Okay, so remind me to never write a post about who will be there when you're sick.
     I pulled my lower back to point where I look like Quasimodo and now it's hard to get from here to there.
     Last summer I had severe upper back pain, resulting in a good old fashioned visit to the Neurosurgeon, with back/neck surgery to follow.  
     I was bull-headed last time, not wanting to have the surgery, so by the time I finally caved in, the discs in the back of my neck had ruptured.

     This time, I will not be so stubborn.
     It takes a LOT to get me to go to the doctor, but yesterday, it was bad enough that I went to the Urgent care, where they took x-rays, found nothing, then told me to visit my primary physician today.
     Seeing her this morning, led to a trip to the hospital for an MRI.  I hobbled to the tube machine where a man kindly gave me headphones to listen to music while I gritted my teeth for about a half an hour, trying to hold perfectly still.
     I'm now waiting for my results, but have a heightened sense of nervousness, because by the time the MRI was done and they pulled me back out of the tunnel, people were there waiting to lift my head and guide my feet down, verrrrry slowly.  nice.
     I knew they weren't allowed to tell me if there was something wrong, but I also knew it wasn't a good sign.
     So, for now, I'm flat on my back, hoping for the best case scenario and waiting for the results.  I should have them by tomorrow, so I'll write then.  
     Until that time, I'm home and just crawled past the kitchen on my way back upstairs, only to see this...

    Jesus, take the wheel.
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     As a therapist working in a rehab facility, I see many things.  People heal and get better, sometimes they don't.  You might find huge families that never leave a patients' side, while other times there's only one, or maybe no one to spend that time while someone recovers.
     When patients are elderly, it doesn't take long however, for you to pick out which of their family or friends will be in it for the long haul.  They're the ones who help organize and situate the room, bring old photos to liven the place up with favorite music and flowers while having a permanent place beside their loved one.  It's typically that person who rises above all others, in staying the course.
     I never put much thought into who that might be one day when heaven forbid, I'm in that situation.  It's hard to put myself, or my loved ones, for that matter, in that place.  
     Then, a couple months ago, I had minor surgery.  It was no big deal, but it required that I had to lie in bed for a couple of days.  (I know.  Horrible, right?)
      My husband was a champ in getting the kids bowls of cereal for dinner and I think he even had them brush their hair once or twice.
      They all checked on me which was sweet, but our ten year old son, was the one who took it to the next level.  
      "What do you need, mom?"  I heard him whisper through my pain killer druggy hazed state.
      "I'm okay, baby.  Thank you."
      I'd squint through weary eyes to watch as he stayed by my side, holding my hand and leaving every so often to get a glass of water or crackers for me...because that's what the surgeon said to do.
      For dinner, as my husband was rounding up the house, our son even brought a bowl of soup that he made.  Granted, it was the worst tasting soup I'd ever had, while at the same time, it was the best.  
      The second day after surgery when I was officially going stir crazy and couldn't stay in our room for one more minute, that's when I realized.
      "He's our son!"
      My husband, checking the label on my prescription raised his brow.  "Okay?"
      I shook my head, "No, he's our son!  Ethan's our son that will be there when we're old."
      Nodding his head, I knew my husband had no idea what I meant, and I was too loopy at the time to explain. 
      Year after year and patient after patient however, I knew what it meant.  I've seen the signs a hundred times before but I never thought they would apply to me.
       As much as I hope it never has to again, it's nice to know there's a loving spirit inside our child that I hope will carry him through wherever life takes him.  That's a priceless gift that will forever make my heart swell...no matter how good or bad the soup might be.
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    Those of you who have been with us, know that when our little girl turned six back in March, there was only one thing she asked for.  A hamster.  
     Our neighbor has a hamster named, 'Happy' which totally fits.  He's the friendliest, cutest little thing on earth.  Lauren Elizabeth had fluffy dreams of spending hours on end, playing with her very own snuggly ball of fur, making all her birthday wishes come true.
     Adam and I knew better.  We know our luck and what usually happens in our house.  Chaos.  
     Biting the bullet however, we went ahead with the whole nine yards, springing for a hamster house, food, the stuff you put all over the bottom that's smelly and of course, the hamster. 
     He was actually cute at first.  

        He was no bigger than a minute and as adorable as he could be.  Lauren Elizabeth loved him, naming him none other than- 'Cupcake'.
     The kids passed him around, holding him relentlessly until I guess one day, he just snapped.  
      With a peer in his eye of sheer determination, he wanted to break free.  Cupcake began to bite everything.  Turning his head, he'd actually reach around and squirm just to grab a nice chunk of flesh to hold onto.
      Screams of panic and mayhem began filling our home as the kids scrambled to get Cupcake back into his cage, safe from his ferocious seven ounces of terror.  
      It got to the point where Lauren was the only one brave enough to go in and reach for him, as her three (older and wiser) brothers stood around to watch.
      That's when it happened.  Lauren Elizabeth put Cupcake into his hamster ball and took him downstairs with her to play.  It was her only way of keeping him with her, without the small inconvenience of blood loss.
      From out of nowhere, the level of shouting that came from her, caused Adam and I to run at a dead bolt to see what was wrong.  
      There she stood, racked with worry and holding an empty hamster ball.
      "WHERE IS HE?"  We panicked.
      "I don't know.  He's not in his ball."
      "We can see that, Lauren.  WHERE IS HE?!"
      Six year old sobs began to poor as we all began to frantically look for a cotton ball with legs, knowing we'd never see him again.  
      Days turned into weeks.  Every time I went downstairs, I prepared myself for a lightening bolt flash of Cupcake sprinting through the house which in all honesty, completely freaked me out.
      Lauren and her brothers tried to put hamster food out and pieces of fresh fruit, even opening the front door to his little hamster house with a ramp built up to it so he could climb in.
      It was the saddest thing we had ever seen.
      Finally, we'd all given up hope.  All of us that it, except for Lauren.  She continued to hope and pray, wanting desperately for Cupcake to still be alive.
      Late one evening, she went downstairs, wanting to check his house one more time before going to bed.  
      Within three seconds, screams of, "CUPCAKE! CUPCAKE!" sounded as Adam and I shot down the stairs worried she'd finally found his dead little body somewhere in the room.  Legs up.
      If I wouldn't have seen it with my own eyes, I never would've believed it.  There he was, in his cage like he'd been there the whole time as Lauren cheered and danced around the room.
      He was a little smaller, probably from running free range for all that time, and I'd swear he looked furious that he'd been busted.  He must've been scavenging on whatever they were putting in his cage, then sneaking out before morning, on total Rambo Hamster survival mode.  I'd swear there was a little smudge of war paint under each eye. 
      How that thing lived all that time, boggles the mind.  We were convinced he'd been long gone, but not Lauren.  She never gave up hope.
      It was a good lesson for us in having the faith of a child.  Even when things don't even seem possible, never, ever, ever...give up.        
     And that holds entirely true, especially when you're a hamster. 
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     We've missed you!  Fall is in the air and the new school year has begun.  There are so many things to catch up on and we hope you keep us posted on your year, too.
     It's been awhile since I've last posted, so I'm excited to get started.
     First thing's first, we need to get back on the map.  In the Mommy blog world, a good place to start is through the Top Mommy Blog website.  It's a simple thing to do, requiring only a little 'tap' on the banner below each blog post to act as a vote.  That's it.  Nothing more.  
     You can vote once a day and each time you hit the banner from any different computer or cell phone, it acts as a new vote, then takes you to their website where a ton of different Mommy blogs are waiting.  It's good reading and loads of fun.
      It's with a happy heart we say, "Hello, again!"  It's nice to be back and we can't wait to see what life has in store.
      XOXO,
      Beatty
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    Last week we went to the zoo.  It had been a little while since we'd gone...well...a lot of while, but I remembered some of the areas the kids posed for pictures in years past.
     Coming home, I wondered where the old photos might be, to be able to compare them.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized, we have no pictures.  Let me rephrase, we have thousands of pictures, but nothing tangible.  No photo albums, shoeboxes filled with memories, picture books.  There are no bins to rummage through to find old adventures or vacations.  Everything's digital and stored on some hard drive or computer somewhere.  I hate this.
     When I was a kid, I used to love going through old photos.  I'd drift through pictures of my grandparents, parents and of baby pictures of my brother and myself.  
     I could go through all the years of what we've saved with the kids, but I either can't find the time, or get daunted by the sheer number of files and searches I'd have to go through.  I should've kept up from the beginning, but it almost seems too late now. 
     In any case, my awesome (organized) husband knew right where to find the old zoo pictures to compare with our recent trip and my jaw dropped at the difference.  I'm glad he knew where the old photos were from a hard drive, but it would've been more fun to find them in a shoebox.  :) 

      Until next time...maybe then I'll print some pictures. 
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      I'm tired.  The end of the school year is about to knock me over.  Events, class parties, ceremonies, graduations...this, on top of work, make the days consist of going nonstop until we fall over at night.  
     Earlier this year, the school had what's called a "Fun Run".  It's a great idea for a fund raiser where the kids run laps and get sponsors to pay per lap.  
     The kids had a ball.  The race resembled the school year in a way, where in the beginning, they were all pumped up and ready to go.  Fresh faces and neat new t-shirts were itching to hit the ground running.
     The funny thing, around half way through, their smiles turned into looks of determination.  They were getting a little tired sure, but what meant more to them was the focus and drive of ensuring their accomplishments.
     Aaaaaaaand then by the end, they were spent.  Beat red faces, sweaty necks and the looks of exhaustion.  They had run a good run but wanted nothing more than to quit.  My little one caught my eye on the sideline as he went by.  He had run so hard with all the excitement and I knew he wondered how much longer he had.
     "You're almost done Baby!  Just keep going!"
     One quick head nod and he rounded the corner for his last few laps.  It was a simple thing, but it was all that he needed.  In his last round or two, a new energy pushed through and he ran like the wind.
     Unlike my seven year old, I'll not find that energy and will be lucky to crawl across the finish line of this year.  
     Tomorrow is the last day though, and it's bitter sweet to say the least. 
      It was just a minute ago that our oldest proudly walked to his last day of elementary school, while our youngest wandered to her first day of Kindergarten.  Her backpack outweighed her as our two middle boys ran by in a flash to catch up with some friends.  
      It will be nice to have a break from it all though.  
      To those of you in that home stretch, with all of its madness and chaos, you're almost there.  Think summer thoughts of no homework, assignments, crazy mornings with backpacks and lunches.  Instead, picture the relief of warm sunny days, late afternoons and evenings of fireflies.   
       Yes, you're almost done baby.  Just keep going.

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    When I was young, I was devastated when our family dog died.  I had never known life without her and the loss in our home was tangible.  I remember going to our minister and questioning whether pets went to heaven.  His answer was helpful, stating that he believed when we go to heaven, we want for nothing.  If that meant being with our family pets, then so be it.
    This past week, our cat passed away.  She was about a thousand years old and everyone said it was time to put her down, but we couldn't bring ourselves to do it.  Then, on Wednesday after school and work, we came home to find her lying there, perfectly situated and looking like she was taking an afternoon nap.  When we called her name however, she didn't respond.  My husband went to touch her cheek, then he knew.  
     It's hard to lose a pet, but when your children are there with eyes filling with hurt and tears, it takes on a whole different level.  
    "When will she wake up?" Our daughter kept asking while she and our boys sat around her.  I didn't know whether to cry along with them or try to hold strong, comforting them instead. 
     One of our sons questioned with a soft voice, "Is she in heaven now?"  It brought me back to my youth.  I told him what was told to me once before, but this time I had more to add.  
     A few years ago, my grandfather passed away.  I was especially close to him and his death was unexpected.  He was in his nineties and lived a wonderful life, but he also had awful stories of his youth during the Great Depression.  
     A couple nights after he had passed, I had a dream about him that was as real as it could be.  He and I sat and talked for what seemed like hours and I kept telling him how I didn't want him to go.  Finally, he said it was time, but he wanted me to remember how happy he was and told me not to worry.  The last thing he said to me was how the best way he could help me believe it was him and not just a dream was by introducing me to his childhood dog.  He said that he loved his pet very much and was so happy to have him again.  He finished by telling me that I could go to my mom with this, but she wouldn't know about the dog because she never knew he had one as a boy.  
     Sure enough, I woke up in tears and called my parents right away.  Just like he said in my dream, mom confirmed that grandpa had never owned a dog during his childhood, due to living through the Depression.  It evidently made her wonder enough to call one of his sisters back in New Jersey.  Mom's aunt replied by saying, "Oh, I forgot all about that little dog.  How did you know about it?"
     Completely shocked, mom asked if her aunt remembered what the dog looked like and she said she'd hunt through some old photos.  
     As luck would have it, about a week later, mom received a letter from her aunt with an old black and white square picture of my grandpa with his beloved pet...and guess what...it was the same dog. 
     As much as I couldn't believe it, it was hard to refute.  
     I'm glad I had it to share with our kids whether it was simply a dream, or something much better.  No matter the case, it helped us through with just a little smile between our tears.

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    When you drop your cell phone for whatever reason, several things tend to race through your mind.    
      It doesn't matter how your phone lands...facing up, down, in water, bouncing or cartwheeling across the floor...your heart skips a beat as your breath sucks in, waiting in anticipation. 
      Mine fell a couple of days ago and hasn't worked since.  My first reaction was... 
      Did it break?  Will it still work?  Please, please, pleeeeease...
      Shoot.
      The moment you realize your cell phone has died, it's not uncommon to go through different stages.  You might not think you're too attached to your phone and you'd be fine without it, until these feelings set in.
      1.)  Denial: No.  No, no, no.  It's not broken.  I just have to figure out how to fix it or shake it around and it will work again.  Maybe if I shut it down and turn it back on again, everything will be fine.  Yeah.  That'll work. 
      2.)  Anger: WHY AREN'T YOU WORKING?  You stupid phone, turn on!  You can't do this.  I have too much information on you to lose.  Do NOT do this.  
      3.) Bargaining: Okay.  Everything will be fine.  I'll just plug it in to charge and that will make it happy.  I'm sure the battery was just low and nothing else is really wrong.  Here you go.  Nice phone.   
      4.) Depression: It's dead.  It's totally broken and there's nothing I can do.  Nothing works and I'll never be able to get any pictures, videos or memories off my phone again.  Why didn't I save any of it?  What am I going to do?  The school...what if one of the kids gets sick and they can't reach me?  What about work?  What if my job sends a message?  How will I check on daily information like time, temperature, my emails?  I always listen to music...what now?  I'll be disconnected from everything.  How much is it going to cost to repair or replace it?  I'm doomed.     
      5.) Acceptance:  It's okay.  I lived my whole life before without a cell phone and it'll be fine.  The car will actually be nice without talking on the phone.  I remember when listening to songs on the radio was the only option.  The kids won't ask to play games on the phone and I won't get texts or messages throughout the day.  There will be a sense of freedom and bit of reprieve simply by disconnecting from everything.  The world will reappear and I'll notice people and things around me instead of constantly checking on my phone.
      Oh look.  Is that a bird?  How nice.  
      Um, yeah.  It's time to get another phone. 
      Editor's note: Even though I really have gone without my phone for a few days, this was meant to be funny.  The scary part is when I talked to a recruiter recently, he told me that when he takes kids (18-19 year olds) phones away from them for approximately 3-4 hours during initial meetings/sessions, they look and act as if they were literally going through withdrawals.  He said that because our generation and previous generations grew up without cell phones, we can manage without, however since this age hasn't, it's almost like an addiction and they don't know what to do without it.  yieks.    
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     Fourteen years ago, my husband and I were married.

     It was a wonderful day shared with family and friends and still makes me smile to think about.
    Thirteen anniversaries have past since then, yesterday, being one of them.  Our first one or two anniversaries were amazing.  Romantic getaways, relaxing vacations without a care in the world...  
    Then we had kids.  
    The first few years were spent ordering pizza and renting a movie as the babies slept.  We'd half laugh, half cry at the memories of years prior.
    As the kids got older, anniversary nights in, became anniversary nights out again...only this time they were much more romantic getaways like going to T-ball games, elementary school programs and last night, the best one of all...spring football practice.
    Knowing that would be on call for this anniversary, we shuffled through the day with school and work, came home that afternoon to begin homework over the 'beautiful' serenade of trumpet practice from our fifth grader, then began getting backpacks and school lunches ready for the next day, before we headed out the door for football. 
    Then something happened.  My parents arranged to take the three boys to practice and keep our little girl, then send us out for dinner.  Not just any dinner, but a fancy dinner.  The kind with no chicken nuggets on the menu. 
    Running to put on a dress and heels, I was taken when I saw my husband.  He was as handsome as ever in a dark sports coat, reminding me of the day were married.
    With white twinkling lights around the restaurant, it was hard not to smile at our brief snippet of calm.  Actual complete sentences were formed and there was no kicking under the table or crayons being thrown. 
    Adam looked at the number of forks, spoons and knives surrounding his plate and grinned.  Taking the biggest knife, a steak knife so huge it was impressive, he put it right in the middle of the table.
     The server quickly appeared and asked if there was something wrong.
    "No.  Nothing's wrong.  We just want to keep it there for a minute or two."
    "Excuse me Sir?"
    Knowing how crazy she must have thought we were, I couldn't help but giggle.
    Having four kids doesn't bode well with big knives under any circumstance...especially one sitting right there in front of you.
     Even though life moves quickly and I know these days are short, it was nice to take a minute to stop.  As wild as things can be with kids, work, school, sports...it sometimes adds up to a lot of chaos that can make you crazy. It's good to take the time to have a steak knife every once in awhile. 
     Thank you Mom and Dad for allowing us to enjoy a wonderful anniversary.  In the midst of the chicken nugget weeks and days, it sure was nice to have a steak night kind of night.   
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