Sled Hill

On our way.

In true blizzard-like conditions...

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

But today, for a little while, it was delightful!

P.S. Here's the new house...finally. And Sled Hill is a block away. We four walked over while poor Stewart slaves away at work.

I heard the music...

And realized.

I realized that I have been busy being Bah.

Humbug, that is. (Do you know I actually told our kids that I was running away on Wednesday night on the way to meet you at the restaurant for your birthday dinner? I told them that the only person in our house that listened to me was the dog. I sounded more like my mother than I ever have before.)

Something going on every day, every night, running here and there. And I guess I missed what really mattered.

YOU!

Happy birthday to the love of my life. You are getting old now. You aren't quite old enough to dress the way you do or listen to the music you like...but you're getting there, Old Man. My old man.

I heard you in here checking my blog tonight. I heard the same old songs from my playlist that I really should update but haven't. Nothing new on here, right? No birthday wish for you. That's not cool. Lincoln didn't get one either. So, belatedly, happy birthday to Lincoln "Nino" Peay, too! You are all 2, all the time. And, unlike your father, you DO act your age. I'm not loving it. You may even be the reason I threatened to run away. Who gets into the kitchen sink with all of their clothes on? That's just not normal. You need to stop doing that, Nino.

Anyhow, happy birthday, Guys!

And, sorry...

I'm not running away. I think I'll stay, for now.

WHAAAAAAT?

I know, I know...

I've been out of blog-land.

Usually people try to come up with a great reason why they haven't blogged. Hmmm. I'm not pregnant. We did get swine flu here a few months ago but that's not really a good reason. We moved in July. Does that count?

But I have something cool to say so I'm here. My bionic kid and I got the greatest new toy last night. No, not a zhu zhu pet. Still can't find one of those blasted things. (Any tips? Seriously! Believing in Mr. Claus may be on the line here!) What we got is our own personal FM system. Unlike other FM systems that simply amplify the voice through speakers, this one goes directly into bionic girl's electrodes, stimulating her cochlea directly, skipping all of those middle steps.

I stayed down in our library and Hadley went up to her room with her door closed. I spoke in a normal voice and told her to knock twice on her bedroom door and then come downstairs and say "I love you, Daddy!". And she did! Not kidding. Miracle. That means if we are using it, I can talk to her while she's in the back seat of our car. I can talk to her at a noisy restaurant. I can talk to her when she's 100 feet away at Disneyland. I want to go there. Disneyland, or a restaurant, I mean. Now or even tomorrow would be nice.

It also works like a bluetooth with my cell phone. We tried it out and made a call to grandma. One of her best ever phone conversations. I was about to cry, I was so excited.

Frustrating as it may be to wait for the developing technologies, it's also very exciting when something new comes along. I love watching Hadley's eyes light up when it actually works. So, here's my technology wish list for the coming years:

1. An alarm clock that automatically zings her cochlea when it's time for her to wake up
2. A voice in her head whenever she forgets to hang up her wet towel
3. For teenage years: an electrical shock from her cochlear implant to any boy who comes too close to her
4. For now: an electrical shock to her whenever she yells at her brother

Okay, that's all for now. You techies work on those and let me know how they're coming along and then I'll give you a few more. And maybe work on a reminder bell for Maddox when his bladder is getting full. Four and a half years old...still gets too busy to take potty breaks. We don't have any internal electrodes in him so you'll have to design something that's purely exterior. Shock collar?

Days of War Episode 3 (Mamas, don't let your babies)

Haven't we all heard it? The country song about cowboys?

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks.

Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such.

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

'Cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone.

Even with someone they love.

Well, true confession time. I used to feel the same way about soldiers. Here's how my version of the song would have been sung:

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be soldiers.

Don't let 'em shoot guns or drive them old tanks.

Let 'em be dentists and pharmacists and such

(those are the guys who seem to be home a lot more then the doctors and lawyers, by the way)

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be soldiers.

'Cause they'll go off to war all on their own

And leave behind someone they love.

I still feel that way a little bit. I am not going to lie. When I see this:

I get a little twinge. I don't want my little boy to EVER grow up and I certainly don't want him to grow up and go to war. (This was the last time Stewart went to drill. He officially got out of the National Guard last year. He's still not sure how he feels about it but couldn't manage another deployment without destroying his career.)

And more confessions. I was awful...I mean awful...to my mother in law when Stewart was in Iraq. I selfishly only understood the impact that his absence had on me. I didn't have a little boy. I didn't understand how she felt about her little boy. I didn't understand that she had sleepless nights worrying about his safety, too. I didn't understand that even though he hadn't lived under her roof for a very long time, he had never left her heart.

I quoted Band of Brothers in an earlier posting. It is a Stephen Ambrose novel that follows one group of soldiers, Easy Company, through their training and the war. Everyone should read it because it is hard to read. It is vivid and awful but true and beautiful. I can gratefully say that Stewart was spared many of the horrors of war but was given some of this same brotherhood that is written about in the book. He had Tony & Ben in Iraq. I had Caroline & Angela, their wives, in America. We formed our own families to take the place of the emptiness. The boys took care of each other. The wives took care of each other. It worked, in a strange sort of way. Nobody could ever really understand how it worked unless they experienced it.

After eleven and a half years of marriage, one fifteen month deployment, and one World War II Trip through France, I may have changed my tune. oops. Didn't mean the pun.

Mamas, maybe it's okay to let your babies grow up to be soldiers. Soldiers are men. Soldiers are people who put others before themselves. Soldiers are disciplined and structured. Soldiers know how to take care of things. They know how to lead. They know how to follow. Soldiers make great husbands and also great sons. Mamas, it may break your heart, but being a soldier may be the very best thing that could ever happen to your son.

Maybe it's because we are learning about Captain Moroni right know in our family scripture study. Maybe it's because my husband was a great soldier. Maybe it's because Maddox gets dressed like this most mornings.

But...I think maybe...just maybe...

We could all only hope our babies do grow up to be soldiers.

Days of War Episode 2

Who are these men?

I remember standing on a crowded bus in Russia and looking at a very old babushka. Her snow white hair and her clear, blue eyes, deeply set in her wrinkled face above her nearly toothless grin, held my attention. I wondered what she had seen in her lifetime. I wondered how many revolutions and overthrows, how many times she had seen her country reinvented and who she had lost to wars.

I felt similarly fascinated to speak with the veterans of World War II. I looked into their eyes and wondered what they had seen. I watched them wipe tears away as they walked among the graves of their fallen comrades. One man said to me, "If he saw me today (referring to his friend who died in the war), he would not recognize me. He only knew me as a boy and now I am an old man." I told him that I thought his friend would know him, still. His eyes are the same. You can still look into those clear eyes and see the soul of the brave man who was willing to give his life for his friend, for his country, for freedom.

I have such great respect for the group that has since been coined "The Greatest Generation" for they truly are great. Their heroism and sacrifice changed the course of history. And I can't deny that today's soldiers are doing their part to change the history of this world. I was struck with the feeling as Stewart and I wandered through Arlington National Cemetery when he was travelling with General Dayton. He had spent seven months in Iraq at that point and was so tired. I have never seen someone sleep so soundly as he did for those few nights we had together. I have never slept with the sounds of air sirens and mortar attacks all night long. I have never slept in a war zone, nor do I have the desire to do so. I look at Stewart and I know some of what his eyes have seen.

In our lives, we do not know how much time we have to spend with our elders. We would love to return to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the D-Day invasion but I wonder how many of the veterans will be able to make that journey. Whether or not any of the veterans are physically present and alive, there are fields full of thosewho never made the trip home. They can be celebrated and remembered.

And me? What can I do? How do I show my enduring appreciation? The one thought that keeps returning for me is to take the time that I have with my own grandparents; to not feel impatient when the elderly driver is going SO SLOW in front of me; to help the grandmother in the grocery store; to take the time to look into their eyes and wonder what they have seen.

Who are these men? They are your neighbors, your grandparents, the man walking down the street, the couple holding hands in the restaurant. They are great men and women.

Days of War Episode 1

I have never been to war.

But my husband has.

And so have a lot of other people. Do you still remember them? Every day? Do you think about them when you are eating dinner. Please pass the green beans, and oh am I glad that I'm not sweating it out in Iraq right now. I don't. I should. I try to. We bless the soldiers in our family prayers and we also bless their families 'cause I know they need it. Oh, do they need it.

Having just returned from my whirlwind World War II tour, I decided to post for the next few little whiles on my impressions of what I saw. I am not quite as ambitious as some who can do a post a day for a whole month. Hence, little whiles. I don't know how often I'll post or how many war posts I'll create but this here will be episode one. We'll see how it goes.

Normandy: Day One (June 4, 2009)

Pointe du Hoc, FranceYou look out over the rocky cliffs and wonder how it is possible. How could only 225 US soldiers have scaled those cliffs on rope ladders? And, how did they EVER defeat the Germans who were in concrete bunkers, reinforced with steel? Concertina wire, machine guns, higher ground. They had a lot going for them.

The wind blew and I could hear the whispers of the dead on that sacred ground. Poet Stephen Spender must have heard them, too. He wrote: "You are men who in your lives fought for life...and left the vivid air signed with your honor."

Yes, I do believe battlefields are a sacred ground. So many gave all in those holy places. Their souls linger, in the wind, in the waves, in the warmth of the sun, in the blowing grass. The artillery shells made these craters all over the beach and they have never been filled in. I was amazed, speechless, breathless. I wanted to be quiet and feel the moment. I wanted to cry, too. I did.Stewart looked out over the scene and explained the objective of the rangers who were trying to overtake this position. From Pointe du Hoc, you can look left and see the beach at Utah. If you look right, you see Omaha Beach. These are the two beaches where the Americans came ashore. Thus, it was of great importance to secure that lookout point. In Ronald Reagan's words in 1984:

The Rangers looked up and saw the enemy soldiers on the edge of the cliffs shooting down at them with machine guns and throwing grenades. And the American Rangers began to climb. They shot rope ladders over the face of these cliffs and began to pull themselves up. When one Ranger fell, another would take his place. When one rope was cut, a Ranger would grab another and begin his climb again. They climbed, shot back, and held their footing. Soon, one by one, the Rangers pulled themselves over the top, and in seizing the firm land at the top of these cliffs, they began to seize back the continent of Europe. Two hundred and twenty-five came here. After two days of fighting only ninety could still bear arms.

I remembered a part of Band of Brothers in which excerpts of one soldier's diary are included. He wrote, "Back in America, the race tracks were booming, the night clubs were making their greatest profits in history...few people seemed to care...and we wondered if the people would ever know what it cost the soldiers in terror, bloodshed, and hideous, agonizing deaths to win the war." It reminded me of today. Do we think about it enough? Do we remember the sacrifice?

I looked at my Stewart and felt pride swell in my heart. My strong, brave husband heard the call to serve and answered that call. Few people will ever know what the cost of war is because most of us do not ever have to live through it. After an evening at sunset in Pointe du Hoc, I shed a few tears for the boys who died for that position and for their sweethearts at home; for the empty places at the dinner tables in American homes and for the comrades in arms who lost a brother that day. I shed tears for the young German boys who, although fighting for something I do not believe in, were also someone's son, someone's lover, someone's brother.

I have heard it said that kids today do not have heroes. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why. I can think of some. The monument that stands at Pointe du Hoc lists their names. Reagan said, "These are the boys of Pointe du Hoc. These are the men who took the cliffs. These are the champions who helped free a continent. These are the heroes who helped end a war."

I have never been to war. I did spend a few days memorializing those who have and I am so grateful that I did.

Okay, so now what?

I woke up this morning with an odd, queasy feeling. No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, though. We all just love to be asked if we are pregnant. Am I right, ladies?

The feeling...it wasn't hunger, although I was hungry. I'm not sick. I am feeling a little displaced. See, preschool ended yesterday. School ends tomorrow. I am about to have three kids, all to my self, all day, every day. Oh, boy. I know I made those three babies but I guess I didn't think this through very well. What are we supposed to do with ourselves all day?

Yesterday, we had our preschool program. It's over! I made it! Three days a week for 2 hours at a time, I had eleven three year olds in my basement. I still have some of the fingerpaint smudges on my walls to prove it. I will admit, there were some weeks when I wondered what on earth I'd gotten myself into. Who does that? And I'm not even medicated. What was I thinking?

I'll tell you, though, what I was thinking. It came from this place in my heart that tells me that I feel happy when I am teaching. I know there are those out there who say that teachers are the people who couldn't make a living doing anything else. Well, I beg to differ. Teachers are people who are barely making a living doing what they truly love. And I am a teacher. I am a teacher!

Aha. So maybe we'll run things a little more like a school around here. I already get paid very little for the work I do here. Maybe I'll just make it official. Misha's school. Mom's school. Peay's Place of Education. Whatever. School's out....but I think we will remain in session here at our house. I have a basement full of small chairs, tables, craft supplies, books, scissors, glue, pencils, music. Why not?

So if you are feeling a bit overwhelmed, you may consider dropping in on us this summer. I think we will be holding school. No, I haven't completely lost all of my marbles. I just think it will be fun to have our own little play school. Maybe three times a week. Maybe from 9 until 11, just like preschool. No tuition involved, no expectations, nothing major. Just some learning, some structure, some schedule. I like that. I need that.

Oh, but don't come over for the first two weeks of June. I'll be busy storming the beaches at Normandy. Sixty-five years, you know. Obama and I, but not Queen Elizabeth. Should be grand. Should be educational. Should be right up my ally.

Holes...

Lincoln's new shoe is missing. I have looked everywhere and I can't find it. It's not in the car, where he frequently discards objects. It isn't in the backyard, where he's been known to leave things. It isn't in the toy closet...but a lot of other things that don't belong there were found while I was looking for the shoe. I have spent a lot of time looking. I don't want to go buy another pair of shoes. I JUST bought these shoes.

That sums up how I spent a portion of my afternoon yesterday. I hate having one lost shoe or one lost sock. Inevitably as soon as you give up on the lost object and throw away the mismatched pair, you find it. So what do I do? Do I hold on to one little green croc in the hope that I find its match? Or do I throw it away? Every time I see that little croc, I'm going to be irritated. Is it really worth the frustration?

Yesterday evening may have helped clear up this dilemma. Hadley has a new glitter ball. It's her prized possession. Do you even know what glitter balls are? I didn't until a few weeks ago. They're ALL THE RAGE at Westfield Elementary these days. I went to 3 Wal-Marts, 1 Walgreen's and 2 Bed Bath & Beyonds before I finally located this glitter ball.

She placed the ball on the piano bench next to her as she was practicing and along crawled Lincoln. Yes, crawled. He still won't walk. 18 months and counting... but that's a complaint for another day. Continuing. He crawled over and picked up the glitter ball and went to the vent next to the piano. He removed the vent and threw the ball down the tubes. The air duct. Sorry. Correct terminology. Goodbye glitter ball.

Aha. Do you think? Could his lost shoe really be...? Hadley wept, wailed, gnashed her teeth. Lincoln grinned. He was really quite proud of himself. He even replaced the metal vent correctly. Who needs those baby toys to help your children line up shapes? Just let them play with the vent. He's good at rectangles, apparently. I am flashing back to the phone call I made about 2 years ago to the vacuum cleaner repair man. Those central vacuum holes were too irresistible to two year old Maddox. (Look, I used to, too, two in one sentence. Does that win me a prize?) Anything that would fit went in. I should have seen this coming. I've had a boy before. I know what boys do. And Lincoln really loves sticking things into holes. I called my friend Tony, the HVAC guy. Anyone lucky enough to have never needed to know, HVAC guys are heating, ventillation and air conditioning guys. "Hi, Tony. Sorry to bother you. Quick question. Where is the magic hole that you can open up in your furnace room and retrieve all lost items." (I had to speak rather loudly to drown out Hadley's wailing.) I held my breath in anticipation. Surely there must be a little door in the furnace. There has to be. "Mama Peay," Tony laughs, "there is no door in your furnace. Anything that goes into those ducts can only be removed by cutting into the duct system." Great. So I guess I can throw that lost soul green croc away, I think. "Thanks, Tony."

Has anyone seen Lincoln's bottle? The one I just filled with 8 ounces of milk?

Great.

For sale: One very lovely home in Highland, Utah. Glitter ball, size 4 green croc and bottle full of curdled milk are included in the price.

Uno, dos, tres, cuapado!

He's four, he's four! Our little man turned four today. In keeping with Maddox's arrival at 11 pm, his birthday blog will be published somewhere around that same time. Here he is....our four year old.

My favorite things about Maddox are:
--he's honest - to a fault! A few days ago, he wanted a powdered doughnut. I said no. He went and ate one and returned with powdered sugar all over his face. "Hi, Mom," he said. "Guess what I just ate?"
--he's funny - and getting funnier every day. His one liners range from asking random strangers embarrassing questions like why their bums are so big to telling me that he doesn't like it when I'm angry because I have a mean face. How can you not laugh at that?
--he has great fashion sense - and that comes from me, if you're wondering! He loves clothes. This is a new development but it's so cute. He has his outfit for tomorrow laid out. He'll be wearing the new baseball shirt that grandma gave him for his b-day.
--he has a great smile - of course I think so, I'm his mom...but...whenever we go somewhere, I notice people watching him. Maybe it's because he's wearing red cowboy boots but I think it's the smile. When we got the kids' pictures done a few weeks ago, it was SO hard to choose Maddox's best picture. He was perfect in all of them.
--he's my snuggle puppy - for those of you who haven't read Sandra Boynton's book, Snuggle Puppy, it's one of our favorites. He loves to snuggle with his mommy and I hope that he never outgrows that.
--he says cuapado instead of cuatro. No matter how many times we count in Spanish, he likes that word better. It's sort of a hybrid between crocodile (which he pronounces perfectly in both languages) and cuatro. Either way, it's cute!
--he's a leader - and I can completely see why. There's something about this boy that makes you want to be where he is, to do what he's doing, and to smile while being there and doing that. That makes it VERY important to get him on the right path. When Maddox is being mischievious, it's a hard day. When Maddox is flying right, the whole house seems to run smoothly.
--he has strong opinions - and he doesn't care what others say. If he likes the red boots, he'll wear the red boots. If he thinks that soldiers should carry guns, light sabers and swords, then that's what they carry. When he thinks my shirt is ugly, he lets me know. When he tells me I look nice, I smile because I know he means it.

I could go on all night but I won't. See...Stewart is out of town and he usually comes in and tells me to go to bed at this point of the night. Otherwise, I'd stay up all night. Since he's gone and there is nobody here to pry me away from my computer, I think I'll exhibit some restraint and pry myself away.

Good night!

I like to look for rainbows....

On April 6, 2001, Hadley Anne Peay was born into our family. Really, you could say she officially made us a family. Before Hadley, it was just Stewart and I, selfishly muddling our ways through life. And then she arrived.

Oh, how the world changes when you have a baby. When the doctor handed Hadley to me, she looked into my eyes and I knew that we knew each other. I was sure she knew my voice (I later found out maybe not my voice but that's another story...) I had the sensation of looking into eyes so familiar that they could even be my own eyes. Her eyes don't look like my eyes. I just knew them as well as I know my own eyes. It was the first time in my life that I had ever had such a feeling. I remember the first night in the hospital. I wasn't able to sleep because I just wanted to look at her.

Two months later, we learned that Hadley was deaf. I mourned the loss of the person I thought I would raise. It was a death of sorts to me as I re-defined what kind of mom I would be. The child I thought I had given birth to no longer existed to me. I cried.

I consider myself a linguist of sorts....a lover of words, language, poetry, a Spanish and Russian teacher, a debate champion. My husband, the law student, dreamt of being a great orator, a statesman, a litigator. What were we to do with a child who could not hear?

We began our journey...first sign language. We learned, we practiced, we signed. Our deaf mentor came twice a week, I enrolled in ASL at BYU (lots of letters there, eh?) and a few months later, we came to a horrible realization. I had enough time to make great progress with my sign language. Stewart did not. What did that mean? Was he to have less of a relationship with his own child because he could not communicate with her as well as I could? And what about cousins? Grandparents? Uncles and aunts? Did they all need to learn a new language in order to know Hadley?

Next stop on the journey...cued speech. Stewart and I attended a workshop and spent a weekend learning cued speech. It's a phonemic representation of spoken language. It is based on our spoken language and a combination of lip reading and hand shapes to represent the sounds. It provides a bridge. It seemed closer to what we were looking for but...

And then, we met the Larsens. They probably do not know how much they have impacted our lives. We hardly know them. They are a family with two deaf daughters (and later, a deaf son) who invited us over to dinner and introduced us to Hannah, at that time 5 years old, and Sara, then 2. Both girls are profoundly deaf and both had cochlear implants. They didn't really speak much, although the girls did speak. I was just shocked to see them both turn when their names were called. That was SO MUCH more than I had ever dreamed my deaf child could do. I felt an awakening at that moment. On the drive home, Stewart and I looked at each other and I could see that there was hope in both of our eyes.

You all know how the rest of the story goes as far as Hadley's hearing is concerned. But today's story for me is more about the beautiful young lady she has become.

Hadley is now eight years old. Today she chose to be baptized as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. My sister, Karyn, sang a beautiful song to Hadley called "When I am Baptized", in which rainbows are mentioned as a reminder of Heavenly Father's love for us. It was such a perfect day...it even rained. Not normally perfect but just right for a baptism day! So many friends and family members came to support our little angel. Thank you to all of you.

I have thought many times over the past eight years about how my expectations for Hadley have continually evolved as she has grown and matured. I could not be more proud of her. I really couldn't. I cannot even believe that I ever worried about her the way that I did. She speaks, she sings, she reads, she laughs, she cries, she dances, she is everything I ever wanted in a daughter and she is so much more. I still look into her eyes and feel as though I am seeing my own soul. What greater joy is there in life than to have children who you love, who you admire, who teach you, and who love their Heavenly Father.

Happy belated birthday, Hadley. We are so proud of you.

LOST!

Lost:

One really great purse.

Found:

The need to remember the following:

1. Do not leave your purse in your car

2. Do not leave your car unlocked

3. Do not leave your garage door open at night.

If you see my purse (camel-colored, polka dot interior, exterior zippers, cool assymetrical shape, not quite the one in the picture but pretty close), please return it.

Dear purse thief,

Next time, knock on my door. I will gladly give you all of the cash in my wallet as well as any additional cash around my house and my coin jar if you will please leave my favorite purse, my driver's license, my cafe rio punch card that was NEARLY full, and my Justice J-bucks. Also, I didn't want to have to lose ALL purchasing power while the bank sends out my new cards. I'm kind of annoyed about that. To elliminate that inconvenience, I will even make you a sandwich and send you on your way with a diet coke, some fruit snacks, and a can of pringles. I'd really appreciate it.

Thanks!

Misha

Long time no blog

Sorry, fans. I know you have all been out there pacing. Checking. Waiting. Where is she, you've been thinking. Where are her wordy, lengthy explanations? What on earth could she be doing that is more important than blogging, you have been asking yourself.

The wait is over!

But...I really have nothing to say. No real epiphany to impart.

Long time, no blog! We've been busy in the sunshine. Busy with a birthday party, preschool, Easter eggs hunts and spring break. We've been busy having fun, smiling, romping on the freshly cut lawn. Busy and happy and a little tan, too.

Spring! At last it is here. We purposely left our Spring Break week WIDE OPEN. After surgery and chaos, I thought it would be nice to have a "stay"cation. You know, stay home and play with our toys, go to the zoo, that kind of stuff. We awoke early on the first day of Spring Break and checked the forecast for the week. "Rain turning to snow?" Hadley cried. Really. Big tears.

Okay, kids, pack your bags. We're leaving. Where? Who cares. Somewhere that doesn't have rain turning to snow. We packed. We loaded. We drove. We drove and drove and halfway there called Rachel. "Hi. Um...we're coming to your house. I hope that's okay." My cousin, aka SuperMom, shuffled her kids around and made space for me and my three in her beautiful San Diego Sunshine and we spent a week basking in it. And oh, did we bask! We had way too much fun.

"My allergies aren't bad in California," Hadley said hopefully to her dad. "Maybe we can move there." No such luck, though. We're back. We brought some sunshine and blossoms with us, though. My tulips are blooming and life is beautiful.

Sorry if you missed me. I'm back and better now that I've had some sunshine and a vacation. So much for that stay-cation. Now, I promise, if I think of anything even remotely worthy of blogging, I shall blog. Way too long without a post, right?

Thanks again, Rachel and family. We loved it!

TGINF

Thank Goodness It's Not Friday...anymore.

Here's the whole story. A few months ago, Hadley came home with a paper from school announcing the school musical, "Cinderella". She wanted to try out. I might have cried later on, thinking of my child trying out for the musical. She is deaf. She inherited those genes from both of her parents. She is tone deaf. She got that one from her dad. It is completely unrelated to her deafness. Also, like her dad, she loves to sing. She makes up her own words and her own tune and really enjoys herself. I love it when she sings but I was really nervous about those tryouts. On the big day, I went with her. I explained quietly to the woman running the tryouts that Hadley is deaf. She does so well that people don't always realize. Maybe I shouldn't do that. Maybe I should just let her be Hadley and let people come to their own conclusions about her. I'm not there yet, though.

She was cast (with all other applicants) as a member of the 1st and 2nd grade chorus, singing a few numbers at the beginning of the show. There were many practices, dress rehearsals, etc. and the big show finally arrived. Hadley wanted her hair in curls and I gladly obliged. She looked darling and had a great time. On Friday night, while curling her hair for the 3rd night of performances, I noticed a goopy matted spot on the back of her head. When I tried to look closer, she yelled at me to leave it alone. She never complains of pain. She is one of the toughest people I know. I was really worried all weekend long and called the doctor's personal scheduler (oh, yeah, I have that number!) on Sunday night so that she would hear my message early Monday morning. I had my suspicions about what was going on back there. Worst case scenario, her cochlear implant was infected. Best case scenario....I couldn't think of one.

On Monday, we went to the University of Utah Hospital to meet with one of Dr. Shelton's residents. By the way, if you want to know of a job that seems to be only slightly more glamorous than being a garbage collector or a professional toilet cleaner, check out a day in the life of a resident. It's almost funny. They DO pay for becoming official doctors, don't they? Anynow, the resident was concerned, left the room and called "THE DOCTOR", the head honcho, the surgeon, the main man. He called back and immediately said that he needed to see Hadley on the following day. Tuesday came and we made another trek to the University of Utah Hospital. I had to buy a Webkinz to convince Hadley to let them clean the wound and cut away the dead skin and there, poking out of her head, was the edge of her cochlear implant. "Let's take a closer look at her under the microscope," head honcho says. Residents crowd around for a look at something the surgeon has never seen before. If he's never seen it, it must be rare and exciting. Rare and exciting is code for "You do not want this to happen to your child" as far as I can tell. Rare and exciting is what got Hadley published in the Journal of Neurotology and Otology last month for the trauma she went through in 2007. Since I don't currently subscribe to aforementioned journal, THE DOCTOR gave me a copy of the article. Hadley is "Case 3" for those of you who are rushing out to buy your copy of the journal.

As I detailed Hadley's cochlear implant ups and downs, Stewart noticed THE DOCTOR patiently listening. He was sure that THE DOCTOR knew all about Hadley's case since she was one of his most rare and exciting patients. Yay! Go Hadley! But he listened anyway and then gave me worst case scenario news. Surgery. Friday. Big Head Shave. Already on his schedule. Surgical scheduler will give you pre-op instructions. I'm sure you remember them from last time. See you on Friday.

Hadley didn't tell anyone about her upcoming surgery. I asked her to tell her teacher at school. She said it would be too hard to explain. She pretended like it wasn't happening. On Thursday night, she got to choose dinner. She picked Cafe Rio. Over quesadillas and rice and beans, sweet Maddox told her he was scared about her surgery. Here's how the conversation went:

M: "Hadley, I'm a little nervous for tomorrow."

H: "It's okay, Maddox. This is my sixth surgery. You don't need to be scared."

Wow.

Thursday after Cafe Rio, we decided to have a late night, complete with popcorn, chocolate chip cookies and Star Wars movies. I fell asleep on the couch; Hadley made it through the movie. I thought that would help her to stay up late. Maybe she could sleep in on Friday. We didn't have to check in for her surgery until 11:00; she couldn't eat after midnight. Of course, she must have had some surgery related nerves because she woke up at 6:58 am. I convinced her to go back to sleep and then Lincoln woke up. I tried to keep him quiet. He dialed 9-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1...which apparently still works. They called back. "We're fine. Sorry." (We'll be at the hospital soon enough, I almost told them.) The house sprang to life after the phone call and the big surgery day began. Round Six for Hadley.

There's something about watching your incredibly brave and mature seven year old go into surgery. She was happy and sweet, kind to the nurses, friendly to the other patients and parents. When the anesthesiologist came to talk to her, she requested a new flavor of anesthesia that she'd never tried before: Blueberry! He said nobody had ever asked for blueberry before but he was sure he could find some. She held his hand and bounced down the hall with him, explaining to him that she was missing Friday Fun at school. He told the nurses later that she had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. He was smitten. So am I. I cried as she walked away, remembering surgeries 1 through 5 and hoping that number six would be okay.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. I left my winter coat on the entire day in the hospital. I couldn't get warm.

Finally, THE DOCTOR came to talk to us. "She did really well," he told us. "Things were more infected than we thought they would be. We irrigated and put antibiotics in there." I asked a few questions. No, they don't know why this happened. No, they've never seen it before. No, there's nothing we can do to prevent it happening to the other side.

Hadley is slow to wake up from anesthesia. She wakes up angry at me. For some reason, this makes me feel guilty. She also wakes up sick. We stay in recovery for the rest of the day. Most of the patients have left. Hadley can't drink anything. Many doses of anti-nausea, no pain meds. She's still as tough as nails.

Finally, they tell us we should stay overnight because she can't keep anything down. "I want to go home," Hadley says. They call the doctor who recommends a lot of IV fluid and some medication to make her retain it. After 600ml, we get to leave the hospital with instructions to return in the morning if she isn't doing better.

Home. What a long day. Family, toys, a hot meal are waiting for us. Thank you. I don't know how we would get through life with Hadley without a lot of help. Thank you, thank you to all of the helpers. And now, it's over. I hope we can go a few more years without a surgery. Somehow, Hadley still hasn't noticed that over 1/4 of her head has been shaved. That will be another bad day. But here's to a few good days in between.

Musings on the Mustard Bomb...

The year was 2001. There was a little girl bun in the oven. We were living at "Grandpa's House", young and poor, still sort of newlywed. Pregnant me, too tired after a long day teaching Junior High Hoodlums, collapsed on the couch. Stewart came home from work, took one look at me, and decided to call Zubs -- Springville's finest sandwiches. In my oh-so-complicated way, I ordered my sandwich the way I like it. No mayo, put mustard on instead. (Hot subs with mayo make me gag. Quizno's makes me gag. Pregnancy makes me gag.) The Zub's employee on the phone was a boy I remembered from one of our many fine establishment visits. Memorable because he had two hearing aids and his speech was...well..."deaf sounding". I dozed off on the couch while Stewart went to pick up dinner. He came home, set the table, and woke up his cranky, pregnant wife who took one look at her sandwich and began to cry. Yes, I cried. There was mayonaise on my sandwich and NO MUSTARD. If you have never been pregnant, you may not understand why I cried over a sandwich. If you have, you know why and you have probably cried over a sandwich or two yourself. Angry, pregnant, awful, embarrassing me said, "Why on earth do they let the deaf kid take phone orders?" I know. Awful. Humiliating. One of the worst things I've ever said. I would later remember uttering that and cry again, certain that karma had dealt me a deaf child to pay me back for my lack of tolerance. Although I'm not sure which obstinate and disobedient person angered me and dealt me my Maddox. Or, for that matter, which parent I judged for not letting their child "cry it out" and sleep through the night. Meet Lincoln. He woke up twice last night. He's 15 months old, for crying out loud. No pun intended. But it's easier to give the kid a bottle and make him stop crying. I know, I know, let him cry for a few nights and it will stop. Whatever. Anyhow, if it holds true that your children are sent to teach you specific lessons in life, I can see where mine came from.

So now you are wondering what the Mustard Bomb title means. Well, that's where the sandwich story is disputed. In my mind, it goes something like this. I looked in the fridge for some mustard while Stewart patiently scraped the mayonaise off of my sandwich. He shouldn't complain. He's the king of "ketchup only" and really is quite fun to travel with internationally. I fall in love all over again listening to him try to explain to the Moscow McDonald's that his BEEG MAK should not have any cheese. Only ketchup. Also funny in French. Oooh, and in German. Really. Since there was no more mustard in the fridge, I had to open a new bottle. I hate all of that plastic safety seal packaging. I'm sure it's good because people are always in grocery stores trying to poison innocent mustard eaters, right? But at the moment, in utter frustration, as I wrestled with the safety seal, that mustard just slipped out of my fingers, hit the floor with great force, and exploded in all directions. Months later, when I was cleaning the kitchen, I found bits of mustard that I had missed in the Great Mustard Bomb of '01 cleanup. At the moment, though, I think I just cried.

Stewart didn't quite see the same thing as how I remember it. He remembers me behaving like a defensive lineman who has just intercepted a pass, run 99 yards and scored his first career touchdown. He enters the endzone and spikes that mustard...er...ball. He spikes it for everything he's worth because he's not sure if he will ever get to spike another mustard, ball, whatever. Yeah, there's no way that is right. Pregnant people just don't go around throwing mustard, do they?

You can judge the two versions of this story and probably come to your own conclusions. I, however, prefer my version of the memory. And since I've been pregnant a few times, I think I know.

Last night, all of my kids were in bed and I decided that my life was just not exciting enough so I just gave it all a light dusting of chocolate. The world is a beautiful place through rose-colored glasses, so why not covered in chocolate dust? What actually happened was that when attempting to reach my Stephen's hot chocolate mix to make one of my last cups of hot chocolate of the season (yay, yay, yay! It's getting warm!), the huge Costco-sized container slipped from my grasp and hot chocolate floated as if in slow motion through the air and across my kitchen. As I was cleaning it up from the tops of drawers, the backsplash and the floor, I started laughing because I remembered the Mustard Bomb. And, in case you're wondering, it's much more pleasant to wipe up a light dusting of dry hot chocolate mix than it is to clean up mustard.

Shoes

It is so hard to relate to somebody until you have walked a mile in their shoes. As a fan of shoes, you'd think I wouldn't mind walking around in other peoples' shoes. Not so. Setting aside the fact that I have a real foot fetish and don't like my feet being where other peoples' feet are, I can honestly say that I have become quite comfortable in my own shoes.

In my shoes, you'd know what it means to have a deaf child. See...most of you probably don't want to put these shoes on. They are cute shoes but they can be a bit uncomfortable at times.

I really am not complaining. I am so grateful for Hadley and for all that she has taught me. She is a shining light. Her spirit radiates and everyone who knows her absolutely falls in love with her. But...

We were driving home the other day and Hadley and Maddox were both in the back seat. Somehow, it came up that the earth is not actually a circle but a sphere. Hadley tried at least five times to say the word "sphere" but was really having a hard time with it. (Note: Misha, call the speech therapist and ask her to put that on our trouble word list.) After her failed attempts, Maddox clearly says, "No, Hadley, it's SPHERE." I felt my heart drop and I think I could hear Hadley's drop in the back seat.

I know how lucky I am that Hadley can sit in the back seat and even talk about what shape the earth is. I do understand that. I also know that this spherical earth is full of people who say awful things. It's full of awful words and awful thoughts and sometimes, Hadley's deafness spares her from some of the ugliness. Man, it's hard, though. You try to give your children everything. I WOULD give her my ears if I could. I really would. I have these moments when I wonder about what Hadley has in her future.

Last Sunday, Hadley's cochlear implant battery died during church. There were only about 15 minutes left and she asked her teacher if she could come find me to get a new battery. He told her she had to wait. Really? Can you really make that kind of a decision for someone. No, I'm sorry, you don't get to hear for the rest of church. I wasn't mad at him. He really didn't understand. He's never been in Hadley's shoes. We did have a few seconds of awkward tension after church when I asked him why he didn't let her come find me and change her battery. It has just been weighing on my mind, though. See, I understand fully what it's like in my own shoes. I have come to terms with being a parent of a deaf child. I am still not so sure what things are like for Hadley. What would it feel like to not be able to hear sometimes? To have technical difficulties in the middle of birthday parties, church classes, school, movies...that completely turn off the sound.

I know that it's my job as a mom to worry about my kids. I know it's my job to make sure that they have lots of comfortable shoes & stylish shoes; rain boots and snow boots; flip flops and tennis shoes. Hadley....has...a...lot...of...shoes. Literally. But figuratively, back to this whole metaphor of walking in someone else's shoes -- I think she's okay. I think so. She seems to take it all in stride. She seems to wear her shoes well. Could I?

Who gets me?

I have a friend...a really great friend. She gets me. We can say things to each other and not hurt one another's feelings. Things like...tonight....she says, "Do you know that the first time we hung out, after listening to you and Stewart, I said to B, those two will NEVER make it." Ha ha.

Who else has said that to me? Um, let's see...my mom, my sisters, my dad, EVERYONE!

But let me let you all in on a little secret. We're making it. We really are. Want to know why? 'Cause Stew gets me. He really, really gets me. He knows when to push me and when to let me withdraw. He know when to hug me and hold me and when to leave me alone. We lie in bed together lots of nights and talk about how lucky we are. We have each other. Life gets hard sometimes. It really does. But we are lucky.

2008 was a special year for the Peay family. It was the first year, since Hadley was born in 2001, that we did not MAX OUT our medical benefits. Yes, you heard me right. Shoulder surgery, Miscarriage, premature baby, cochlear implant surgery, cochlear implant surgery extraction and replacement, cochlear implant surgery #3, speech therapy, lazy eye, premature baby #2. I could go on. I won't.

The important thing....I have people who get me. I wish I could say that about MORE people in the world but I'm happy to say that the MOST IMPORTANT people in the world get me. My husband gets me. He has me. He's got me.

So...thanks to friend who gets me, too, who makes me smile, makes me laugh, and tells me that she never thought my marriage would make it. Now that she gets me, she knows what all of that verbal sparring between Stewart and I really is....flirting. Yeah, whatever works. And, mostly, thanks to my man of eleven years. Thanks for getting me.

I'm trying here, People!

Thanks, Mara. I know...when you look up these days (see last post), all you can see is white. Hello, Utah Winter. Hello, Inversion. Hello, my own personal purgatory. Can I just say one more time...I hate Utah winter!

Don't forget to look up

The other day in church, the speaker was talking about living in Utah and how a friend, while visiting, asked him if he went outside every morning and stared in awe at the beauty of the mountains. I sat there, overwhelmed with guilt, because just that morning I had been thinking about how much I HATE Utah in the winter. I am a Florida girl. I like going to the beach on Christmas vacation. I don't like dirty snow. I don't like to shovel my walkway. I don't like drying out my kids' snow clothes five times a day or making endless mugs of hot chocolate. Oh, sure, it all sounds so romantic. Sitting by a fire, coming in from the snow. But, when it comes down to being SCARED to drive your kids someplace because the snow drift in front of your driveway is five feet tall, believe me, there's NOTHING romantic about it. Here's what it really looks like....

Until you look up....
Maddox and I were driving home the other evening just as the sun was setting over the snow capped mountains. "Wow," he said. "I think Jesus painted that sky just for me."

Thanks, Maddox, for the reminder to look up instead of down. One of the many life lessons that you can learn from a day with a three year old.