Post #100: Chloe’s latest battle wound

I mentioned before that I wanted to have 100 posts before my blog turned a year old, small potatoes though I may be. It’s been a lively and entertaining year of tracking our events, challenges, and changes–at least from my perspective. While I leave big-time blogging to the professionals, I can aspire to amuse my little corner of the world with our musings and happenings. So as I wondered what I could do to make the 100th post something special, life continued all around me. I should have known that I wouldn’t have to dream something up: in this house, we could have a motto similar to many state’s weather motto of “if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes” and say “The Tighe house. If it seems too quiet, wait five minutes.”

Let me give the back story…

We continued our fun-filled weekend yesterday at the first installment of Summer Sunday Nights: Kid Version when we arrived at church for an evening of pizza, a movie for the youngins and a teaching for the older kids, a rousing 87 rounds of capture the flag, and a water balloon fight. Seriously, if you’re a kid, could you ask for anything better?! (As with most things, in order for the kids to have a good time, lots of behind the scenes work has to go on, and in this case there were several people–and you know who you are!–who spent more time than they probably originally signed up for filling roughly 1500 water balloons. Kudos to the backstage hands who make it possible–and probably could go many years before having the desire to fill another balloon.)

Here’s just a snapshot of the kids hurling balloons at each other. The sound of them laughing and hollering is so great. And who’s that big kid that also threw a couple?!

water balloon fight from Deb Tighe on Vimeo.

When the evening finally came to an end and we gathered everyone up to go home (plus one, Andrew’s friend Josiah, who came along for an impromptu sleepover), like good children, they fought having to go straight to bed. Since the fireflies are out in full force now and it’s still a treat to go capture them, everyone went outside to see if they could get a few. We now have about 15 in our firefly container. Oh joy. And what else could follow that but trampoline jumping in the dark? Everyone except Hannah and Patrick spent about twenty minutes hooting and hollering on the trampoline having what sounded like a gay ole time. When they came in just after 10:00, I noticed that Chloe had a dark spot under her eye. She hadn’t been crying, but was quick to tell me that Andrew’s foot had come into contact with her eye. Andrew was equally quick to assure me that it was only an accident and there had been no malice in his foot.

Here we see Josiah and Andrew spending some quality time with each other on the comfy chair.

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I’m going to say right now that my pictures are terrible throughout, but they’re all I’ve got. So here’s what her eye looked like last night:

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Here are a few of what she looked like this morning:

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Clearly it doesn’t hurt her too much today, although last night she crawled up in my lap and told me, “I just prayed that Jesus would help my eye stop stinging.”

She’s trying to pose like the big girls do for their pictures, I suppose. What a funny girl, even with a purple eye.

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As I recall what happened about a year ago with Chloe trying to climb out of her crib and the resulting cast, I think we’d all take a black eye over a pink cast any day.

Now….where did those kids go and why is it so quiet in the house????

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Evening bike ride to the park

Whenever any one–or more than one–of our kids are taken away from the mix of our family, strange things happen. For one thing, it’s quieter in general. Depending on who is missing, it can be considerably quieter! This weekend, Hannah and Patrick had the opportunity to travel with their Nonnie and Papa Tighe first to Ohio to visit with their aunt, uncle, and cousins, and then to Michigan to visit with their great-grandmother and other relatives. I would imagine that these two would be the most fun to travel with, especially since they’re the oldest of our family and the most self-sufficient. Having them gone, however, makes me realize how helpful they are around the house and with the younger children.

While they’ve been gone, we had the chance to walk to the park, which is something we rarely do. But since Chloe had her new bike and was anxious to try it out, we all took a walk/ride to the nearby park after dinner. It took quite a while to get there, which made me repeat the mantra of “the joy is in the journey, the joy is in the journey!” and didn’t leave us much time to actually play at the park. Nevertheless, the kids seemed to enjoy it (except for Andrew constantly taking off his shoe and trying in vain to clean his feet). I managed to take a string of pictures of them being themselves and thought I’d share.

It’s been a treat to spend time with just the youngest four!

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The Treasure Hunt

Our church had an outreach event yesterday that was more than two months in the making. Aside from the countless hours of planning on the part of the leadership team, it had been delayed from its original date of April 23 until June 11. The reason? Rain, rain, and more rain. For those of you that live in Central Kentucky, you may have to stretch back in your minds to remember what rain actually is. After a soggy spring, our precipitation has seemed to have dried up around here–literally. How quickly we forget, however, how wet it really was only a month or two ago. In fact, we couldn’t string two or three dry days together for a long stretch, but now that our weather pattern has become the hot and dry variety, we seem to have forgotten the May of moisture. It’s very similar to those August days when we complain about the heat, only to whine about the cold in February. Is it the human condition to constantly complain about the weather?

No matter. On April 23, our church had planned this amazing Easter Egg Hunt–the hunt to end all Hunts (except the family named Hunt in our congregation; we have no interest in ending them.) with a purported 5,000 eggs to find and inflatables and free food and games. How fun does that sound? Not very if it’s thundering and lightning and there’s a 90% chance of rain for the entire day, and that’s why the tough decision was made to postpone the Hunt. Of course we were all disappointed to hear this news (although I was secretly relieved after seeing the forecast and was not excited about slogging about the mud for eggs, regardless of what chocolatey treat they held within…), but the good news was that it was postponed, not cancelled. After much waiting on the part of the children, we heard that the Hunt was rescheduled for mid-June, which sounded fantastic to them. Then came the waiting….

But as we know, time flies when you’re having fun, and even if you’re not having fun all the time, it seems to just zoom past anyway. And so it was until the day of the Treasure Hunt, complete with pirate decorations and garb. The weather looked to cooperate this time as well. When we arrived, we tried to jump and help out in any way we could, which still allowed the kids to enjoy themselves. And enjoy themselves they did! Between the egg–er, treasure hunts in which they collected a boatload of candy, the snow cones, popcorn, and other yummy food, and the game booths, they had a blast. Although we’d had a string of days where the temperatures were over 90, mercifully this Saturday, though hot, was not as humid as the previous and there was a wonderful breeze to keep everyone semi-comfortable. All in all, it seemed like a healthy turnout from the community and a wonderful time of fellowship.

Brendan seriously scurries for as many treasures as he can find.

Chloe's bag of found treasures...bigger than her head!

The kids rush to gather the chocolates before they melt into a messy goo.

Andrew's first bag o' goodies. The second one was even bigger (oh goody!).

Chloe getting her hand painted. She chose a butterfly.

Chloe showing off her butterfly.

Blake takes a short break from the festivities to smile for Uncle Todd.

Ralph's treasures! He only had to roll three preschoolers to get this cache of candy!

Laura carefully separating the candy from the eggs for future use, being careful to remove all tape. They will be so thankful for that next year!

Helping out with one of the games to spell another worker.

A child who thoroughly enjoyed his blue snow cone!

Cousins Blake, Elise, and Chloe enjoy a healthy lunch of Cheetos, Doritos, snow cones, and lemonade.

Buddies Josiah and Andrew relax on the grass to hear Pastor Jeremy's story.

One thing we didn’t know about beforehand was the raffle at the end of the event, in which there were soccer balls, games and puzzles, toys, and even bikes to be given away. The kids oggled the bikes, but then again, every one of them had one at home except for Chloe. She was a scooter gal, and tried to keep up with the boys as they biked down the sidewalk in front of our house. Wouldn’t you know, though, that the very first prize handed out was the pre-K/K age group for a girl’s bike, and Chloe’s name was chosen! She was extremely excited (once she realized what was happening, that is…) and later told us how fun it was that “all the people cheered for me and my bike!” For the rest of the time we were there and all during the clean-up time, she rode her bike up and down the parking lot. She explained to anyone that would listen that “I’ve never had my very own bike before!” and that “no boys would be allowed to ride her new bike.” After a child who almost exclusively receives hand-me-downs, it was a special treat and a great blessing for her to win the bike.

The happy winner of a new bike as she first tries it out!

At the very end of the giveaway, Pastor Jeremy announced that the last prize was an enormous bunch of balloons. Todd and I surprised each other as we prayed in unison, “Oh please Lord….no…” right before Jeremy exclaimed, “BEN TIGHE! Ben is the winner!!” Ahh well, Ben was overjoyed and somehow they all fit into the back of our van.

When we finally left the church mid-afternoon, we all felt that it had been a fun time and that it had been worth the wait. Our chocolate booty was a little bit melty when we took it out of the eggs–er, pearls, but chocolate is chocolate, right? It was nothing a bit of refrigeration couldn’t handle. And there’s nothing quite like having Easter candy in June…right?

Chloe going for her first bike ride after arriving home.

Chloe rode her bike to the park with her big brothers later in the day.

Goodbye, Justin Bieber; hello, Rico Suave!

Taken like a good mug shot, the pictures below are of Patrick as he looked earlier this morning after getting ready for the day. Here he is from the front:

And the sides:

Seriously, people, I’m as shocked as you are to look at these pictures. No need to call Social Services on us for neglecting our child. How did this happen? When did our sweet little Patrick turn into a shagadelic mastermind punk? Look at those ridiculous sideburns, among other atrocities!

In any case, both Todd and I knew we had to do something with that mop, even though he has a great head of hair and it looked quite hip for the day–all Justin Bieber-like and such. I really wanted to find a picture of a good cut before taking him in, both for the ease of the stylist and to get Patrick used to the idea. The latter was harder than the first, though, because Patrick did not want his hair cut. Patrick liked his long locks. Patrick only thought a trim was in order.

Good thing Patrick’s not in charge.

As we sat in church this past Sunday, we both had the same thought: there was a clean-cut (and handsome) boy sitting in front of us and we each admired his style apart from each other. It was almost comical when we brought it up to each other. Todd asked if he could take his picture so we’d have something to show the stylist, the amazing Stephanie. Then came the hard part: breaking the news to Patrick. The first showing did not go well, but we weren’t expecting him to fall down with excitement over cutting his hair. Not a problem. We let the idea sit for the rest of the week until today, and by the time he arrived, he was OK (or at least not showing his dislike) with the plan.

Stephanie got to work, and there was a lot of work to do (see above picture). Patrick mumbled something about not having had the clippers near his hair in quite a while (Thank you, Dr. Obvious). It didn’t take long to see the new Patrick emerging from behind the bangs, and before we knew it, a cleanly shaven boy was sitting in his place!

Here’s an action shot of the work in progress:

He doesn’t look too upset in these, does he? Maybe he’s actually warming up to the idea of shorter hair…

After she finished, I had to take a shot of the hair he left behind:

Here are the pictures of the oldest boy in our house after his extreme makeover. Wouldn’t you agree that he looks much better?

The obligatory ‘after’ mug shot:

The end result is quite dramatic.

Move over, Justin.

Help us plan our anniversary!

Just about every morning, as I’m getting ready for the day, Todd and I listen to a radio show that covers “This date in history.” It includes mostly entertainment news, but also history, and even the “If you were born on this day in 1987, happy 24th birthday! This song was number one on the day you were born!” (Incidentally, the number one song in 1987 on June 7 was “Always” by Atlantic Starr…Wow, do I feel old!) Almost every day it strikes me when the DJ says those years are now 20, 25, or even more years past, and I can remember what I was doing then–and it wasn’t enjoying my infancy. The years are ticking by, and like I’ve heard from so many other people, they seem to be going faster and faster. How is that possible? As my own kids speed towards adulthood, I’m trying not to blink.

Today marks the day that I graduated from high school…twenty years ago. How. can. that. be?!? (Again, the number one song on the day we graduated was “More than Words” by Extreme, which I probably could have figured out if I’d been given a minute. On our senior canoe trip, we literally sang that song ad nauseum for the entire trip up and the entire trip back in the bus by rewinding our cassette player–something we’ll have to tell our kids about. I bet we all sang it in the canoes as we paddled down the river in the northern part of lower Michigan. I’m pretty sure we repeated it a few more hundred times as we settled into our tents that night, cringing from the sunburns we all got. Ahhh, memories.) As difficult as it may be to wrap the brain around, graduation was in fact twenty years ago tonight. I remember one of the speakers that night proclaim “I see 173 winners before me” (he must have been one of the forerunners for abolishing the valedictorian honor.) Since I’ve lost touch with many of our classmates, I don’t know if that’s entirely true, but nevertheless, we left those halls and made our way in the world, just as the teary speakers told us we would on that hot June evening.

That’s not what I originally sat down to write about, however. As Todd and I approach another milestone of our life together, we find ourselves in a dilemma of sorts. Next week, we will celebrate our fifteenth wedding anniversary. If you’d like to read about the way we marked our other fourteen anniversaries, click here and here. Our dilemma comes from trying to figure out how to celebrate. In some respects, if we don’t work to make it special, does that mean it won’t be special? We both agree that fifteen years is a big deal! On the other hand, can we only make it special by going a little crazy and spending too much for something we’d have to take the next fifteen years paying off?

This is where you can come in. Help us think of creative ways to celebrate #15 together. I welcome any and all suggestions, including: if money were no object; if money were not available; most outrageous way to celebrate June 15, and so on. We are at a loss and need your help!

Thanks in advance. Our happy anniversary may very well depend on it.

Look how YOUNG we look! Wow.

Struck down but not destroyed

Today as I sat with fellow homeschool moms, listening to a lecture on our vision for education, my mind couldn’t help but wander to something far away from school…. This day is a tough one for me, and has been for eleven years. In a late afternoon appointment on June 6, 2000, Todd and I learned that our unborn baby’s life had ended before he was born. In some ways, it feels so far away, but in others, I can remember the day as if it were yesterday.

We were pregnant with our third baby and I was a few weeks into our second trimester. I was through the morning sickness phase and had even started to feel that new little one kick a few times. The weekend before, I rearranged our closet and took out some maternity clothes, thinking the time was quickly approaching when my growing belly would require roomier coverings. Despite being excited overall, I also remember times of doubt and anxiety. How could I handle another baby? With the new little arrival, we would have had three babies in three years, and the responsibility of it all seemed overwhelming to me at certain times. Still, my fears were usually overridden by the anticipation of a baby and the peace of knowing that God, the one who allowed this new life, would certainly take care of our every need.

For some reason, in an earlier prenatal visit I consented to the AFP test without really knowing why. If the test had come back with the news that our baby had suspected birth defects, we had no plans of taking action against our child in any way. I hadn’t consented to the test with our first two, and I haven’t with our pregnancies since. Still, for some reason…

I received a phone call from our midwife Beth about a week later, and without giving me any details at all, she asked that we come in for an ultrasound at our earliest convenience. That was Monday, June 6, at 3:45pm, as I approached completing my 17th week of pregnancy. As we drove to the appointment, I tried to quell my nerves, reassuring myself that this test has a lot of false positives and that most times, it’s not even an issue. That was probably why we were going, I told myself. Beth wanted to show us that the baby was just fine and the blood test was off.

After arriving at the office and signing in, we then proceeded to wait over an hour to be called back. I can’t believe we waited that long before saying something to the receptionist, but we did. She apologized and said that Beth had been called downstairs to a birth and they were trying to wait for her to return. As we all know that babies can’t read clocks and don’t always know that we like them to arrive as quickly as possible (they have their own timetables!), I guess they changed the plan and we were called back to the ultrasound room.

The ultrasound tech did all the prep stuff as I laid back on the table, anxious to see the baby. As Todd and I reflected upon what happened next, we knew later that God had mercifully ‘pulled the wool over our eyes,’ as it were, since we had no idea what was happening and the tech was unable to share the news with us. When she began the ultrasound, we all saw the baby right away, and we could see all of the baby, since he was still small enough to fit in the screen. Todd almost immediately asked the same question he has with every pregnancy: “Is there only one?” The tech murmured an answer, but was mostly quiet. Neither of us took note that the usual heartbeat swish-swish-swish sound was absent, and although I observed that the baby was in a rather strange position in utero–on his belly with his neck slightly arched–I dismissed it quickly.

And then it was just quiet. The ultrasound tech said nothing. Todd fell quiet. I stared at the ceiling tiles and started to grow fearful that our baby had something seriously wrong with him that we were about to learn. Was it his heart? Did she see a genetic disorder? Why was she not talking at all?

Finally she broke the silence and simply said, “Dr. Butler is going to want to examine you,” and walked out. The next few minutes spent waiting for the doctor we’d never met to come in seemed interminable. We talked a bit between ourselves and wondered what was wrong with the baby, but neither of us knew what was happening. So we waited. When the doctor came in and sat down, he took the ultrasound wand into his hand and began another scan. He too was quiet for a while before telling us that “the baby has serious system problems.” I think Todd mumbled a nonsensical question before asking, “Are you telling us that this baby is not alive?” and Dr. Butler quietly answered, “Yes. The baby is not alive. I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly time stopped. In those short minutes while we waited for the doctor to come in, I think we both had thoughts of a sick baby running through our heads, and the possible implications that may hold for the future of our family, but neither of us ever dreamed that our baby had passed away. Looking back later, it was obvious right away that the baby wasn’t alive: no heartbeat, oddly positioned, no movement at all. I don’t remember feeling much of anything right then….just numbness. The doctor shared some imformation with us that I remember now, but didn’t feel like I had really heard at the time. We didn’t have to do anything today…Go home and process the news…come back tomorrow and talk to Beth about the next step.

As we left the room and slowly walked down the hall together, Todd broke down for a moment. When he did that, I guess I did too. In that room, with that news, all of our future plans–at least for the next five months–changed dramatically. We went into the office expecting a new baby in late November and left with a completely different timeline. When we arrived back home, I saw the maternity clothes hanging in my closet. More planning, changed in an instant.

Telling our parents and families was hard. Sharing that kind of news is difficult for both parties–what can you possibly say in response? There is none.

The next night, we checked in to the University of Kentucky hospital for our induction. Beth had explained that I was far enough along that I may have to go through a usual labor, so we talked about options. Although most of you know I’m a proponent of natural childbirth, in this case, since we didn’t have to worry about the well-being of the baby and the surrounding circumstances were so different than a joyful birth experience, we planned to have an epidural. The placement of the epidural gave me such anxiety, however, that Beth offered to sedate me before they put it in. Although we had only met her a few months before, I so appreciated her tenderness and care for us through the entire walk. Something as simple as sedation may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it was huge.

Since we didn’t wear a sign that told everyone our situation, the woman at the hospital registration asked us all sorts of terribly awkward questions and even made comments about how “induction parents always bring so many bags.” It seemed equally inappropriate to correct her, so we kept quiet.

The overnight hours brought different docs and nurses to our room as our induction began to unfold. Progress was slow, only drawing the emotionally painful process out when we both would have preferred to have it finished. Nothing really happned overnight at all, and it wasn’t until late the next morning that an intern came in and suggested a new plan. He told us about this “great new drug used to induce labor” that would certainly do the trick called Cytotec. It was originally a drug used for stomach ulcers, but they found that it also causes effective contractions. We had never heard about cytotec before (and would later learn some of the down sides of using the medication in labor inductions), and weren’t really thinking of the options by this point, so we consented. Anything that got us to the end point, right?

Soon after the medication was placed, I began feeling fairly strong contractions, and asked for the epidural before it got too intense. If I had to walk through this experience again, I probably would not opt for the medication, but this isn’t a what-if story and these are the choices we made at the time. When the anesthesiologist came in, he began asking questions that revealed he was completely oblivious to the situation. There was a slight language barrier, so that contributed somewhat.

“How far along are you?” he inquired, not looking up from his chart.
“Almost 17 weeks,” I answered.
He looked up, stared at me as if confused, and asked again. “No, how pregnant are you?”
I repeated my answer, and he appeared to be getting irritated. I cut him off before he could ask again and had to say, “The baby is not alive.” From that moment on he said very little. I felt badly for him because he had to have felt badly for his mistake, but I had already learned that the hospital has a special code picture that they put on the doors to rooms where there has been a loss. He should have seen the picture and known before entering.

In any case, he started prepping for the epidural and it was clear to me that there was no sedation in the plan, which caused me to feel anxious. I hadn’t prepared mentally for the needle, so I had to speak up. He had no idea what I was talking about, so again, despite the language barrier, I had to state my case to him and assure him that it was something we’d agreed on earlier. Unfortunately it made a difficult situation even more so. Nevertheless, soon after the epidural was successfully placed–it was just after 2:00 in the afternoon, our baby was born. Beth was not able to be there at the moment of his birth, but the doctor who attended was respectful and kind. It was an empty sort of moment: no baby, no crying pink newborn to hold and adore from birth…no sound really. So very empty.

Beth arrived quickly after that and was a great comfort to us. Whether it was because of the use of cytotec or the loss itself, I had some unexpected complications and quickly had to go into the OR for a minor procedure. When I woke up, I was alone, but not for long. The amazing nurse Jerry was close by to help out. Never before and not since have I had the distinct pleasure of having a male labor and delivery nurse. 🙂

Todd’s family arrived a bit afterwards, and as the nurses and Beth advised, we held our baby, tiny though he was. Honestly, he barely looked like a baby. Though I was 17 weeks when he was stillborn, they told us he had stopped growing a bit before that, so he measured around 6 inches long. He was so tiny and fragile. A hospital ministry group had donated handmade clothes and a miniature hat for him that he was dressed in when they brought him to us. It was a strange afternoon. I don’t know what I felt: disappointment? Loss? Honestly, for the rest of that day, I was medicated and didn’t feel a lot. It wasn’t until after we were home that the finality of the events hit me.

My parents came to stay with us for a few days and helped out by watching the kids. Todd’s parents did the same before and after my parents left. It was a huge help, both for us and for the kids, who were too young to understand what had happened. While I didn’t want to put on a fake happy face, I also didn’t want them to see Mommy miserable all the time. At 2.5 and just over 1, they had no concept of the situation.

Beth had arranged for us to run genetic tests on the baby to see if it had been some sort of disorder that plagued him. She also told me later that his appearance was consistent with fetal alcohol syndrome babies, although that wasn’t the case. His thumbs and ears had not migrated or formed correctly, which was a sign, but I hadn’t had a single drink throughout the pregnancy. We found out later that he was genetically perfect, which left the reason for his passing as unknown. The official cause was hydrops fetalis, but there was no reason why. She said it was probably exposure to something–and we’d never knwo what that something had been. I went over and over in my head and tried to remember everything I had done in the early part of my pregnancy. Was it my fault? Did I take something I can’t remember? Did I breathe something in? It’s ridiculous and it won’t change the outcome, but I still tried.

In the days and weeks following his birth and death, there were some really difficult days. It was hard to pack up the maternity clothes that I had never had the chance to wear (that time). There were guilty feelings that came up because earlier in my pregnancy I had questioned whether we should even have tried for a third baby so soon–and then guilt on top of that. I cried for a long while, but I was never angry. I never felt angry at God for ‘taking’ our baby; I always had a sense that His plan was better than mine, and even though I didn’t understand it, I didn’t question it. I was profoundly sad and disappointed, however. Just sad. A mama separated from her baby can’t be expected to feel anything less. I felt the loss of my child, even though I had never met him. But I also felt comforted and cared for by a God who hadn’t forgotten about us, even when it may have appeared so. I can’t explain it, but I felt closer to Him and His love during that time than many other times in my life. It was such a blessing to feel taken care of, and it made the walk easier.

It’s hard to believe that it will be 11 years on Wednesday that our son Rowan Thomas was born. Oddly enough, he was born on the same day that my mom’s Dad and my dad’s Dad died, many years before. I dreaded calling my mom after we knew when he would be born because I knew it was the day my mom dreaded more than any other. She was young when she lost her father, and to say that she didn’t like the day would be a supreme understatement. We were honored to be able to name our son after my parents’ fathers. And though Hannah and Patrick were too young at the time, we now all celebrate Rowan on his birthday. We know he’s not lost. The kids often talk about their brother Rowan and about meeting him some day, wondering if he’ll look like they all do. It does my heart good to hear that. I don’t think a day has gone by in those eleven years that I haven’t thought about him in some way. Some day, I believe I’ll be able to hold my baby again, and that makes it easier too. I remember at the memorial service we had, Pastor Steve painted the picture of a child “playing at the feet of Jesus.” With that thought, knowing he’s not lost, but at the feet of the Savior, how can we not be comforted?

If I.T. guys ruled the world….. (ha ha, they do!)

So I’ve been waiting and wondering (with a little worrying thrown in there for good measure) about the condition of my laptop since its episode last week. Knowing that Todd has his hands full (it’s not just an expression for moms of many, let me assure you!) with his work projects and deadlines, I just figured I’d quietly wait for him to have time to attack my computer. I don’t know what my problem is with machines, but I seem to be Midas’s doppelganger in that regard. I touch it and my computer turns to a blue screen.

BUT…without asking or prompting, yesterday Todd sat down and tackled the hot mess I’d created and somehow, somehow got it back up and running. I’m blogging from it right now. Hip hip hooray doesn’t even seem to start to encompass how happy and relieved I am to see that he was able to repair it! For now, I have a fully functioning laptop!!

Miracles never cease……I thought this was a goner for sure…

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