CF Family

Close to Jesus

2012-03-06T14:24:00.000-08:00

It is rest time here, time I'd planned to write a poignant post, complete with complicated expressions of my fears and loves. You see, Addie's metabolic screening results have returned with numbers that indicate CF, meaning that we head to the hospital tomorrow for a more diagnostic test and a visit with the pediatric pulmonologist, Rees's doctor for 17 years, to hear how to care for a newborn with CF (Rees was 9 months old and already eating solids.).

But then I noticed that one of the kids had tucked a doll by sleeping Addie before tromping upstairs to rest ~

So I'm all finished. Nothing I write could be better than this. I'm going to curl up close to her. And Jesus. Maybe I'll rest, too.

Love,
Allison

Lent ~ Second Sunday

2012-03-03T18:16:00.000-08:00

Our focus for the upcoming week : Think of Jesus betrayed and rejected and :

Pray : for those who reject and hate our Church,
Fast : from giving place to ugly thoughts and actions,
Give : our time to turn the other cheek and do something nice to one who has been mean to us.

Next installment of our Tobit passage :

"Perform good works all the days of your life, and do not tread the paths of wrongdoing." (4:5).

This is our Crown of Thorns, made from
play-doh and toothpicks. When I catch
a child using his hands (or whatever the
week's focus), he may take out a thorn
and put it in the bowl. Easter morning,
the thorns are replaced with bright and
beautiful jelly beans ~ Halleluia!

This is a reminder poster that Clare made and stuck in the
mirror. Wonder what she'll draw for this week?

First week here.

A simple, spare diet is off the books for me this Lent, as doctor's orders are to Eat Fat. No calorie-reduction. Seems like the only way to do this for my tiny nursling without indulging in ice cream and brownies, which seems wrong during a season of penitence is to substitute full fat items for nonfat.

My ten year old, who loves All Things Computer, has grabbed this nutritional bull by the horns and googled phrases like, lots of fat for skinny babies ; fat without dessert ; and (my personal favorite) fat food for mothers. Her motivation seems to stem from concern for her skinny sister and the scientific challenge, as well as the aforementioned computer-love. This is the kid who refuses to learn the method for long multiplication problems, but has provided me with a bullet-pointed grocery list.

A new bloggy friend has recently blessed me with these words, "Sometimes our lives provide Lent for us."

"As sometimes the mother gives the most attention to the child who falls the most, so our failures can be used as a prayer that God be most attentive to us, because of our greater weaknesses."   (AB Fulton Sheen)

Thank God for that,
Allison

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real

2012-03-01T08:52:00.001-08:00

Addie edition

*I don't have much creativity these days, but a new baby makes great pictures and certainly "captures the context of everyday life" around here (Far more than math books.).

{Pretty}

{Happy}

{Funny}

{Real}

In case anyone is wondering, and since I promised myself that I would be true and honest here, she has lost 11oz and has not gained back anything (along with bad diapers). My mother-sense tells me that she has CF, so I am trying all sorts of tricks to help little Addie gain weight, while awaiting the Diagnosis, which brings with it a script of enzymes to help her . . . So there you go, friends.

Please visit these lovely ladies for more!
Love,
Allison

Our Lenten Week

2012-02-26T23:32:00.001-08:00

After a good cry a few days ago (I don't even remember when ; it's Her Fault!) over my utter lack of preparation for Lent, I drank another mug of coffee (possibly a pot), mopped myself up, gathered my sleepy brain cells, and devised a Plan :

*Family fast (Personal penances private)
*Weekly "Pray, Fast, Give" focus
*Scripture passage to memorize together

So for the week ahead, we will think about Jesus' wounded Hands, and ~

Pray -- for priests whose hands bring us the Eucharist,
Fast -- from rough handling of each other and our material goods,
Give -- our own hands for a kind act each day.

And we're working on this beginning of a section of Tobit :

"Through all your days, my son, keep the Lord in mind and suppress every desire to sin or to break His commandments." (4:5)

Since it has been just four days, there are minimal discernments or discoveries, other than how embarrassingly close I am to pawning my van for a cookie. But this introspection and God-spection is hard work. Good work. Training-the-will work.

"Lent must renew in us our union with Jesus Who speaks to us of the need of conversion and shows us the way to reach it. The Church, a wise and loving Mother, suggests useful ways to reach this wonderful purpose ; these are prayer, fasting, and almsgiving." (Pope John Paul II)

All for Him,
Allison

Just for smiles

2012-02-24T17:19:00.000-08:00

This old picture scanned pretty well : Rees looks to be a little over a year old (Which means I was 16 years younger, too. Yikes.). IV'd arm, doing the family thing at Providence Hospital. It works.

I miss that adorable baby ; I like the man he's becoming ; mothers can feel both ways at the same time while smiling and crying!

Love,
Allison

One More Soul

2012-02-20T20:38:00.002-08:00

*This was written in my spiral notebook almost 2 weeks ago. But I've been busy baby-having ~ welcome, Adah Marie!

What with the recent HHS mandate / compromise fervor and the subsequent interest in the Catholic Church's position on contraception, two of my favorite writers have tackled the topic with clarity and wit : Ms. Borges and Bad Catholic Part I and Part II.

So how do we Howells live our Faith being open to new life with a 1:4 chance of cystic fibrosis shadowing every pregnancy? First fact is that there are hundreds of genetic issues that children can be born with and hundreds more conditions that children can develop or catch once born. Second fact is that we are called to live a vocational, considered life based on sacraments and living well ; not an entitled, fast food life, based on my life, my way.

Here's our life, quickly :
Marriage is a sacrament.
Sex is good.
Children are a blessing.
NFP is too much work.
~Like, when it's time to consider charting or children, children always win!

What's so bad about another baby, CF or otherwise?

Money? Ever heard Cat's in the Cradle? A picnic with PB&Js is better than a plane ride to Disney. A fun family game of hide and seek beats a show at the theater. Kids don't really like steak anyway ; they prefer hamburger helper. Presence, not Presents.

Alone time? Teens can stay home with littles or take charge of backyard play or monitor DVD viewing for a coffee date, a bubble bath, a telephone call, or locking oneself in the bathroom. Before teens is admittedly tough, but they do grow up and get there.

Health therapies? It eventually eases up on parents (Physically, not emotionally, but that's true for all children.). My teen is in charge of his own nebulizers, his own clapping with a flutter valve, his own exercise routine, and makes sure he eats like a horse. He handles hospitalizations by himself, too, although visitors are very important.

My hope and prayer is that this is encouraging, especially for CF parents. You already know that your kids are extra excellent ; they're stronger, deeper, sweeter. The world is better. Heaven is better. One more soul.

As I gaze into the face of my new, tiny daughter and wonder about CF, about suffering, about her life span and hospitals and IVs ; my heart breaks. Here is where the theological Truths of our Holy Faith and the primitive pain in the reality of a suffering child crash together. I am afraid and I am weeping. But I am not filled with fear, because she is a beautiful gift. Because of Jesus.

Thanks to Bad Catholic again.

Serving my King the best I can,
Allison

Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real ~ Valentine's Baby!

2012-02-17T14:30:00.000-08:00

We have a pretty, funny, happy, real Valentine's Day Baby! Adah Marie was born at 3pm Tuesday afternoon and within an hour was surrounded by the rest of her family and the most wonderful friends.

Here's Addie ~

{Pretty}

Very early in the morning, the day after birth, Clare took over for a minute. The three of us had slept on the couch together.

Am I allowed 2 pics for a word? I'll check. In the meantime, John set this shot up, what with the roses, my flowered blouse, and Addie's tiny pink mouth. Good job, Honey!

{Happy}

In between contractions. Enough said.

All strapped up and ready to go home ~ Wednesday evening.

{Funny}

Clare loved that the pediatrician on call had the same last name as ours. This is minutes after birth.

This is funny in a strange and lovely way, as this great kid has 3 little siblings and still couldn't wait to hold our new baby, too. Such is love.

{Real}

A real baby sister for our real big girl!

Our 3 littlest.

Happy Valentine's Day!

As always, these lovely ladies have lots more.

Pretty happy here,

Allison

Rambo and McGyver and Howells, Oh My!

2012-02-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

Quick note ~

Rees, John, and Ken are away on their yearly Survival Night, out in the wild somewhere with only pocket kits and knives, getting in touch with their inner Rambos and McGyvers (Minus the murdering and mullets, of course.).

See how it works in an Altoids can? Having a backpack stocked to survive a nuclear war is great, but not if it's lost in an accident. Something on your person (in your pocket) is much more important.

They eat what they kill or find ; they construct a shelter depending on the terrain ; they keep watch all night by the fire. I have no idea what they talk about. I don't really want to know. All I know is that there's a lot of eye-rolling, guffawing, and punching each other when I venture a tiny question. Boys.

I never know if they'll come home famished or full so I just make sure to have plenty of vittles upon their return. And lots of clean towels. They'll smell weird.

My girl's picking a movie ~
Warmly,
Allison

PS ~ Rees always keeps his flutter valve in his pocket, as well. Must keep lungs clear!

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real

2012-02-08T22:06:00.000-08:00

Farm edition.

Since financial troubles necessitated the selling or butchering of our backyard farm animals last week, PHFR today is dedicated to the Howell Homestead. May it rise again (along with our bank account) :

{Pretty}

I know my boys wouldn't like to be called pretty, but they just are!

{Happy}

We'd watched them since egghood!

{Funny}

Somebody get this thing off me, please . . .

{Real}

Real newborn goat in my real den.

For more real life, visit these lovely ladies.

Sorry, farm,
Allison

The Church Militant is more than smart writing.

2012-02-05T16:53:00.000-08:00

*This post is personal, pointed, and painful, based on my experiences after a year of blogging and facebooking. I have found that the world of online Catholics would rather rail about hot button, cultural and political issues that garner much attention, than actually aid brothers and sisters in Christ (Not even talking about "lepers", but parish people.).

This is within my little Catholic corner of the world. You may have a vibrant, active church circle. So pray for us.

One problem that parents of older children with CF (or any chronic condition) face is indifference. In the beginning years, when every hospitalization was horrifying and we were reeling with God's rejection (Our perception, of course, but real.), church people came.  They came to sit with our son, to take us out, or to drop by with a sub or a movie or a cappuccino. Sometimes all three ~ halleluia!

Then two things happened : Rees grew up and we converted to Catholicism. He was no longer a crying, confused toddler with distraught new parents ; he was a cool dude who understood CF and dealt pretty well with hospitalizations (I think we became cooler, too, but don't ask my kids.). And we found that, in our world, Catholics go to church, then go home. No visits.  No restaurants. There's plenty of Facebook and bloggy bemoaning the state of the country and our Church, but when I posted a status update that Rees had been hospitalized? Silence. Indifference. In fact, this past time, a church leader told us he was heading in for a visit, then never showed. Readers, this is Even Worse than not showing.

We (older CF parents) may be at existential peace with a chronic condition requiring hospitalizations, but the hours still   D R A G   by when hooked up to an IV. The Communion of Saints is more than asking Sister Mary Martha to recommend a good patron for a particular malady and begging intercession from the Church Triumphant. It's the Church Militant, too ~ those of us here, working out our salvation in fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12 but read the whole chapter!). And while it is intellectually stimulating to read insightful, witty commentary on the World Wide Web, Real People in your parish need Other Real People with telephones and trucks to really contact them.

There's enough pentecostal left in me to recommend dropping to our knees, closing our eyes, raising our hands to Heaven, and asking the Holy Spirit to fall on us and fill us with Love. And information. Information on whom to pour out that Jesus Love upon.

Speaking in other tongues optional.

Now let's walk away from our computers, pick up a $6.99 box of doughnuts, and go help someone. Also please note that the last paragraph contains several our's and us's. Although I admit to whininess and discouragement, I'm in this as well. After all, my kid is not always in the hospital . . .

Love,
Allison

Sarcastic politics

2012-02-04T05:39:00.000-08:00

I read that President Obama made some recent remarks regarding loving thy neighbor and expecting much from whom much has been given, insinuating that Jesus would approve of his plan to force the wealthy to give more (Force + Give = Take or Tax). Perhaps he wasn't paying attention during Sunday school or perhaps he does not possess the skill to connect logical literary dots ; but sitting here in my wingback, scribbling away in my favorite spiral notebook at 3am, grumpy that this baby in utero has kicked me awake and that this man is our president, and without a Bible nearby to check references (I don't want to wake my husband.) ~ I can call to mind several Scriptural "giving stories".

*Zaccheus. After an encounter with Jesus, he announced that he would pay back anyone he'd cheated four-fold.

*The rich young man. Jesus told him that he loved his stuff too much and should give it away (He did not.).

*The woman who poured her perfume out on Jesus' feet. Interesting to note that Judas wanted to take it for a social program.

*Several injunctions of Jesus to go the extra mile and give the extra shirt.

*Ananias and Sapphira. They brought their money to the apostles. Of course it did not end well but that was because they lied.

Now let's connect the dots, shall we? In every one of these instances, individuals gave what they wanted to whom they wanted. Nothing was taken. No forcing to give.

So the next time some liberal, socialist sort spits out pseudo-Scriptural sound-bytes, give 'em this.

You're welcome.

Far too sarcastic for my own good but it's 4am now,
Allison

Coffee can be an Act of Love

2012-02-02T15:49:00.000-08:00

True or False : Skipping exercise and doubling up on coffee in the solitary morning hours often results in great ideas for the family.

Most mornings after breakfast and chores, we gather up for prayers, which also includes some sort of reading and discussion. Wipe away any idyllic, maternal Cassatt scene ~ we're more like a Rockwell painting with one kid crawling over the back of the couch with a full diaper, another covertly fingering a Thomas train within his folded hands, and another speeding through prayer words as fast as possible Is that English? Oh wait. It must be. We're not classical Latin homeschoolers. I often practice Bradley breathing techniques to keep my blood pressure down.

We offer our prayers for "the 14 P's" ~ a list of requests that, over the years, we've somehow managed to finagle all beginning with "P" (Pope, priest, papa, president ...). Then I read something themed ; could be children's apologetics or Mass readings or OT books like Judith and Tobit (stolen from me from protestantism.). When I'm at a loss for something new, we simply sit quietly (and I use that word very loosely), give God our small sacrifice of Time, and recite prayers.

This is not us.

But then one morning, I skipped exercise and doubled up on coffee.

I had my new idea.

First Communion prep books that my 7 year old is working through. Very simple. Very basic. And amazingly, my 17, 14, and 10 year old (Who have, of course, already gone through all this.) had the most comments and questions. It was good. Very good to be reminded of these things :

God made me because He loves me.

The love of Jesus is like a fire in His Heart.

Sin is disobedience to God's laws.

Grace makes the soul holy and pleasing to God.

After Holy Communion, I should tell Jesus how much I love Him.

I fell in love with our Holy Faith all over again, and I believe my older children were re-animated with affection.

I plan to do this once a year, right before Lent (like now).

I also plan to skip exercising and double my morning coffee intake much more often. An act of love, right?

O my God, because You are all-good, I love You with my whole heart and soul. Amen.

Jesus loves me, this I know ~

Warmly,

Allison

P.S. ~ the answer is TRUE, of course!

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real

2012-02-02T15:04:00.000-08:00

{Pretty}

Not much prettier than a tiny baby girl, except that tiny girl in my arms (a few more weeks!)

{Happy}

God bless boys who are still little enough to think their Mommy's robe is the perfect cozy thing.

{Funny}

Wool rug? Check. Wood stove? Check. Barbell weight pillow? What?

{Real}

My, my. Someone's not happy about waiting his turn for a kayak ride.

For more day-brightening pictures, see these lovely ladies.
Warmly,
Allison

Worth Every Tear

2012-01-31T05:58:00.000-08:00

I recently heard of Rick Santorum's comments regarding his daughter Bella that "She is worth every tear."   And I was also recently introduced to Virginia Ironside's interview last year.

(I was considering stopping right here and hitting "publish post," because they speak for themselves, but I have swirling thoughts and that's what a blog is for, right?)

I had my teenagers read both. They were moved  by the one and shocked by the other (Can you guess which? Yeah, thought so.), but I wanted them to see the ugliness of The Other Side. One boy even asked how God could love someone like that. All I could do was point him to II Peter 3:9 (In word-perfect King James, of course, because that's how I memorized it.) :

The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some men count slackness ; but is longsuffering to usward, not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.

Then an eavesdropping younger one said this :

I'm glad I'm not God. I wouldn't want to love her.

I thought about launching into "preach mode" but instead weakly stated something like We'll Add Her to Our Morning Lineup of Bad People To Pray for (Along with our president. Ahem.). The responses included varying levels of eye-rolling, head shaking, and face-wincing but I let it go.

Back to my swirling thoughts and another link :

This story is heartbreaking as well, and with lots of Holy Scripture (Thank you, Simcha.). The crux of the matter here is The Cross. The cross that we are all called to take up.  Too many people are ashamed of it and noone wants to take one up. It's all about my happiness, man. If my cross happens to be a disabled child, then kill the little one in utero (Or smother it.). If a disabled spouse, then divorce and marry again. Maybe unfulfilled sexual longings. Maybe poverty. But the Church says that we must uphold the Cross of Christ, however it is manifested in our lives. Even glory in it. See the glory in the life of Rick and Karen Santorum as they celebrate Bella and ease her pain?   See the glory in the life of Virginia Ironside?   Mmmm.

Our Church teaches The Truth, which includes the sanctity of life. We don't have to understand it completely ; that's what a mystery is.  But it makes us better. Those of us with a Diagnosis, especially our child's, do get to that point. We can eventually say, like the Santorums, "Bella makes us better."   Does that mean there are no tears? Does that mean that we hang our heads and do nothing to ease pain and beautify our world?  Heavens, no.

Up on the page, Mother's Help, there's a devotional / rosary I wrote, in my quest to be closer to the Blessed Mother. The first point is the calm acceptance of a difficult thing. In our case, cystic fibrosis. A genetic, life-shortening condition that casts a 1:4 shadow over every pregnancy. A cross. I don't want it. I don't want to carry it. I don't want my son to carry it. But I'm not going to kill him to "ease his pain", Ms. Ironside. Or mine.  I want to be better. I want Heaven. It's worth every tear.

Rick Santorum and Bella, of course.

                                                    Rees and me (He's going to kill me when he sees this 4 year old
                                                      picture!).

Mass missing and the Magnificat

2012-01-29T22:42:00.000-08:00

We missed Mass this morning.

Looks terrible written out like that.

But we stayed up very late last night . . . discussing . . . our current financial mess, brought on by a broken-down vehicle. Because last month we had to subtract an obscene amount - twice! - from our emergency fund for repairs on our other vehicle (Yup, right before Christmas. We had crockpot chicken for Christmas dinner.). When we decided to give up the discussion and try to sleep, we didn't. For hours.

So when I finally roused at 8:30 and saw Ken still sleeping, I left him alone. Since it's still mostly dark and 20 below zero this time of year, and since there was no noise in the house, the kids remained sleeping as well. After coaxing the coals to a roaring fire and making an enormous mug of coffee, I curled up with the Magnificat for the Mass readings and devotional.

Here's what I read. Honest.

"What can free us from being anxious about the things of the world? The authority of Jesus who commands even the unclean spirits and they obey him. To Him you shall listen because obeying the authority of Christ makes us more human and fills us with a burning desire for things truly great."

And the Communion antiphon ~

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall posses the land.

The Gospel reading was Mark 1:21-28, two stories showcasing Jesus' authority : synagogue teaching and unclean spirit-casting out.

Lesson learned. Order my interior, for I want "a burning desire for things truly great". Darn that Magnificat.

Always learning,
Allison

Awesome Spartans?

2012-01-27T20:17:00.000-08:00

I was reading chapters on ancient Sparta and Athens from Story of the World to Ian, aged 7. We were curled up under a favorite Auntie's blanket before a roaring fire (It's 20 degrees below zero here.), enjoying one of those this is why we homeschool mornings (Also helped that everyone else was actively engaged in non-shouting, non-running, non-hitting pursuits. Plus Ken was home to loom as an authority figure.).

So I read about Athens : Plato and democracy and education and laws and homes and games. Delightful.

Then I read about Sparta : boys sent to military camps at age 7 (Like you, Honey), being half-starved and pummelled in order to produce fearless, silent, obedient warriors. They proudly told of a hungry young boy who'd gotten his hands on a fox and was preparing to skin and cook it when an instructor appeared. The boy stuffed the fox into his tunic and turned to answer. While they conversed, the stuffed, angry fox scratched and bit him all over his torso ; however, he remained silent of the mauling pain, fearing the beating and dishonor more.

I turned to Ian with my eyes wide and a somber look on my face, expecting horror from my sweet boy.

But his wide eyes were absolutely shining. "Wow," he breathed, "That. Is. So. Awesome."

I give up. As this post practically wrote itself in my mind, I recalled several other What in the world am I doing with all these boys posts. So I have added Boys as a label and re-labelled those previous ones just in case there's anyone else wondering or wanting solidarity.

In a few hours, I plan to steep some Tension Tamer tea in my loveliest little cup, sip it slowly, and savor a viewing of Pride and Prejudice. My husband will join me, but I'm fairly certain he'll doze off or read something on the side (like 1001 Street Fighting Secrets or The Ten Day MBA).

That's fine.
I love my boys.

'Night,
Allison

2012-01-26T09:17:00.000-08:00

LOOK! I'M ON TIME ~ IT'S THURSDAY AND THE PICTURES ARE UP!
(Only because I skipped yoga this morning . . .)

{Pretty}

(Yes, indeed, there's not much prettier than one's children setting up a luncheon tea. Just because.)

{Happy}

(Big boy is happy being big enough to Push and baby boy is happy being small enough to Be Pushed. Are you, dear Reader, happy to see the messy room behind them? Good.)

{Funny}

(Is this acceptable? Our 4 year old friend is not sure and not taking any chances, thankyouverymuch.)

{Real}

(Yes, I allow my 4 year old in a dirty shirt two sizes too large to stir stuff on the stove. And yes, my husband still surprises me with flowers occasionally. And yes, I keep them until they're slimy.)

Hosted by these these lovely ladies,
Warmly,
Allison

Pro-life angle

2012-01-24T01:19:00.000-08:00

Boy, I have been working on this hideous anniversary post for days and just cannot seem to get a good flow going ; one-liners are all I seem to be able to muster up. Except for this Facebook posting from Friday :

I'm working on a blog post for Monday's Roe vs. Wade anniversary about our own pro-life journey and came across the worst phrasing ever : "After amniocentisis proved positive for cystic fibrosis, the parents interrupted the pregnancy." INTERRUPTED THE PREGNANCY? How about POISONED AND RIPPED THEIR CHILD LIMB FROM LIMB? Because of CF. That degree of ugly selfishness and arrogance is a much worse disability than CF and lessens their quality of life as well as everyone around them.

Oh, and I did visit Planned Parenthood's SinceRoe.com site and left a message :

Since Roe, millions of people will never have the chance to make the world a better place.
Not the kind of quote they were looking for, of course, but Barbara Curtis had the idea to flood their account. Felt good to hit Submit. A little something.

Our pro-life angle is the suffering angle. The angle of parents faced with a prenatal diagnosis and the quality of life question. As Catholics, we believe that the proper end of marriage is to welcome the children that marriage creates. For six pregnancies now, we've been viewed askance for having our babies. "Why would you bring a child into the world only to suffer and die?" Here are some of those one-liners :

*Every single person is born to a life of joys and sufferings. And then death. There have been a few examples of saintly folks who did not technically die, but don't plan on that.

*Life can be difficult and messy and complicated.

*I don't have all the answers and guarantees, but I do know that killing children in the womb is not the answer.

*If my child dies, it will not be by my hand.

*Everyone suffers, not only those with health problems. Here I would like to add a bit about another one of my children. One with a defiant streak that would curl your toenails. And lazy. And who will not work on school lessons. Tough life. No CF. Could be the kind of life that leads to an early grave. I think I may beg God more for that life than my CFer...

*People today have issues (Loaded word, aye?). Demands, even. COMFORT. ENTITLEMENTS. PAINLESS. GUARANTEES. PERFECTION. A little one that requires extra work or forces social embarrassment or causes constricted hearts will just not do.

*Mother Teresa's famous words : "It is a poverty to decide that a child may die so that you may live as you wish."

*Our Catholic belief of redemptive suffering does not wipe away the pain and tears, but it does soften the sharp edges and allow glimmers of goodness. From the Catechism :

"Moved by so much suffering, Christ not only allows Himself to be touched by the sick, but He makes their miseries His own : "He took our infirmities and bore our diseases." (Isaiah 53:4). But He did not heal all the sick. His healings were signs of the coming of the Kingdom of God. . .By His passion and death on the cross, Christ has given a new meaning to suffering. It was henceforth to configure us to Him and unite us with His redemptive Passion." (Section 1505)

"But even the most intense prayers do not always obtain the healing of an illness. Thus St. Paul must learn from the Lord that "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness" (II Corinthians 12:9) and that "in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of His body, that is, the Church." (Colossians 1:24). (Section 1508)

"His compassion toward all who suffer goes so far that He identifies Himself with them : "I was sick and you visited me." (Matthew 25:36). His preferential love for the sick has not ceased through the centuries." (Section 1503)

So what would I say to a lady who has received a scary prenatal diagnosis? Choose life (Then all this other good stuff.) for we are greater than the sum of our parts ~

"We are a soul ; we have a body." ~ C.S. Lewis
"Luminous beings we are, not just this crude matter." ~ Return of the Jedi book

What a blessing and a gift it is for Ken and me to be able to point our suffering children to these words of truth. And ourselves.

Love, love, love,
Allison

One year Blogiversary!

2012-01-21T23:04:00.000-08:00

January 21, 2011 : The first day I wrote a little beginning and began. To celebrate, I updated the family pictures on the sidebar this morning, added a sentence regarding Rees on the About page, and will post Rees' current favorite snack, from this book ~

CHUNKY KERNEL SPREAD

11 oz can whole kernel corn, drained
5 oz can sliced black olives, drained
4 oz jar chopped mild green chilis, drained
1 oz package ranch dressing
2, 8oz packages cream cheese
1 small red bell pepper, chopped
1 package thick corn chips

Mash the dressing mix into the cream cheese until blended. Mix in all other ingredients except corn chips. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Serve with chips (Our favorite are those large, Frito scoops.).

For those of us who would rather not eat so much cream cheese, I make a second bowl with fat free cream cheese. Sometimes.

Mmmm,
Allison

Late for Thursday ~

2012-01-20T17:59:00.000-08:00

I'm going to attempt one of these weekly thingies because I really enjoy them on others' blogs and because my dear friend asked . . .

{Pretty}

Our favorite family hiking place ~ Akrose Ridge

{Funny}

Clare and Joseph with . . . backsides.

{Happy}

All of us at a friend's lake.

{Real}

Rees isn't always Mr. Perfectly Serious.

Hosted by these lovely ladies.

Warmly,
Allison

Hospital Mode

2012-01-16T07:47:00.000-08:00

Rees spent a week at Providence Hospital and has now been home with a PICC line for IVs almost two weeks. He learned some important things this time around :

* Pushups with a PICC line results in a misplaced catheter that needs to be shifted away from the clavicle. The remedy requires a solid eight hours back at the hospital.

* Barn chores at 20 degrees below zero with a med running results in frozen tubing, a red-lit pump, and beeping alarms. The remedy requires just ten minutes back in the house (Whew.).

And Ken and I were reminded of a few things this time around :

* Pre-adolescents will not accept that hospital admissions are serious and do not inspire happiness. Some of our smaller set even say things like I hope Rees has to stay at Providence. This is because they love hospital mode, which involves rotating parents and kids and visits, which involves playroom toys, elevator rides, cafeteria yogurt, and video games.

* We eat a lot of Cheerios and bananas for supper during hospital mode.

But Wednesday will be a Good Day, for the PICC will be removed, the IV pumps returned, and our family will relish dinner with dear friends (Whose lady is very smart and began a new blog.).

Warmly,
Allison

The barn at warmer temps, because it's snowing ...

Shhh.

2012-01-14T23:14:00.000-08:00

For the past few days, I've been slipping a handful of fresh spinach into Rees' mocha shakes and his only remark has been that the Nesquik must be a different formula because the shakes are not as dark brown as usual. Maybe I'll 'fess up tomorrow . . .

Hail and Blessed

2011-12-10T09:34:00.000-08:00

                                           Hail and blessed be the hour and moment
                                            In which the Son of God was born
                                            Of the most pure Virgin Mary
                                            At midnight, in Bethlehem, in the piercing cold.

                                            In that hour, vouchsafe O my God
                                            To hear my prayers and grant my desires
                                            Through the merits of our Savior Jesus Christ
                                            And His Blessed Mother.
                                           Amen.

You know how I know I'm really Catholic? Come Thanksgiving clean-up, I begin anticipating the recitation of this prayer every day of Advent. I now have a history with it ~ memories of deciding my desires to mention, of focusing on hailing the moment of Jesus' birth, of sitting quietly all alone in the early mornings with the Christmas tree glowing and whispering my prayers. Several requests remain each year and several requests have been affirmatively answered.

One Advent, with a brand-new positive pregnancy test, my only desire was that the child would live, sparing us another miscarriage. He is now a jolly toddler named Joseph (Not the girl we were going to name Mary after all the prayers!).

Last Advent, I focused upon four different desires, one of which was a baby girl. She is now growing beneath my heart and I ~~lumber around until~~ joyously await late February.

This is the second year of praying for "a better job for Ken", kept ambiguous purposefully, knowing that what I presume better may not truly be so. I leave it in the hands of God. Mary and I leave it in the hands of God.

When I first learned of this devotion (Maybe four years ago, from Elizabeth Foss.) and shared it with the children during our morning prayers, John quietly told me afterward that he was going to ask for "no more CF for Rees". Oooohh Boy. I kept my composure and managed a small smile and nod. Maybe.

Months later, when he voiced his disappointment over Rees' lack of healing, we had a good talk about prayers, desires, good people and bad things, suffering, heaven. . . Thank God for His Church, the pillar and foundation of truth (I Timothy 3:15), that guides us into all truth (John 16:13).

So we pray the old words and we voice our desires in that most holy moment, for Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8) ~ the significance of His Incarnation just as effecacious now. Perhaps the answers will be granted exactly how we want. Perhaps we'll die asking. But we hail the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary. It is blessed.

And either answer ; this side of heaven or the other ; so are we.

Warmly,
Allison

P.S ~ I know that the birth of Jesus was not really "in the piercing cold". It's poetry, folks.

Where Rees and John attempt humorous writing ...

2011-11-12T16:14:00.000-08:00

Rees and John's writing assignment this week was Something Personal. I rotate topics : a Current Event, Something You're Reading, A Persuasion, and this week's. After they insisted that guys don't actually think about things and I insisted they sit down, let their minds wander, and begin writing, this is what I was presented with by the 5pm Friday deadline :

I AM JOSEPH
By Rees Howell

Hello everyone, my name is Joseph. I am 2 years old and I live in the best house ever. My dad made it himself a long time ago. You can call Me whatever you want. Some people call Me “Jofus”, while others call Me baby. Sometimes, they say “hey you” (and expect Me to respond the first time they say it). There are some people that actually call Me Joseph. I end up answering to all of them though, but to Me; I’m Me. The life of Me is great! When I get up, I dress how I want. Usually just a shirt and diaper will do, but sometimes I have to put underwear on over the diaper. When guests are at the house, I get dressed up and put on socks! I have decided that footgear is the only required equipment in order to go outside. Sneakers, rubber boots, cowboy boots, any will do (even in winter). But most of all, contrary to popular belief, I can do ANYTHING!

One of the coolest things about Me is My extended use of vocabulary. I can say so many things. Here is just a sampling. More: do it again, or give Me that again. Please: I have to have it NOW, because I think I need it (and I will get it since I’m using nice words). Yes: My favorite word. I agree with almost everything, and people say it’s cute when I say it (the boys say guys can’t be cute, but that shows how much they know!). No: My second favorite word. No, I don’t want that, or need it. No you can’t take it, nor give it to Me. “Brrmm Brrmmm” (any vehicle): tells someone that they are, were, or will be, in a car or 4-wheeler. Or maybe they will let Me ride! Go: usually refers to a dog, or someone acting like a dog. Toot: a funny, pointless remark made after a noise that makes everyone laugh. Train (My movie): something said to put on “The Screen of Relaxation”. It’s a land of talking trains, and wooden people. Most important of all, I have some names down: Da (father), Mom (mother), Wee (Rees), Don (John), Cla (Clare), Ena (Ian), and Lu (Luke). They’re amazing!

Everyone in My family is a little different. There’s Rees: the guy I play with, and the one who gives Me candy and chips. John: the “mean one”. He’s not really mean, but he always puts Me to bed, and I hate that. Dad: he always makes Me happy, especially when I’m sad. Clare: she’s either really nice or really mean (her personality is extreme). Luke switches between the “Coolest Guy Ever”, to the “He-hit-Me-again” kind of guy. Ian is just another boy with crazy sounds and faces. He’s a cross between Clare and Luke. Then there’s Mom. I can’t live without her. She is everyone else, and then some. Mom is My whole life. My family is amazing and My life would be boring without even one of them. I mean, besides learning good things from them, how else would I learn to fight and stand up for myself? After I’ve thought about it, it’s great to be Joseph Howell.

And John's :

Special Radar

By JKH.

Silence… it’s a rare moment in my house. You see every kid from the age if birth to about 10 or 11 have

a special kind of radar that seeks out anyone who needs silence for something (phone call, school work

etc.) and then sends out call for any kind of loud noise possible. For instance someone will leave a

message on the phone and then suddenly Ian stubs his toe, or maybe Luke needs to practice singing

Bach. It can be very annoying sometimes especially if you’re in the middle of a tough algebra problem

and Luke decides that Ian has a Lego piece that’s his (“MINE!!!!” “NOOOO ITS MINE!!!”). After some

time I have discovered two things: one the best time to school work is in the early morning, and two I

think I’m going to join the silent monks!

Which inspired Clare :

Hi everyone! My name is Luke. I am 4 years old and I live in the coolest house ever! (Leaving out the fact that my Dad threw out the train table). my Dad built it himself, before anyone even knew about me. (Amazing, isn’t? I mean, normally I’m the center of attention!). One of the most important rules about me is that you may only, only call Me Luke. I do not like to be called bad Luke, or tooty Luke (I hate that one the most), when I wake up in mom and dad’s bed, which is unofficially mine too, (I come down at night and sleep there) I lay in front of the heater until mom fusses at me to put some clothes on. Then, I put on the clothes I wore yesterday, and, so mom won’t notice, I will strategically put on a jacket, and slip on my snow gear and am outside before she realizes what’s going on! (Face it, I’m awesome).

I have different names for everybody, though most I shouldn’t say, I’ll tell you what I can. (Mom, dad, and Rees don’t count.) Dummy (John) poop kid (Clare) and Fat-kid (Joseph). Ian, well, he’s just my slave, you might say.

Everyone here is different, there’s Dad, the Guy who plays trains with me, Mom, she reads me stories, and helps me weasel my way out of things, such as pushing Ian (please don’t think me too bad, he is always too sensitive.), Rees gives me chips and puts on Thomas the tank engine for me, John is none of my concern (he’s never at home), Clare’s temper varies, Ian is my personal servant and train-track-builder, Joseph is my playmate, plaything, and personal punchbag.

Now that I’ve thought about it, it’s great to be Luke Howell!

Grammatical mistakes unfixed by their teacher, because then it would be my work, not theirs!
Wincing with pride (!),
Allison

Moronic Cartoons

2011-10-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

The title is copied from Dennis Prager as I submit the following "works of art" :

Picasso

Ian, age 7

10. Without God, there is little to inspire people to create inspiring art. That is why contemporary art galleries and museums are filled with "art" that celebrates the scatological, the ugly and the shocking. Compare this art to Michelangelo's art in the Sistine chapel. The latter elevates the viewer — because Michelangelo believed in something higher than himself and higher than all men.

Again, from Dennis Prager. The entire article on the goodness of religion (He is a practicing Jew, very conservative, and a favorite radio host of ours.) can be read here.

My children scoffed when I put up the Picasso prints on the first day of October and are looking forward to what they find tomorrow morning (Renoir), so when I suggested they attempt to copy one of the prints, Ian made a derisive boy noise and swaggered over to the art basket to choose his weapons. He presented me with the above picture and said something like, "He's no artist. He's a kid who doesn't want to learn. I did this in half an hour."

Enough said, I believe!

And because I can't figure out why this computer is typing from the center . . .
Warmly and colorfully,
Allison

The Blanket

2011-10-29T13:16:00.000-07:00

Blankets are an essential part of our family life. We spread them out on the floor for tea parties, arranging sweet snacks into the middle and circling the edges with our hungry bodies. We use half a dozen of them for rainy day (or 20 below day) forts, each child clamoring for their own space within the quilted walls. Most belovedly, though, we curl up underneath the cloth for book reading. Although none of my children has a “blankie” and any one will do for the task at hand, there exists some unwritten rule that requires every child to be, if not actually embraced by the blanket, to be touching it somewhere. A recent read-aloud morning found us thus : Mom and two toddlers in a chair and under The Blanket, a pumpkin colored fleece newly retrieved from the basement depths with the change of seasons; two older children sitting at our feet, on top of orange fluff that flowed onto the floor (This rendered those of in the chair captive, since any shifting pulled down The Blanket, which, according to some other unwritten rule, is to be avoided at all costs.). The very cool teenager, not to be confused with the younger children, was nonchalantly leaning against the chair, but his arm was resting on The Blanket. So we remained, pleasantly entangled with each other as I read The Secret Garden.

It is comforting to reflect upon The Blanket as a type, or picture, of the Church. We connect with Her in varying ways throughout the years, as seasons of life turn, as our circumstances alter, and as emotions ebb and flow. Sometimes we long to be completely hidden within the Church for illuminated peace and healing quiet. Perhaps we are content to be casually wrapped and happily chatting with enfolded others. Maybe we are purposefully reaching outward, retaining the all-important connection to a corner, as a pivot-point. And so we live, touching The Blanket, our Holy Mother Church ~ for peace, for quiet, for comfort, for healing, for fellowship, for grounding, for sharing the heavenly Eucharist meal. It is forever available to each of us and to all of us, as God’s beloved family.

Warm and curled up,
Allison

Quiet Fight

2011-10-19T23:06:00.000-07:00

CF has been very quiet lately. Almost a year since his last hospitalization and no fearful flare-ups in between. Sometimes it goes like that. And sometimes he's been in for two weeks, out for six, in for two, out for six, through several cycles. Tough times. Makes Mommies feel utterly incompetent, and with sinfully short tempers. Dangerous mix. Recognizing this is half the battle toward safeguarding sacred relationships. That and flawlessly foamed cappuccinos (My personal daily indulgence when Rees is "in".)!

He spent four monotonous hours last Friday at "Prov" (Providence Hospital), subjecting himself to scores of screening tests for a drug study. Then a telephone call two days later ~ rejected. Rejected because his lung function wasn't low enough.

He was happily disappointed. Happy at his fairly healthy pulmonary numbers ; disappointed at his inability to access the experimental drug with a shorter delivery system that would lessen time spent "doing medicines".

*He just read over my shoulder and corrected me : "I'm more disappointed, Mom, because they pay me to offer my body to science."

Well pardon me. I'm only happy. Sorry, kid (!).

Resting in these quiet CF times, but ready to toughen up if necessary ~
Warmly,
Allison

What I Love About Boys, part 2

2011-10-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

Rachel B. has part 1 ~

John to me, driving home from his orthodontic evaluation :
Wow ; I didn't know braces were over $6000.

Me :
Your mouth will cost more than any vehicle we've ever bought.

John :
How about we leave my mouth alone and you guys buy me a truck?

Big smiles,
Allison

Homeschool mornings here ~

2011-10-06T15:06:00.000-07:00

For the past few mornings, Joseph's hairdo has been a cross between Justin Bieber and Albert Einstein. Ian and Luke, lacking this biographical information, felt left out of the milk-snorting laughter. This prompted google image searches with a viewing of Bieb's video, taking up the better part of an hour yesterday morning. You know, to ensure my little boys' cultural literacy.

This is why my children would probably fail a standardized test . . .

Cleaning up my face,
Allison

Bear burgers, anyone?

2011-09-22T14:02:00.000-07:00

I love how they all have that "Just graduated from Boot Camp" look.

Well, they did it again. Last weekend, Ken took Rees and Ian several hours north to hunt black bear and was successful! Ken tracked off in one direction and shot his bear ; Ian remained with Rees, watching another through binoculars (That one eventually wandered off too far and lived another day.).

At just seven years old, Ian is particularly sturdy. Both in mind and body. He even offered to carry Ken's rifle on their return trek to the base camp since Ken had to empty his pack and push his gear into Rees's pack to make room for the bear parts. Understanding the male psyche, Ken smiled and strapped a gun as tall as Ian across his four foot body. The boy marched on. And this was all between 9pm (When the bear was shot.) and midnight (When they arrived back at their base camp.). Amazing.

How does a guy with CF do such things? Right now, CF is pretty quiet. No coughing. No headaches. No stomach troubles. Just maintenance and prevention. Flutter valves fit in pockets and can be completed while walking or driving or sitting at a campfire. The pulmozyme that requires electricity for the compressor can be plugged into a converter utilizing a vehicle battery. Pills can be tossed into baggies and swigged with water. So he does his lung chores and does his other things. Amazing.

With really, really full freezers,
Happily,
Allison

The Real Presence

2011-09-17T13:43:00.000-07:00

There was no burst of light. No angels heard singing. I did not tremble. My eyes remained dry. I received the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ at the 2006 Easter Vigil Mass after two years of study and preparation. Converting from pentecostal style protestantism, I was expecing some sort of emotional, physical response ; but quietly completed the proper postures. Then, it was over. Holy Communion continued that way for many months : attentive listening, participating, receiving, praying, and singing without the waves of emotion I'd been accustomed to. Intellectually, I understood that feelings are not what my faith is based on, that dignified liturgy as the expression of our ancient, ever-new Holy Faith is deeply satisfying. The Catholic Mass is always a "great service" because of the Eucharist, not because of the musical selections or sermon. On some level, however, I missed the feelings. I figured I needed to learn how to worship God in spirit and in truth, not in dancing and tears. I figured I needed to learn how to worship God the way the Israelites did : doing the right duties for hundreds of years without necessarily experiencing miracles or emotional highs. This was good for me. In those quiet Sunday mornings, I was quiet, too. Like the Israelites of old, I was part of something that, while not taking my breath away, gave me deep breath.

But Moses did come to them. Nehemiah did build the walls. Gabriel did visit Mary. And so it came to me. Leaving Mass to nurse our wiggly six month old, my return proved too late for reception of the Eucharist. The extraordinary ministers had turned their backs to the congregation and were lovingly folding, stacking, and returning the sacred vessels to their places at the side table. I had missed it. Without warning, I burst into tears. This response surprised me, as there was no logical lead up in my thoughts, no emotional work up in my heart. It was quick. It was powerful. It shook me. I stood outside the sanctuary, weeping and mopping up my face, waiting for the rest of my family to join me.

I have missed Holy Communion several times since that day, feeding hungry babies or removing naughty toddlers (sometimes both) and have never had such a fervent reaction again, but I will never forget it. It is how I feel that I know that I believe that Jesus is truly present, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity in the Eucharist.

Thanks be to God for such an unspeakable blessing.

Heavenly Men and Meat

2011-09-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

He shot a caribou. By himself. And when I say by himself, I mean By Himself. As in, Ken was a mile away on the other side of a ridge, retrieving one of the four-wheelers to cart his caribou back to their base camp. Rees was left to guard the kill from predators (Good Lord.) when he saw another one emerge and had to make the call on his own. And he did. And now we have 167 pounds of meat in the freezer. Awesome.

This awesomeness is not regular awesome, but truly awesome : we will have more than salmon and beans for the upcoming year. You see, they do not hunt to keep up an American tradition, or for male bonding, or for the thrill of the hunt. Those things are frosting on the cake called Family Food.

An accomplishment on so many levels. Ken and I tiptoe a balancing act between, "You are so amazingly better than anyone else just look at what you've done and you have CF." and a gruff "Good job, boy." (We don't want him to get a big head, right?). Darn it, though, he's dealing with cystic fibrosis ; a little applause, please. . .

. . .but ~ we also do not want him to expect different treatment or bent rules because of CF. So. Our charge to him (And all our children) is to live well with All You've Got. And don't got, so to speak.

Now they're all hopped up on testosterone and antler racks and meat and guns. And I'm all hopped up on love and pride and a full freezer and this cookbook. A match made in heaven.

My boy and his caribou.

Ken and his kill.

Ready to head out.

Lovely legs on my table.

Warmly,
Allison

I (Heart) Country Music

2011-08-26T17:19:00.000-07:00

See that title? I wrote it myself. I, forged in Yankee-fied SE New England, land of U2, the Cranberries, Boston and Bon Jovi, have had a musical conversion. Ask me who I think King George really is. Strict Evangelicals growing up, I listened to popular radio covertly, as our home only allowed the likes of Amy Grant, Sandi Patti, the Imperials, and Michael W. Smith (Whom I still enjoy.). At our home now, though, one might hear Matt Maher, Josh Groban, the chaplet of Divine Mercy, the composer of the month, or . . . (This is difficult to write.) . . . a local country music radio station.

For twenty years, I'd politely listened to Ken's musical choices while driving, offering pleasant commentary : The words are good but I don't like that slide guitar-thing. That fiddle player needs to relax. Her twang-y voice is giving me a tic. As soon as I'd drive anywhere alone, the dial would turn. But truly ~ rock, pop, and alternative music has mostly wretched words. No stories. No charm. And while I must occasionally turn down the country volume due to raunchy, immoral lyrics (Men who sing about women shaking their "rock and roll thang" get no play time in the huge Howell van.), it stays put plenty enough.

After two decades, I finally realize that this is the place to hear heart-warming, tear-jerking, downright funny tunes about love, family and children. And of course the hunting dog and old truck.

I submit to you these gems, all of which, by the way, are popular. Gives me a bit of hope regarding our moral fiber!

For Daddies and Daughters :

For Daddies and Sons :

For Marriages :

And for our Good Old USA :

Humming away with my fingers on the dial just in case,
Allison

Semper Fidelis

2011-08-23T14:03:00.000-07:00

We googled "Can I join the army with cystic fibrosis" and clicked on an official list of medical disqualifications. CF was there, of course, and a host of other conditions, some of which aren't even conditions ~ like a man may be neither shorter than 60 inches nor taller than 80 inches. I scrolled down, down, down while Rees watched and we read everything from asthma to active ulcers to arthritis. Passing the physical fitness examination and graduating from basic training (Both of which Rees could do.) aren't enough. We already knew, but it was tough to see it Right There in print.

But with such a long list, there are certainly many young people unable to enlist, which is somewhat . . . comforting. Not exactly. A relief? Not really. It just didn't sting quite as much to see so many reasons for exclusion. Clearly, he is not the Only One.

He sure wishes there was some way to officially serve his country, though. Maybe a Semper Fi tatoo? Oy.

But he'll be a good man. An honorable, faithful Catholic cog in the American wheel, serving in his own way with his own unique set of gifts.

"Participation is achieved first of all by taking charge of the areas for which one assumes personal responsibility : by the care taken for the education of his family, by conscientious work, and so forth, man participates in the good of others and of society." CCC 1914

Always faithful,
Allison

Boys

2011-08-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

After the recent criticism of my Rocky post as "promoting the sinful sport of boxing" (Does this make me a real blogger now?!), I've been thinking about boys and boxing. Boys and fighting. Boys and jumping down stairs. Boys and running full force into the couch. Boys and motorcycles. Boys and soldiers. I'm married to one and I'm raising five and with the greatest affection, I assert that boys are weird.

But their masculine genius is a perfect complement to the feminine genius (To use mystique is to give credibility to Betty Friedan and I refuse to do so.). The same boy who loves his mama, plays with his sister, hugs his nana, and holds doors for ladies, also has the innards to physically protect those females. I plan to see to it that their maleness is not "Orlando Bloomified" (as Laura Ingraham so charmingly phrases the modern weakling!). Do I want them to be able to put up a good fight? To be able to shoot a crazed gunman? Yes. Do I want them to fight or shoot someone? No.

But the discipline required to train the body and mind for such activities as boxing, martial arts, tactical handgun or long range shooting are priceless. Maybe even lifesaving. Certainly beneficial into turning wild, naughty little boys into strong, self-disciplined, reasonable, wise men who are proud of who they are.

So yup, we'll watch boxing movies and martial arts movies and police movies and soldier movies ~ as long as the Story is good, true and moral. And I'll concentrate on my knitting or check on the babies when the fight scenes become too much for this delicate female to appreciate.

So much more on this topic,
Allison

Raining Responsibilities

2011-08-10T21:38:00.000-07:00

It's been raining for so many day now, I've lost count. Five? Could it be fifteen? The animals pretty much remain in their shacks, squabbling, eating, and relieving themselves. It's messy and loud. Like us. Lovely. I have, however, set to paper my educational plan for our medium to small children for the next nine ('ish) months. Teenagers do their own odd mix of math, science, reading and current events, which is education-ese for Drudge Report headline reading and yelling about things afterwards. I don't use curricula. Or lesson plans. Or tests. Or desks. Well, Rees uses a desk in his room because he's like that. Just a monthly, three column chart of what I call
Ordered Unschooling :

*The composer of the month gets his greatest hits CD played throughout the day ("Greatest hits" seems fine for something like Alabama ; not Mozart. Anyway.)

*The artist of the month gets his six Dover postcards taped up around the mirror (Someday I'll purchase big prints. When I have big money.).

*The literary theme of the month gets all related household books dumped into the living room ottoman for constant visual access.

*Art, science and math materials are available at all times, plus a list of mean Mommy chores.

Done. Oh, and for the first week, we're going through this family retreat. Gargoyles, architecture, cathedrals and our one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church ~ with themed snacks? Oh, yes.

And since I really do feel badly about the children heading outside for barn chores in the slop pit, I plan on frying up a good farmer's breakfast.

I'll concede. The rain can have benefits.

Wetly,
Allison

Weekend Recipe ~ Rocky cookies

2011-08-03T11:13:00.000-07:00

*I realize that today is Wednesday, but I thought of the post over the weekend, so it counts for the title!

We recenly introduced the big boys to a few of the Rocky movies, and they are quite taken with the story of the iconic American underdog who succeeds on pure grit. And the positive portrayal of our Catholic Faith. And the cute wife. Enamoured now with All Things Stallone, Ken came home one day last week with Sly Moves: My Proven Program to Lose Weight, Build Strength, Gain Will Power, and Live your Dream, a book by Sylvester himself (mostly), wherein was discovered . . . a cookie recipe! For healthy little keep-up-your-energy-for-hours confections that he says he relied upon during the physically demanding filming of the Rocky movies.

I made these things three times over the weekend because the batches disappeared quickly. I'm not sure Mr. Stallone would approve of inhaling a dozen at one sitting, however. Rees' excuse, of course, was that awesome CF diet ; my excuse was how perfectly they complemented coffee with cream and sugar. Ahem.

ROCKY COOKIES

1 C       whole wheat flour
3/4 C    brown rice flour*
1 1/2 C oats
1/2 t     baking soda
1 t       cinnamon
1/4 t    salt
3/4 C   brown sugar

1         egg
1/2 C   olive oil
1/4 C   water
1 T      molasses**

Mix the dry ingredients together. Add the wet ingredients. Mix well. Roll into tablespoon-sized balls and place on ungreased baking sheet. Bake 7-8 minutes in a 350 degree oven.

*Brown rice flour can be purchased in health food stores / sections or made in the Vitamix just like wheat flour. I run it through a sifter when completed (Or maybe I need to do that because my machine is seven years old!).

**I use blackstrap molasses for all those minerals, especially iron. Every little bit helps bodies, CF or not.

Yo,
Allison

Apples of God

2011-07-28T04:07:00.000-07:00

The grocery store clerk leaned forward, voice lowered, eyes narrowed. "Is it . . . religious?" she asked when I answered her query of how many children I had (six).

This was my Big Chance to evangelize, to speak of the beauty of the Catholic Church's teachings on marriage and family. I had to be short, sweet, smart. If I said Yes, she'd think we had a large family because we had to. No wasn't exactly right, either. How to answer? And quickly. . .

"Yes, and we LOVE it!" I sang out with a smile, hoping it was Good Enough.

She jerked back, eyes widened now. "Oh. Well THAT'S good."

I pushed my luck while punching PIN numbers as slowly as I dared and continued : "We converted to the Catholic Church a few years ago. Best decision we ever made."

Her eyes widened even further as she gasped, "People become Catholic on purpose?"

I grinned again, nodding, pushed my luck yet again and suggested she check out the Catechism of the Catholic Church instead of things written about the Church. Her face back to normal, she looked thoughtful and smiled pleasantly. "No kidding," she murmured.

I stuffed my receipt into my purse and proceeded to navigate the full cart whose edges were covered with hanging monkey children out of line. "See you around!" I tossed over my shoulder. Ours is a small town ; I hope I will.

My word-perfect, KJV past came to me while driving home :

"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a picture of silver." Proverbs 25:11

Yes, Lord, may my words be apples of gold. Amen.

Warmly,
Allison

Slainte*

2011-07-21T10:34:00.000-07:00

Pills are an inescapable fact of life with CF : handfuls of capsules, tablets, and geltabs of multi colors and shapes precede every meal or snack. One of Rees' claims to fame was his ability to swallow enzymes just before his second birthday ~ no more sprinkling the capsule contents onto applesauce. No more teary tantrums over eating that grainy applesauce before any other bite. Halleluia!

He interrupted my typing here a minute ago, smugly adding that his record is now swallowing fourteen at once. Showoff.

However, pills are more thorny now, in these teenage years, than in those troublesome toddler months. He hates them. He has attempted to cease Prevacid, but the 2400 mg of Motrin daily aggravate the stomach. Dropping both is unacceptable because the high dosage of Motrin keeps lung inflammation down. Culturelle helps with good gut bacteria, even with oral (another pill) and inhaled antibiotics. Extra fat soluable vitamins are necessary, because a person simply cannot get enough A, D, E, and K from food sources.

Every few days or so, I hear him banging and bashing around in the kitchen cabinets and I know that he's resenting the gathering and ingesting of fourteen pills before eating. I don't know how he did pills at ACYC ~ with an audience? Secretly? Occasionally I wonder how he'll care for himself when he leaves home. Then I shudder and pour myself a nice glass of red wine. . .

But care for himself he must. And pills will always be present. While my heart breaks at his angst, I am grateful for the technology that enables him to lead a good life. Pills and all.

*Slainte! (Which means, according to my Uncle Tom who lives in Ireland half the year, "Bright Health") ,
Allison

Evening Snack

2011-07-07T22:23:00.000-07:00

For a bit of shocking reality, here is the evening snack Rees just carted into the den after completing his lung chores* :

A quart of mocha shake
A bowl of Ramen noodles
Two Snickers bars
A bowl of potato chips

*Lung chores consist of Pulmozyme and TOBI inhaled with a compressor, albuterol and Flovent inhaled with a spacer, and a couple of rounds with his Flutter valve.

And because it's gorgeous and amazing, here's his backpack at the top of Lazy Mountain this morning, which he and John have hiked once a week for the past month. They are proud to announce that their time up was 1 hour 10 minutes ; and their time down was 31 minutes!

Top of Lazy Mountain

Hungry and tired just writing about it,
Allison

Dreams and Puking

2011-06-30T13:08:00.000-07:00

"I had a dream last night," an acquaintance said soberly to Ken over the telephone, "and God told me that He was going to heal Rees." Oh puke. Ken tells me that he remained silent while the man continued, "I sense that you're the kind of person who'd receive it." Double puke. He then began "encouraging" Ken on matters of faith and healing and dreams and God, to which my ex-Marine, veerrry polite husband replied, "Thank you for sharing that ; I'm glad you were comfortable enough with me to do so. 'Bye, now."

Ken relayed this entire exchange to me hours later, when the children were all abed and we were half asleep ourselves. Got my blood pressure speeding and kept us up much too late . . . discussing things (And there are far better reasons for staying up too late, letmetellyou. Mmm. Moving on.).

What arrogance. To assume that healing depends on our "receiving" it. To assume that Ken needed or wanted teaching on anything. To assume that we'd be overjoyed. TO NOT REALIZE THAT THIS IS HURTFUL (Although since we have navigated through this bogus theology, there wasn't much hurt, merely bafflement that people embrace such beliefs without t h i n k i n g logically. Or historically. Or theologically. Or Biblically. And these words fit together like a flowering Venn diagram.).

Do I want Rees to be miraculously healed? Of course. A million times, of course. I know that God still heals today. I also know that many more faithful followers live, suffer, and die, asking and loving their Lord (Check out Hebrews 11). But how about a breakthrough cure of the basic defect to repair the mutated protein, enabling all people now and forever born with CF to have a properly functioning chloride channel? How about all those talented, hard working, blessed research scientists? Isn't that a miracle? Wouldn't we fall on our knees and thank God?

Since the Church is the pillar and foundation of truth (1Timothy 3:15), I trust Her teaching on life, suffering, and miracles ; I entrust my son (and all my children) to Her to be taught, to be strengthened, to be loved, to be led ever closer to Our Lord. And Heaven, where all will be miraculous and perfect. Thanks be to God.

Just dreaming (Just kidding),
Allison

At the Farm, a poem written by Clare who was supposed to be walking her dog.

2011-06-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

At the farm I hear :

Chickens eating breakfast,
A car driving far, far away,
Birds chirping in the many trees of spruce and birch,
A goose, honking its delight to the skies.

At the farm I see :

A goat, walking silently across the pen,
A rabbit, lying ever contented in its hutch,
A chicken, pecking at small grass seedlings and savoring the taste of spring,
An insect, buzzing across the lawn.

At the farm I feel :

A small bug, climbing along my arm,
The cool spring breezes, playfully tugging at my hair.

At the farm.

By Clare A. Howell (Who is not really in trouble for not walking her dog!)

Weekend Recipe : Backpacker Bars

2011-06-19T21:24:00.000-07:00

We hike and camp more in the summer than in the winter, but only slightly more, because Ken is big on winter survival skills and takes out all but the smallest two to test their mettle. I remain home to welcome them back with cinnamon rolls (My outdoor survival skills are somewhat lacking. Where was I? Oh. Summer camping food...).

These bars are very, very healthy. And very, very high in calories. Perfect for hours on a trail or in a tent with hungry kids. And husbands. I also made a pan for a dear friend who just gave birth to her fourth child and spends hours on the couch with a nursing newborn. Keeps health and energy up without having to leave the couch. Keeps the other kids full for a long time. Again, without ever having to leave the couch.

1 C butter
1 1/2 C brown sugar, divided
1C quick cooking oats (or whir regular oats in the blender for a few seconds)
1 C whole wheat flour
1 C white flour
1/2 C wheat germ
1 T flavoring (zest, vanilla, almond ...)
4 eggs, lightly beaten
2 C sliced or chopped nuts
1 C chips (chocolate, white, peanut butter, butterscotch ...)
1 C dried fruit
1/2 C shredded coconut

Oven to 350

Cream butter and 1 C brown sugar. Stir in oats, flours, germ, and flavorings. Press mixture into bottom of an ungreased 13x9 pan (I often use a 10x15 and they're just not as fat.).

Combine eggs, next four ingredients, and remaining 1/2 C brown sugar. Mix gently, but very well. Spread evenly over crust. Bake 25-30 minutes. Cool before cutting

Our favorite combinations :
* walnuts, dried cranberries, white chocolate chips, orange zest
* almonds, dried cherries, dark chocolate chips, vanilla
* pecans, broken pieces of banana chips, butterscotch chips, orange zest

As an aside, Ken and I have now been married for 21 years and to celebrate, we locked the children at home with a list of jobs, lunches, and movies, and headed out to a favorite trail system. Spent six hours hiking together. Glorious. Believe me, no restaurant dinner could possibly taste as good as backpacker bars in the middle of the mountains!

And as another aside, of course these bars are perfect for CFers, what with all those nutrition-packed calories ; but so is hiking. Hours of muscles in motion combined with sustained deep breathing helps to keep lung tissues supple and healthy!

Here's hoping you leave the chores for a few hours and get outside, too ~
Warmly,
Allison

Poor Rabbits / Poorer Babies

2011-06-17T15:06:00.000-07:00

Mothers who savage their young ~ a phrase we were unfortunately introduced to this morning when Clare discovered that her longed-for baby rabbits had arrived, but were all dead. Her joyous shouts quickly turned to screams of horror when she noticed severed body parts and five perfect kits huddled together, perfectly still. Our books tell us that rabbit do eat their own kits ("savage their young") for several stress-related reasons : if their surroundings are too noisy, if they're immature, if their lactation is retarded, if the babies are weak or stillborn. We are advised to dispose of the offending doe, as the chance of her repeating the repulsive act is too great.

Now that our household mood has quieted to sad brooding from wide-eyed freaking out (I did attempt to find a better phrase but that's really what was happening here.), I've been turning things over in my mind. I cannot help but draw parallels between a female rabbit savaging her young and a female human savaging her young (abortion, of course) ~ from the stress-related reasons to the ripped up body parts. Dead babies. But in the animal world, the female is labeled brutal and heartless ; while in our world, the woman is called brave and pained. Our society has so twisted the meaning of life and maturity that we are horrified at the nefarious rabbit ruled by instinct and applaud the frightened woman ruled by feelings (instead of values).

Humanity is thus cheapened, lowered to an animalistic level.

"What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead." James 2:14,17

So many souls lost . . . what are we doing?

Still brooding sadly over rabbits and babies,
Allison

Clare laid out the whole ones before burying them. Poor kid.

Jokes

2011-06-16T20:19:00.000-07:00

Not sure if I'm thrilled or mortified :

Rees relays to me that the first evening in the tents at ACYC (Alaska Catholic Youth Conference), he told the guys, "Hey, I have to breathe in this stuff every night with a smoky machine and I brought my laptop with an entire season of Walker Texas Ranger to watch. You can stay or go, but that's what I'm doing." And they remained each night. And they joked all week, winking, elbowing, and guffawing about Rees' legal marijuana and how excellent Chuck Norris is (of course).
Well.

I know he will encounter prejudices and troubles when certain types of people learn of his CF, which is not immediately noticeable like Down Syndrome or cerebral palsy. But thank God for these Catholic boys who shrug their shoulders, check out the machinery, declare it cool, and make jokes. These same young men also labored behind the scenes for their youth pastor, waited in line for Confession (tough to be too cool when you're in line to confess your sins...!), showed off for the girls, and prayed through many Masses with those same girls.

Rees is being grounded in his Most Holy Faith and his roots are strengthening for his unfolding future, which will undoubtedly include the Not Nice. Right now though, he is surrounded and fortified by his family, his church, The Church, and his friends ~ faithful and loving.

Even if I don't like their marijuana jokes.

Smiling, but not exactly laughing,
Allison

What fairies may come...

2011-06-08T17:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday's excitement :

Drizzly day delights ~ complements of backyard twigs, pebbles, greens, and a glue gun.

We got the idea from this book, which is a nightmare for not-very-crafty sorts, but I swallowed my panicky desire to toss it in the trash and continued flipping until I found a page or two (out of, like, 100) that looked engaging and manageable. In truth, it was Ian, Clare, John, and I who did the actual doing and gluing, but Luke and Joseph were right there with us, organizing, piling, and licking rocks, a Very Weird Thing that Luke enjoys. Maybe he needs a better kids' vitamin? Anyway.

Sprites and a porcupine. I think.

Some may frown upon fairy play. Some may associate them with anti-Christian paganism. Bah. A child's imagination is a beautiful thing. It is within their fantastical stories that they make sense of and give value to all the goings-on and emotions of their world. Nothing is trivial : what they do ; what happens to them ; how they feel ; even their faith. Just listen. It's rich, friends. My only rule, thanks to this book, is that dragons and serpents must be evil. Because some things just are. Always. Both in this world and the next.

Pretty ponies

So now we have a pile of charming woodland fairies, ponies, unidentifiable animals, furniture, and houses, ready to be played with. Oh, and a hairy weed troll with his hairy weed dog made by me, thankyouverymuch. Hopefully, Luke didn't roll over and snap the twig pony he insisted on sleeping with last night . . . Who knows what the day will hold for them or what our yard will become?

Hairy weed troll and dog

Slumbering fairy with table and chair.

Playing and listening,
Allison

Sun! Warmth! Grass!

2011-05-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Rees and John are climbing Lazy Mt., their summer Fridays plan ~ with a camera.
Ken is hiking with a very large rifle 2 hours north of here, looking for black bear ~ with a camera.
The rest of us are spread out in the yard in 75 degree weather (in Alaska!) ~ without a camera. Grumpf.

I decided to forget about scrubbing the bathrooms to spend the entire day outside (I'm not lazy, just being present to my kids. Loved that article. Ahem.). Took me half an hour to cart out tons of things because going back into the house is to be avoided at all costs. Breaks some unwritten rule about hot Alaskan days. And 75 degrees is hot for us. Kids cry and everything. Here's what I brought :

Big blue blanket accidently stolen from the hospital 13 years ago, stained with salsa, root beer, ice cream, and popsicle juice,

Tipsy travel mug of coffee that Joseph keeps snitching sips of (Must be Ken's Norwegian blood),

Notebook and pen, because I am, as I've said before, lost in the 80's.

Diapers, although most of the time he takes them off and runs off in boots alone,

Water bottles that noone will use because they like to slurp from the hose but it makes me feel efficient,

Cookies whose chocolate chips will melt internally, rendering them Extra Good,

Rubbermaid full of plastic animals to be set up in scenes all around the yard, half of which will be forgotten, snowed upon in October, and acidentally rediscovered next April,

Bottle for the baby goat, impossibly cute as she bounces all around us,

Telephone in case Ken calls,

Small scissors for popsicles in the nearby freezer, because sometimes only a frozen chunk of sugar and chemicals will do.

(I think we'll have cheerios for supper. . .)

Simply a sensational day!
Warmly, indeed,
Allison

Caprine Consolation

2011-05-24T00:41:00.000-07:00

Oh no. The black buckling has died. Fine for three days, weak on Saturday, worse on Sunday, then no poos, convulsions, cries, last breath. Ken held the little guy in his lap and Clare pet him until the end. They buried him in the evening at the north end of our property.

We will, indeed, keep the white doeling now. A bit of sweet consolation to remember her brother.

She was the first to hold him and the last to hold him. Her passion is my consolation. I love you, Clare.

Caprine Catch

2011-05-24T00:34:00.000-07:00

She sat in the straw, hunched over with a towel pulled tightly around her shoulders, watching. It had been almost two hours when I walked outside, mug of dessert coffee (decaf, lots of milk and sugar) in hand. She unfolded herself, stood, yawned, stretched, and smiled at me. I raised my eyebrows, half shrugged, and tipped my head to one side. She pursed her lips, half shrugged, and shook her head. I nodded and handed her the warm mug. She nodded, smiled again, and returned to her focused hunch, while I tiptoed back to the house. It seemed silly to tiptoe through (sort of, Alaskan spring) grass, but when your best dairy goat is in labor, you don't want any jarring noises that might give her cause to transfer to another birthing spot. One not so easy for us to keep an eye on her and scoop up the babies immediately, like we do here.

About another hour passed with the rest of us more clamorous family members banished to the house, when a glance out the window rewarded me with a silent, frantic, jumping-jacking Clare.

Since I could be loud inside the house (!), I cheerfully shouted for the boys to get out to the barn for the birthing of the babies. Rees was working and I swallowed a lump of resentment at the store for his absense and pushed more towels into John's arms, grateful that he'd grown responsible (Praise be.). Ian opted to remain on the couch with Disney's old Swiss Family Robinson, a reward for completing the reading of a children's version ; the littlest boys trotted after John and me out the back door.

Have you ever heard a "whisper-scream"? Clare has perfected this mode of communication and gave us the lowdown, her bright blue eyes blazing and her wiry arms flailing like a good Italian talker :

She has mucus dripping.
She hasn't gotten up in a long time.
Her sides are heaving.
I think I see the water sack coming.

Alrighty then. I'll worry over existential issues and whatamIdoing later.
Small boys were instructed to stay by the fence with John, while Clare got into position, catching towel ready :

Caught. No problem :

Another towel to mop up the sticky wood chips :

Next baby goes to Luke. No catching picture, as I was assisting him :

And only two this time.
Mix up warm water, molasses, peanut butter and run it back out to Patches, then into the warmer house to clean off and exclaim over the kids :

So now we're bottle feeding one doeling and one buckling, cute as can be, and milking Patches again, who gives us half a gallon a day. The children always beg to keep a baby (We've only had 3 litters.) and we always sell them to offset feed cost, but maybe this time . . .

Must go get the bottle again,
Warmly,
Allison

Money

2011-05-14T00:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday is our Great Strides Walk (See the button on the sidebar?), the culmination of the past year's fundraisers and the biggest event of the CF Foundation. We go, we walk, we eat, we visit, we laugh, we cry. Then we throw a dessert party at our house afterwards to thank friends for coming out. It's a Grand Day.

But it was not always so. For many years, we had no desire to be involved with it, or anything else officially CF related (Other than Rees' care and doctor visits, of course.). Ken's take was that we "do" CF all the time ~ enough already. I just did not want to be one of those mothers (Whatever that means. I was a little conceited back then.).

I suppose one year, my craving for connection won out over my aversion ; I probably had also resigned myself to the fact that no supernatural healing was going to occur (See conversion story above.). I promised to watch some old World War II movie that evening and Ken agreed to sign up. And it wasn't bad. Pretty good. Fun, even.

In the years following, Great Strides has become important to us all, as we have many (usually) sunny hours to meet up with old friends and introduce ourselves to new, anxious parents. The people not there are important, too. Not there due to hospitalizations or due to passing away. They are missed, talked about, remembered. As it should be. It's worthwhile for Rees and the other children to be around lots of other CF families, absorbing energetic, joyful support, then reflecting it back to their world.

There's an intensity present, also. An intensity focused on raising research money for the CF Foundation, because as I understand it, they are the ones financing drug studies. The more money they have, the more research they finance. Simple.

So we attend Great Strides for relationships and for money. And we will until there's no more need for research. *From my mouth to God's ears!*

Walking,
Allison

P.S. ~ Nice doc explaining amazing drug study here!

Weekend Birthday and Recipe

2011-05-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

When your boy turns 7 and calls for Dirt Cake, you find yourself saying things like, Do you want worms in your bowl? And How many scoops of Mud Pie ice cream with that? Charming. Delicious. Feeling sick from eating too much dirt, worms, and mud . . . Happy Birthday, my Ian!

Mmmmmm.

A Swiss Army Knife! Now I can do anything I want!
O Lord.

DIRT CAKE :

Make any chocolate cake, and break it up into chunks,
Make chocolate pudding,
Make whipped cream (or get cool whip. shhh.)
Crush up a whole package of Oreos (or a knock-off brand. shhh.)

Layer at least twice, ending with cookies. Poke gummy worms in.
Done.

This is also great for a party, putting the dessert in one of Walmart's plastic wheel barrows and serving it up with a plastic shovel into plastic flower pots. I just don't do birthday parties anymore. Meanie, I know.

In love with my boy Ian,
Allison

Figuring Together

2011-05-05T23:23:00.000-07:00

Rees has been working close to thirty hours the past few weeks (not the twenty he'd written on his entry paperwork), but they assure him it will not continue past Mother's Day. Who is they, Iwouldliketoknow, and how did they acquire such power over my boy? He is tired ; he has lost weight ; I don't know if he's used the flutter valve enough ; and he is stressed about how to walk the line between being a helpful employee and standing up for himself and his goals. Ken reminded him of how good his paycheck will be, which did quell the worry and bring on a grin (dimple and all!).

It's impossible to worry about his growing up without worrying about CF. How long will he able to work? Will ge be able to find meaningful employment with health insurance? Enough to support a family? Should I ~~push~~ strongly encourage him toward something he'll be able to do when his health declines?   S.T.O.P., Mama.   We don't know what the future holds. Make plans. Get jobs. Do stuff. Adjust. Change. Adapt. As necessary. Only hindsight is 20/20 so we (all) must march on ~ sometimes tiptoeing, sometimes charging with bayonets, sometimes dancing.

So I'll be better about making a pitcherful of the shake for him to take to work ; Ken will pick up earplugs so the wee ones don't wake him prematurely ; and we'll make better use of weekends for discussions on current events, history, theology, and logic ~ family education favorites. We'll figure it out together in the days and weeks to come. . .

. . . along with figuring out how to help Clare keep calm when attempting long division,

. . . along with figuring out how to get Joseph to stop   s c r e a m i n g   a l l    t h e    t i m e,

. . . along with figuring out how Ken and I can manage a weekend alone somewhere (It's been 11 years).

Ah, life.   Thanks be to God (I say that often, don't I?) !

Warmly,
Allison

What party?

2011-05-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

Last evening, while searching through a recipe file, I happened across a scrap of paper (And yes, I still use lots of paper scraps, not iphone messages or anything. Lost in the 80's am I.).  I had scribbled :

Weekend party ~

Cold broccoli salad
Thick salt and vinegar chips
Hot artichoke dip
Sourdough bread
Dark chocolate nuggets
Individual lemon cakes

And I thought, What lucky friends got this menu???   Then, Who can I invite over to eat this menu again???

Even though today is not the weekend, I want to tag this with a Weekend Recipe label so here's the recipe for the broccoli salad :

5 C      Raw broccoli florets
1/2 C Raisins
1/2 C Sunflower seeds
1/2 C   Crumbled bacon
1/4 C   Chopped red onion
1 C      Thawed peas
1 C      Mayo
2 T      Vinegar
1/2 C   Sugar

Toss together first 6 ingredients.  Blend last 3 ingredients and stir into salad.

Good for a summer meal. Or a party!

Warmly,
Allison

A Charming Compliment

2011-04-30T19:47:00.000-07:00

I frowned at my reflection in the mirror : twisting my head left and right, measuring length, checking shapes, pursing lips, overall unhappy with the picture. I have got to chop my hair and let it grow again, I growled to my hapless husband. Ian happened to hear my. . . less than genteel voice and spoke up,

Oh no, Mommy ; I LOVE your hair, even when it's messy!

I did melt a little and bent to hug him and thank him (I resisted the desire to give him candy for such lovely sentiments.). He sauntered away, pleased with the power of his words.

*It is messy, though, and I'm still going to have it cut. Maybe just a trim, now.*

Updated 3-1 to add my quirky FB message :

No matter how desperate you may feel about your looks, having your 13 year old son "cut off the scraggles" is NOT A GOOD IDEA. I've been bobbed.

Joseph's not sure...

Bubble Bath Peace

2011-04-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

Luke was crazy-naughty at the dinner table tonight, eschewing all manners, refusing all food, pouring all water, kicking all legs ~ get the picture? We yelled, cajoled, and babied, all to no avail, so we sent him upstairs. Banished from polite society, I believe I said. Hmmm.

As soon as I was finished, I tiptoed up and discovered him hunched over on his bed, crying softly. When I suggested a bubble bath, he turned his teary face toward me and whispered, Just me? No one else? And will you stay in there with me? So here I am, sitting on the you-know-what, scribbling in a spiral notebook (updated to this blog later). He's even pulled the curtain over, creating a watery cave, enjoying the warm solitude. I'm close, though, at his request, and I listen to my boy's gentle bath-toy play behind a vinyl American flag shower curtain.

No need to discover what was wrong at dinner. He's calm and cozy, content and clean. I plan to brush his teeth, read him a story, and tuck him in to an earlier bedtime. Tomorrow's a new day. For all of us.

Thanks be to God,
Allison

Who are the Bad Guys

2011-04-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

It was a perfect homeschool afternoon :

The eldest two were working in one room ; the next two were upstairs, putting together some sort of market, where later, the rest of us would pay pennies to retrieve our own possessions stolen for the store ; the baby was napping ; and the four year old was engaged with a cheerful assortment of toy animals, people, and vehicles in our living room wood pile. The queen reigning over this peaceful scene (Me!) was curled up on the couch, close to the wood pile drama.

John, finished with his pre-algebra, meandered out and poked his head around the corner. Seeing Luke's set-up in the wood must have struck him as entertaining (young teen boys are awfully cute that way), as he brightened up and slid into place beside his little brother.

Who are the bad guys? he queried, and Luke, never missing a beat to his game, pointed and explained. John listened intently, nodded, then joined him, moving things around, knocking things down, and making Boy Noises. You know what this is, right? Hardly any recognizable words?

Get down! Buzsch ! Buzsch! Buzsch! Aaaaawwww.   Kgh. Kgh.
Over there! Kush, Kush, Kush.   Wiiiiiiiiing!   Splurthrch.
Get it! Ug. Ug. Uuuwwwwah. Puuagh.

OK. Enough of that.

Who are the bad guys? He had to acquire that knowledge before commencing the play. He had to ask the one who had been at it longer (Really, the one who'd invented the Whole Thing.). Once the bad guys were identified, he was good. He could jump in. He could play hard. Sometimes the bad guys were avoided ; sometimes they were engaged. Sometimes they were knocked down ; sometimes they advanced. Sound familiar? Mmmm.

We need to know who the bad guys are, too. Whom do we ask? Who has been playing longer? Who created the Whole Thing?

We heard at our church's Great Easter Vigil Mass, eight Scripture readings and eight sung psalms, chronicling salvation history. God's plans for the game.  Let's listen intently and check in often for confirmation, redirection, and encouragement. Let's jump in. The Church knows the Plan. We can know who the bad guys are. Let's play!

Weekend Recipe : Peanut butter stuff

2011-04-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

Peanut butter is one of the Best Ways to get lots of fat and protein calories. Here are two of my fastest recipes for when my meal plan (*) falls flat and I'm in a hurry for a good snack :

OLD FAITHFUL COOKIES

1 C PB
1 C sugar
1 Egg

Mix 'em all together, roll 'em in golf-ball-sized balls, flatten 'em just a bit with criss-cross fork tines, bake 'em about 10 minutes at 350 degrees. Let 'em cool about 10 minutes, or they'll fall apart.

PB DOUGH

I'm not really sure this should be classified as a recipe, it's so easy!
Just mix together peanut butter and powdered sugar until it's very stiff.
Give it to the kids to play with and eat. Ta-da!
(This is one of those foods that you eat tons of because it's so yummy, then feel sick afterwards. Just so you know.)

* I don't really have a meal plan. Really Organized Mothers have one and swear by them. But. I just don't.

Blessed, warm Holy Week,
Allison

Much ~

2011-04-16T19:32:00.001-07:00

C o u g h i n g . . .

Taking forever

2011-04-16T01:17:00.000-07:00

Monday evening saw the Husband, John, Clare, and I at our church's Lenten Reconciliation service, leaving Rees home with the 3 little boys. His instructions were simple : don't let them hurt each other. When we arrived home 2 hours later, Joseph was already sleeping in his crib while Luke and Ian were in their beds (actually, both in Ian's bed, but that counts) quietly playing with small toys. We were thrilled, properly gushed thank-you and turned to tackle the messy kitchen when Rees sheepishly divulged, I'd hoped to surprise you with a clean kitchen but it took forever to play one game of Camp, clean it up, get their teeth brushed and in bed oh man I forgot to have them tinkle hope no one wets the bed.

My sideways smirk to the Husband was interrupted as John piped up to Rees, No kidding, huh? When you and Mom and Dad are at Shoshindo, it takes the whole 2 hours just to get them ready for bed and do one nice thing like a story or game. Sheesh.

The two of them shrugged, shook their heads, and meandered together into the den.

Sheesh indeed! The Husband and I shared a good chuckle and one of us (probably me) commented, Boy if we had known That in the beginning of babies and toddlers . . .

Well. Their wives will thank me someday. Yup.

And in keeping with the theme of How excellent it is to have lots of kids, I offer these photos of bigger people doing nice things for smaller people, enabling me to eat chocolate and drink coffee while reading friendly blogs :

Bubbles in the house? Hey, it works!

Who doesn't want to hold a newborn?!

The littler one doesn't know that the bigger one can't read!

Whatever they are doing, I love!

Mini George Strait loves shoulder rides!

Our children do take forever ; thank God!
Warmly,
Allison

Middles

2011-04-16T00:48:00.000-07:00

No more middle names ; I'm too scatter-brained to get it right. I've adjusted the pictures on the sidebar and some of the pages at the top. That's all for now. One of these days when I've got a good hour to myself and nothing more pressing to accomplish, I'll go through and fix everything.

I can pretend.

Getting Real

2011-04-09T12:48:00.000-07:00

One of the most refreshing things I've realized about running into a CF person (family member or actual CFer) is the immediate inquiring about their well-being and the honest answer, even if there's trouble. No Fine, fine ; and how is Tilly? nonsense (Well, I guess it's not nonsense if everything is fine!). If they're on the third hospitalization this year or picked up some egregious bug or became resistant to an effective antibiotic ~ it's said. And we discus what the doc's plan is and how their mood is. And no one squeals, Oh my God how do you handle that? Or simpers, God must think you are so strong to give you this. Or chirps, You've got to pray believing in healing (Sarcasm aside, we do indeed beg prayers and lift rejoicings for folks in need.).

But we are real (Definition : genuine ; not artificial). Even perfect, hot mama suburbanites get real when talking about their kids' CF issues. No Christmas letter litanies of accomplishments only. We nod and question and explain and share and learn. We might tear up or shake our heads or curse. We might chat about babies or teenagers or life or death or the stupid new rules at the hospital. We get smarter and stronger. Sometimes sadder. Wiser because of our candid conversation.

Get real, I would snarl at my parents with a roll of my eyes, and I'm pretty sure they were thinking the same about snotty, know-it-all me! I am, now. At least, more real, which means growth, which means life.

"My mother had a slender, small body, but a large heart -- a heart so large that everybody's grief and everybody's joy found welcome in it, and hospitable accommodation."

Mark Twain

Warmly. Really,
Allison

Good food

2011-04-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

Nothing boosts self-esteem like knowing that the evening's comfort food . . .

About to be mixed with lentils and spices.

. . . is because you did this :

Rees (w/cf), Summer 09 ; no caribou last summer.

One year, he was admitted to the hospital immediately upon returning from the hunt ; one year, he got one ; last year, he 4-wheeled, he hiked ~ no caribou. This August, let's hope he feels fine enough to go and the caribou feel fine enough to migrate to where he is ~ because that was absolutely the last package in our freezer!

Enjoying a warm, delicious life together,
Allison

Muddy smiles

2011-04-04T21:15:00.000-07:00

This post is a big, fat complaint. Breakup has begun . . .

Snow, mud, slush

Outside clothes in a wet, muddy heap

What the little boys do for fun around here when their coats are wet and muddy : TP play

Every year at this time when the snow melts during the day causing pockets and puddles of deep mud that children and canines absolutely must frolic in, then freezes again in the evening, making morning commutes treacherous, I resolve to keep cool. To not yell about mud and puddles and filthy small people and disgusting smelling dogs. Each year I fail, even though I know that it lasts about a month and in May we get green. Green! Green! It has arrived. I will try again. I will smile at their muddy joy. I will try. I will try.

Warmly (Actually, Muddily),
Allison

Well Done

2011-04-03T22:17:00.000-07:00

One of my first despairing cries when the kindly young doctor told us of Rees' CF was, Oh dear God, my baby's going to die. Indeed, it was all I could think of those first foggy days, weeks, and months (Maybe even a year but I'm not sure I remember now.). My baby's going to die. My baby's going to die. My baby . . .

And then he wasn't a baby any more. He grew into a toddler like any other toddler. He swallowed his enzyme-laden applesauce before snacks and meals. He yelled, NO, NO, NO with all his might. He watched Little Bear while being clapped. He ran away from me naked and peed on the floor. He occasionally was hospitalized with IVs. He learned colors, letters, Mama, Daddy. He was cute. He was naughty. He did need extra care to be healthy, but he certainly wasn't dead.

So slowly, I realized that I'd grown from merely giving intellectual assent to such ideals as

Each day is a gift.
No one is guaranteed tomorrow.
Viruses and car wrecks and accidents cause death, too.

Now I understood in my soul and I lived differently. Finer. Richer. Deeper. We had more babies and had more fun with them. We saved less money and went out for more pizza. It takes troubles to realize these truths but I am positive that people live more graciously with this knowing and that the world is a more excellent place with such understanding sorts.

Does this mean that I take my wisdom and float along with my smiles and tears, content in suffering? H***, No. I write letters requesting research monies. I volunteer at fund raising events. I sign up for walks and drug studies and surveys and questionnaires. I talk. Oh yes, I talk. Love to talk!

We're all going to die, you know. One way or another, CF or something else, our time here on our beautiful, fallen earth will be up. I want to hear Well Done. . . I want my children to hear Well Done. . . I want my boy with CF to hear Well Done . . .

Blessing the wee ones

2011-03-29T22:31:00.000-07:00

As a part of the season of Lent, we follow a schedule of "Pray, Fast, Give", where for each week we focus on a particular practice. This week's has been active concern for those weaker (in a family, this translates into someone younger), so our family prayers, fasting, and giving of ourselves has been along this vein.

Yesterday, Rees and John played with Legos for hours, sometimes without the younger kids they'd supposedly been "giving of themselves to bless". Not sure it was much of a sacrifice!

Today, they led all the younger ones to the far end of our property to a frozen swamp to slide around. Well. We've had some days of above freezing temps and it's melted a bit. Do you see where this is going? Three small people waddled stiffly home dripping with icy, muddy snow pants, saturated boot liners, and frozen swamp stuff stuck to their chilly faces and hands, thrilled with the grossness of it all. Was the trek a blessing to the wee ones (as John calls anyone younger than he)? Absolutely. To me? Absolutely! A sentence that has revolutionized my motherly mood is ~

It will wash.

Looking forward to see how they show active concern for those weaker tomorrow (I do hope it's not as messy, though!).

As we focus on pleasing Christ these 40 days with an eye toward life-changing habits,
Happy Half-way through Lent,
Allison

Sunday visitor

2011-03-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

Before Christmas, Clare set up a bird watching station in the woods at the other end of the property from the barn (And the Barn Cat, who catches birds with as much vigor as he catches mice). She shoveled away the snow, painstakingly positioned lawn chairs (comical at 20 below zero), rolled logs to her spot (From our wood pile but we pretended not to notice!), and sprinkled bird seed over them. She has sat out there many an afternoon, drawing what she saw, then later, breathlessly regaling those of us unfortunate enough to have missed the avian festivities.

Today, though, it was John who disappeared for an hour, then burst into the house, warning me not to look at the computer, as he had some surprise photos that he was sure I would be very happy about. Oh, yes.

Cheerful black capped chickadee ; I do love these!

Common red poll ; unafraid of John.

Clare swears this was not a chickadee, but as drawn, is not recognizable in our Backyard Birds pamphlet!

Although we still have several feet of snow ~

Happy flutterings of Spring,

Allison

Weekend Recipe : New England Clam Chowder

2011-03-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

Since my husband and I both grew up in southeastern New England (Him in East Providence, RI ; me in Somerset, MA), we're chowda snobs. No flour. Lots of milk, butter, potatoes, and clams (One might think that last one is a "duh" item, but you'd be surprised at what we've seen called clam chowder!). Here's what I make :

1/2 C diced onion
1/2 C diced celery
1/4 C butter
2 cans chopped clams (or 1 C chopped, boiled quahogs if you're in MA or RI)
3 C chicken broth
1 C clam juice
1 C diced, unpeeled potatoes
2 C whole milk
Dash each ~ salt, pepper, thyme

Saute onion and celery in butter until soft. Add broth, juice, and potatoes and simmer about 20 minutes. Add clams, milk, and spices and simmer until hot (not boiling). Serve with oyster crackers or corn bread.

Clams have tons of minerals, including sodium, which foks with CF need extra amounts of. And you can't beat milk and butter for calories, fat, and protein (Well, peanut butter and cheese, but not in soup!).

Again, this is another acceptable meal for Lenten abstinence that does not seem like a sacrifice at all. . .

6 year old Ambrose catching up on his spiritual reading!

Warmly,
Allison

Full

2011-03-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

This weekend, cleaning lost and hiking won.

Rees, w/CF, waiting for sister Clare...

This weekend, I read in my Magnificat Lenten Companion, "This goodness (at being with Jesus Transfigured) does not depend on the circumstances improving. It depends on Jesus revealing Himself right here. Right now.

One of my husband's favorite places to hike with the kids.

This weekend, we beheld the hand of the Creator and thanked God for blue skies, above zero temperatures, perfect snow, and light hearted children. We walked, ran, slid, trudged. We cleared, built, huddled, warmed. We ate, drank, teased, laughed.

John, the cameraman, is missing!

This weekend, our house remained cluttered but our hearts became strong and full of God. Of love. Of each other. "Give us this day our daily bread," we pray. Thank You for this day. We are full.

Teenaged boys who build shelters rock!

Warmly (ha ha!),
Allison

Down Syndrome Awareness Day

2011-03-21T18:20:00.000-07:00

Third chromosome, 21st pair (3-21 ~ today's date) : a day to learn about and love our brothers and sisters with Down Syndrome. No better way to do this than to visit my internet friend, Kelle.

I've heard from people who question our hoping for more children before the loss of fertility, about Down Syndrome fears. To which I reply, Pschhh! People are people are blessings are life. We all have issues. I guess that's why some folks speak of the "gift of cancer." And some folks sing "live like you were dying". It is a mentality that those of us who have made peace with those issues embrace. We suck the marrow out of life.

Life is like music ; it must be composed by ear, feeling, and instinct, not by rule.
~G.K. Chesterton

Warmly,
Allison

Northern March

2011-03-19T14:46:00.000-07:00

How pleasant it is

Doing barn chores by daylight.

We've missed you, O sun!

A sunny Saturday, friends!
Warmly,
Allison

Accomplishments

2011-03-16T00:21:00.000-07:00

My internet friends Kelle and Emily (Welll, they don't exactly know we're friends!) have recently written about delayed development here and here in their daughters with Down Syndrome, who are so darling, my daughter asks for a sister who looks like Nella and Mirabel!

The reason many CFers deal with delayed development is different than the reason of Down Syndrome, of course, but feels much the same for us parents.

Rees was "late" (I hate those charts!) in all skills because he was busy breathing. Or not. CF was not diagnosed until he was 9 months old, so for 9 months, we figured that he was just sickly, slow, and miserable. My chest tightens a bit even now to think of those months when the little guy struggled so. After The Diagnosis and a week hospitalized with the big gun antibiotics doing their jobs, Rees was bright and merry. The doctor remarked one morning, "Well, you've got your baby back." And we, wide-eyed with wonder, answered, "We don't know this child!"

Numerous hospitalizations throughout the years do stymie some developments that "experts" like to point out with their charts, but boast some developments, too ~ the ones that are more complex to quantify but are the stuff of a real, good life.

And, he did figure out how to walk! Who cares when he had the strength to do it? He fought on and was strong. I must admit that those of us with chronically ill children possess a certain arrogance at their accomplishments. They're sweeter. More meaningful. More costly. More valuable.

So when Rees achieved a black belt in Shoshindo last weekend, when kids he'd begun with made it over a year ago, I swirled with the seemingly contradictory sentiments of haughtiness and humility. Afterwards, when people dutifully applauded and good-naturedly slapped shoulders, I wanted to shout, Do you know about CF? Do you know about the hospital? Do you know about pseudomonas and aspergillis? But I didn't. This victory was his own, without his Mommy (How did that happen?). It took him longer than the others, but he prevailed. He played well the cards dealt him, as we all must.

Accomplishments, I think, should be measured by depth, not height.

Family, hanging out at the hospital, a second home sometimes.

Last Saturday evening, when it was all over. R is drained. But triumphant.

Warmly,
Allison

Weekend Recipe : Bolivian Black Beans

2011-03-13T20:57:00.000-07:00

This being the season of Lent, the weekend recipe is warm, comforting bean soup. Although I understand the benefits of the spiritual practice of fasting, this is so delicious, it does not seem like we're saying "no"! As we keep expensive meat off the table, may we remember (in the giving of prayers and possessions) our brothers and sisters who barely even have a bowl of beans. Lord, have mercy ; what would You have us do?

BOLIVIAN BLACK BEANS

1 lb. (2 1/2 cups) dry black beans
10 cups water
2 large green peppers : 1 chopped, 1 whole
1 onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2/3 cup cooking oil
1 bay leaf
1/4 t oregano
2 T sugar
1 1/2 t salt
dash black pepper
1/4 cup vinegar

Cook beans according to basic directions with water and whole green pepper until tender ; discard pepper and set beans aside. Saute onion, garlic, and chopped green pepper in oil until tender. Add 1 cup cooked beans and squash them into vegetables. Add remaining ingredients, except vinegar and transfer to pot containing remaining beans. Simmer, covered, 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Add vinegar and simmer, covered, 1 more hour, again stirring occasionally.

May God bless and keep all of us,
Allison

Funny Farm

2011-03-10T15:37:00.000-08:00

Two new milking goats joined the homestead last week and watching the children bustle about, getting them settled, has reminded me of how glad I am we've fallen into the backyard hobby farm lifestyle. And "fallen" it has been! Although I grew up without pets and my husband had just one dog, our yard now boasts a mouse-catching cat (Great entertainment!), a pig for just 6 months (not a Wilbur!), 6 chickens, 6 ducks, a guard-goose, 5 goats, and 2 rabbits. Since the goats and rabbits give us babies, their numbers fluctuate. It all began 5 years ago after spending the day with new friends and their multitude of backyard birds that inevitably led to "Can we get some chickens?". I immediately recognized the potential for not needing a science curriculum for years with a project of such proportions and required little convincing! So it began.

Our outbuildings have all been constructed with cast-off cages and doghouses and free pallets found behind home improvement stores, which means they're all cool, cadet blue-painted shacks! And it is so good for the big kids to problem solve and plan and observe and mend both the shelters and the animals. Good for the little ones to watch and "help", as well. My farmy kids may not ace the SATs but they've researched and repaired, planned and pet, built and butchered, milked and midwived. And it's difficult to find anything as darling as a 4 year old gathering eggs and chirping, "Fank you, chrickens!". Well, perhaps bottle feeding newborn goats. Or peeking at tiny rabbit heads.

We have fresh eggs, milk, and meat and we know from whence they came. We have constant entertainment right outside the windows. We have responsible kids (Usually. Ahem.). I highly recommend the backyard farm!

This doghouse is about to become a chicken coop.

Clare's dog, Nala, with a chick that had fallen from the rubbermaid on the windowseat just above her.

One of my favorite shots of Ian.

A barely-dried-off newborn goat ~ see his blue eyes?

Same goat, next day, with baby Joseph.

Goat looks like a toy!

John and Frannie.

Family Funnies

2011-03-08T10:38:00.000-08:00

Me : Ian, clothe those naked GI Joes.
Ian : They're not naked. They have boots on.

Me : Come here Luke, I haven't hugged you all day.
Luke : If you let me sleep in your bed, you can hug me all night long.

Me : Clare, it's time for a bath.
Clare : No thanks.
Me : OK, then a shower.
Clare : No thanks.
Me : A sponge bath, then.
Clare : (sigh) No interactions with water at all.

The four year old was very crabby one evening at bedtime ~ his behavior alternating between hysteria and whimpering. I'd been in four times for the hug and kiss he'd been screaming/whining for and was cautiously tiptoeing around downstairs, hoping... Finally silence. Then, lo and behold, a giggle. Then a chuckle. Then a genuine belly laugh. I really wanted to head upstairs and investigate, but resisted, knowing that my presence would likely bring back the hysteria. Not until the next morning would I know : the 11 year old had new underwear that was too tight (I already knew that.) and he'd popped one on his head to stretch out the waistband. He did not do this to help his little brother, but it sure did the trick. None of my Mommy hugs and kisses worked ; it took an ingenious underwear-stretcher!

*Note : his idea worked and he says that the unders are now much more comfortable.

Mardi Gras Party

2011-03-05T12:54:00.000-08:00

Here is Rees before our youth group's Mardi Gras party :

And here he is after :

Think he had fun?

I never thought the day would come to say to him, "The party goes from 8-11pm ; be walking in the door by 11:30." But I did. And he did. And we stayed up much too late again, talking and laughing. We're all getting older ; it feels pretty good!

No Chariot Yet

2011-03-03T23:18:00.000-08:00

Rees has had an increased cough the past few days and I've had to ~~nag~~ remind him to breathe in his flutter valve more often, to drink more water, and to run his dog instead of walk him. These are the times when CF weighs a little heavier (And there are crushing times, too, but that's for another post.) and when I'm not all "que sera, sera" about life, death, suffering, joy, and spirituality. Because it's not just a cough ; it's a reminder of the constant battle raging in his lungs among viruses, bacteria, mucus, white blood cells, and medications. Our doctor and medical books soberly tell us that one day the bugs will win and I know it is true. But. But. That time has not yet arrived and we plan to remind and push and encourage him to do what CFers have to do to keep healthy. That's right ~ healthy. No need to lie around, waiting for that sweet chariot to swing low. Take care of yourself, dear, because there's a special birthday party on Saturday, you're altar serving on Sunday, we're hiking next weekend, and you've got a black belt test to prepare for! It's different, now that he is older and so much more in charge of his health. I miss the little boy and am proud of the young man.

Sometimes we "catch" flare-ups before a hospitalization becomes necessary ; sometimes we don't. When he's angry, hopeless, and disappointed over missing things due to his health, my heart hurts so much, I weep. I swear, too. I think all parents do. I think all parents plan, push, encourage, aid, hold, ache, and love so much it hurts. Weep and swear, too.

I am optimistic that our home ministrations will thwart the course of this infection (If not, I'll be posting from Providence Hospital, our other home!). But as I look at my clock, it's time ; where's that boy to nag?

Warmly,
Allison

Weekend Recipe

2011-02-27T22:43:00.000-08:00

Ready for this?

This weekend recipe is not even a recipe. It's just 2 food items hidden from the rest of us that only David grabs to round out a snack or a meal to give it the ridiculous amount of calories required to keep his height/weight at the 50th percentile (If he ever needs a feeding tube, we'll be sure we did All We Could.). They are ~

POTATO CHIPS AND CANDY BARS

Yup. That's it. Family size bags and boxes of Lays and Snickers to be had as a snack or after eating a more nutritious meal prepared by his mother ; ) And it is very difficult for this mother to keep her hands off those items, but this blog is about life with CF and that's life with CF. They simply have to eat more and the rest of us do not. We actually hear from time to time from the other children about how lucky David is to have CF and have all these great foods! His responses have gone from innocently sharing to smugly grinning to the teen angst look (his current reaction).

So when you just cannot bake another healthy bar or blend another vitamin smoothie, reach for the chips and candy and don't beat yourself up. It's extra. And try to keep your hands off. Better yet, furnish your own stash of good, dark chocolate! I'm with you there.

Warmly,
Allison

Felicitous Friday

2011-02-25T17:50:00.000-08:00

Spotted among the potted plants ...

Noticed in front of the heater...

Found staring at the French doors ...

May your Friday be pleasant, homey, charming ~ felicitous!

Warmly,

Allison

Normal?

2011-02-22T01:37:00.000-08:00

If someone ever asks, why have more children if there's a chance they won't be normal, try out this Sarah Palin statement (Don't get excited. It's not political.) :

Normal? Look around. What's normal?
(She answered something pretty close to this when asked about her cutie pie son with Down Syndrome. I did not put it in quotes because I can't remember the particulars.)

I asked my husband to weigh in with his suggestion of a pithy answer and the first thing he did was to make a face. Not eye-rolling ; that's my talent. Sort of a wince with a half-shake. Anyway. Then he said (And I do quote), "Plenty of people with high IQs and perfect health are criminals." To which I would add ~ high IQs and perfect health are not exclusive conditions for a worthy, "normal" life. The old Baltimore Catechism for children asks this, "Why did God make us?" And the answer it gives is, "God made us to show forth His goodness and to share with us His everlasting happiness in heaven." Let's not be too hyper-spiritual here ; let's be honest, for this statement is wide open. It doesn't mention how life can be painful, sorrowful, depressing, and difficult ; but there is also room for wisdom, love, peace, and kindness. The everlasting happiness part comes in heaven, true, but there is certainly some here, as well.

We are Star Wars fans here and a line from one of the books (Did you know there were books? Better than the movies, of course!) has Anakin/Vader saying to his son as he lay dying in Luke's arms, "Luminous beings we are, Luke, not just this crude matter." Made in the image of God, we are body, mind, soul. Luminous. Normal.

Warmly,
Allison

Weekend Recipe : Peanut Butter Brownies

2011-02-20T01:39:00.000-08:00

This is one of my go-to recipes. So much that my friends here are probably tired of seeing this pan arrive when we get together! The ingredients are usually on hand and it works with all sorts of flours and fats, from home-ground wheat or brown rice to plain old white flour from a bag ; and butter, margarine, or the Omega spreads like Smart Balance.

1 C peanut butter
1/2 C butter (or substitute)
2 C brown sugar
3 eggs
1 t vanilla
1 C flour
1/2 t salt
*Whatever kind of chocolate frosting you like (Letting a cup or so of chocolate chips melt a bit on the top, then spread over and let cool works fine in a pinch, too.)*

Set oven to 350 degrees and spray 13x9 pan. Beat PB and butter. Add sugar, eggs, and vanilla and beat until fluffy and light. Stir in flour and salt until well blended. Spread in pan and bake for 30 minutes (Begin checking at 25 minutes!).

Lots of fat, peanut butter, and eggs make this calorie-rich and if whole grain flour is used, then with a cup of milk (or a shake) and an apple ~ what a snack!

Discovered

2011-02-17T08:28:00.000-08:00

I have discovered yet another thing to keep me from getting a decent night's sleep (along with nursing babies and fussy toddlers) and rendering me captive to caffeine for another 20 years : talkative teenagers.

Rees and I stayed up very late last night, talking and laughing and we had a great time (If you're reading this, R, I'll try not to embarrass you!). Oh my goodness, that boy is funny! My sides hurt from laughing quietly since everyone else was alseep. I also learned some Very Important Things, like who's going to a birthday party next month, what songs a friend has on his ipod, and how the springs work in an air soft rifle.

This morning I will make more than one cup of coffee and wait for my eyes to cease burning but I feel super. We'll do it again, I'm sure, because the house was quiet and noone interrupted ~ a rare treat around here. And relationships are all that matter.

Hey, the water's boiling ; where's my cup?

Warmly,
Allison

Being

2011-02-16T22:51:00.000-08:00

I settled down in my worn out wingback chair in the thin, winter sunlight with our 14 month old, who wanted to nurse himself to sleep. Usually, another child with "Mom's nursing and can't move" radar sidles up to me with a book to read, a math problem to solve, or some amazing scientific phenomenon to report. This afternoon, however, I was curiously unapproached. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I glanced around as nonchalantly as possible. All were happily occupied in various other corners. I sunk down into the chair with a sigh (a quiet one) and looked down at the son in my lap.

He was big now, his chubby legs hanging over my own onto the arm rest. He still grasped my thumb just like his newborn days, though, and his eyelashes still glowed in golden half-moons on his round cheeks. I stared at the boy as I did in those magical first hours and days after his birth and marvelled at him. "Oh Joseph. I don't stare at you nearly enough," I whispered. He half-opened his eyes and looked sideways at me for a split second before the effort overtook him and he sank back down into that drowsy, nursing oblivion so dear to mothers.

A smile caught in my throat and I was overcome with the desire to hug him tightly and rock back and forth while breathing in his smell and whispering to him of my love. He was sufficiently asleep to withstand such a dance and remain dreaming.

Babies are wonderful. They sometimes make us stop doing important things like homeschool and housework, for a bit of time to do marvelous things like contemplate and connect. Hug and dance, too. Soon he would join his brothers and sister in our home's happy chaos, but for a few precious minutes we were tightly bonded again, with nothing else to do but be. Who knows what tomorrow will bring ; right now, we are here, being. And it is good.

Weekend Recipe : Sally Lunn Bread

2011-02-13T22:23:00.000-08:00

Before I post this recipe, here's a shot of David's snack this evening (a pile of ham, 2 Snickers and a 24 ounce chocolate shake. And my favored Vitamix) : creative, isn't he?!

SALLY LUNN BREAD

2 eggs, plus enough water to equal 1 1/3 C
1 1/2 t salt
2 T sugar
1/3 C softened butter
4 C flour
1 1/2 t yeast

Put it in a bread machine or mix, knead, and bake by hand ; make regular loaves or rolls ~ however you make it and whatever shape it's in, this is soft and rich, with more calories than regular white bread. Lots of butter and eggs do that!

Now, I usually grind my own grain and use that fiber/nutrient rich flour to make most of our baked goods, but sometimes, soft white bread hits the spot.

Why is it called "Sally Lunn"? After the Englishwoman who created it in her tiny bakery in Bath, England. It made its way to the Southern colonies and now here we are, enjoying it 'way up here!
(*A bit of useless but interesting trivia!*)

Now to toast some to have with my evening tea!
Warmly,
Allison

Potty Watch

2011-02-10T18:02:00.000-08:00

This afternoon found all of us except the baby huddled around printed pages, pointing, snorting, and laughing. What was this literary masterpiece that captivated people from 4 to 41? The One Step Ahead catalog. Every time this thing arrives in the mail, we know we are in for a treat of sarcastic proportions. Scanning its collection of infant and toddler "must-haves" is an exercise in insanity, perpetuating the myth that it is so difficult and so expensive to raise children. Read with us :

We found special shoes that emit a two-toned squeak so that the parent (or "caregiver", as they say) can be assured the child is learning the proper way to walk (heel to ball). We never had those shoes, Mom, do we all walk wrong? asks my 9 year old. However did people learn to walk correctly without the squeak? wonders the 16 year old with a roll of his eyes. We found shoes billed as "Perfect for the daycare set ~ easy on and off". Because we all know that kids who are home with their mothers and a gang of siblings have neither the need nor the desire to do things on their own since they're spoiled and anti-social (I think I may have laughed tea out my nose at that one.). There were many manifestations of antibacterial liquids : pump gel, purse spray, mini wipes, dipping bottles, treated bibs and placemats, and even playground equipment.

Today's favored item, however, was a potty-shaped, potty training watch. This programmable thing beeps every 30, 60, or 90 minutes to remind distracted toddlers to try to go potty. My 13 year old, to whom potty humor is still a viable form of entertainment, loved this. Being a homeschooling mother, I took the opportunity to make sure the children understood the complexities of potty training (recognition, motion, appropriate measures, etc) in my most solemn voice. So, said the aforementioned son with a naughty twinkle in his eye, It's possible for a man to never learn that body stuff if the watch constantly reminded him when he was little to get up and try, huh? The possibilities of a grownup in conference whose beeping watch prompted an excuse to colleagues to Gotta try the potty was just too much ; we dissolved into giggles as the hypothetical examples of adults tethered to potty watches grew more and more fantastic. Our old couch rocked and rolled for 20 minutes.

I've been trying to end this post with some sort of moral illustrated by this afternoon's antics, but all I can come up with is more sarcasm and tea-spilling. Perhaps I could use a beeping watch as a reminder to cultivate a more sweet and genteel spirit.

Beep.

Brett Keisel Cystic Fibrosis PSA

2011-02-09T15:34:00.000-08:00

I told David and Knox to root for the Steelers like I did!!

From Rees

2011-02-08T23:06:00.000-08:00

Hello Blog,

I have an announcement to make.
I have a job.
Courtesy clerk at Fred Meyer, which means I do all the little jobs noone else wants to do.
I'm really very excited but I don't like to use exclamation points.

Pax,
Rees

Weekend Recipe : Granola

2011-02-06T22:05:00.000-08:00

Yes, we are granola-crunchers around here! I put this concoction together a few years ago after looking up info on the good Omega fats (don't remember which number is the good one), antioxidants, and digestive herbs. There are all sorts of other foods that fit into these categories, I know. These are the ones that we liked in granola!

5 CUPS OF CRUNCHY THINGS
*A combination of walnuts, almonds, coconut (the dry stuff in the health food bins, not the wet stuff in the
bag), oatmeal, and seeds (flax and sunflower). The more variety, the more nutrition.

1/4 CUP EACH OF OLIVE OIL, BLACKSTRAP MOLASSES, HONEY, BROWN SUGAR

1/4 TEASPOON EACH OF CINNAMON, CLOVES, GINGER

Mix the dry and the wet ingredients separately, then mix all together. Put into the largest pan with sides you have (10x15 is good ; 9x13 is fine but you have to pull it out and toss it more often) and put in a 300 degree oven. Pull it out and stir it several times for about 45 minutes, to allow the mixture to toast evenly. When done, spread it all out on the counter, or the kids' plastic placemats, to cool.

I use this in almost any recipe that calls for nuts, over yogurt and ice cream, and of course, as cereal with milk. Although in David's case, with half and half!

He does not like dried fruit in granola (weird, huh?) but cranberries and blueberries are vitamin powerhouses, as well as looking very pretty! If your kids aren't weird (!), add them when the mixture is completely cooled.

Go ahead ; be a granola-cruncher!

Warmly,
Allison Grace

So Cool

2011-02-04T20:31:00.000-08:00

Two seconds earlier, this photo would have captured little Joseph who had climbed up on the bench, throwing his arm around Rees' neck and pulling him to himself, all man-like. As soon as I came around the corner with the camera, however, he let go and posed as you see. Pretty darn cute anyway, and Rees' smile is huge and genuine!

All the kids love him. Maybe because he's the eldest. Maybe because he's nice. They think he is just so cool. Unbelievably, they think he's cool because of CF. He gets fantastic bedtime snacks : a shake, a candy bar, Ramen noodles ~ all three, every night. When he needs to hook up IV meds through a PICC, they are green with envy. And when he needs to stay at the hospital for a week or two, they can barely conceal their jealous outrage. He has a TV and video games right in his own room. He gets whatever food he wants delivered six times a day. I have to construct a chart to plan who gets to spend what days at the hospital, making sure that noone gets gypped in time there (Sheesh.). CF is perfectly normal and as much as I want to scream, "No, No, No ~ it's bad ; his lungs are stiffening up ; he can't join the Marines . . .", I keep quiet. They'll figure it out soon enough.

Because really, these things are true for everyone ~ exam scores, finances, physical issues all dictate future programs, future jobs, future anythings. People have all sorts of limitations (Bloom where you are planted and all that, right?). My kids think I have a terrible cross to bear in my need for glasses or contacts! Rees is trying to make some decisions about his own future, grappling with his own limitations and capitalizing on his talents and desires (and his parents' money!). Just like any sixteen year old.

Having a gang of kids has made this abundantly clear ~ CF is just one set of issues. Not mine ; I've got my own, thankyouverymuch. His. And your child's, dear Reader. We all have our own to deal with and to make decisions around. Some of what lies around the corner we know ; some we don't. Life. It's good.

My Apologies to Eric Carle

2011-01-31T21:45:00.000-08:00

Let us see our days as our children do . . .

Mommy, Mommy, what do you see?
I see dirty dishes demanding me.

Little one, little one, what do you see?
I see a sink of bubble fun for me!

Mommy, Mommy, what do you see?
I see a cluttered room calling to me.

Little one, little one, what do you see?
I see my wondrous toys waving at me!

Mommy, Mommy what do you see?
I see a laundry pile laughing at me.

Little one, little one, what do you see?
I see my cozy clothes all clean for me!

Mommy, Mommy, what do you see?
I see nothing fancy in the fridge for me.

Little one, little one, what do you see?
I see easy toast and tea for me!

Mommy, Mommy what do you see?
I see a sagging sofa sighing to me.

Little one, little one, what do you see?
I see a story spot just for me!

"It will be gone before you know it. The fingerprints on the wall appear higher and higher. Then suddenly they disappear." ~Dorothy Evslin

Warmly,
Allison

Weekend Recipe : The Shake

2011-01-30T12:42:00.000-08:00

I never let David drink just a cup of milk (Well, sometimes I go soft, like during morning sickness. Or the flu.). Why have just milk when you can add hundreds of nutritious fat and protein calories easily? So the beginning mixture is this :

1 C MILK
1 EGG
1 SCOOP VANILLA ICE CREAM

Then comes the creative part. Right now, he's into the coffee/caramel taste, which means I do this :

2 T BUTTER
2 T BROWN SUGAR
1/4 t INSTANT DECAF

MICROWAVE THESE UNTIL THE BUTTER MELTS AND STIR WELL. ADD TO ABOVE SHAKE.

Sometimes he likes some Nesquik added to make it like a mocha.
Sometimes we don't do the caramel and toss in a candy bar or overbaked cookies (Ahem).

Also, a plug here for the Vitamix, an expensive piece of kitchen ware that I use several times a day. Yes, a day. With this thing, I can also do frozen fruit instead of ice cream and sneak in some nuts, pieces of spinach or carrot, and even a small tomato, making it an antioxident stew. This does not have as many fat grams, but is so full of other good things, it's hard to ignore.

When I'm on top of my game, I'll triple the shake and stick the container in the fridge to ensure he drinks the good stuff all day. And yes, I know that he's sixteen and shouldn't he be making his own shakes and don't baby him and he'll never know how to do things on his own and enough already. He does plenty. I don't mind and he says thank you so we're fine. Every family finds their own groove!

Happy weekend and get shakin'!

Warmly,
Allison

Missing the Clapping

2011-01-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

This afternoon when little Brendan was stretched out in my lap, I cupped my hands and began to gently, rhythmically pat his back and sides, like I did on David for so many years. Three or four times a day and sometimes in the middle of the night if he was sick and coughing, we would cocoon together on a bed or couch and do "PT", as we called it. Chest Physio Therapy. Clapping. When he was little, it would put him to sleep so we timed it for naps and evenings. As he grew, we would watch half hour videos like old Sesame Streets or Hero Classics. Hogan's Heroes and the A Team later on. We were together. We were close. When Knox and Astrid came along, we all cozied up together, for PT.

Brendan jostled contentedly as I vibrated his back ; Ambrose and Ben looked perplexed. "What're ya doing?" one of them asked. "Why, PT. Just like we did for David." They had No Idea what I was talking about and I felt . . . sad. They didn't know what PT was and I wished they did. You see, David's been using a hand-held flutter device the past four years and doesn't need me to take care of clearing his lungs. That thing that seemed so confining, so abnormal now gave me a nostalgic ache about its passing. No more PT. To be sure, we still sit together (in the evenings only now) while he takes care of himself and uses the flutter. We have been forced to do this. But what have we gotten? A terrible imposition? A hold on "real life"? Hardly. What we got is a Very Cool Teenager who drives away by himself to go to youth group and is looking for a part time job, but who still wants to hang out and watch movies with his parents (Have you seen Inception? Wow.). Who still stays up to talk about movies and whatever topics they inspire long after the credits roll. Who says things like, "I still have to do my lung chores, can Knox and I stay up and play Settlers of Catan? (Yup, but it's 10pm ; be quiet and don't wake us up!)

This is real life. It is good. It is better than good. PT made us cocoon in the beginning ; now we just do. I miss the clapping, but I sure do like what it gave us.

And all our babies have loved to be clapped, CF or not!

Two Mothers

2011-01-25T14:19:00.000-08:00

Two important stories here and here. Such a shocking difference of mothers : I could hardly breathe after reading of the first and could hardly refrain from smiling through tears after watching the second.

We are human beings with eternal souls, separate from animals that leave their troubled ones behind to perish, ensuring their own survival. We love and give and sacrifice and somehow we do not fall apart, but get smarter and stronger and more loving. Cystic fibrosis looks terrible on paper, but real life aches with love and pain. All life, not just when there is a Diagnosis. I fret over all of my kids, with and without CF and for all different reasons!

And now I must get big teen Rees and hook up his IV, because he's home with a PICC line in, which is excellent when the CFers get bigger and their mothers get less nervous about All These Things!

Warmly,
Allison

Beginning

2011-01-20T21:17:00.000-08:00

I'm hoping you found this blog because your little one has been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis and you're searching for answers about the future. Fifteen years ago when we were told that our 9 month old had CF, the nurses sent other mothers into our room to talk and visit and listen to me cry and yell, but the new HIPAA rules prevent that now. So. Here I am. Please make a cup of tea and visit with me. Cry. Yell. Look at my pictures. It will be OK. It will be better than OK. Holland is gorgeous (Have you read that allegory? It's in a page at the top under HELPFUL LINKS). More coming.
Warmly,
Allison