May, 2004

I used to work for a really amazing group of people. Crazy. But amazing. In May of 2004, I went to the SPBT conference, lovingly known as SPBT. For those of you who care, it's the Society of Pharmaceutical and Biotech Trainers. It was hosted in Orlando at the Dolphin/Swan hotel. At Disney. On the Boardwalk. I stayed ON the Boardwalk. Maybe that doesn't mean much (especially if you've never been there), but I think our room was $300+ a night. Youch.

I was 24, engaged to be married in 6 months, and pretty clueless as far as fancy-schmancy-ness went. This was my induction to the world of fancy-schmancy. Before SPBT started, we had massages in our hotel. Sweet. We ate at Don Schula's restaurant. It's one of those places that doesn't have prices on the menu and the menu happens to be scrawled on a football. Not that it really matters; they have to bring you a flashlight to read the "menu" anyway. One of those places where the saying goes something like, "If you have to ask, you can't afford it." Well thank God those amazing people were paying, because I'd have stuck with a glass of water and a straw if I had been paying.

After we dined with Mr. Schula, the big show started. We. Worked. Our. Asses. Off. That year, we gave away pedometers as chachkis. I wore one pretty much the whole time we were there. I recall taking over 10,000 steps one day. IN our booth. IN heals. That's about 5 miles inside of a 20 foot square booth. Again, youch.

After the show was over, we had massages. This time, we went to Saratoga Springs for a day at the spa. This was my first (and last, incidentally) "day at the spa." I've been back for pedis, massages, etc., but this was different. Not that I think I ever care to relive it quite like that, but W-O-W. An hour and a half massage followed by unlimited time in the whirlpool, sauna, shower. I don't think I've ever been that relaxed at any other time in my life. Maybe I would care to relive it, come to think of it.

That night, we ate dinner at the Contemporary. It's on the top floor of a hotel, overlooking the lake where they do the nightly Disney fireworks. I don't remember the main course, but this is where I was introduced to Green Goddess salad dressing. Don't ask me how I remember all of this - I just do. I also remember the boss's daughter ooing and ahhing over the fireworks and making the statement, "There's nothing like Disney!" She was all breathy and mesmerized and maybe she was right.

I guess my point - if I have one - is that memories are just weird. Of all the days for me to commit to memory, a day at Disney with a bunch of co-workers has just somehow "stuck." Of course there are other days like this, but this one is just weird. It's nothing to do with my family, a milestone, or any other breathtaking experience. It's just one of those random experiences that's "stuck" with me for 5+ years now. If you can recall what you ate, where you ate, and exact lines of dialogue from a single day of your life, why?? Why is my gray matter wasted on this random, seemingly meaningless day? Maybe it's not all that meaningless. Maybe it has greater meaning that I'll never discover. Maybe it's just with me to remind me how frivolous life can be or to remind me that before May, 2004, I'd never heard of Green Goddess dressing, never eaten in a 5-star restaurant, and never set foot in a spa (I guess just to remind me that somewhere along the way, in May of 2004, I kind of grew up). Who knows? Maybe it's just stuck in my head and won't come out because there's a glitch in the matrix. Whatever, I think it's weird.

Thank you note

Dear God,

Thanks! For a lot of things, but most recently, for December 4, 2009. The earliest snow EVER in Houston? What'd we do to deserve that? I know that You tend to bless Doug and I with snow when we make HUGE, scary decisions. Our first married Christmas Eve we had snow. The first year with Daniel we had snow. And now, our first year in our new house - SNOW! I guess maybe that's what we did to deserve snow so early. We trusted You, clung to our faith, and made big decisions about our home and our life together. Maybe that was it; maybe not. I'd like to believe that's the case.

December 4, 2009, was an AWESOME day, one I'll likely not soon (if ever) forget. Daniel and I had a great time hanging out in the window sill, playing with trucks, and watching the snow. Despite the painfully short nap of that day, Daniel was in the best mood, especially when Doug got to come home from work early. THANKS!

THANKS for homemade chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate. Or more appropriately, thanks for the opportunity to live in a place where we can run to the grocery on a whim to pick up necessary ingredients for a warm, cozy night in during a winter storm. Thanks for making our toughest decision of the day "Nestle or Kroger brand?" Thanks for giving us the gift of freedom, or more appropriately, the gift of choice that allows us to maintain our freedom.

I know I spend a lot of time asking for things - for sleep, for forgiveness, for an empty seat on a plane. I spend a lot of time begging for things - healing for others, strength to get through a rough day, Your blessing on a decision I was stupid enough to make without consulting You first. I don't spend nearly enough time saying thank You. I don't spend nearly enough time reflecting on the hundreds of thousands of blessings that You pour out each and every day. I don't spend nearly enough time in prayer period. So while it's on my mind, while I'm moved to humility, and while I have a minute to stop and focus on the things I ought to be thankful for, thanks.

I love you and I can't wait to see what's next,
sheri

Pollyanna

Do you ever have days where you feel like you just can't do anything right? You get out of bed, expecting a normal day and WHAM! You get smacked in the face, full on, with a day full of bleck. Today was one of those days. I won't dwell on the details, just the way the day made me feel.

All day long, I tried to have a positive attitude. Despite the hour of hysterical screaming that Daniel put up while resisting his nap, I never cried. I prayed, I thought I might cry, and I held my head in my hands a lot. But I just keeping thinking to myself - this isn't THAT bad. I could be at work and Daniel could be in the hands of a much less caring person while in this frenzied state. He could be screaming for a ton of other reasons, none of which I really care to think about. I decided to thank God for the opportunity to be at home with Daniel. I thanked Him for Daniel's health (and for the fact that this has never happened before). I asked Him to wash over me with serenity, to ease Daniel's discomfort (or hysteria, as the case may be). He answered some prayers, ignored others, and said "You're welcome" for a few in between. I'll take what I can get.

At 3:00, I realized that a nap wasn't happening and I should just make the best of it. I did. We went to the park. We played with a truck. I even let Daniel read the notice we got from FEMA. I'm not sure what it said - and now I'll probably never know - because Daniel crumpled it beyond recognition. At 3:00, I also decided that wine was in order; as soon as little man was down for bed, of course. But alas. Daniel is in bed, my stomach is in knots (from fighting the urge to join in the hysteria and do a little screaming myself, I'm afraid), and wine doesn't even sound like a solution anymore.

Perhaps after a long, scalding shower, things will seem a little less hazy. I'm already feeling better as I purge the day through my fingertips and listen to the whir-whir-whir of the dishwasher. Perhaps tomorrow will be better. Perhaps it won't. At least I know that whatever tomorrow brings, I can be thankful for many, many things, even if I could do without the hysteria.

Words, words, words

Watching Daniel learn new things is a truly rewarding and hilarious experience. It's hard to remember the look of recognition from his very early days. I remember distinctly a few major milestones. The first time he said Mama, the first time he said Dada, the first time he rolled over, and of course, his first step. There are other intermediate things that just sort of morphed into being. Like crawling. He scooted and scrambled and slid all around until it all just sort of happened for him.

But now. . . wow. Now it's like "Eureka!! I GET IT!" Last night at dinner, we were having fettuccine alfredo. Daniel was sitting in his chair, eating and being quiet, and suddenly he shouted, "I got noodles!" Doug and I laughed. A lot. What a goofy kid. He got noodles, alright. Last weekend, my parents brought Dasha and Maddie home after their stay at Gram and Gramps' house. Dasha was SO excited to be home. She was jumping and twirling and acting like a maniac. Doug and I both shouted, "Dasha Leigh!!!" to get her attention. Daniel, up until this point, had only referred to her as Dash. Now he runs around behind her shouting, "Lasha Dee! Lasha Dee!" So incredibly cute.

Other things aren't as concrete as noodles and Dasha Leigh. Concepts, for example. Like sharing. He knows that when two people want the same thing, they have to share. How they go about doing it is still pretty lost on him. A few weeks back, Daniel had a fire truck that Will wanted. Will was trying to take the fire truck. Daniel didn't want him to. "Share! Share! SHARE!" he shouted at Will until Will gave up and decided to play with an ambulance. Last weekend, we had the whole Rem family over for dinner. Will had Daniel's mower. Daniel wanted his mower. This time, Daniel was much more forceful about it. He ran up to Will, tackled him, took the mower, and said very resolutely, "Share." Holy cow. He gets it, but not really.

One that I'm waiting - waiting oh-so patiently - for, is I love you. I tell Daniel I love him at least four thousand times a day. I know he could say it if he wanted to. I just don't think he quite gets what it means. He hugs me, kisses me, pats my back, and snuggles with me. I know he loves me. But to hear him say it. . . oh what a day that will be. I have to wonder if his little mind needs to wrap around the whole concept of love before he'll say it. Whatever it takes, I'm ready. I'm ready for him to tackle me, knock me over, beat me over the head, and say, "I love you!" with as much enthusiasm as he does when he got noodles, or a fire truck for that matter.

Future post

I really want to post about language development and my toddler, but time isn't on my side. One day soon - likely next Wednesday - I'm going to tell all kinds of great stories about Daniel, word recognition, and understanding concepts. It sounds all clinical and boring, but I promise it'll garner at least a chuckle or two. Happy Thanksgiving!!!

not much to say

I'm really in the mood to write. It's cathartic for me. It's really a shame I don't have much to say. What to do? Do I just ignore the urge and go read a book? Ramble on about what's happening in my life until something seems noteworthy? Ctrl + a and delete? I don't know. I haven't decided.

I used to think James Joyce was really, really weird. Stream of consciousness just seemed like a pitiful excuse for a writing style. Then I read Araby and I fell in love. I even thought that Araby would be a great name, for a while. Araby Rain, as a matter of fact. Now that I'm an adult (and a mother), I've changed my mind about that. James Joyce is now one of my favorite authors and oddly enough, stream of consciousness sits quite well with me. I guess nights like tonight are exactly why.

I can completely understand the need - or at least the yearning - to write. It's creative, and not just in the "I'd like to pretend I'm eclectic so I claim I can write" sort of way. Creative in the "I'm just stringing together letters, words, and eventually sentences and wow - look at that - they make a story" sort of way. Hence, I created something. I guess if I never come into my muse, if I never come across a story worth telling a thousand times over, I could follow Mr. Joyce's lead and ramble for a while.

I hope that one day my muse does find me. I can picture it. . . sort of. In my head, it's not grandiose. It's not a dream. It's not even a real experience that I can tell a story about. In my head, I'm sitting idle, in between tasks if you will. Let's say at a stop light or perhaps in an airport terminal. As easily as I can lose myself in a novel, I'm lost in my own thoughts. BAM! There it is. The whole story. Characters. Plot. Outline. Irony. Undetermined literary devices. I can really see it happening- snap - just like that. The outline will unfold on the back of a Continental Airlines "what to do if this plane crashes" pamphlet that I will shamelessly steal at the end of the flight. The characters names will be recorded as a note in my cell phone, later to be Googled to make sure they aren't porn stars. The plot? Well. Maybe it will write itself. Maybe it will be in my head, begging to come out. Maybe it will be half written in shorthand on my itinerary, barely legible. But for now, I'll just meander through my own thoughts and be satisfied that I got to write, even if just for a minute or two.

The luck stops here

Doug has what we like to call good-bad luck. The kind of luck where you're unlucky enough to be rear-ended by a drunk driver and have your car shorn in two but lucky enough to walk away with a smidge of whiplash. The kind of luck where bad things happen but no lasting damage occurs. Or at least, the bad thing could have been and probably should have been much, much worse.

Well, Doug brought that good-bad luck into our marriage and sadly, it will probably carry on to the rest of our family. The Careys have had a good run of good-bad luck lately, but I'm going out on a limb and saying that the luck stops here. If it doesn't, God help us! Well, God helps us anyway, but you know what I mean.

To kick off our run, I got a call from our windstorm insurance agent. For those of you who don't live in a wind zone in Texas, it's something you have to have when you live close enough to the coast to be heavily affected by a hurricane or "cyclonic weather event," as they like to call them now. The previous owners of our home had a new roof installed in January = good luck. The previous owners A.) chose a roofer who was not licensed in the state of Texas and B.) did not file the appropriate paperwork with the state to obtain a WPI-8, which you must have to carry your required windstorm insurance = bad luck. At any rate, we had to have an engineer inspect our roof to deem it windstorm worthy. That cost us $250 = bad luck. The repairs to bring us up to code cost us $500 = this one is iffy. Our roofer told us that the engineer could have "called" the whole roof, which would have cost several thousand to replace = good luck. Whew!!

I took my car in last August to have the tires rotated and haven't been back since. I know, I know. Terribly irresponsible of me. A few weeks ago, I loaded Daniel and the stroller into the car, headed to Discount Tire to have the tires rotated, and then walked to Chick-fil-a. I got a call from Sean. Sean said that my front tires were in such bad shape that he wouldn't rotate them = bad luck. Doug and I talked about it and decided that this was definitely a must-have. It just won't do to have mama and baby riding around on bald tires. Sean cut us a decent deal and thankfully, we only needed the two tires = good luck. That would cost us $300 = bad luck. But then we sold our old fridge and an old stroller/car seat combo on craigslist and made $240 = good luck.

Surely you get my point, but here's where the luck stops. The computer. Oh poor, abused computer. It was Doug's Christmas gift 3 years ago. Good machine. Paid a lot for it. Works like a beast. Last Wednesday, it went kaplooie = bad luck. We took it to EPO and had a diagnostic run. EPO man didn't see or hear anything that indicated that the hard drive was shot = good luck. We rebuilt the partition and lost everything = bad luck. It still didn't work = really bad luck. Doug had a flash of brilliance, cleaned the dog hair out of the tower casing, tried again, and it worked = GREAT luck! We almost spent $680 on a new laptop at Best Buy, but Doug didn't give up on the problem and voila! We had a near miss that could have set us back another several hundred dollars.

I'm not sure what lesson God's teaching us with all of this. Obedience? God is my provider? God helps those who help themselves? Luck really isn't luck at all - I know that. It really comes down to blessings and lessons. The blessings, I completely understand, recognize, and appreciate (most of the time, at least). The lessons? Still a little vague. And while I would love to know the subject matter before the lecture, God doesn't work that way and neither does life.