Catching Up

Hello blog, old friend. It's been awhile, but I haven't forgotten you. Please don't be upset with me for ignoring you the past few weeks. For reasons beyond my control we had to say "good bye" for a time. Don't worry- I thought of you everyday, and missed you terribly. I missed the feeling in my fingers as I feverishly would type each key, racking my brain trying to figure out exactly what to say and how. Backspace and I know each other well. I missed coming to you when I had something to say, knowing you would always listen- no matter how dumb it was. I felt so strange without you, but we're together again. And I know that with you, no matter how long it's been, we can always start again where we left off. That is a mark of a true friend. So, here I go filling you in on the things we've missed out on discussing:

Noah got his tonsills taken out on February 5th. Actually, the technical term for his surgery was adenotonsillectomy. I think I may have already told you he would have to have the surgery. All went well. I didn't take any pictures because I figured I'd seen and heard him crying and screaming enough I didn't need to document it with pictures. I'd rather remember him in more pleasant ways. We were actually pleasantly surprised that he did so well when they took him to surgery. After meeting with the surgeon and the anesthesiologist, the latter took him away in a cute little red wagon. He loved that (the next day at home he was crying because he wanted to take the wagon home). After a surpisingly short wait, the doctor came out to tell us everything went well and that his tonsills were huge. A few minutes later we knew Noah was awake because we could hear him screaming. After the agonizing minutes passed as I listened to my poor little boy sad and scared and hurting, they came and got us. The next few hours consisted of me rocking Noah as he fell in and out of sleep, the awake times characterized by crying. I had brought a book to read- the 2nd Harry Potter, and I asked Noah if he'd like me to read it to him. He said he would and so I did. I read for quite awhile and he sat quietly until finally he fell back asleep. The next few days of recovery I found that reading Harry Potter to him was good medicine. I also sang to him a lot, which he always loves when he's sad or sick.

It took him a little over a week to recover. There were good days and bad, but overall he did very well. His sleeping improved almost instantly, which allowed us have him to sleep in his room again with Clara. Hallelujah! Every night I get into bed and feel overjoyed that we have our room back! We're also already seeing improvements in his speech, and we're not the only ones. I'm not sure exactly what the change is, but I like how my friend Lindsay put it. She said he sounds more resonant, which makes sense. I don't know he could make any coherent sounds with those giant tonsils hogging all the space. We're very glad he had the surgery, and he likes telling people about it too. He likes to say that he "got better."

******************************
Here's a funny dinner time story: I had fixed soup and salad for dinner. I gave Noah tiny helpings of both, knowing he probably wouldn't eat much if any at all (saying he's picky is an understatement). Clara gobbled hers up, but Noah hadn't touched the soup. I told him to have a bite, and here's the conversation that followed:

Noah: "Mom, I can't. It will turn me into a sheep."
Mom: "It turn you into a sheep?"
Noah: "Yes."
Mom: "But Mom and Clara had some, and it didn't turn us into sheep."
Noah: "No, only boys."

That was pretty quick thinking.

*****************************************
Lastly, I wanted to give Joel a proper Valentine's Day tribute since I was deprived of the chance.

February 13th is the anniversary of our first date (the next day- Valentine's Day- he broke up with his girlfriend. Another story for another day), so that day always brings back a flood of memories. The fact that I was going on a date with Joel Orton was miraculous to me. I had admired him for three years, and the thought of him admiring me in return seemed only plausible in my dreams. When I learned he felt much more than admiration for me, I knew my dreams had come true. Sometimes I even wondered if it was all too good to be true. I still look at him and wonder how in the heck I got a man that is so hot, kind, sweet, giving, good, funny, and did I mention hot? I'm proof that dreams come true, and my proof is that the man of my dreams asked me to marry him (twice).

I want to dedicate a poem to him called Ich kann's nicht fassen, nicht glauben (I cannot grasp, nor believe it) by Adelbert v. Chamisso from Shumann's Frauenliebe und Leben (A Woman's Life and Love)

I cannot grasp, nor believe it,

A dream must have me bewitched,

How could he from among all others

Have exalted and blessed poor me?

It seemed to me that he had spoken:

"I am forever yours,"

It seemed to me that I am still dreaming,

For it can never be thus.

Oh let me die in my dream,

Cradled on his breast,

Let me drink blissful death

In tears of infinite joy.