praying

I have forgotten how to pray. I find that odd. How do I know this? Well, I'm following the trials of a little guy named Linus who has already had two open heart surgeries in his five short months. His two brothers (yes, they are a trio) are doing great, but he is struggling. His mommies must split their time between newborns at home and the hospital a couple hours away while he fights for his life. Mommies are surely exhausted, but mostly ask for prayers when well-wishers want to know what to do. So, they asked. So, from 1500 miles away, I did it. I prayed for the first time in many, many years.

I tried really hard one night, but then I realized that it takes some concentration when it's as unfamiliar as it now is to me. So, I tried again the next morning while I was running. That was much easier because the act of running helps clear out the noise in my head allowing me to focus on just a couple things at a time.

So, I said a couple of prayers, one to a god and one to a goddess - for good measure.

I don't know if it did any good, but it's what the mommies asked for. I do know that Linus made it through his surgery that day, so it didn't hurt.

I still think it's odd that I forgot how to do this. It doesn't bother me, really because let's face it, I couldn't be more agnostic if I tried. If there is a heaven and a hell, I'm a good enough person to at least avoid hell. If there is a god or goddess, I haven't done anything horrific. I have some room for improvement, but I'm a decent enough person that a deity probably wouldn't turn me away.

I just assumed that praying was like riding a bike - you never forget. Of course, Bub is a walking testament that that old adage is false.

This is what homework looks like at my house....

Oh, dear...

Meatball upon looking out the bay window at someone we don't like a whole lot: George is a dink!
Me: Honey, dink is not very nice. Please use nice words.
Meatball: Mom, I've got this under control.

Peanut upon waking up and seeing spring snow: What the hell is all this?
Me: Sweetie, hell is a naughty word. Please say heck instead.
Peanut pointing out the window: But, what the hell is all this? It's supposed to be spring!
Me: What happens in spring?
Peanut: Flowers grow, we can play outside, and we get birthday presents!

Boys, oh boys - I love you SO much!!!

Ya' don't say...

Meatball: Mommy, you have to be careful. Don't go by fire. If you go by fire, you will get burned and turn into a marshmallow.

Peanut: Mommy, I have fruit snacks! I got them at the fruit snack store. There were fruit snacks all over the wall!

Tsunami in Japan

I know, I know. It was, like, a week ago. Unlike the rest of the blogging world, I haven't yet written about the disaster. That's because I've been watching the whole thing with a really detatched perspective. I think that a lot of us do that. Otherwise, the sense of defeat and heartbreak for the people living there would be overwhelming.

So, my friend from The Bloody Toe recently posted this. My response:

Isn't it just like a kid to bring the human-ness of the situation to our attention?

I've been almost addicted to YouTube - you know, watching the power of the water move everything from its path and wipe out entire villages - from a rooftop or helicopter perspective. It wasn't until yesterday when the video I was watching gave video AND audio of a group of kids - all under the age of 10, I'm guessing. They were all crying and screaming in their fear; all huddled around each other with thier parents trying to shield them from the reality of the situation.

It wasn't until that moment that I actually cried for the people in Japan.

**And, then I watched this video. I think that I held my breath for the entire time!

Feeling like I let them down

I was recently asked by a couple very close to us if I would be their surrogate. A couple of years after the birth of their daughter, she had to have a full hysterectomy, but they really want to have more kids. I said YES on the spot, but warned them that the doctors might not agree. There were tears of relief, joy, and anticipation. There was also a big argument at our house regarding my safety.

Interesting rules regarding surrogacy in Utah:
The carrier cannot donate the egg, too.
The carrier must have had at least one previous pregnancy.
Everyone (and I mean EVERYONE - from the parents to the carrier to the kids of both to the grandparents and the next door neighbor) must attend mandatory counseling.

After a week of phone calls with a surrogacy coordinator (what an odd job!), it was determined that I could not fill this need for them. The reason: I had a couple of complications while pregnant with the boys. I'm sure that the doctors explained it all to me at the time, but I must have downplayed the situation. After all, who DOESN'T downplay the fact that their liver isn't functioning and they get to spend five days in the hospital? Anyway, I was thinking that Cholestatis and Fatty Liver weren't that big of a deal. Shows what I know! Turns out, they can actually be fatal to the pregnant woman and/or the baby(ies).

And, here we are - almost four years later.

How did we get so lucky?

So, no surprise when the doctors said "are you friggin' kidding?" and denied their choice of carriers. I know that it's silly, but I feel like I let them down somehow. I know that I couldn't control this, but I sure wish I could have. It would have been great to give them this most precious gift.

Walking the M

When we get to the end of the driveway and decide to turn left for our walk, there is an "M" drawn into the cement in front of the Miners' house. Without fail, we stop and walk on the "M".
Up, down, up down - says the Peanut.
No. Up, middle, up, down - replies the Meatball.
Then, we are on our way again.

FUNNY boys!

Not even four years old yet, and this is the kind of stuff we're hearing:

Meatball looking at the chocolate all over his hands: "Oh, the indignity!"

Peanut after twirling around and bumping his lunchbox into his leg: "Well, that's a funny trick of fate!"

Peanut to Lizzy (the dog): "I'm sorry that you can't play the Thomas Train memory game, but you don't have any hands. You can only make tracks on the floor."

Meatball has also taken to calling us by our actual names. It's a bit unsettling but still cute.

Headed home from the park on a chilly March morning