thankgiving dinner with the family, enjoying copious amounts of Sweet Potato Souffle, Fort (don't ask me to explain what this is--it's a VERY French Canadian dish that's a family tradition), Turkey, three types of peas (to please everyone) and Tomato Soup Cake. There was much rejoicing...

Saturday, 8:30 pm
Family dog lunges at Aiden. Family dog is removed for the remainder of the weekend into a back bedroom.

Sunday, earrrrly...
poor sister to be is in the bathroom all night, probably pleading for her death.

Sunday evening...
We arrive back home, no worse for the wear (well, maybe I was worse for the wear), but ready to start another week. Sans drama.

Ruby Friday...

So my sweetie friend Stacy was a lifer. A Pregnancy Lifer, anyway, or so we thought until this past Thursday night. See, she was POSITIVE she was going to be pregnant FOREVAH with their third baby. Thursday night at 6:56 pm, our phone rang, and it was Stacy, "Yeah, well, we're going to go to the hospital" (read the non-excited tone in her voice--they'd been four times prior in pre-term labor). But there was definitely something different in her voice this time; maybe it was nervousness, maybe it was anticipation. Whatever it was, I knew that this would be THE night.

I should interject here that Stacy was graciously going to allow me in the delivery room with her and her husband due to the fact that I'd had two babies the using the surgical method (i.e. flat on your back, covered in a sheet, while people use instruments to remove said baby) and I'd never witnessed a "Push Em Out, Push Em Out, Waaaay Out" birth. Mike and I sat through the evening most likely watching football, although I can't really remember and no phone call. Then, behold...at 10:31, the phone rang. It was her hubby, "We're going to the fourth floor. Wanna come"?

I got dressed probably quicker than anyone has EVER and drove through the dark coastal Virginia night to the hospital only to wait in the waiting room with TWO screaming children until 11:30 pm because Pregnancy Lifer was getting her epidural. Now, WHO in their RIGHT MIND brings a ONE YEAR OLD to a maternity waiting room at darn-near-MIDNIGHT to witness the miracle of his screaming mother bring his sibling into this world? Holy smokes. Said child was EXHAUSTED. His aunt was CHASING him around the waiting room and three women whose water had just broken while he cackled into the Fox News Channel filled room. Anyway, I digress...

We thought Stacy would deliver relatively quickly because her other two had come shootin out of her like bullets out of Annie Oakley's gun. Not this stubborn baby. After 5 hours of no sleep, ice chips, vomit, poor hubby trying to sleep in a chair, iv's, internal monitors, Turbutalain, Pitocin, rapid heart beats, water breaking and taking guesses at what the baby's weight would be, at approximately 4:01 am, Stacey started pushing...

and at 4:09 am, a little face was staring at me while I watched her amazing mama push her the rest of the way into this world. It. Was. Spectacular.

Ruby Eileen weighed a healthy 8 lbs, 2 oz and was 19 1/2 inches long. And she was TICKED OFF. She was MOST unhappy to have to come out of her nice warm sauna and she made sure everyone knew it. Mike always joked that she would have to be born on a Tuesday so he could call her "Ruby Tuesday". Sorry honey. She was most definitely a Ruby Friday.

I walked out of the hospital at dawn to go home and promptly called her Daddy. I'm sure he thought I forgot something. Not really. I just wanted to tell him to be sure and tell Ruby that it snowed on the VERY early morning she was born. It never, hardly ever snows here. Just another miracle to add to the one God had given her mommy, daddy, and me by letting me witness her birth thirty minutes before.