Keeping the Dementors at Bay

Where did the end of 2013 find you?

Or, let's start this way.  Have you ever had one of those moments where you're almost able to step outside of yourself and take a good, long look at the human being that you are?  Or a short, but still very alarming, look?

That moment came for me at the end of 2013, as I found myself crying on the way out of a Walmart Supercenter in Mineral Wells, Texas.

Backstory: I had meticulously planned a NYE trip for Koby and myself that was going to be stunning, stellar, scrumptious, except for the host of signs that we should cancel the excursion ... and then, to top it all, forty five minutes after leaving the house, I remembered that I forgot my dress.  The dress.

Further Backstory: Never considering myself exceptionally 'materialistic' or 'vain', I  have always figured I might be exempt from these annoying bad habits as I am so conveniently without 'style' and the womanly ability to use makeup or style my hair well.

Cut to: the moment when I am crying in the third store my poor husband and I (well, just I) have raided in a blind and very real panic; I am LITERALLY WEEPING WET TEARS FROM MY EYES because all the dresses my hands have touched are apparently 'too ugly' to put on my body.  I experience a very real longing for the designer dress, worn only twice because it isn't church-appropriate and where else do I go?, hanging in my closet.

I told myself I wasn't a snob, not really.  I tried to explain to Koby the urgency a mother of two feels about looking hot JUST *ONE* NIGHT A YEAR, for crying out loud.  I tried to tell myself I was just anxious about spending more money on something I didn't really need or love, and thus I was ACTUALLY being financially responsible...

And then I awarded myself Miss First-World-Problems of the Universe, laughed at how ridiculous I was being, found a perfectly acceptable dress, and went on to have a stunning, stellar, scrumptious evening with the Best Husband of the Universe, who still can't tell the difference between the grey dress I left at home and the black one I wore to dinner.

As a collective unit, 2013 was like a bottle of wine; it most certainly improved with age.  Early 2013 was extremely bitter and hard for our family; Knox and Hayes were sick A LOT, I was anxious because I thought something might be wrong with Hayes, then Koby was anxious because I told him that, then our world was rocked when Hayes was diagnosed with ONH, and then he was sick some more and we postponed an important MRI, then I wasn't sure if I'd have a job the following school year...

And then I did, and it was better.

And then we moved and it was great.

And then Hayes started ECI with his wonderful therapists.  And then he had a successful eye surgery.  And that was awesome.  Koby and I celebrated three married years and Knox turned two.  Boom, boom, pow.

Finally, Knox stopped being sick all the time (knock on wood), and that may have been a miracle.

And then Koby had a great football season, Hayes turned one, and Koby grew a great beard.  And we topped the year off with lots of time with family and a fabulous New Year's Eve. (Thanks again to Lovie and Popi for babysitting!)

Personally, 2013 has been an interesting combination of self-doubt, insecurity, and confidence.  As I grow into the role of 'mother to a child with special needs' (Koby HATES it when I say that), I experience the gamut of emotions to be expected with its unique responsibility.  For any mother to a child with congenital birth defects, the guilt and fear can strike at any time, even after months without it: for me, it's usually when Koby is gone.  I find myself frantically wondering again - did I do something wrong?  I am a slave to Google - was it the off-brand prenatal vitamins that I took?  Was it the glass of wine I had four days before I found out I was pregnant?  Was it the doctor-approved exercise?  WHAT WAS IT???

This year, worry has been my dementor*.  Worry sucked the meat off my bones and the joy out of more than a few days this year.  Worry led me to guilt like that; and I also found myself worrying, for almost the first time in my life, what others thought about me. (In fact, I had a whole post about insecurity that I fittingly never posted because I worried about how insecure I might sound after posting it... wrap your head around THAT.) I worried about doctor visits, I worried about doing well at my job, I worried about giving Knox enough attention at the side of a brother with special needs, visitors, and doctors; I worried that, for the first time in my life, the things I really, really, really wanted for Christmas couldn't be wrapped and put under the tree, and for once, I didn't know if I'd ever get them. I worried about challenging and engaging Hayes enough, I worried about being a good mom and a good person.

But the pendulum would swing, and I would find my patroni*.  My faith would restore and arm me.  I felt reassured in knowing I will never been given more than what I can bear, and indeed, I have been given wonderful people and resources to give both of my children happy, healthy lives.  My husband would encourage me to love myself and thus, to love those around me better.  My children are beautiful spots of bright light.  Strength in numbers came in the strangest of places - Facebook (yeah, I know) groups where I connected with parents of other children with ONH and hypotonia gave me (and still give me) incredible comfort and encouragement.  And finally, my family, specifically Koby's and my parents, gave us tremendous support during the past year.  Without their support, both emotionally and financially, the first six months of 2013 would have been very, very bleak .

And so we end on a positive note.  I don't suppose I have a New Year's Resolution (except to be less didactic in all my posts, heh) but to keep the dementors, new and old, at bay in 2014.  To surround myself with the people in the paragraph above.  To remember to be intentional, proactive, and good in what I do and say.

...

It occurs to me that all of that may not read as 'happy' as I mean it to sound, so I think we'll end on every one else's year recaps, in my own words, since they are all unable in their own ways to contribute at this moment.

Koby, who is currently hunting with all the men in his family on a ranch 195 miles away, had another great year in sports - his Varsity football team, on which he coaches the running backs, won district and lost a heart breaker in the first round of playoffs.  Especially fun and exciting for him was the fact that one of his athletes rushed for 1,713 yards this season and scored 21 (!) touchdowns, receiving honors such as the Times Record News' Red River 22 Small School MVP.  He shot two good bucks and a doe during this deer season and was able to squeeze in a good duck hunt, too.  He's still doing European mounts for other people, which is a type of taxidermy-ish thing.  He inspires me as a teacher/coach, because even though we have different teaching styles, I can tell that his students and athletes appreciate, respect, and respond to him.  His kids are always inviting him to go hunting with their families on their places.  He inspires me as a human because he gives selflessly and works hard.  Koby has set a New Year's Resolution to achieve six-pack abs ASAP, so I'll keep you posted on how that transpires.  As we were watching ESPN on New Year's Day, the telecasters were assigning resolutions they deemed appropriate to various NFL entities.  I would like to play that game and assign Koby the following resolution: Become the small-time celebrity chef MAKING the cooking videos on YouTube, instead of just watching them alllllll the friggin' time.  He could totally do it.

Knox, who is currently trying to push a large toy truck under an ottoman (it won't fit, because, physics), has had an incredible year of growth.  2013 began with the flu and a very limited vocabulary and ended with me begging him to please stop talking in order to take a nap, to which he replied "I don't want to stop talking, I want to talk!"  Right now he is enamored of the words 'never' and 'gorgeous', but he hasn't got a handle on when/how to use them yet.  Yesterday I walked in when I heard him stirring from his nap to find him sitting in bed, saying to himself, 'I never? I never. I never.... I never?'  Koby and I are still admittedly obsessed with just about everything he does and says.  Knox is officially, though unadmittedly at this point, obsessed with Pixar's CARS and evvvvvvverything about it.  We are trying to wean him off of iPad time, because right now his favorite thing is to

1. Find YouTube 
2. Find movies about the Cars movie 
3. Watch anything having to do with the Cars movies, including but not limited to 20 minute videos of hands taking Cars toys out of packages, assembling them, and playing with them, and equally long videos of hands c o lo r i n g Cars coloring pages.  

Disney, we have a problem.  Because he has little Cars toys of the various characters, he is beginning to realize that, in efforts to make money, other companies may have also made toys for each of the movies he likes to watch on Netflix.  Last night, as we wrapped up The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh for the nth time, he cried -as though it had occurred to him at that very moment, which it had- "I want my Tigger toy!"  We just so happen to have a toddler-size Tigger toy in his bedroom.  Then, "I want my Pliglet [sic] toy!"  We just so happen to have a 'Pliglet' in our second living room.  Then, "I want my Pooh toy!" We do not so happen to have a Pooh toy.  I informed Knox of this discrepancy.  He squinted his eyes at me (am I really this dense?) and encouraged me to "look again" in his bedroom.  Hashtag spoiled.

My resolution for Knox, though I am obsessed with everything he says and does, is to go pee and poop on the potty in 2014, so I can become obsessed with that.

Hayes, who is currently half-heartedly napping on the world's most comfortable blanket (hashta jealous), also had an incredible year of growth.  2013 began with RSV and him essentially not having met any of his milestones, and ended with a mucous-y cold and him rolling over both ways, tracking objects visually sometimes, bearing weight in his legs sometimes, having great head control, and sitting with assistance.  Hayes reminds us to celebrate him on his own time.  For example, a few days ago he held a rice snack thing in his hand and chewed on it.  At the same time.  We exclaimed and took pictures like he'd just signed a contract to play quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys (I heard they needed one anyway) because in our house, Hayes doing that is a BIG. DEAL.  I think his timeline makes us better versions of ourselves as parents and teachers.  He's seen a physical therapist weekly since May of 2013, a speech therapist monthly since ... I can't remember when, a vison therapist, and an ECI case manager and a DBS coordinator too.  He still loves 'rough play' the best ... which sounds weird but essentially just means he likes it when we tickle him or make him 'bop' himself with this hands or clap his hands together.  Right now our focus is to build his trunk strength so he can sit up by himself and encourage him to reach for objects/people/food.  He does well holding his bottle about 80% of the time, which is a huge improvement from about 0% of the time less than four months ago.  On Monday (today is Saturday) we go back to his ophthalmologist to see if, with the vision that he does have, he may be near or far-sighted, in which case he might need glasses.  (Hopefully) soon we'll get his hearing evaluated.  He's grown four big teeth in the past few months and has not enjoyed that tremendously.  Our DBS coordinator is working on getting a SPIO vest to help him work on that trunk stability and so my resolution for Hayes is to keep working hard, to sit all by himself, and reach for things in 2014.

Thanks for listening, for the encouragement and faith you all give me!  HAPPY NEW YEAR.  Let's make this one good.

* Uh, to understand this post you need to have a working knowledge of some Harry Potter vocabulary words.  I didn't want to post this at the beginning and deter some of you Harr-o-phobes from reading.  A dementor is a soul-less creature who survives by feeding off the joy and happiness of others.  A patronus (pl. patroni) is a charm that repels dementors and is created by thinking of the happiest/most hopeful moments of one's life.

- Attention-Grabbing Title-

In faithful Andrews family fashion, the past few weeks have been fast, blurry, and life-changing.

Most pressingly and importantly, at Hayes' last appointment with his ophthalmologist we received the good news that because his strabismus (eye-crossing) hasn't changed he is able to have the surgery needed to correct this problem.  He'll go in for the 30 minute outpatient procedure on Wednesday the 10 and we'll be able to take him home that same day barring any uncommon complications.  Prayers very much appreciated.  We're really optimistic about what this surgery can do for his eyesight and hopefully for his muscle tone, gross and fine motor milestones.  I'm trying not to look at it as this miraculous cure-all that will suddenly make him like any other eight month old baby (except, obviously, soooooo much cuter)... but still.  We're really excited.

Hayes also had his first evaluation for the DARS Division for Blind Services today and we are really overwhelmed, humbled and grateful to have found out about so many programs that are able to assist our family as we work to help Hayes.  (Before you start freaking out "WHAT?! Hayes is blind??  you should know that as of right now, Hayes is declared legally blind by his ophthalmologist.  Also, justy because someone is 'legally blind', it doesn't mean they can't see.  Obviously, since we have no way of deciphering his baby-speak right now, we have little way of knowing how much he can actually see.  DARS services kids with low and no vision.  Hayes qualifies now -or at least, we hope he does- both because of his condition and because of what the doctor wrote in his paperwork.)    After speaking with our case manager today, Koby and I are really glad to have this resource - they put on camps that connect families of children with conditions like Hayes' and hold seminars designed to encourage and educate parents on techniques, exercises, technology, and other resources available to help kids with low or no vision.  They work with families to get kids technology, toys, etc. that help them utilize the vision they have.  It's amazing to me how MUCH help is out there, but it saddens me that it's so hard to find out about.  It's almost like you have to stumble upon it.  Or maybe *someone* should write a manual...

Hayes also had an EXCELLENT session with his occupational therapist today (through Early Childhood Intervention - I'm going to go ahead and link all these services in case any one is interested) and she's really looking forward to his surgery and how it may affect his motor development.

Knox is doing really well too, he's talking like a Wall Street account executive (slight exaggeration, and I don't even know if that's a real job) but he is suffering from a little case of tonsillitis.  He's coming up fast on two years old.  I've officially extending the age of 'baby' until three.  So, still my baby.  Who speaks in complete sentences and requests money and keys when he gets in his toy car.

We're in our new house now and are also pleased to announce ....

...oh, just wait for it...











I'm employed!  (You thought for one terrifying second that we were announcing Baby #3, weren't you? Cue hysterical, slightly maniacal laughter.  Cue me punching you in the face.)

That's right.  I passed my English Language Arts and Reading test that qualifies me to teach those subjects to fourth to eighth graders, then interviewed for a sixth grade position at the school where Koby works, and got it.  Hooray for employment!  Hooray for working with my husband!  Hooray for a nice, new house (yet to be unpacked).  And hooray for three years of marriage!  (Our three year anniversary is the same day Hayes goes in for surgery... can you imagine me knowing that as I was saying my vows just three years ago???)

In the past three years, between Koby and I, we have:

lived in four houses
worked at seven very different jobs
had two kids
gone to three different churches
been in four weddings
been to 5,341 doctor appointments (just an estimate)
cried a lot (some of us more than others)
prayed a lot
learned a lot
had a lot of fun

I am ready to turn the page and start a new chapter (for want of a better metaphor).  While I'm thankful for this past year, it has been the most challenging, albeit strengthening, of my life.  We're glad our family moved to new house this summer - even though we weren't looking for it, it even physically feels like a fresh, clean start.  I don't know about Koby, but I feel refreshed and energized, and ready to tackle a new year.  (And I'm sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that Koby and I spent 24 hours away from the kids...)  Our life moves pretty fast and I've got a feeling it's only the beginning of a great story.

Wifey

I hesitated on the point of writing/posting this entry for the world to see because I wasn't sure which end result I sought by doing so.  Am I speaking in a persuasive voice?  Am I trying to sell you something?  Not necessarily.  Am I trying to parcel out some gleaned knowledge upon readers looking for advice in their marriages? 

Um, definitely not. 

Turning it over in my head, I've decided that this post is categorized as an explanation.  I feel that many who read this would need an explanation for the way I choose (a better word might be try... 95% of the time...) to approach my marriage.

Because it has (once again) come to my attention that I'm in the minority.

I'm not talking about being the only female at the house.  I love that.

I live in a culture that is decidedly counter-intuitive to the way I was raised and indeed, the way I try to live my life.  In years past I've noticed this from time to time - I won't be one of those people who laments 'what this world is coming to' or one who fondly reminisces about the 'good old days' (I'd need a separate post to enumerate all the reasons thinking like this is wholly unhelpful and frankly, inaccurate) - BUT I will share with you a moment that made me laugh to myself a few nights ago.

My mother-in-law shared via Facebook this interview that aired on Rock Center.  If you don't feel like clicking the link (but you should), I'll sum up.  A world-class female athlete admits that in her house and family, her husband is the leader and she is the submissive wife.  (And interestingly, never refers to a spiritual reason to do so.)

Is your foundation shaken? Are you offended and up in arms? Is your very mind shattered by this sensational idea? If you grew up like I did, probably not.  Colossians 3:18, 1 Peter 3:1, Ephesians 5:22 - you can probably recite them with me.  Or at least paraphrase this way: Wives, submit to your husbands.

I don't mind telling you that for most of my life, I was not looking forward to being a wife.  At least, not a submissive wife.  Nevertheless, I knew that this, for some reason, was the model multiple writers of the Bible had encouraged others to live by. 

This won't be a post on marital advice.  The idea is laughable - there are VERY few arenas in which I'd consider myself equipped to teach: give me Harry Potter trivia or a lesson on complimentary colors, and I'd be your girl.  Marriage?  I'd be the one signing up to take the class.  Bringing paper to take notes.

No, this is a voice from the other side of the story for you readers who cannot comprehend a woman in the year 2013 gladly taking a submissive character role in one of the most important relationships of her life.

***

I understand the other side.  I understand the women who are offended and outraged by a fellow female encouraging others to let the man (ugh) play the dominant role in the marriage relationship.  Maybe fighting to be taken seriously in society, in the workplace, has steeped itself as an autopilot mode so deeply within us that we can't comprehend 'losing ground' at home.  I get it.  I respect it. 

I'm a fiercely independent person.  I need to lead.  I do not seem like a submissive person.  (I have to convince my husband that I have been submissive.)  I love to be right.  It takes

every. single. ounce. of. my. self. control.

not to correct someone when I hear them make an error.  I mean, we're talking about overheard conversations between two people in line ahead of me at WalMart.  It's a problem, it's a battle, and lots of times I lose.  I know it, I hate it.  (Are you praying for my husband?)  So when I tell you that I have chosen to be a submissive wife, I hope you take it within context.  (And just help a girl out and refrain from updating your Facebook status with grammatical errors.)

For a long time, my mind told me that 'submission' equaled 'loss'.  Losing an argument, losing an identity, losing independence.  Losing control.  (Yikes!!!)  Submission meant a clear winner and an equally clear loser.  Superior and inferior.  When Koby and I were dating in college, I considered us to be separate entities, yet ones who had chosen to be together.  (I am NOT saying here that this is wrong - dating and marriage are completely different playing fields.)  But I would have balked at the very idea of Koby leading me anywhere.  What I did not realize is that he was already setting the tone for our relationship: where he went, I went.  What he did, I did.  What he said, I said.  His friends became my friends.

I don't think this is an example of the 'losing your identity' thing that happens when girls with issues get into unhealthy relationships.  I think it's just what happens (to varying degrees) when you get into a relationship.  My friends became Koby's friends too, and wherever we went, we went together.  But for better or for worse, Koby was the natural leader of our relationship (although I would have punched you in the face for saying that to my 21 year old self).

But eventually we got married.  And that whole 'submit to your husband' thing suddenly applied to ME.  Because I was the wife, and I was supposed to be submissive, whatever that means.

Here's what I 've learned about being submissive (because I have to work at it

every
single
day)

1.  Being submissive does not mean that I am less intelligent than my husband.
2.  Being submissive does not mean that my husband makes all my decisions for me, and now, for our family.
3.  Being submissive does not mean that I do not voice my opinions.  It doesn't mean that my voice isn't valued and considered and respected.
4.  Being submissive does not mean that I have lost my identity.
5.  Being submissive doesn't mean I am incapable.

I have found that I can settle (and I mean this in the peaceful sense, not in the 'losing' sense) into a submissive role more easily than I ever could have imagined.

It was hard for me to pinpoint areas in which to be the 'submissive' and 'dutiful' wife in the first few months of marriage because Koby is not a 'commanding' person.  Nor did we encounter many cataclysmic, core-to-core differences that would require me to utterly submit to his stated will.  And to me, a submissive wife was always a counterpart to a commanding husband.

Basically, it's embarrassing how little I knew about marriage.  Like, 365 days in to the marriage.

-See also: how much I knew about babies before having one.-

Koby and I naturally found a 'flow' that suited our needs: we both cook, clean, and take care of the kids. Koby tends to the dogs, home repairs, the vehicles, the yard; I tend to the finances, the laundry, and take the kids to and from school.  These roles suited our skill sets and schedules and for awhile the whole 'submissive wife' thing never seemed as if it would surface.

Then I saw this video:

And I realized that submission had little to do with commands and obedience, and much more to do with service and support.

And in marriage I learned that I want to be led.

Let me say here that a wife's submission brings her peace when her husband is functioning from a place where he considers her interests as well as his own.  (This spans any culture, any spiritual foundation.  I don't care, it matters.)  And once they have children, theirs as well.  When he cares deeply about her well-being, she can freely voice her opinions and allow him to make decisions for themselves or their family knowing that he will do so with their best interests in mind.

My submission looks like this: daily service and encouragement.  I suck at it, mostly.  But I'm trying.  Our biggest 'wife-submission moment' looked like this: Koby had a job opportunity that would potentially us take away from our home and (my dream) job(s).  He asked (I think this is vital) and I gave him my honest and supportive opinion in favor of the move, but ultimately left the final decision up to him.  And I slept peacefully knowing that whatever choice he made had been weighed and measured carefully with Knox, me, and unborn Hayes in the balance.

Gabby Reece's words may echo mine, I'm not sure, I haven't read her book, but the fact that her admission to a choice to live in yield to her husband has caused such an uproar makes me giggle.  Because the notion is thousands of years old.

And so I say to any who may think me weak, why should I be ashamed that I am submissive to my (caring, loving, loyal) husband?  I would be proud to hear him say that he craves my support and relies on my encouragement. 


Isn't that the same?

Photo by Brooke Ogilvie

What's Wrong with Baby Hayes?

Dearest Blogfans and friends,

I have totally been avoiding you.  Somewhere in between this moment:

and this one:

I began to experience the seedlings of fear and apprehension about Hayes and his development, and I didn't want to talk to anyone about it.  And since these fears were so linked in my mind with Hayes himself, it was really hard to talk to anyone with the 'new baby' subject off-limits.  I withdrew from friends, I haven't blogged.  I didn't even share my fears with my husband until I couldn't contain them anymore and bombarded him in the middle of a school day with a torrent of terrified text messages.

While deciding how to write this post, I hesitated upon an approach: Ugly and honest?  Purely medical jargon?  Spiritual?  Optimistic?  We're going with a mix... all of the above.  For the past twenty-four hours I feel like Koby and I have been choosing a mindset (because that is the singular beautiful thing in one's own control) as if a couple might shop around for a new car - considering all the angles, for a new car can either bring a family comfort or stress; it will keep them moving against all odds or leave its passengers broken down in unfamiliar territory.

Back to my fear seedlings, their origin.  This voice is the dramatic, emotions-based voice: I was afraid there was something we'd be discovering about Hayes from the moment I held him for the first time.  Perhaps it was the residual feelings of paranoia remembered from his first in-depth ultrasound when the doctors found choroid plexus cysts.  Maybe it was a mother's intuition, but it probably wasn't.  Maybe it was pure pessimism.  But in any case, instead of the peace and fulfillment I thought I'd feel holding him for the first time, I felt panic.  Koby left the room to get me food and I frantically began searching every inch of Hayes, looking for the something that was making me feel this way.  I never told Koby about this moment of terror I had (until recently) because I was embarrassed - who acts like that in the first moments of her son's life?

But Koby came back and I smiled, we left the hospital.  Hayes grew, and the feelings went away for the most part.

Until he turned about two months old.  Hayes was doing a few things that concerned me - his eyes were crossing more than I remembered Knox's ever doing, and seemed to be crossing differently to me.  Knox's seemed to cross when his little eyes were tired of doing all the new things they were trying out - when Hayes' eyes crossed it seemed like his preferred M.O.  At Hayes' two months check up the doctor asked if he was tracking objects with his eyes, and I said 'yes' without thinking.  As I drove home I began to think, He doesn't track objects very often at all, I don't know why I said that.

When I took his two month pictures, I felt like he should have been holding his head up better.  I referred back to Knox's pictures and thought Knox seemed tighter, more rigid, whereas Hayes wasn't holding himself up at all. 

But if there is anything parents, doctors, friends, strangers off the street, etc. will tell you it is OH MY GOSH NEVER COMPARE SIBLINGS TO EACH OTHER DON'T START DON'T DO IT.  So I ignored it.  Sort of.  Not really. 

The fear really took a step up at three months.

 
Hayes' floppiness seemed to increase, or maybe it was just all the more noticeable as he grew in size and weight, but not in tone.  I kept pleading with my inner demons, appeasing them with the thoughts that Hayes would miraculously catch up with other babies and suddenly begin to hold his head up in time for the four month milestone marker that was looming ahead.  He'd start to make eye contact and track objects and reach for things and all the rest...

But he didn't.  And I began to exist in a state of what I'd call functioning panic.  (This is still the Emotional Voice speaking.  We'll get to the much calmer Medical Voice in a minute.)  A few days before his four month birthday, it suddenly hit me: Hayes wasn't going to hold his head up, he wasn't going to catch up.  He was going to miss this milestone and I was a mom who was going to freak out about it.  I was going to be the one who insisted something was wrong.  And so I brought Koby into my little circus of fear and Googling.  (Curse you, Google.)

And so I scheduled Hayes' four months check up with the doctor and began making a list of the concerns I'd be ready with when the "And is there anything you're concerned about at this point in time regarding Hayes' development" question came.  Literally, a list.  And I hated it so much, this list lying there covered in things Hayes couldn't or wouldn't do, that I started a 'Can Do' list on the back.

When the appointment came I was too embarrassed (and didn't want to mispronounce) the things I had already diagnosed Hayes with courtesy of Google: hypotonia (low muscle tone) and strabismus (crossed eyes), so I just calmly read off the more pressing worries from the list.  More important that day was addressing Hayes' RSV, which is a virus that attacks the respiratory system.  Our doctor didn't seem concerned about Hayes' inability to hold his head up (even though in my head I'm thinking HYPOTONIA! LOW MUSCLE TONE!) but did refer us to a Pediatric Eye Specialist in Fort Worth to check out his vision.  Maybe the doctor didn't want to immediately jump to the most dramatic cause behind Hayes' symptoms, like I had done.  For a few days I (and every one else who knew what we were doing at this point) felt better, but then the old demons came creeping up behind me.

It's funny, how we try and talk people out of their feelings.  Since yesterday I've marveled at it - I don't think it's wrong, necessarily, I just think it's human.  We tell babies "Don't cry, don't be sad," we tell toddlers "You're okay," and we tell ourselves and each other a whole host of things to persuade us apart from our feelings.  After the routine check up with our pediatrician, Koby felt calm, but I was worried.  And I tried to get him on board with my feelings.  I don't think I did it on purpose, I just did it.  Since yesterday, I've been the (relatively) calm one, and Koby felt the same disconnect I did - Why can't she just feel the way I'm feeling about this?  How can she think these things, look at it this way?  I know I often felt like I wanted to shout in peoples' faces "This IS a big deal, I DON'T think it's going to be 'okay'!"  I'm left to wonder, do we ever react the way we should?  Is there a certain set of feelings we should feel under certain circumstances?  Or are those feelings so transient, fickle, and dependent upon such a variety of factors that the only thing that matters is how we handle those feelings?  (Parable of the two sons, anyone?  We'll get back to that in the Spiritual Voice portion of our program.)

Enter: Medical Voice.  Yesterday was our appointment in Fort Worth with the Pediatric Vision Specialists associated with Cook's Children's Health Care System.  I was excited and nervous in equal measure.  Maybe not equal measure.  But more excited than one should be about having to take their infant in to get his vision checked.  I was ready to get the ball rolling - ready to considerably fine-tune my Google searches.  Ready to begin understanding why my son won't hold his head up well, won't look at things. 

I went half hoping that they'd fit him with a pair of baby eye goggles, maybe patch an eye, and we'd see miraculous and immediate improvements.  I think at one point I really sort of believed that would happen.  But when the doctor diagnosed him with Optic Nerve Hypoplasia, I don't think it shocked me as much as he might have thought it would.  Indeed, it's a bombshell, but when the mother has already considered a thousand times there might be something wrong with her son's brain, it isn't the blindsiding force it could be otherwise.

Here is what I can tell you in my own words about ONH from just over 24 hours of research.  (Bless you, Google.)  Optic Nerve Hypoplasia (ONH) is a abnormality of the nerve that connects the eyes to the brain.  This condition occurs when the nerve doesn't form correctly during the first few weeks of pregnancy (meaning it is a congenital defect).  There is no known cause, although some prenatal issues could be risk factors.  ONH can affect either or both eyes (usually both) and its effects can range from mild vision loss to zero light perception (total blindness).  Because it's an issue having to do with the brain and more specifically, the middle section of the brain, other neurological disorders can be present including but not limited to, motor function, developmental delays, hormonal issues, mental retardation, and other things.

This is essentially what the doctor told me, plus or minus a few points.  The questions I immediately asked were typical, "Was this a result of brain trauma or as the brain was developing?" (Brain developing, it's not my fault or anything I did or didn't do, yadda yadda) and "Based on what the nerve looks like now, how much will he be able to see?  If he doesn't improve from this point onward, will he be legally blind?" (We can't tell at this point, wait and see, yadda yadda.)  We're scheduled to have an MRI on April 9 to explore Hayes' brain and see what other, if any, abnormalities or defects are present.  Still to be scheduled is an appointment with a pediatric endocrinologist who will assess his hormonal levels to determine if they are functional or abnormal.  Based on the doctor's appraisal, his ONH seems to mild and judging by the fact that he is thriving, he may not be suffering any hormonal deficiencies at this time.  (Although they may present themselves at any point.) 

Here's what I can tell you in my own words about ONH after my son being diagnosed with it about 24 hours ago: I hate it.  I wrestle with the thought of "This is unfair for my baby".  (Note: these are my Ugly Thoughts, not Koby's.  He won't entertain this one with me, and for that I commend him.)  I wrestle with jealousy - after all, I work with dozens of children whose brains formed perfectly during the 6th and 12th prenatal weeks.  I  know you always hear stories of these wonderful people afflicted with all sorts of terrible things who are never once heard to ask "Why me?" and I guess those people are all better than me.  To me, it's completely logical to know that no, it's not fair for a baby to have its brain develop incorrectly for apparently no reason whatsoever and thus suffer a range of mild to severe symptoms every day for the rest of his life.  It just sounds juvenile and petty to call something unfair.  And that makes me incredibly angry on Hayes' behalf.  Koby and I haven't even begun to discuss the big, ugly questions like What if Hayes is severely mentally handicapped?  What if we have to pay for costly hormonal injections to give him each night to ward off dangerous and life-threatening hormone deficiencies?  What if he never gets married because of his condition?  We don't even talk about the little things.  What if he can never throw a baseball with us?  What if he never knows what his brother looks like?  What if I can never show him how to write his name?

I won't even get into the guilt of birthing a baby with a congenital brain defect - for all the 'you couldn't have prevented this' comments out there, there will always be the illogical but wholly real nagging feeling in the back of the mind.  Illogical, yes; counter-productive, of course; ever-present, indefinitely. 

You might think less of me after reading all that, but I'm choosing to err on the belief that I'm allowed some ugly, visceral thoughts because I intend upon acting in the right.  Nevertheless, shut up, Ugly Honest Voice. 

To my credit or discredit, depending upon whom you ask, I have always tried to think of things from the 'other side'.  While part of my brain screams "How on earth is it fair that this baby's brain developed abnormally?", the other, logical and Spiritual Voice tells me "Why not this baby over any other?"  My baby, my family, me - we are no better or more protected from these things than any other human on the planet.  What right do I hold that grants me a pain-free, hardship-free life?  In fact, yesterday I found myself thanking God that I had a car to drive to a Pediatric Vision Specialist less than two miles from my home who could diagnose my child on the spot.  I even thanked God for Google, which filled in the gaps left after the five minute conversation I had with the ophthalmologist.  And though we have to wait a month for it, I am genuinely grateful I live in a country where I have access to MRI technology, I have insurance that will (hopefully) cover (some of) it, and amazingly, miraculously, wonderfully, I have a loving husband who will be a encouraging, supportive and Christ-like dad to a child with special needs.  I have friends and family members who are heroically stepping up to help me with my own special needs during this time.  Hayes has a brother who is kind, compassionate, loving, thoughtful and protective of his younger sibling at the age of 20 months old.

And then, I have Hayes.  He is my sweet baby.  Now that I've been enumerating my worries and fears and 'can'ts' about him, can I please tell you about HIM?  He's my happy boy, the patient younger brother who endures Knox's proddings and times of over-helpfulness with a coo and only very occasionally, a quiet cry.  He is so strong and beautiful with his reddish blond hair and dark blue eyes that I cannot believe there are things misfiring under his perfect skull.  His hair might be curly - if not he's definitely going to suffer chronic bedhead with hair growing in so many directions at once.  His one request is to be held at all times, but if you're unable, it's okay.  His favorite is lots of kisses on his cheeks and neck.  He likes milk at room temperature and has been known to spend ten minutes smiling and laughing instead of drinking.  He's big and full of the most delicious baby rolls you could imagine.  He deserves the very best.

Koby and I have been filtering through our thoughts and feelings, sorting out which ones will work and which don't.  We're still choosing which ones will help us operate our mindset like the good family car, steadily moving us forward one day at a time.  I grew up privileged - I never knew what it felt like to be in a family living from paycheck to paycheck.  I never saw a family member battle a disease, depleting their strength and living from day to day.  I've never thrown myself at God's mercy and known what it was like for His joy to be my strength.  I'm sure I thought I did, but this is new.  This season of my life is showing me what that means - how the Lord can be my strength.  The value of the Daily Bread, the Grace that can carry a person when her strength reserves are depleted.  In short, I have never lived day to day in any sense barring the obvious but easily forgettable fragility of my own mortality.  But now I am having to learn what it means, spiritually, economically,  mentally, and otherwise. ( I am speaking for myself, but I think Koby would echo me here.)

We appreciate and covet your prayers for Hayes, but if I seem vague or overly positive or negative at any time that you might talk to me over the coming days/weeks/years, just know it's because I'm tweaking my mindset.  I'll get it right eventually.

Real Thoughts

Here is why it is amazing to be a Christian:

God's way is best.

He is the ultimate Designer, Planner.  His ways are so much higher than our ways.

I set out this holiday season to bless others and found that in the blessing I received something equal, or even greater than whatever I was trying to give.

My friend Sarah emailed me a few weeks ago with an invitation to do Blessingmas 2012 with her, and I decided to accept.  I baked for some of our neighbors, but before I could even walk the goodies over (slight malfunction with the oven... alright, I got sucked into YouTube sitcom bloopers and burned a batch of cookies), my neighbors blessed me. 

On Wednesday, Knox dug a half-eaten Snickers out of the bottom of a Christmas gift bag and took a bite.  This is significant because my son is allergic to peanuts.  Diligent though I have been to ban peanuts from entering my home or car, though I have been a new paranoid monster mommy at church potlucks and childrens' birthday parties, I forgot about the candy from our office gift exchange and forgot to pick it up or throw it away before Knox got home.  (I'll probably still be guilt-ridden, talking about this incident in therapy, years on down the road.) 

Since Knox was diagnosed with a peanut allergy, it's like we've been waiting for that moment.  And there it was.  My head said "This is it" and I sort of started to panic.  I'm probably making it sound a lot more dramatic than it was.  Knox's body's reaction probably hovers somewhere in between 'mild' and 'severe' at this point in time, and definitely nowhere near 'life-threatening'.  (Though in some cases reactions progress with each exposure, which is why if we could afford it and they didn't have a shelf life of about two seconds I would buy Epi-pens and give them to every person Knox might ever meet.)  Still, we called 911 at the outset because we weren't sure what we'd be dealing with.

Koby (thankfully and reassuringly infinitely calmer than I was in this situation) stood in the front yard holding a blotchy-faced and confused Knox, I was on the phone with the 911-receptionist and running in and out of the house, wielding an Epi-pen like it was the antidote in The Temple of Doom, our dogs raced up and down the fence line, sensing our anxiety and barking their heads off, and Hayes screamed on the couch, his dinner having been interrupted by our mini-crisis.  It felt like a spanning of generations, but it all took place in the space of less than two minutes. 

And from down the road strolled our elderly neighbor.  She calmly walked through our gate and asked if she could help with the baby.  Covered in peanut-puke, I gave her Hayes and his bottle and dazedly asked her how she knew we needed help. 

"I heard your address on the scanner and came over to see if I could help with one of the babies."

Sometimes it's uncomfortable to help other people - we don't want to get in the way, we don't want to intrude, we don't even know the person needing help, or sometimes we just don't even think of helping at all.  I'm saying 'we' - I mean 'I'.  But I am so glad our neighbor wasn't hindered as I have been, by pride or fear.  She immediately saw a need, she walked over to our house and she sat on our couch and she gave Hayes the rest of his bottle. And the inside of my house became as peaceful as it could have been in those moments. 

Suddenly, the cookies I'd dropped on the counter when I heard Koby say "Why does Knox have a Snickers?" seemed like a really small and insignificant thing to give a neighbor. 

I wrote a lot more in their card than I probably would have if I had not burned the cookies and been able to deliver them on Tuesday, like planned.  I set out to bless my neighbors with refined sugar, but before I got the chance, my neighbors showed me "love thy neighbor".  And I am thankful that this is the way my God teaches me to be, and that my family has been blessed because of it.

I also (with a little bit of Pinspiration - not sure I have an original thought left in me) concocted a plan to bless Koby by doing an actual Twelve Days of Christmas.  But with more Sour Patch Kids and less exotic fowl.

... it's been harder than I thought.

And not because I had to come up with 78 gifts with which to present him, though admittedly that was hard-bordering-on-impossible. 

It's been hard because we're married, and things come up.  The logistics have been a nightmare.  Factor in sick kids, emergency 911 calls, long days at work, out of town basketball games, early morning practices, traveling for family, new babies and sleepless nights.  And then remember that we are indeed married, and some days I don't really feel like giving him small, thoughtful gifts.  Some days I don't want to give him small, thoughtful gifts so much as throw them at his head.  (Full disclosure, no shame.)

But, I am a stubborn person and in those moments I told myself, "I've committed to this, and I will finish it."  And each day (tomorrow is day nine), regardless of whether I felt like giving him his gift at the outset, I've gone to bed glad that I did.  Each day, through the act of giving God blessed me with a feeling of peace that I might have been lacking before.  And each day Koby gracefully and gratefully accepted my gifts, even if I had been a raging butt-face a few hours beforehand.  (Full disclosure, no shame.)

I hope you can see the metaphor for marriage here without me cheesing out totally and writing it.

This Christmas I have felt more of the spirit of the holidays than ever before - both the secular (how fun is it to actually wrap toys for your own kids at Christmas?!) and the spiritual.  Even in the midst of a broken world in a time when it literally sickens me to hear the news, I see that neighbors still help each other and I can reflect on the love of my family each night before I go to bed, and so I feel and see glimpses of God's Kingdom here on Earth.  I hope you see them too.

Because it feels good. 

Second Anniversary, Second Son

Well, we're fresh from our little anniversary getaway trip that included a trip to the zoo, sinful amounts of food, and sleeping in past nine in the morning.  Happy two years to us!  It was fun to get away and hang out together sans the tot, although we both found ourselves doing our best 'Knox impressions' every few hours.

Koby's final words on the Fort Worth Zoo: "Well, that was fun, I just wish there were more tigers."  Koby's final words on the NYLO hotel where we stayed in Irving/Las Colinas: "That's the kind of place you wish you were staying maybe more than one day" and "I like those hotel pillows".  He should probably write online reviews for a living.

Aaaaaand say hello to yet another Pinterest project.  First and second anniversary photo-within-a-photo.  Glad that I'm baby beluga-sized this year instead of the regular blue whale I was last year - it makes for a much more comfortable July!  We're laughing in the first anniversary photo because it's the second take: in the first I was so rotund that the house literally shook when I ran from the self-timed camera to Koby and thus messed up the shot.  I had to walk the second time but barely made it in time to turn around and pose.  This year obviously went a lot smoother.  Ahhhh pregnancy.

And speaking of pregnancy, we are finally unveiling the name of the newest Andrews family member.  Are you prepared?  Get ready to meet

Hayes Brandon Andrews

come this November.  Tomorrow we're having another doctor's appointment and our follow-up sonogram to make sure that every thing is still moving on track.  Specific prayers that HAYES (I typed 'baby' but he has a name now!) is growing and developing according to schedule, with no more 'soft markers' for any Trisomy chromosomal abnormalities.

Knox is getting ready to be a big brother - mostly preparing by doing things like shouting his favorite word, "dog" (though he says "dod" or "gog"), refusing to practice walking, and trying as many new foods (and non-foods) as humanly possible.  I told him that he'd probably need to start pulling his weight around here a little more in preparation; helping out with the dishes and laundry, making his own meals, and learning to drive so he can cart Hayes around when Mommy is too tired.

He's taking it in stride.

Sandwiches vs. Reality -or- Being a Good Wife

Don't you just love it when life fits together in that puzzle piece way?  When you hear a word or message that speaks to you somewhere down deep and it's just so applicable...

That happened, to me, today.

My friend Sarah shared an inspiring podcast ('The Respectful Wife' by Mark Driscoll) with me and a few other of her married compadres today- bonus!  It's a free sermon.  (Search Mars Hill Church in your iTunes to find some more... think I'll be doing that soon.)  I'd upload it here but it's nearly an hour long - I highly encourage you women to go and check it out!

Whoa.  It's always been a struggle for me to be a deliberate person - deliberate in word and deed as a girl-now-woman, a daughter, sister, wife, teacher, mother...  I'm a boisterous, opinionated, passionate, highly independent but sometimes self-righteous person, and it's hard to be deliberate when your mouth moves faster than your brain.  I was convicted to be a more deliberate wife in thought, word and action because of Mr. Driscoll's biblical and God-hearted message.

It got me thinking - where else can I be more deliberate?  A message I kept hearing over and over in the podcast was "Are you a nag?  Do you drill, drill, drill a message in?"  *Squirming like the proverbial schoolboy* Maybe Mr. Driscoll was prodding a sore spot... In a particular class period students are always saying 'You're so negative!!'  Let me say, it never ceases to take me by surprise.  I have NEVER been called a negative person, in any arena.  But as Art Instructor Mrs. Andrews in First Period I am 'negative' because I 'always tell them what they're drawing wrong'... but I know I'm not.  What I know is that they won't get better until they fix their mistakes.  What I know is that I'm following the 'sandwich method' - for those of you who didn't study education, that is when you begin a critique with a 'warm fuzzy', add your criticism, and finish with another 'fuzzy'.  It's all very technical.

But no matter how many sandwiches I present my kids, regardless of how firmly my methods are built upon best practices, the reality is that they feel criticized.  The reality is that I need to be deliberately positive and encouraging.  And I started thinking - obviously a 2:1 ratio of encouragement to criticism is faulty.  People (husbands, children, students, friends) need to hear good things about themselves - to the point where one feels repetitive.  I may know that I'm supporting Koby, but the reality may be that he's focused on a criticism that I utttered in a moment of frustration.  Being deliberate, showing discretion: it takes effort.  Being a good wife, teacher, mother should be hard.  I think it's something for which we must continually strive.

So, as I listened to my free podcast while Knox napped after school, I was motivated and inspired to to apologize to Koby for some hurtful things I'd said when I should have been encouraging and understanding.  Here's the scenario that happened:

Enter Husband.
Husband: Hey, whatcha doin?
Me: Oh, listening to a sermon on how to be a better wife.
Husband: Huh, that's what my devotional was about today.
Me: What?
Husband: On being a good husband.
Both: Smile.
Enter swoon.

And life just sometimes fits.  Thanks God.

In other news, we taught Knox to growl.

Post #14 of 29

Koby and I don't really have a romantic story.

But that's not to say we don't have a love story.

The first Valentine's Day that we were together, I made him a card in one of my graphic design classes (with a waffle on it) and then we went to a BBQ joint with one of his friends.

On one Valentine's Day I was so sick that we cancelled dinner plans and Koby just sat on the couch with me, watching t.v. and intermittently bringing me medicine.

We have probably never successfully surprised each other with a gift, due to a combination of e-mail espionage and the basic inability to keep present secrets from one another.

We don't do grand gestures, we don't believe in Hallmark, and eight times out of ten we prefer grilling and TBS to dinner and a movie. Maybe we're boring according to St. Valentine, and even though some people may not understand our methods of showing affection (did you know a Diet Root Beer can mean "I'm sorry", "I'm thinking of you" or "Happy Valentine's Day"?), others do. I think some people don't notice love when it isn't dramatic and extravagant or if it doesn't sparkle - it's easy to overlook the Diet Root Beers out there when Edward Cullen is running around watching teenaged girls sleep. One of the best things I've ever heard said about Koby and me was after meeting and spending an evening with us at a wedding: a guy told his wife "I like them. They're so in love."

At first it made me laugh really hard. When I picture people "so" in love, I imagine more than diet soda and sea monkeys (my V-day gift for Koby today). But we are so in love, and I feel complimented that someone could tell that just from one evening.

There's something about being with your best friend that makes you feel young, happy and comfortable. That's why it's so awesome that I'm married to mine. What's better than feeling young and in love?  (Answer: getting to feel like that every day.  Especially on the days you're covered in baby poop and pureed carrots.) I might not shout it from the rooftops or spell it out on a banner in the sky, but I can blog about it.

Things Lately

Koby turned 24 and visited a Starbucks for the first time (separately), we celebrated Lovie's birthday in Abilene, we got some ice and snow, Knox experiments with solid foods (bananas are bad, squash is delicious), Koby lost a Prank War, and I started "running" (and still have chest pains).

Year 1

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at "blogging" so y'all bear with me. Also, I doubt I will be as funny and witty as my very talented wife.

Well it's been a year and luckily I have yet to run Christie off. In the last year we have gotten married, gotten pregnant, and moved once, continuing to journey deeper into west Texas. While Christie was busy wow-ing students and faculty at Colorado High School with her excellent teaching, I have tried out the wind industry, done student teaching, graduated college, substitute taught, and gone back to the oil field. Thanks to the Lord I have recently been hired as a football coach and P.E. teacher here in Colorado City to finally begin my career. Although I am concerned with the amount of hunting I will be able (or allowed) to do this year, Friday night lights are sure hard to beat.

In other news, which you all already know, our baby boy is very close to being here and we couldn't be more ready. I am growing tired of Christie being pregnant, so I can only imagine how tired of it she is. But she has been great through all of it (no weird cravings, minimal nagging etc.) and I know she will be a wonderful mother.

In conclusion, marriage has been everything I could want and I can't imagine doing or being anywhere else. I love my wife so much and I can't wait for our family to grow, but if you would've told me I'd be here doing this about 6 years ago I would've thrown a rock at you. God has truly blessed me.

And before any of you (or Christie) get any ideas, I'm only doing this blogging thing once a year. See you next July.

Every One Else is Doing It

Urban Outfitters, Stamped Rose Batik Curtain

I keep noticing that people my age are 're-decorating' their houses and things... or at least I see this on their blogs, as I generally do not live within 75 miles of anyone my age. Not to be outdone, I am 'decorating' (for the first time, as in finally finishing) our bedroom. Baby steps. Then I will 'redecorate' my floor with dirty clothes.

On their way to our house at this moment are our brand new CURTAINS! To finish covering the windows in our bedroom. My excitement for these window treatments is two-fold.

1. I like decorating things (I'm not very good at it but I enjoy it) and
2. It wilI hopefully end Koby's tirade against our great provider of Vitamin D, your friend the Sun.

Allow me to explain. I have married an anomaly of a man, a paradox of a person. (Johnnie, the lady who ran the B&B in Tennessee where we stayed so wisely quipped after hearing about my childhood crush on Elvis Presley, "Well it looks like you married John Wayne!") Let me tell you why: Koby, who insists upon being outside a good deal more than the average person, when indoors loathes natural light for whatever reason. I sincerely believe the boy would live in a cave if he could. Before we were married and while we were still looking for houses to rent he actually picked one with no windows - I nearly had a panic attack.

Any way, all of this to say I have been sweetly motivated on a daily basis to do something about the windows, which are enormous and let in a great deal of light. (I LOOOOOVE it. I'd rip off the mini-blinds if I could and bask in the glorious sunshine all day. Let the neighbors see my undecorated room: I LOVE NATURAL LIGHT.) So I bought these curtains for $14.99 a panel at Urban Outfitters to coordinate with some black treatments we already have. (Yes, I know they're very sheer and see-through. I'm hoping that the illusion have HAVING curtains will be enough and even the minimal amount of light blocked by the curtains will be enough to calm Koby's outrage against the sun. My original plan was to paint the room a dark color, thereby tricking him into thinking he was in a cave-like room while still allowing light in.... but we're not allowed to paint. So this is my last Ace in the hole.)

Maybe I'll post pictures of our 'decorated' room later, but probably not. Just being honest! But do expect some more foxes...

The Secret of the Sonogram

Written inside this card and in the possession of Elizabeth Andrews is the GENDER of our first child!

We had our 'gender' sonogram today... I can't believe how much our little tot has grown! The first thing the technician said this morning once she got us going was "Here's a leg" and my immediate thought was "Um, how's that?" and I began to worry again that I would have no idea what the blobs on the screen were telling me. But THEN she showed us the baby's little head and I could SEE IT! He/she was wriggling around after some gentle encouragement from the technician and I could see it all - elbows, tiny feets, little legs and a round tummy. Personally, I'm still going with my first instinct, which is that our little blob is a wee little man. Koby, who has refused to guess until this point, asked one of his best men what he thought it was and decided to go with that opinion as fact. (So much for listening to a mother's intuition.)

But what do you think? Here's some headshots to get you thinking...