So, apparently ravioli just isn't as good unless you've tasted it with your eyebrows.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Madness #17--mid-afternoon post-lunch baths
So, apparently ravioli just isn't as good unless you've tasted it with your eyebrows.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
barbeque Friday
Surprise, surprise.I guess we're throwing another one of those last-minute-come-if-you're-available Moseley barbeques.
Friday, July 25th, 6pm. Our place.
Bring your own meat and a side to share.
We always told ourselves that once we got into a house we'd just party with friends all the time. So even though we've been keeping to ourselves lately thanks to seasons one through five of "Smallville" on dvd, we're excited to have a houseful this weekend.
Hope you can make it!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
a debtor's thankful heart
$21,105.06.
That's a lot of money. I could do so much with twenty-thousand dollars. Pay off a car loan or two. Put a down payment on a house. Just think of how many shopping carts I would need to haul twenty-thousand dollars-worth of Huggies size four diapers. Shocking, really.
The big reveal? That's how much just three Remicade infusion treatments cost. Maybe that's why the nurses feel so obliged to bring you all the free cranberry grape juice your little heart desires.
See, earlier this year, I suffered the most severe Crohns disease flare-up I've had in the eleven years I've lived with my chronic illness. Worse than the time my mouth was covered with cold-sores and I lost so much weight that I cried in the shower when I noticed how severely my hip bones jutted out. Worse than the time I passed out in my mom's arms and had to call an ambulance, though all I could think about once I came to was how embarrassed I was that those good-looking EMTs saw my room at one of its messiest moments.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the present. Or at least to a couple months ago. My gastroenterologist (or tummy doctor) had me undergo several Remicade infusions. Basically it's a drug that gets pumped right into your bloodstream, since Crohns patients like myself can have a hard time absorbing oral medications. I got hooked up to an IV each time I went in, and got to sit still for three glorious hours without a single responsibility to keep me busy. I could read, nap, watch "The Office" on Marty's video iPod, or snack on Cheezits to my heart's content. Oh. And enjoy a nice cold plastic cup of cranberry grape juice. Heaven, I tell you.
But not for $21,105.06. For that much I could just pay someone to be sick for me.
The good news is that my insurance company covered the entire cost. Not a cent comes out of my pocket, other than whatever I may have paid buying McDonalds to sneak into Mercy's outpatient chemo room. I actually had a gentleman in the next chair over ask when the hospital started serving fast food, and comment that it was a step up from the usual cafeteria munchies.
Really, though, that bill is one I'll never pay.
And even though biblical analogies can be rather cheesey at times, this one really sunk in for me. I had a debt I could never even fathom repaying. A debt so huge, it would cost a lifetime of hardship (in this case, financial). But someone came in and covered it all. Took that debt upon themselves and gave me freedom from it in return. My body is cleansed and healed as a result.
Thank you, Lord, for covering my spiritual debt. For taking my burden upon yourself so that I could be free. Free to bask in Your grace and mercy. Free to revel in a God who loves me just that much. Free to enjoy all the cranberry grape juice I could ever want.
P.S. Because the best blogs have pictures in them, and are more likely to be read, I'll include a snapshot of my favorite visitor while I was in for one of my treatments:
That's a lot of money. I could do so much with twenty-thousand dollars. Pay off a car loan or two. Put a down payment on a house. Just think of how many shopping carts I would need to haul twenty-thousand dollars-worth of Huggies size four diapers. Shocking, really.
The big reveal? That's how much just three Remicade infusion treatments cost. Maybe that's why the nurses feel so obliged to bring you all the free cranberry grape juice your little heart desires.
See, earlier this year, I suffered the most severe Crohns disease flare-up I've had in the eleven years I've lived with my chronic illness. Worse than the time my mouth was covered with cold-sores and I lost so much weight that I cried in the shower when I noticed how severely my hip bones jutted out. Worse than the time I passed out in my mom's arms and had to call an ambulance, though all I could think about once I came to was how embarrassed I was that those good-looking EMTs saw my room at one of its messiest moments.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the present. Or at least to a couple months ago. My gastroenterologist (or tummy doctor) had me undergo several Remicade infusions. Basically it's a drug that gets pumped right into your bloodstream, since Crohns patients like myself can have a hard time absorbing oral medications. I got hooked up to an IV each time I went in, and got to sit still for three glorious hours without a single responsibility to keep me busy. I could read, nap, watch "The Office" on Marty's video iPod, or snack on Cheezits to my heart's content. Oh. And enjoy a nice cold plastic cup of cranberry grape juice. Heaven, I tell you.
But not for $21,105.06. For that much I could just pay someone to be sick for me.
The good news is that my insurance company covered the entire cost. Not a cent comes out of my pocket, other than whatever I may have paid buying McDonalds to sneak into Mercy's outpatient chemo room. I actually had a gentleman in the next chair over ask when the hospital started serving fast food, and comment that it was a step up from the usual cafeteria munchies.
Really, though, that bill is one I'll never pay.
And even though biblical analogies can be rather cheesey at times, this one really sunk in for me. I had a debt I could never even fathom repaying. A debt so huge, it would cost a lifetime of hardship (in this case, financial). But someone came in and covered it all. Took that debt upon themselves and gave me freedom from it in return. My body is cleansed and healed as a result.
Thank you, Lord, for covering my spiritual debt. For taking my burden upon yourself so that I could be free. Free to bask in Your grace and mercy. Free to revel in a God who loves me just that much. Free to enjoy all the cranberry grape juice I could ever want.
P.S. Because the best blogs have pictures in them, and are more likely to be read, I'll include a snapshot of my favorite visitor while I was in for one of my treatments:
Friday, July 18, 2008
our trip back east...
Let's just say it'll be a while before we fly with our little munchkin again. But our trip to Pennsylvania and the fun we had visiting with family was worth a fussy baby, diaper explosion mid-air, and a couple tears shed by a very tired Mommy.
Anyway, instead of boring you with every tiny detail of our trip, I thought I'd just post a couple (okay, a lot) of my favorite pictures from our journey, with a little explanation underneath to clarify what's going on. And yes, I'm related to every single one of the people you'll see. Kind of crazy when your family can't all fit in the hotel swimming pool at the same time. We had to cool off in shifts.
So scroll on down to meet my crazy family. Could I love them any more than I already do?
Anyway, instead of boring you with every tiny detail of our trip, I thought I'd just post a couple (okay, a lot) of my favorite pictures from our journey, with a little explanation underneath to clarify what's going on. And yes, I'm related to every single one of the people you'll see. Kind of crazy when your family can't all fit in the hotel swimming pool at the same time. We had to cool off in shifts.
So scroll on down to meet my crazy family. Could I love them any more than I already do?
little Marty covered with strawberry Pop-Tart goo after Mommy thought it would be a good idea to hand him one on the drive down to San Jose
hanging out with Unkie at the airport, despite a bit of a height difference
Auntie Ruthie taught him how to pull the airplane window shade up and down--kept him occupied for at least half an hour
holding on tight during our bus ride to the car rental place
we thought he could use a little boost the morning after we arrived at the hotel
with sister Grace, cousin Clara, sister Hannah, sister Laura, cousin Sara Beth, cousin Candace, and cousin Kathleen--just a few of the lovely ladies
loving my cousin Neal
my aunts made these bracelets in honor of my cousin Gordie who passed away in February--they even had a little one made for the baby
playing bocci ball with cousins Billy, Eddie, Rusty, Christopher ("Wrong ball, Becky!"), and my brother Ben
pairing up for the water balloon toss
even the baby wanted to throw a water balloon
posing with cousin Veronika, his babysitter for the weekend
(we popped a water balloon over the baby's head to cool him off in the horrible humidity--he started to cry at first, but once everyone cheered for him he yelled, "Yay!")
lovey-dovey at my Grandy's 80th birthday party
someone really enjoyed the birthday cake
with my cousin Alli, who I just adore and wanted to take home
Grandy and Papa Bill with all the cousins
holding my cousin Hudson and little Marty, both big Elmo fans--they're a year apart but there's a whole generation between them
with my Aunt Susie, a fellow new mom--we had fun chatting about sleeping habits, discipline, and the joy of raising boys
wearing his fireman pajamas with his great-grandpa's old fire helmet from when Papa Bill served at Ohio's Euclid firehouse
posing with Grandy, the birthday girl
playing the slots during our layover in Vegas--my brother actually won a couple bucks
so tired and sleepy after a fun weekend
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Da-Benchers Da-Bodessy
God bless the Josephs.
I had to drive down to San Jose this morning. Long drive. And when running on just four hours of sleep, one can tend to be pretty incoherent. Needless to say, I was nervous about manning such a huge vehicle. My dad always says, "A car in tired hands is a dangerous weapon."
And I'm a driver-talker. I like to interact while I drive so that my mind stays sharp instead of drifting off into a daydream. That's when the car starts to veer off the highway. And since the only person I had to talk to on the way down was a thirteen-month-old who latest vocabular acheivment was saying "geck-um" for "your welcome", I knew I was in for a long four hours.
But God bless the Josephs.
Growing up, my siblings and I used to listen to "Adventures in Odyssey". It's this radio show put on by Focus on the Family, a Christian organization that appeals to young families. It follows a group of characters living in a town called Odyssey (go figure), and chronicles their adventures and the Biblical lessons learned along the way. Cheesey? You bet.
But I recently learned that our family wasn't the only one following the happenings at Whit's End, and what Connie and Eugene were up to day after day. The Josephs, Candace's family, grew up listening to the same cassette tapes, and actually still own every single episode on CD.
So I decided to borrow a couple series and see if it would make my time in the car go by any faster. My freakin' goodness. I got so wrapped up in each episode that I was actually kind of bummed when I pulled up to my parents' house. I wanted to sit in the car for a couple extra minutes to find out what the Indian Prime Minister thought of the Edulink that John Avery and little Marvin created to bring both education and the Gospel message to millions in Asia.
Mission accomplished. Thanks to a certain little radio show, I actually enjoyed my long drive, and look forward to the ride home.
Of course, I feel a little silly admitting that I got so much out of a children's program that originated sometime in the 80s or early 90s. But if I can rock an Amy Grant "Heart in Motion" CD without shame, I must be more confident in my love of the Christian oldies than I realized.
I mean, who doesn't love a good Sandi Patti or Twila Paris tune anyway?
I had to drive down to San Jose this morning. Long drive. And when running on just four hours of sleep, one can tend to be pretty incoherent. Needless to say, I was nervous about manning such a huge vehicle. My dad always says, "A car in tired hands is a dangerous weapon."
And I'm a driver-talker. I like to interact while I drive so that my mind stays sharp instead of drifting off into a daydream. That's when the car starts to veer off the highway. And since the only person I had to talk to on the way down was a thirteen-month-old who latest vocabular acheivment was saying "geck-um" for "your welcome", I knew I was in for a long four hours.
But God bless the Josephs.
Growing up, my siblings and I used to listen to "Adventures in Odyssey". It's this radio show put on by Focus on the Family, a Christian organization that appeals to young families. It follows a group of characters living in a town called Odyssey (go figure), and chronicles their adventures and the Biblical lessons learned along the way. Cheesey? You bet.
But I recently learned that our family wasn't the only one following the happenings at Whit's End, and what Connie and Eugene were up to day after day. The Josephs, Candace's family, grew up listening to the same cassette tapes, and actually still own every single episode on CD.
So I decided to borrow a couple series and see if it would make my time in the car go by any faster. My freakin' goodness. I got so wrapped up in each episode that I was actually kind of bummed when I pulled up to my parents' house. I wanted to sit in the car for a couple extra minutes to find out what the Indian Prime Minister thought of the Edulink that John Avery and little Marvin created to bring both education and the Gospel message to millions in Asia.
Mission accomplished. Thanks to a certain little radio show, I actually enjoyed my long drive, and look forward to the ride home.
Of course, I feel a little silly admitting that I got so much out of a children's program that originated sometime in the 80s or early 90s. But if I can rock an Amy Grant "Heart in Motion" CD without shame, I must be more confident in my love of the Christian oldies than I realized.
I mean, who doesn't love a good Sandi Patti or Twila Paris tune anyway?
Monday, July 7, 2008
oh happy day (oh happy daaaaay)
Ever have those days that couldn't have gone any better even if you planned it?
Friday was Marty's last day working at American Eagle. Hooray! Long story, but we are so thankful to have gotten him out of there. We surprised him with brownies in the food court after he finished his very last shift. The bright blue icing on them read, "Suck it, AE!" Complete with a picture of an eagle crossed out. I swear, Candace has a gift for all things cake-y.
How fun for Marty to be surrounded by good friends as we closed that rather sucky chapter. Bobby and Candace were there of course, the Brams stopped by, we happened to run into the Browns and Shirleys, and my brother Ben and his wife Laura drove up from San Jose for the big moment. Four hours in the car just so they could surprise Marty on his last day. If that's not love, I don't know what is.
That night, Marty, Ben, Laura, and I enjoyed a feast fit for a king. Or fit for a guy moving on to a bigger and better job. We had meatloaf, garlic mashed potatoes, Ceasar salad, stuffed mushrooms, Smirnoff galore, and angel food cake with strawberries for dessert. I enjoyed feeling like a little culinary wifey for once. Our time that evening was spent riding Marty's scooter around the neighborhood and laughing our butts off at the stupid people eating dirt, or mud rather, on "Wipeout". And since we all bought something new at American Eagle in order to take advantage of Marty's discount, we felt purty. We were having so much fun, we even forgot it was the 4th of July!
It really was a perfect day. Really. I think I said that about a hundred times as we enjoyed hour after hour of fun and laughter. Thanks, Ben and Laura, for being so precious to us, and for making Marty feel loved and valued during this time of transition.
Now we just need to make some brownies that say "Suck it, four-hour drive seperating the Palms and Moseleys".
"Lord, beer me strength."
Little "Office" quote for ya.
But boy, does this little prayer ring true for me today. Why is it that whenever I have a huge trip coming up, I think about packing at least a week in advance, but never actually pack until the night before? And with a baby in tow, I'm responsible for twice as much crap.
This Wednesday, little Marty man and I are driving down to San Jose. Actually, I'll be doing the driving. He'll just sit in his carseat like a good little boy (fingers crossed). We'll spend the night with my parents, then fly out to Pennsylvania at 7:30am the next morning. Goo. Husband Marty will join us a day later.
So what awaits back east? A huge family reunion with all the relatives on my mom's side. That's 2 grandparents, 10 aunts, 11 uncles, 31 cousins, and 1 second cousin. And a couple significant others who are brave enough to "meet the fam". Of course those numbers don't include the 11 of us that are heading out there from sunny California--my mom, dad, brother and his wife, three sisters, one boyfriend, and us three Moseleys. It's crazy, but I love the chaos.
We typically rent out a whole floor at a local hotel, and hang out in one of their conference rooms while we're there. We do talent shows, so all my cousins, ranging in age from 27 to 2, can show off their latest mad skills. Maybe I'll demonstrate how to change a poopy diaper using only one scented baby wipe. A feat worthy of a little attention if I do say so myself. We'll also hang out by the pool, and get dressed up one evening for a fancy dinner at a nearby restaurant. My Grandy is turning 80 this year, so we get to celebrate her life and the legacy she's created with her many descendants.
Which brings me to the packing I should be doing right now. This will mark our baby's very first trip on an airplane, so packing for a plane ride is a whole different story than our usual San Jose excursions. I don't really know where to start, but thankfully have recieved some great plane advice from a pro (thanks, Beckie). With ziplocs full of snacks in one hand and a brand new Mr. Potato Head toy in the other, I feel armed and ready. Gulp. I'm freaking out in my head.
But today's silver lining is one that will surely carry me through the stress I'll face over the next couple days in trying to get everything ready. This afternoon I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, and little Goobie marched right up to me, put his tiny fat hand on my leg, and said, "Mama?" Wait. It gets better. I looked down at his precious, mac-n'-cheese-covered face, and said, "Kiss kiss?" He leaned in and gave me a big ol' wet one. And I loved every noodle-y, drool-y minute of it.
But boy, does this little prayer ring true for me today. Why is it that whenever I have a huge trip coming up, I think about packing at least a week in advance, but never actually pack until the night before? And with a baby in tow, I'm responsible for twice as much crap.
This Wednesday, little Marty man and I are driving down to San Jose. Actually, I'll be doing the driving. He'll just sit in his carseat like a good little boy (fingers crossed). We'll spend the night with my parents, then fly out to Pennsylvania at 7:30am the next morning. Goo. Husband Marty will join us a day later.
So what awaits back east? A huge family reunion with all the relatives on my mom's side. That's 2 grandparents, 10 aunts, 11 uncles, 31 cousins, and 1 second cousin. And a couple significant others who are brave enough to "meet the fam". Of course those numbers don't include the 11 of us that are heading out there from sunny California--my mom, dad, brother and his wife, three sisters, one boyfriend, and us three Moseleys. It's crazy, but I love the chaos.
We typically rent out a whole floor at a local hotel, and hang out in one of their conference rooms while we're there. We do talent shows, so all my cousins, ranging in age from 27 to 2, can show off their latest mad skills. Maybe I'll demonstrate how to change a poopy diaper using only one scented baby wipe. A feat worthy of a little attention if I do say so myself. We'll also hang out by the pool, and get dressed up one evening for a fancy dinner at a nearby restaurant. My Grandy is turning 80 this year, so we get to celebrate her life and the legacy she's created with her many descendants.
Which brings me to the packing I should be doing right now. This will mark our baby's very first trip on an airplane, so packing for a plane ride is a whole different story than our usual San Jose excursions. I don't really know where to start, but thankfully have recieved some great plane advice from a pro (thanks, Beckie). With ziplocs full of snacks in one hand and a brand new Mr. Potato Head toy in the other, I feel armed and ready. Gulp. I'm freaking out in my head.
But today's silver lining is one that will surely carry me through the stress I'll face over the next couple days in trying to get everything ready. This afternoon I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, and little Goobie marched right up to me, put his tiny fat hand on my leg, and said, "Mama?" Wait. It gets better. I looked down at his precious, mac-n'-cheese-covered face, and said, "Kiss kiss?" He leaned in and gave me a big ol' wet one. And I loved every noodle-y, drool-y minute of it.
So in the middle of deciding whether to bring my gray tweed high heels or classic black, and sorting through the toys that will drive me insane on a six-hour flight and those that won't, all I have to do to calm down is ask for a little kiss kiss.
Funny how that seems to make everything all better. Whether the Lord margaritas me strength or not.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Madness #17--nakey baby
Little did I know when I got up this morning that I was in for a real treat.
So, my precious son woke up at a reasonable hour. He started laughing and talking over the baby monitor, so I jumped out of bed to go get him, excited to start our day together. I have this little voice that I use whenever I open the door and see him standing there smiling at me through the bars of his crib. So I said my "Good morning, Baby" in an octave only dogs can hear and reached to pick him up.
He was soaked. And smelled like pee-pee. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a diaper sitting next to the sock monkey in his crib. Upon even closer inspection, I noticed a little pale butt sticking out from underneath his pajama top where a diaper is supposed to be.
So my theory is that he wanted to surprise me by going commando. That his diaper got uncomfortable and he played with it until he figured out how to take it off. And from the looks of it, he made that decision pretty early on last night. His diaper had less in it than his crib sheet had soaked up. Needless to say, I laughed pretty hard as he looked at me with that little mischievous grin of his. Complete with half-grown teeth and a dimple or two.
But despite the extra laundry I'll be doing today, and the morning bath before breakfast, I'm thanking my lucky stars. He could have smelled like poo-poo.
So, my precious son woke up at a reasonable hour. He started laughing and talking over the baby monitor, so I jumped out of bed to go get him, excited to start our day together. I have this little voice that I use whenever I open the door and see him standing there smiling at me through the bars of his crib. So I said my "Good morning, Baby" in an octave only dogs can hear and reached to pick him up.
He was soaked. And smelled like pee-pee. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a diaper sitting next to the sock monkey in his crib. Upon even closer inspection, I noticed a little pale butt sticking out from underneath his pajama top where a diaper is supposed to be.
So my theory is that he wanted to surprise me by going commando. That his diaper got uncomfortable and he played with it until he figured out how to take it off. And from the looks of it, he made that decision pretty early on last night. His diaper had less in it than his crib sheet had soaked up. Needless to say, I laughed pretty hard as he looked at me with that little mischievous grin of his. Complete with half-grown teeth and a dimple or two.
But despite the extra laundry I'll be doing today, and the morning bath before breakfast, I'm thanking my lucky stars. He could have smelled like poo-poo.
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