Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Your Cesarian Baby Will Never Love

A well-meaning stranger recommended the movie Birth As We Know It to Rebecca of Girl's Gone Child.  When I read about dolphin midwives on her blog, I had to look this up.

Unless you're an OB/GYN or a midwife, this 10-minute promotional video is not safe for work.

Ok, folks, it's time to rope. it. in.

4:50 - "We come into this world wide open to give and receive love, and when that is our primal experience, our nervous system is hardwired for the undeniable rightness of being." Cut to video of a Cesarian birth. "If our early impressions are anything less than loving, then that anything imprints in our nervous system as a valid experience of love, regardless of how painful those experiences might have been. And throughout our life we will subconsciously recreate the conditions and feelings that were imprinted at birth and early childhood. Because in spite of all logic, that is our comfort zone. The dramatic journey from the womb out into the world, whatever form it takes, reinforces that imprint.  In addition, our early impressions of life also have an enormous impact on our future capacity to experience intimacy and love."

You heard them.  If your "birth experience" is anything less than a transcendent zen experience, preferably including orgasm, your baby will never have a successful intimate relationship.  Never mind that a pretty significant portion of the children who are born via c-section would never have an opportunity to form an intimate relationship if they had not born via c-section, because they would have died before they had the chance. 

In spite of all logic, indeed.

Folks, this kind of hogwash is what you get when you listen to the woman who sells lotion at the mall on the subject of medicine.  (Is it just our mall that has thickly-accented women pushing lotion?)

I would love it if Dr. Amy would do an MST3K-style response video to that thing.

Look, I had three natural childbirths, not because of any hippy-dippy crap, but because the possible side-effects of the pain medication reached my personal threshold of "unacceptable risk."  I figured that if I could get through it without meds, I should, because the pain meds carried risks.  And honestly, the thought of a spinal headache or a big ol' needle in my back scared me more than the idea of natural birth.  I also was blessed with really speedy labors, so I had the option.  If I'd been in labor for a week and a half, I would've happily accepted the pain meds.  I was screaming for an epidural in the elevator on the way to L&D when I was in labor with MG.  Little did I know then that the screaming meant I was almost done.  I thought I had 12 more hours to go.

Parenting is all about managing risk, really.  It starts when you're pregnant, and whether or not you take that Category B medication that you really need, even though there's a chance that it poses unknown risk to the baby.  And everyone's risk threshold is different.  Everyone's pain threshold is different.  But it's profoundly stupid and cruel to insinuate that someone's baby won't ever be able to LOVE if it's born via c-section.

Why can't the "natural childbirth advocates" just be honest?  Why do they have to hitch their wagon to all this "newage" (rhymes with "sewage") crap?  Why the guilt?  Why the blame?  Why the drama?

Claire might have died in utero if we hadn't induced, because I had intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy and that's just how it works.  I also had pregnancy induced hypertension with all three of my kids, which could have killed us if we hadn't induced, too.  I wouldn't have to go far to find a dozen friends who wouldn't have survived, or whose kids wouldn't have survived, a water birth in the sea with dolphin freaking midwives. 

There is a time and a place for interventions, and that time and place needs to be determined by a woman and her caregiver.  That's it.  Let's take the competitiveness, and the drama, and most of all this pseudo-scientific pseudo-spiritual bullshit out of it.  It's not helping anyone. 

And quit traumatizing the poor dolphins.

Monday, May 30, 2011

I want to move to Grand Rapids!

This is just amazing. I hereby nominate the City of Grand Rapids to be put in charge of everything, because clearly they know how to coordinate a big project! I love how the music synched up with the visuals (the marching band, the football team, the pyrotechnics!). Wonderful! What fun.

Happy Memorial Day. I don't think the song or the video necessarily have anything to do with Memorial Day, this just happens to be the day I had time to surf around, and I happened to find it.

I also had time to make Slurpees (tm) in my ice cream maker. You want to know how? You pour Coke into the ice cream maker, and let it run until it turns into a Slurpee. Who knew? So I made caffeine free Coke Slurpees because I miss them but Jack doesn't like caffeine after noon. It's about 90 outside, so they hit the spot. I'm looking forward to trying other flavors... I think root beer will be next, but I need to refreeze my ice cream maker which takes 24 hours (enforced moderation).

I do have some good news to share, and I'm waiting for authorization to blog from the interested party or parties involved, so stay tuned (and if you're the interested party, don't forget to give me the go ahead when you're ready for me to share)!

Any guesses?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Friday, May 27, 2011

Your Daily Cry

I promise I'm not going to beat the story of the dog into the ground, but just one more heartwarming thing, and I swear I'll stop making you all cry, ok?

I got home tonight and BJ was already here.  I hate that he came home to a completely empty house, and I had tried to beat him home, but I didn't make it.  When I walked in he was standing at the kitchen counter looking exceptionally sad.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

He gestured at a box on the counter from Purdue.  We assumed that it was Max's ashes.

"Oh wow, oh God, that was fast."

I felt AWFUL.  I knew it would be hard for him to come home to an empty house, but to come home to an empty house and a box full of... well, that was just horrible.  Sometimes there just isn't enough Zoloft, you know?

We talked about whether or not we wanted to scatter them at the airport this weekend, and we decided to wait because we're not sure if we'll want to scatter them all or save some.  We've never had custody of any ashes before, so we're not sure what to do.  We don't want to regret a decision we make in grief.  So we'll wait.  After all, Aunt Vicki drove around with her husband's ashes in her trunk for at least a year or two, right?  We don't have to decide immediately. 

By this point we'd wandered into the laundry room and BJ was changing Jack's diaper.  I told BJ I'd take care of the box, and I went back into the kitchen to put the box somewhere where he would not accidentally find it and get all sad again between now and when we decided what to do.

When I picked up the box it felt way too light for what I thought was inside.  I remembered that they were sending a metal urn, and this didn't feel at all like metal.

Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I opened the box.

Inside a sympathy card with personal notes and signed by everyone we came into contact with at Purdue, and a clay impression of her paw print!  I laughed at us for a second before I started sobbing.  To think that I almost put this treasure away without opening the box or looking at it.

People can be so lovely.  I continue to be blown away by the kindness that surrounds us.

Lauren, Mike, Kristi, Laura, Brandy, Greg, Rebecca, and Jeff - thank you.

Thursday, May 26, 2011


Seriously, universe?

Thank you

All of the support that you have shown our family this week means so much.  We've received so many calls, texts, emails, comments, and cards.  So many of you have offered your love and support.  It truly touches our hearts to know that Max was loved by so many of our friends and family, too.

I wanted to share a couple of special stories...

Our neighbor, J, is 11.  He and his parents and his baby sister live two doors down.  He mowed our lawn for us while we were gone last weekend, and with everything that happened, BJ and I both forgot to pay him.  I called him after school yesterday and said, "When the storm is over, come down so I can pay you.  I'm so sorry we forgot."

J's mom came down after work and told me that J had asked her if, instead of paying him to mow the lawn, if it would be ok if he asked us to donate the money to the Humane Society in Max's memory, instead.  And his little sister, who is 3, told her mommy that she's going to grow up and be a vet so she can make Max strong and healthy again.

What wonderful kids, and what a lovely family. 

Other friends of ours have also made donations in Max's memory.  It just blows me away.  I've never been on the receiving end of memorial donations, before.  I had no idea how much it would mean to me.  What a beautiful thing to do.

Our vet, Dr. Miller, called me last night to check on us.  We spent 15 minutes on the phone, with her reassuring me that we had done the right thing, that we couldn't have known any earlier that anything was wrong with Max, and that even if we had known, there was nothing we could have done to fix it.  It really helped ease my mind, because I had started to question whether or not we had done the right thing, whether or not it was really painless when we let her be euthanized, and whether or not we missed some sign in the last month or two that something was wrong.  I'd spent a good part of yesterday Googling.  Google is sometimes not my friend.

BJ and I are surrounded by such loving, wonderful, generous people - from our family to our neighbors to our friends and colleagues to the professionals we've chosen to work with our family (teachers, doctors, dentists, vets, insurance agents, accountants...) - we are truly, truly blessed.  Thank you so much for loving us so well.

Monday, May 23, 2011


Max was breathing funny today when BJ came home for lunch.  We talked about it a bit, and gave her a pain pill.  Since we had an appointment at Purdue scheduled for this coming Wednesday (for her leg surgery) and since I knew they wouldn't be able to operate if she was sick, and since it's a lot cheaper to find out she's sick at our usual vet than it is at Purdue, I called to get her an appointment.

I knew it was bad when I took her outside to get her in the car, and when I said, "You wanna go for a ride, girl?" she just laid down in the grass.

Somehow I got all 3 kids and the dog into the car and to the vet.  On the way I reached back to pat her and tell her it was ok.

We got to the vet and I got her inside, but when I checked her in she laid down and she wouldn't get up.  "I'm not sure I'll be able to get her back there by myself," I told them.  They called back for someone to come help.

We got her to walk to the exam room, we even got her to stand on the scale, sweet girl.  They took us back.  The vet tech was very concerned, but she wouldn't guess at what was wrong.  I fussed at the kids to be quiet.  The vet came in.

I knew it was bad from the look on Dr. Miller's face.

Dr. Miller was the same vet we saw when we first brought Max to them as a puppy.  She had just seen Max a month ago.  She could tell that something was really wrong.

She checked, and Max's gums were almost white, indicating severe blood loss.  Since she obviously wasn't bleeding on the outside, that meant it was internal.  She was panting, doing that "abdominal breathing," and she was so weak.  They had to bring a gurney in to take her back for an x-ray. 

I knew it was bad when they brought the kids cookies and juice, and asked me if I wanted coffee.  In 11 years, they'd never done that before.

The x-ray showed a tumor on her spleen.  Dr. Miller said it was life threatening.  She said she could die tonight.   The tumor was bleeding into her abdominal cavity.  She said there was a 75% chance that it was malignant, and a 25% chance that it was benign.  Purdue could do surgery to remove her spleen, and it might be ok.

I asked, "What if we just take her home and let nature take its course?" and she said, compassionately but firmly, "She'll die.  She'll die in front of your kids.  You don't want that."  I asked her what she would do if Max belonged to her, and she said she'd consider euthanasia. 

I called my dad to come get the kids, and BJ to meet me at the vet.  I wasn't making any decisions alone. 

BJ arrived and Dr. Miller explained it to him.  He wanted to do the surgery.  I told him he was crazy.  It would be at least $5000.  He didn't care.  She had a 25% chance at being ok.  I told him that I wasn't going to try to talk him out of it, because I didn't want him to blame me.  We agreed to take Max to Purdue.  They had to wheel her to the car on a gurney.  She was too weak to walk.

Dad took the girls, BJ took the dog, I took the baby.  We got to Purdue in record time.  They brought a gurney out to get her.  I can't tell you how strange it was that our strong girl, who used to run so fast, couldn't walk.  She didn't like it either.

They took her in the emergency entrance and we went into the waiting room.  A tech came and got our history.

I knew it was bad when they gave us a private waiting room.

We waited for about an hour while they did an ultrasound.  Not only was the cancer on her spleen, it had metastasized to her chest, somewhere, and she was bleeding into her chest cavity, too.  Her lungs had collapsed.  Even with the surgery, they said, we were looking at 3 months at most.

We didn't want her to die alone on an operating table.  We didn't want her to spend her last days sick and in pain.  She was too good a dog to let her suffer.  They took us to the grieving room.  They brought her to us.  They brought a student to hold Jack in the hall.  We waited.

Edited to add - I forgot something important.  As they brought her in, even though she was having trouble breathing, even though she was weak, even though she was dying, when she saw us Max wagged her tail.  

I can't describe what it was like to say goodbye to her.  She was still panting and obviously uncomfortable.  We cried into her fur and we told her how lucky we were that she was ours.  We remembered a few of our favorite stories about her.  We thanked her for taking such good care of us, of our kids.  We told her that we would make it stop hurting.

"Go home, Max.  We'll meet you at home," I said.

We told them we were ready.  Well, I opened the door and they said, "Are you ready?" and I sobbed, "No," but they came in anyway.  It was quick.  She didn't suffer. 

We held her and loved her through it, and now she's gone.  And the house is so empty and so quiet.

Telling the kids broke my heart.  When I told Mary Grace that we let the vet give Max "a chemical" to help her die, she said, "How could you DO that?"  I said, "It was so hard, it was the hardest thing, but it was the right thing to do.  We didn't want Max to suffer.  Are you angry with me?"  "No, Mommy, I'm not angry, but I'm trying to understand," she said.  She's so mature.  She's decided that in addition to growing up and owning the Princess Cafe, she's going to cure cancer.  You know, in her free time.  I looked her right in the eye and said, "You can do anything, and I think that would be wonderful."

BJ has a business trip tomorrow and Wednesday, and I don't know what's sadder - that he has to go and try to pretend his heart isn't breaking and be "professional," or that I have to stay here in this quiet, empty house and try to calmly field the endless barrage of death questions from the kids (again, for the second time in a year.  "Is kitty still died?"  "Yes, Claire, kitty is still died.")

When we got home, my eyes automatically went to the spot in the window where she always looked out, waiting for us, and I broke down again.  I gathered up all her stuff, just so I wouldn't keep tripping over it, but it upset BJ so I stopped.

We're lucky that it happened fast and she didn't have a long, drawn out illness with lots of suffering.  We're lucky that I was able to get her and the kids to the vet before she lost the ability to walk.  We're lucky that she didn't die at home alone.  We're lucky that she didn't die while we were gone this past weekend.  We're lucky that we could even afford to consider a $5000 surgery.  We're lucky to live close to a place that could do such a surgery, if it had been a humane option.  We're lucky that we got to spend the last 11 years with her.  We're lucky that we got to give her a loving, dignified passage into the next world.

She was just the best dog.  Smart, gentle, loyal, protective - everything a dog should be, and more.  She was such a good friend.

Go home, Max.  We'll meet you there.  Go on home.

Goodbye Maxine

Goodbye sweet girl, you will be missed so much.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

I Sit Corrected

From Amanda, anthropologist, archaeologist, rant-interrupter:
Not to interrupt a good rant, but the Maya people didn't die out.
Following 1300 AD (the late Post-Classic) their culture changed
dramatically, but there are approximately 7 million Maya people living
in Belize, Honduras, Guatemala, Mexico, and El Salvador. In fact,
some of the best chicken tamales I've ever eaten were made by a Maya
woman at the market in Punta Gorda, Belize.

The Maya people never said that the world would end in 2012. Maya
calendars are composed of three pieces -- a long count, a tzolkin, and
a haab which together form a calendar round. In 2012, each of the
three rounds are in sync and start over on the same day. It's
basically New Year's Day. There's a good description on Wikipedia
The blog just made me think of Monty Python and the Holy Grail -- "I'm not dead yet. I think I'll go for a walk".
Have a good time this weekend.
Sorry about the screwy formatting.  Never go in against a Ph.D. candidate when ancient Central-American cultures are on the line. 

Having fun in Grand Haven.  Wish you were here!

Thursday, May 19, 2011


We're going out of town this weekend for our anniversary, and I am going to be unbelievably pissed if the world ends while we're gone.

source: Wikimedia Commons
We had planned to leave the kids with Uncle Stu and Aunt Kathryn, but Ian has spent the bulk of this week fighting off a nasty tummy bug, so instead the girls are going to chill here with Grandpa Bob.

We stopped at the grocery store tonight and grabbed a few things, and I asked Dad, "Is there anything else I can do to make this weekend easier on you?"  He replied, "Yeah, don't go!"

Aw, Dad, you'll be fine! Jack will be with me, so the #1 thing they fight and/or get into trouble over will be gone. Give 'em Angry Birds and the occasional juice box, and they'll be great.

But God help you if the power goes out during the apocalypse. No iPhones? No videos? Yikes!

I get so aggravated with this "the sky is falling!" crap.  When I was a kid (13, to be precise) some mental giant decided that the world was going to end on June 7, 1989 at 01:23:45 am, because it would be 01:23:45 6/7/89.  Obviously it didn't (or if it did we all missed the memo), but it was very disconcerting to me at the time.  I mean, I still remember it 22 years later, so it made an impression.  There were the Hale Bop people, the Y2K people, there have been other Nostradamus "predictions" since then, and it's all b.s.

Every culture for the last 2000 years, at least, has thought that the world would end in their time - and so far they've all been wrong!  And this crap about the Mayan calendar ending in December of next year.  You know what?  The world ended for the Mayans a LONG time ago.  When was the last time you met a freaking Mayan?

And it's not going to end based on some coincidental lining up of the numbers on the calendar or the clock (11/11/11 or whatever) because those numbers are arbitrary!  They're numbers that we assigned!  There's no cosmic alarm clock out there past Jupiter that's going to go off because all the numbers lined up in some magical pattern.

Personally, I think the whole thing is a sick trick used by immoral people to manipulate weak, desperate people. Reading about people selling their homes or paying an atheist to care for their pets in the event of rapture makes my blood pressure rise.

The other part of it that gives me an ulcer is the unbelievable arrogance of the people who believe they're one of the "chosen."  It's pretty well accepted in these end-times cults that only 144,000 people are good enough to go to heaven. 

Let's break this down mathematically.  The population of the planet is estimated to be around 6,775,235,700 (2009).  So, if only 144,000 of the people living today were "saints," that would mean that each person has a 0.002125% chance of being one of those 144,000.

You're far better off playing the lottery.

But that's not what the good book says!  It says that 144,000 people are getting in.  Period.  This website estimates that 106,456,367,669 people have ever lived on earth.  Therefore, your chance of being one of the special 144,000 is actually 0.0001352%.


I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not in the top 144,000 people out of 100 billion.  Not even close.  I'd be happy to fall somewhere in the top billion.  I'd also be shocked if that were the case.

Yeah, yeah, I know, not by good works, but by grace alone....  Well, apparently God's grace is pretty darn limited. 

I'm going to go ahead and take my chances that the world will continue to spin, and that there will be a bunch of disappointed people running around making excuses, Sunday, for why their prophecy didn't come true.  Again.  And in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the jokes, and our anniversary trip.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Nap snuggles

When I sat down to nurse Jack about 10 minutes ago, I had big plans. I was going to pay the bills while I got him down to sleep, then put him down in his swing so I could fold some laundry while he slept... My to-do list was a mile long.

But then he fell asleep, and he is so soft and snuggly, and he's growing so very fast.

I think I'll just hold him. I won't ever remember whether or not I got that laundry done or the bathroom floor cleaned. I will regret it, though, if I'm always rushing away from my baby. I will regret it if I don't take these moments to hold him while I can.

It's going so fast. He's almost 5 months old. It's ok to slow down once in a while, isn't it? Don't judge me if my bathroom floors aren't clean, or if my laundry isn't put away. My kids are well loved, and that's all that truly matters today.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Parking Lots

For some reason, Claire has decided all of a sudden that she's plenty big enough to take off away from me in parking lots.

It started when we moved one of the booster seats behind the driver's side, instead of having both girls in the back. Suddenly they're exiting the car on both sides, and it's a serious problem.

Today we went to Chico's and when we got 15 feet from the car Claire took off running for it. I was holding Jack in one hand, Mary Grace's hand in the other, and Claire was holding MG's other hand. I couldn't stop her, and when I screamed at her to stop she just kept right on going. I scolded the heck out of her.

We arrived at the grocery store less than 5 minutes later and my dad was there. Claire had gotten out and took off running for Grandpa (crossing one lane of the parking lot without looking in either direction - thank God no one was coming). That time she got a swat on the butt and a stern lecture about parking lots, cars, etc.

When we left the store, the little **** did it AGAIN! This time left me sobbing. "You just DON'T understand how DANGEROUS it is! You're so little and cars are so big, and you could die, or you could get hurt and never be the same again! I don't know what I have to say to get through to you!!!"

I've thought about making her look at pictures or video online of kids who have been hit by cars, but that seems morbid and while I do want to scare her, I don't want to scar her. I've also thought about taking a kid sized toy (maybe building a kid her size out of Legos) into the cul-de-sac and running it down with my car.

This plan seems just a hair more insane than I want to be.

What do I do? Mary Grace NEVER did this. Even now, if we're crossing a street or parking lot and she's not holding my hand, she'll grab hold of my pocket. She's been good about this since she was 18 months old. Claire is four. WTH?

I put both the boosters back in the back - so both girls will have to get out on the passenger side now.  I also used the child locks on both doors so that they have to be opened from the outside.  But that's not going to stop her from taking off running.  Maybe I'll just have to grab her by the scuff of her neck from now on.  I have no idea.

My groceries are melting.  Suggestions welcome, comments encouraged.  I need a beer.

PS - never Google Image Search "road rash."  

Saturday, May 7, 2011


Who knew that there was a song that so perfectly summed up the story I told about yesterday? I was watching The Voice and someone sang part of it, so I had to come look it up and share it with you. I'm not a big country music fan, so I'd never heard it before.

Mother's Day Spookiness

Yesterday was a super busy day.  I ran errands while the girls were at school (car wash, Hobby Lobby, pharmacy, accountant's office, picking up keys for the new intern at work...), then I came home and made them lunch, then Dad watched them for a while so Jack and I could go to work.  I got home about 3:30 and started frantically cleaning, since we're still in post-vacation-mess mode and my father-in-law and his wife were coming over for dinner.

As I was rushing around, I got warm so I opened up the screen door to let in some fresh air.  I looked outside and there was a car full of people, talking animatedly and pointing at my house.  Their windows were down, so I shouted, "Ya wanna buy it?"

A man shouted back, "We already did!"


I said, "Oh?" because I couldn't think of anything witty.  He said, "We were the first owners of this house, back in the 60s!"

"Really!  Well, come on in!" I said.


"Of course!  I'm sure you'd love to see it!"

So they pulled around and parked in front, and came inside, everyone talking at once.

It turned out that the father had been president of the bank, and they had three kids when they moved in here - a girl, another girl, and a boy.  Spooky, because we have the same arrangement of kids!  They teased me that we were going to have another girl, because they'd brought their youngest sister home when they lived here (she wasn't with them yesterday).  If we do, we'll have to name her Betsy.  Speaking of names, the oldest daughter said that she has a granddaughter named Mary Grace!  Another bizarre coincidence - their bedrooms were in the same places that ours are now - the boy had Jack's room, the parents slept in ours, and the girls were upstairs.  They even had a baby changing area in the same place we have one now for Jack!

Of course, a lot has changed.  The kitchen is arranged completely differently from the way it was when they lived here.  The fireplace was added (I never knew that, I figured it was original).  The tile in the upstairs bathroom is original (and not too bad looking for 48 year old tile!).

They stood in the kitchen and pointed at the corner where they'd had their TV.  "Do you remember sitting right here and watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan?" they said to each other.

After they'd been here a little while they said that their mother had died this past year, and that their father was having a hard time, so even though they live all over the country, now, they'd come back here to remember, and to feel like they were near her.  She and their dad were married for 58 years.

I was so pleased to be able to let this family into our home, so they could feel close to their mom again.  They were so lovely.  It was obvious that they are a close-knit family - exactly how I hope my kids will be when they're grown.

When I said, "How funny that I just happened to be at the door when you stopped!  I'm usually in the kitchen.  And how odd that I felt moved to say something to you!"  They replied, "Oh, I'm sure that was Mom, making sure that we got a chance to visit our old home."

I hope so.

Happy Mother's Day.  I hope that you feel close to your mom tomorrow, wherever she is.

Friday, May 6, 2011

BlogHer Book Club - Girl In Translation

Please click here to read my review of Girl in Translation by Jean Kwok over at BlogHer!  I really liked this book, I think you will too!

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Unforgetable Disneyworld

I never want to forget...

...that as we were walking through the Swiss Family Robinson's Treehouse, I said, "There's the Swiss Family Kitchen," and the "Swiss Family Bedroom," and Mary Grace started chiming in, too, with the "Swiss Family Snack," the "Swiss Family Office," and so on.  Then she said, after lots of climbing, "I wish there was a Swiss Family Slide."

...the look on Jack's face when we rode through "It's a Small World."

...Mary Grace and Claire bouncing with Tigger during the character lunch at the Crystal Palace.

...the way Claire charmed a group of Taiwanese cheerleaders who were in line behind us for the Winnie the Pooh ride.  When we got to the front of the line (finally!) she yelled, "I want to ride with my friends!" and ran over to them.  So we let her.  And they rode with her on the teacups, too.  It was super cute.

...that someone must always cry on the Buzz Lightyear ride.  (Mary Grace last time, Jack this time).

...telling the kids about how my mom and I rode Space Mountain, and that was the first time I said one of "Mommy's car words" ("oh sh*t," actually) in front of my mom.  "And do you know what?" I said.  "What, Mommy?"  "Grandma said it right back to me!"  They thought that was hilarious.

...that during the play in front of the castle, when they asked the audience to say "Dreams come true!" and then the fireworks went off, Claire said, "We did it!  We did magic!"

...the way Claire said, "Cinderella waved right at me!" during the parade.

...the way that BJ and Mary Grace looked when he held her during the fireworks.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

The Van

BJ noticed a shudder in the van, so he took it to be checked out yesterday. Apparently it needs a new transmission, although the dealer said he could make it home if he didn't drag race or tow anything. The greater issue is that somehow they killed the entertainment system while they were looking at it. BJ is looking at the fuses now.

We are seriously thinking about buying a new van down here, especially since the launch won't happen before the end of our vacation - now we have an extra day.

We will go to Disney tomorrow, then maybe car shopping in Orlando Tuesday. Oy.

At least we are all safe, and we can afford to replace the van. It could be so much worse. Positive thoughts. Disney is a magical place - maybe the van will be fixed by helpful mice and birds while we're there.