Intention In Action

I had a different little something planned for today on this little blog. In fact, it was all ready this morning and I couldn't bring myself to click "publish."

Last night, I saw a post on Facebook from a friend asking for specific needs for a tight-knit homeless community in Montgomery. This tent city, along with the rest of the city, was bracing for freezing rain and supplies were running really low. In fact, she reported that one member of the community didn't have any warm clothes for the night. I didn't want to go to the store in the mess I knew today would be, but I couldn't help myself from asking my friend what the needs were.

I posted this picture on Facebook this morning—it is all the things I was able to get out of my house, brand new or nearly new, from the list of needs. I packed up my stuff and went to the Church where a group was gathering the supplies for the tent city. I included a few of our leftover Christmas candy canes, to remind tent city residents that the Good Shepherd always looks out for his flock.

The leader of the group's effort was thrilled with the two fishing poles and tackle boxes: given the proximity of the tent city to the river, the fishing poles and tackle will let a few of them catch fresh fish for meals.

While there, my friend shared with me that the tent city has seen an outpouring of supply support since the action call was made yesterday—but no one was really bringing food with pop tops. I promised her I would share the need list with anyone who asked, and left.

In the car I started thinking. As part of our family's intentions for 2017, Mark and I decided to better use our time, treasure and talent to make our community better. All of a sudden I found myself steering my car to Winn-Dixie. I needed milk and laundry soap anyway. I purchased enough cans of vegetables and meat so each tent city resident had one can of each. I threw in two jars of peanut butter because it was buy one, get one.

It cost all of $23.

I hope it makes a difference to these people, because I have some skin in the game. My father’s older brother, my Uncle Tommy, is a homeless resident of Atlanta. I won't share the "how" or "why," because his story is not mine to tell. Since I was a little girl my father and I have always gone to see him a few times per year, bringing him supplies. When I was driving to Winn-Dixie my mind flashed to the last time I saw Uncle Tommy, when he asked me about the twins and I showed him some pictures. Each tent city resident is someone's Uncle Tommy; I wouldn’t have felt right if I claim to intend to try to better use my family's time, talents and treasures to make our world a better place, but turn my back on the most basic need for the homeless in the winter.

It cost all of $23 and a simple scan of my medicine cabinet and pantry.

"We have been created for greater things, to love and be loved."-- St. Theresa of Calcutta

Flashback Friday

One of my closest, and sweetest, friends posted this graphic on Facebook last week and it got me thinking about just how true the words were. Like disturbingly, uncannily, reach into your soul, true.

 After E posted it, we started g-chatting about just how weird life ends up happening—a year ago she didn't know her now husband; three years ago I didn't know mine. It is funny how things work out. And, even more importantly, it's funny how they don't.

After our conversation, I went rooting through the archives of this little ole blog of mine. My, how things have changed around here. I found myself reading the post I wrote the week I turned 21. How proud of my accomplishments I was, yet completely aware of the fact that I really had done nothing with my first year of being a twenty-something. I feel like that's how I could sum up the middle of my twenty-something life too. I'm so proud of my accomplishments over the last year, yet I am acutely aware that, compared to others, I've done nothing and I have nothing to complain about and everything to be grateful for.

Not that it is easy to remember that day in and day out. 

Plus, I just love this picture of me from a trip to Disney World with an old boyfriend.

Note: I still have both those shorts and the bag. Classic white never goes out of style right?

Looking Back On Motherhood

Motherhood has been an incredible, insane and just plain tiring adventure. The entire time I was pregnant I was too busy trying to make it through the day, to really reflect on the magnitude of change that was about to occur. I didn’t realize the full scope of how I would change. Most may not know, my husband Mark has two children from his first marriage, so when we married, I instantly became a mom of sorts.

My wonderful stepdaughter Virginia is about to turn 13 and is a mix of sass and sports, which I fear isn’t going to change anytime soon. We instantly bonded over nail polish and making fun of her dad, so "stepmoming" her is "easy." Remind me of that when she’s 16 and trying to play me off her dad to get a curfew extension.

My stepson Charles, he's eight, and was a little tougher of a sell. He liked me fine once I started buying him fireworks, of course, because what little boy doesn't like to play with sparklers?, but gradually over the last year, he's shown me that I've got a long road ahead. Boys are a completely different world to me. I don't inherently love bugs and getting dirty. Baseball isn't exactly my sport. But thankfully, I've got "like the coolest job" when I show him machinery videos and let him wear my hard hat when he wants to go on an adventure in the backyard. Never mind this latest adventure was during his little brothers' Baptism party when 40 people were in our front yard...

Because of Virginia and Charles, I had a taste of what motherhood would be like, but these past seven months have shown me I really have no idea what I'm in for. Every other weekend we've got a full house, and while it used to stress me, I now often join in on the trash talking during Mario Kart racing.

I still feel defeated on a weekly basis by two 15 lb. people, but when little hands grab on to me those feelings usually go away. These past seven months have taught me more than I ever thought they would, and made me miss my mom more than I ever imagined. Atlanta isn't that far from Montgomery, but at 2 a.m. when one of my boys won't stop crying and I am so completely lost as to what could be wrong with him, well, Atlanta might as well be Africa.

All it takes is one look at Charles to realize that the nights may be long, but the years are going to be short. One day, not to far from now, I will have to get two hard hats, so Fitz and Alex can don safety vests and hard hats while they adventure in the backyard—just like their big brother did.

Alex's Time at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta—Egleston

Seven days feels like a lifetime. "We've come so far," is Mark's new favorite thing to say when I even want to broach the subject of our stay at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta—Egleston.

As I've said before, my littlest little love Alex had a congenital intestinal condition called intestinal malrotation. He didn't show symptoms and it was by the grace of God we found out about this life threatening condition the way we did. So in the hours and days following his operation I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Our experience at CHOA was wonderful. The staff was fantastic, the facility clean. However, and I say this with complete conviction, I never want to go there again, ever.

Squeaks was slated to arrive Friday at 11am for a 12:50pm surgery time. He was not to have anything (no Pedilytle, no water, no nothin') after 9am. By the time we got to Egleston he was not pleased. Then we found out that an emergency had come in and that child needed our doctor and our OR. We had been pushed back an hour and had a new surgeon. Which freaked me out a little, but I was fine to roll with it. A children’s hospital will really put life into perspective for a person.

Alex with Dr. Meisel before he went back to the OR.

Fast forward the longest hour of my life, up to this point at least, to me handing my starving child to a sweet RN with the promise of "see you soon." At ninety minutes the phone rang in the cold, sad, but somehow still cheerful, surgery waiting room for A. Anderson's parents. "Still working," the voice said. I think I spoke but honestly I can't remember.

Dr. Meisel, our new surgeon, had told me between 90 to 140 minutes was how long the surgery should take. When 140 minutes hit I was ready for the phone to ring again. I was ready to hear that my tiniest love was okay. The call didn't come. As my dear friend Anne told me before the surgery started, it's hell in the hallway. I was in hell indeed.

At the three and a half hour mark, I really started to worry. I started to play out the scenarios in my head. I started to cry.

At four hours I somehow found my voice and spoke to Mark, "What if… What will we do?" Mark and I prayed together for our son and Dr. Meisel. We didn't address what if.

At nearly four and a half hours, Dr. Meisel walked into the waiting room. I saw him and my heart fell to my feet. I'd seen only one other doctor come into the waiting room in the six hours or so throughout the day I’d been in there. That doctor didn't bring good news. I was preparing myself for bad news.

Dr. Meisel opened with, "Alex is in recovery and doing well." I think I actually screamed. Just thinking about this makes me want to cry all over again. 

There was more damage than the original scans showed, and it took a lot longer than expected, but Squeaks was going to be okay. He was stable and we could see him shortly.

Of course he was moved from recovery to his room during shift change and we didn't get to see him in that thirty-minute window. I tried not to jump out of my skin. When he was finally wheeled into 4226, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen while simultaneously being the scariest thing I'd ever seen.

With his various machines and tubes, he looked like those kids on Grey's Anatomy—except it wasn't a kid on TV I was looking at. It was my son.

There was a flurry of activity and honestly I don't remember much. Except when Dr. Meisel strolled in the next morning and delivered some good news. Later that afternoon the tube going down his nose to pump bile and stomach acid out of his stomach could possibly be removed and we could, finally, feed him, not long after.

 He was so hungry, I could just tell, he's an Anderson after all. I knew he wanted, needed, food. But I also knew feeding him could be a challenge and I was scared. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The other shoe never really dropped. He had small steps back, but he seemed to hit every milestone. He checked every box with vigor. He wasn't his usual chilled out self, I couldn't even get him to smile while we watched Coach Saban hoist up another SEC Championship trophy for our beloved Crimson Tide, but he was getting better.

When we were discharged, I remember looking at the nurse with tears in my eyes. She simply reminded me he was okay, I was okay and we were all going to be okay. Anne, one of my biggest cheerleaders throughout the entire process, shared similar sentiments. The other shoe wasn't going to drop.

He's got some scars, everyone knows chicks dig scars, but otherwise he's completely unfazed. I am forever changed, but he is completely unfazed.

Dr. Meisel was able to repair his damage laparoscopically, so he only has four small incisions. Instead of one long one.

Since he didn't show symptoms of his condition I never really knew the breadth of how it affected him. Before the surgery he would struggle to eat, taking the full suggested thirty minutes to feed, and made a dirty diaper MAYBE once every two days. Now? He's all about showing off those expensive, brand new intestines, farting and making dirty diapers every two hours or so. He sucks down his formula like a champ.

He's okay. I'm okay. The other shoe didn't drop.

Alex's Diagnosis

I don't know where to start. So I am just going to word vomit and hope somewhere, along the way, I make sense. As a doctor recently told me, when you ask questions, you have to then hear the answers.

Alex has a congenital intestinal condition called intestinal malrotation. I refuse to call it a birth defect because Alex is not defective. This means that his GI tract does not function in the way it should. His intestines do not rotate the way they should and other elements of his GI tract are not placed in the correct spots. Untreated, it can be a life threatening condition.

Malro via

Normal via

For most people, finding out you have "malro" as it's commonly called, is when you are vomiting bile and part of your intestines have already become obstructed and, possibly, died. By the grace of God, this is not how we found out about Alex's condition.

Alex, in the beginning of his little life, just wasn't eating as well as his brother. In fact, he was barely eating at all and not making a dirty diaper. He was fussy at feedings and seemed to always draw up his legs after spitting up. Ever the nervous new mom, I mentioned it to the doctor at a checkup, after he lost over a pound in two weeks.

At his smallest, Alex was just 5 lbs.

Reflux is common in boys and in twins. The doctor thought that could be the issue, but, just to be safe, ordered an upper GI on my sweet eleven day old. When the boys and I strolled into Baptist East hospital that day I never thought my world would change.

Alex took the upper GI like a champ, but it showed malro and would need surgery before things got too far. He is not symptomatic, beyond a few warning signs, so we had some time. Though, every single time he makes a dirty diaper, spits up or vomits, my stomach falls, as each time could be a warning that the malro has cut off the blood flow to his lower gut. Every single time means part of him could be dying.

Thankfully, now he's gaining weight, however, it bothers him to eat, so he's usually a little extra fussy at times.

Alex will undergo surgery at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta tomorrow. Dr. Heiss, our version of a Christmas angel, is going to help heal him. He will be under general anesthesia and the procedure can take a few hours. But, Dr. Heiss is the best of the best, and I feel confidence and peace about it. Everything will be fine.

We are so incredibly lucky to have caught this early, but my tiny little man still has to have the surgery to correct it. And that scares the hell out of me. 

Every malro story is different, and I am very, very lucky that we are not one of the "bad" ones. As a dear family friend, whose little girl was an emergent malro baby, told me a few days ago, "Scary is scary. You have the distinct challenge of anticipating this and worrying ahead of time; we didn’t have to do that."

My prayer tonight and tomorrow and every day is of gratitude. Thankful that I had this little voice I listened to when people told me, "babies spit up; it's normal." wasn't right for my baby. I'm thankful I can talk to Anne, because she's right, there are no pain Olympics, we've still got a mountain to face, even if hers might have been bigger. I'm thankful for modern medicine, Dr. Heiss and Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, because as their tagline says, they are dedicated to "all better."

Lost Causes/Hopeless Cases

Thanksgiving night I was feeling overly full of food and drink, football and my family. As I mentioned a few days ago, I was also feeling a little blue. While I didn't wallow in my blueness on Thanksgiving I definitely noticed it. As I went to shut off my bedside lamp and get a few hours of sleep, I met my Momma at 6am to go shopping, I noticed a medal hanging from my lamp.

For those that are unaware, in the Catholic tradition medals of saints are worn to show a special closeness. For example, when I was confirmed I was given a medal of St. Therese of Lisieux, who is my personal patron saint. Medals of saints can also be worn of saints you feel a special connection, or request their special guidance. For example, St. John Neumann is the patron saint of Catholic schools, so a Catholic schoolteacher may wear his medal.

Anyway, dangling from my lamp was St. Jude Thaddeus' medal. I put it on that night have only taken it off to shower.

St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless cases and lost causes.

It seems fitting.

St. Jude, Pray for me that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in my necessities, tribulations and sufferings and that I may praise God with you and all the elect forever. Intercede for us all, gracious, brother Saint Jude, and pray for us to the Lord our God in our daily toil and our necessities. Amen.

via

The Beginning of Advent

Seems like everything in my life is busy. No other way to slice the bread on that one. JUST BUSY. I accepted my very first "big girl" job; I launched HCA (an e-zine I've been working on for months); I accepted an internship with a publishing house; I fell in love....see what I mean? BUSY. But Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year. In light of everything that has happened over the last few months, and honestly, the last year has been hellacious, I've decided to do something a little different this year. Over the next 25 days I will do one nice thing for someone. Then each day I will write about it. Reflect on how this little experiment helps me see the good in the world. Because that's what this time of year is about seeing the good in the world.

This is my list of 25 things:

1. Pay for someone behind me in the drive thru
2. Let someone out in traffic, even when it's not convenient
3. Call my Grandmother each week of the month
4. Send out Christmas cards to all my loved ones
5. Mail packages for the loved ones I won't see this Holiday
6. Smile, at everyone
7. Keep the door open for someone coming in from the cold
8. Just be there for someone who needs me
9. Randomly watch my niece to give her Momma a break, as a surprise
10. Tip excellent service 25%
11. Give blood
12. Write thank you notes for my teachers this semester that have really taught me something
13. Let someone else go first
14. Pick up some litter
15. Make a new friend
16. Say the rosary each Sunday
17. Offer someone help
18. Help someone Christmas shopping
19. Offer someone a ride home
20. Try to be less judgmental
21. Do something nice for my mean neighbor Sarah Anne
22. Go an entire day without complaining
23. Bring something special for my Stepmother this year
24. Help Momma cook Christmas Eve dinner
25. Donate $5 to the Humane Society of West Alabama for everything that is not completed by Christmas day

Some are a little more ambiguous than others, but, for the most part, I know what I meant when I wrote them. Yesterday, I decided to start with going an entire day without complaining, which was very difficult. Not because I complain all the time, but because I have strep throat! I get whiney when I'm sick! (Who doesn't?!!?) It felt good to not be constantly reminding myself, and those around me how miserable I was. I'll consider this a job well done for Day 1. This Friday is still young, I cannot wait to see what opportunity for good I come across.