tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16214422428721855632024-03-12T19:47:40.167-05:00Another Youree Day"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things."
-Lewis CarrollEmily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.comBlogger405125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-77163922531639138882021-01-03T22:16:00.003-06:002021-01-03T22:16:42.716-06:00A Tale of Two Cases of Coronavirus<p>If you follow me on social media, you know well and good that COVID-19 visited the Youree house. At present, Louisa and I are the only ones with a positive test. Bryan and Anna are somehow medical mysteries and will soon be sent to science for study (kidding . . . maybe).</p><p>You probably are not remotely interested in the ins and outs of coronavirus in our lives, but I am writing here to have an official record of what transpired. I mean it's not every day you have a virus in a pandemic during your childhood. I think, one day, Louisa will be interested to read all about this.</p><p>So . . .</p><p>Once upon a time, Louisa, Anna, and I had an unmasked exposure to coronavirus. This was on a Thursday. I remember thinking the following Monday during our Advent reading that Louisa sounded a little snotty.</p><p>Between the time Louisa went to bed on Monday night and when she woke up on Tuesday morning, we found out about our COVID-19 exposure. That morning was filled with switching our lives to quarantine life -- school, work, everyday life changed. </p><p>Not only were we juggling getting school work packets and rescheduling meetings, but we also discovered Louisa woke up with a full-blown cold and fever. Ugh. Throw in to the mix, trying to quarantine her from the rest of us while also trying to find a way to get a rapid test for her. </p><p>Our pediatrician saved the day with a late afternoon appointment. A rapid test informed us of her positive result within 20 minutes.</p><p>I called Bryan first; that was his cue to bow out of work and join us in quarantine. Next, I called her school. Louisa went to school on Monday and was likely contagious. Sigh.</p><p>That Tuesday evening I started running a low-grade fever, but I honestly ignored it. I was in "mom mode." I knew it was likely inevitable that I would get it. I mean how can someone caring for a positive kindergarten AVOID getting it? (Oh wait . . . ask Bryan.)</p><p>I remember wanting Friday to get here so I could know how severely her asthma would act up. I had a bit of anxiety about how well Louisa would handle COVID. She has struggled with asthma her entire life. No matter if it was a teeny tiny cold for Anna, it turns into a week-long ordeal for Louisa with lots of albuterol and nebulized treatments. Before 2018, we couldn't control Lou's asthma very well, but singular changed all that about two years ago. It didn't eliminate her asthma exacerbations during upper respiratory infections, but it helped us control them keeping her off oral steroids and out of the ER.</p><p>In her entire six years, she's had asthma issues every time she's been sick . . . except this time. She did not need one puff of albuterol . . . never coughed once with coronavirus. That's a miracle I'll take.</p><p>Louisa was sick for about seven days; three of those days she was fairly sick. Her symptoms included: nasal congestion, fever, headaches, fatigue, and gastro issues. I think her taste was altered some because she requested a LOT of salt on her food. She also slept a ton, which is unusual for her. On her worst day, she wouldn't get out of bed until 2:00 p.m.</p><p>Remember that low-grade fever I had? That turned into a positive coronavirus test for me too.</p><p>I fared worse than Louisa . . . feeling ill for nearly two weeks. Here we are weeks from my first symptom on December 8, and I still have daily headaches and fatigue. For the sake of keeping record, my ailments were: low-grade fever, headaches all the freaking time, head congestion, sore throat, throat congestion, ear pain, elevated heart rate, body aches, gastro issues, and fatigue like I've never known.</p><p>Something odd that was true for both Lou and me: Fever reducers didn't impact our temps.</p><p>And the final odd thing -- which I would love to know if you too experienced this: I had pain in my sternum area that radiated "underneath" my right breast. Like not below my breast, but it felt like something in my body, deep underneath my breast tissue was hurting . . . almost like the muscle was giving out. That also caused a stabbing pain in the top mid-right of my back. It was so painful it impacted my ability to get up and down from a chair or the bed. Bryan guessed myocarditis, so I started a steroid pack. Within two days of the meds, the pain had eased.</p><p>In summary: I hate coronavirus and never want it again. I am thankful my family survived as well as we did. I am heartbroken for the hundreds of thousands who did not.</p><p>I am thankful too for the many, many people who checked on us, prayed for us, and delivered dozens of goodies to our front porch. You made the recovery so much easier.</p>Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-57092024164630592082020-04-07T20:42:00.002-05:002020-04-07T20:42:26.602-05:00I Have Been Tested for CoronavirusI won't drag this on: I received my NEGATIVE test results today.<br />
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But here is the mystery: What in the world do I have, especially since I've been isolated in our home for 13 days.<br />
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After becoming very flushed and feeling like my skin was on fire, I took my temperature on Saturday. I've had a low-grade fever the majority of the time since then . . . headache, earache . . . and a cough that started on Sunday night. I'm still rocking a fever tonight.<br />
<br />
Because Bryan is a very essential worker during this time and he was staying home until we figured out what was going on, I was able to be tested on Monday.<br />
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Today I awoke at 9:00 a.m. and took a shower. By 10, I was back in bed and slept until 1:00. I AM WIPED OUT. I stayed up until 3:30 -- and even answered some email and such -- but then laid back down until 4:15 . . . and got back in bed at 7:00.<br />
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So, we are moving forward believing the negative test result, while cautiously tracking my symptoms. Bryan is going back to work tomorrow, and I'm praying that I have more energy when I wake up.<br />
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What a crazy time of life to live . . . and to have a low-grade temperature. ;-)Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-10209512982852020432020-03-22T20:57:00.000-05:002020-03-22T20:57:54.351-05:00What Did Bryan Actually Do Last Week?Bryan worked nine days straight, and is now nearing the end of a three-day weekend (where the emphasis has been on resting and relaxing). He is back at it on Monday, where he will start a 12-day straight stint. And I'm betting it's going to be a 12 days to remember.<br />
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I'm also betting you'll be surprised to know: <b>Bryan has yet to treat a COVID-19 patient. </b>So, what the heck has this infectious disease doctor been doing?<br />
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Well, surprise, surprise the hospitals are also full of other sick people. He's still somewhere in the ballpark of 35-40 patients per day, rounding in multiple hospitals every day and seeing patients in clinic on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. He did run a few coronavirus tests, and guess what? All of those so far (still waiting on like four) came back negative. Turns out there are other upper respiratory viruses running around town. Hello, rhino virus and human metapneumo virus.<br />
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Just like your place of employment, Bryan and his partners had to navigate a new set of rules and landscape for their employees. And when your business is an infectious disease practice, that's, well, busy and a bit intense. Instead of sending coworkers home, they are mobilizing everyone for battle, practically, against this beast of a virus.<br />
<br />
His practice will hopefully participate in a drug trial for COVID-19. This means he attended meetings and went through a 20-module training (in one night, mind you) as they try to fast track this process.<br />
<br />
Speaking of meetings, he attended meeting after meeting, most of which were called last minute, as happens when a pandemic reaches your neighborhood. He, along with his partners, serve on many boards and roles in various hospitals here in Fort Worth. They discussed protocols and worst case scenarios, making plans for what to do and when.<br />
<br />
He consulted other physicians, answering dozens of texts and phone calls from other doctors who have patients who's exhibiting this and that, and what would he recommend in this or that situation, and so on and so forth.<br />
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He answered dozens of texts, emails, and phone calls from friends and family, wondering what in the world is going on, where they can get tested, and what he thinks about this or that.<br />
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He participated in a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/390301537751978/videos/1510724315753027/" target="_blank">video interview</a> with our church, answering questions about coronavirus in our community.<br />
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He gladly gowned up dozens of times in multiple hospitals to treat any patient that showed signs of respiratory symptoms, which slows him down in terms of how many patients he sees per hour.<br />
<br />
And more. There's even more that I can't say.<br />
<br />
Did I mention Bryan -- and his fellow physicians -- did all of this while still seeing other 35-45 patients per day? He is my hero, and I think he has the cred to be yours too.<br />
<br />
I am gigantically proud of him and scared for him. If I'm honest, I'm scared for me, hahaha. I don't want him or any of us to contract coronavirus. As the afternoon keeps marching us forward to Monday, I hate the idea of him going back. I'm selfish. I want him here, safe and sound with me. Yet, one of the reasons I admire him so is his faithfulness, sense of duty, and eagerness to help those who need him.<br />
<br />
So, he will wake up at 4:30 a.m. on Monday and head out the door by five. I'll call him like every two hours and ask, "Have you seen a coronavirus patient yet?" Like last week, I'll let out a sigh when he says no. I dread the moment when he says yes.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-81864278630729762202019-05-21T20:53:00.003-05:002019-05-21T20:53:52.512-05:00A Kidnapped Girl and a RainbowWhen I clicked on my local news app at 8:05 p.m, the top headline read, "Weekend Storms End in North Texas." That made me chuckle because I was getting on the app to check the radar. You see, when putting Anna Zane to bed, I thought I heard rain, which was odd because the rainy weather ended hours before. Sure enough, it was a hard rain with the bright sun still shining. I clicked on the news app to see what in the world was going on. Not only did I see this tiny pop-up thunderstorm, but I also realized that storm had a severe moniker. This was really strange because all of the rain was wellll to our east, crossing into Louisiana.<br />
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There it was in its yellow box pouring down rain over central and southwest Fort Worth.<br />
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Because the sun shone bright, I rushed Anna downstairs to look on the porch: sun + rain = rainbow, right? It took a few minutes for the rain to slow down and the clouds to part, but now there it was -- a bright, beautiful full bow of color.<br />
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I took the opportunity to remind her of who put the rainbow in the sky and why it's there. <b>I said something like, "It reminds us that God keeps His promises; the story of Noah hints at the rescue God gives us through Jesus. When we see the rainbow we remember God is just, merciful, and good all at the same time."</b><br />
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I'm not THAT sharp of a parent, but something just clicked and connected and I got it right on the porch looking at the rainbow. The moment felt special.<br />
<br />
<b>*******</b><br />
<br />
Fast forward a few dozen minutes later and my neighbor texted me about a kidnapping in Ryan Place, a neighborhood near ours. Stunned and confused, we checked that same news app followed by several social media platforms.<br />
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My neighbor was correct: <b>Just after 6:30 that same night, an eight-year-old girl was literally snatched right off the street as she was walking with her mother. </b><br />
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Immediately my mother heart crushed. Everything was a little too close to home, a little too familiar. Neighborhood just like mine. The girl the same age as my oldest. We had even contemplated taking a walk around the block because the rain had stopped earlier that evening. Fear and anxiety gripped me around the throat . . .<br />
<br />
I stuck with the story throughout the evening, finally sobbing when the video of the mother being shoved out of the car as she was fighting to save her daughter. I saw the car speed off and the mother running and screaming for help.<br />
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If only I could really describe to you how wrecked I felt about this. Bryan and I prayed earnestly. Facebook group after Facebook group was filled with information about the abduction and people wrote out prayer and after prayer.<br />
<br />
Strangely, Anna, who had no idea about this whole ordeal, woke up with bad dreams at 1:00 a.m. I snuggled her for over an hour, which turned out to be just what I needed to get my body to relax and be able to sleep.<br />
<br />
Bryan woke me up at 5:00 a.m. as he was getting ready for work to tell me the good news. I think I will never forget his face leaned into mine, whispering, <a href="https://dfw.cbslocal.com/2019/05/19/community-police-gather-celebrate-safe-return-8-year-old-salem-sabatka/" target="_blank">"They found her safe. I know you'd want to know. Rest and sleep now. She is safe."</a><br />
<br />
<b>*******</b><br />
<br />
With Bryan at work, I hustled to get the girls and me ready for church. To be honest, y'all, I was still an emotional wreck on the inside, mixed between relief and gratitude and fear and worry and praying that those hours of captivity were not horrific.<br />
<br />
The pastor preached from Romans and used the word reign over and over. The word <i>reign</i> started repeating in my mind: reign, reign, rain, rain, rainbow.<br />
<br />
<b>RAINBOW!!!</b><br />
<br />
In that moment, all the dots connected. When a mother was desperate to find her daughter . . . when police were just starting to mobilize . . . when the word was just starting to make its rounds . . . when Salem was still held by her captor . . . .<br />
<br />
Anna Zane and I were on the porch watching a severe storm rumble through in minutes, watching the clouds part to reveal a perfect rainbow. "God keeps His promises," I said. And that promised bow stood bold and beautiful to the east of our house and over the very street where the abduction took place. From a storm that shouldn't have even been there, no less.<br />
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Coincidence? Oh, I think not. Absolutely not.<br />
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The rainbow represents a covenant -- a covenant that reminds us of God's justice against evil, His patience for restoration, His hints of redemption to come, His strength for the weak. That rainbow reminded me that even in the face of the most disgusting and terrifying evil, He is bigger. <b>He is the Master of the skies, the Painter of the rainbow, and the One very present and very aware of our heartache, no doubt acting and moving when we are blind to it. </b>What grace to us to pull back the clouds and paint the sky to remind us.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>"And God said, 'This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all generations: I have my bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth,'" (Genesis 9:12-13).</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4TrTW7hSc4vyjmv8iNQxZlqktLXKCUDgTEj640Hny-R_bEzkhApWoZTVMTlTD2Z-aoO8KownrnJqBQMnipNczcjI4E7p118ljhDJGH8sbGZoGYttVu_25iEFYKJQS0sBJ3wZK3da7vrn/s1600/IMG_8663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="818" data-original-width="1600" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4TrTW7hSc4vyjmv8iNQxZlqktLXKCUDgTEj640Hny-R_bEzkhApWoZTVMTlTD2Z-aoO8KownrnJqBQMnipNczcjI4E7p118ljhDJGH8sbGZoGYttVu_25iEFYKJQS0sBJ3wZK3da7vrn/s400/IMG_8663.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><i><br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4TrTW7hSc4vyjmv8iNQxZlqktLXKCUDgTEj640Hny-R_bEzkhApWoZTVMTlTD2Z-aoO8KownrnJqBQMnipNczcjI4E7p118ljhDJGH8sbGZoGYttVu_25iEFYKJQS0sBJ3wZK3da7vrn/s400/IMG_8663.JPG" style="display:none;">Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-2324327157825083822019-03-31T20:30:00.003-05:002019-04-01T10:30:55.460-05:00Thin :: My Word of the YearIt's been three months since the new year flipped the page. Some years I do resolutions. Some years I don't. It's more about how the "mood hits me," what is going on in my life at the time. This time around the sun I decided to think about more of a word to frame my frame of mind for 2019.<br />
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And what is that word, you ask?<br />
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Thin. It's thin. Are you surprised?<br />
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I've debated telling you, honestly. It's a bit of a revealing . . . to share this. To you, it may be just a quick blog topic to scroll through, but to me, it's what has been filling my mind.<br />
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<b>In the most stereotypical ways of all things new year, I am not as thin as I want to be.</b> I want to be thinner by the end of 2019 than I was at the beginning. There are two articles that keep interfering with this exercise-more-eat-more-salad approach I'm grasping:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><a href="https://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2019/01/11/redefining-self-care-one-mamas-journey-to-healthier-habits/" target="_blank">"Redefining Self Care :: One Mama's Journey to Healthier Habits,"</a> got me in the gut, particularly the part about equating indulgence with self care. Essentially everything she wrote was what I experienced but couldn't put into words. That started me thinking that the issue isn't actually a number on the scale. My ideas about indulgence might actually be the culprit. <i>Why did I want to indulge on the regular? Freedom or slavery?</i></li>
<li>Next up, is another article, <a href="https://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2019/03/14/mama-break-that-food-shame-cycle-with-an-intuitive-approach-to-eating/" target="_blank">"Mama, Break the Food-Shame Cycle."</a> Again, this one had me saying "yes" and "amen." At the core, I believe food is to be enjoyed; the author hits a home run when she reminds us that food does not have moral attributes or values. One food is not good and another is not bad. She proposes an intuitive approach to eating, which has me diving into what all this means.</li>
</ol>
<div>
I want to be thinner, but this has led me to dig into the why. Why do I want to be thinner? I'm not fully sure, but I'm working on it. I want to be thinner because my pants don't fit. I don't like the way I look completely. I want to be thinner because I started to tell a difference in how lack of exercise impacted my function. I want to be thinner because I equate thinner with healthier. Do you see how all of this gets jumbled and complicated and twisted? Does being 15 pounds lighter actually change anything other than the ability to zip my pants?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Sigh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to be thinner this year because I'm stretched thin. The mister is smack dab in the middle of his worst call schedule in a lot of years. My business is booming louder than I can keep up. My kids are growing and expanding in needs and activities and learning and . . . .I do truly think I need to get a handle on my indulgences to set myself up for a better chance at making it through this season. That sound fine, right? How about I also admit I want to be thinner this year because I want control of something more. If I know so many aspects of this year are beyond my control, well, my weight is something I can handle. </div>
<div>
<br />
I want to be thinner and to thin out my schedule because I'm stretched too thin . . . and my time with my kids is getting thinner. All clear?<br />
<br /></div>
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I told you this was revealing, friends. ;-)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, here is where I am today, three months into my thin quest:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I'm going to continue my weight loss journey and say adios to 15-20 pounds. I'm going to do the work on the inside and the outside, pursuing healthier choices AND mulling over all my reasons why.</li>
<li>I'm going to remember and relish in the fact that my value isn't tied to a scale or a call schedule. </li>
<li>I'm going to remember that Jesus redeemed me. And there's a lot of everything that comes with that. This is my frame of mind for 2019: When I am thin -- and even when I'm not -- He is with me through the thick and thin. And that's a fact.</li>
<li>I'm going to repeat and repeat: I'm actually not in control. Ever really. I can't organize and shuffle and shimmy and strategize enough to make life "okay." I can only thin out my schedule so much to I can thin down in this stretched-thin season. I need to stop being so scared of thin! So I want to settle into the harder of this season and know it won't ultimately impact the things that really matter. I pick freedom over slavery. I pick trusting Jesus with the icky I don't really care for.</li>
<li>I'm going to keep evolving and listening and resting and pushing and hoping.</li>
</ul>
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But it won't hurt that when you see me next, you say, "Oh wow, you look thinner." I'll know what you mean. ;-)</div>
</div>
Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-18088734115990903262019-01-08T20:40:00.001-06:002019-01-08T20:50:04.095-06:00"My Beth"<span data-offset-key="5od5c-0-0"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Sitting patient in the shadow</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="51cqg-0-0">Till the blessed light shall come,</span><span data-offset-key="dc0um-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="dc0um-0-0">A serene and saintly presence</span><span data-offset-key="3oqij-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3oqij-0-0">Sanctifies our troubled home.</span><span data-offset-key="26l97-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="26l97-0-0">Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows</span><span data-offset-key="4d2s2-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="4d2s2-0-0">Break like ripples on the strand</span><span data-offset-key="7mgtu-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="7mgtu-0-0">Of the deep and solemn river</span><span data-offset-key="6d6qo-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="6d6qo-0-0">Where her willing feet now stand.</span><span data-offset-key="f09sf-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span data-offset-key="3pdbj-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="d7rie-0-0">O my sister, passing from me,</span><span data-offset-key="dbga4-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="dbga4-0-0">Out of human care and strife,</span><span data-offset-key="ekc71-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="ekc71-0-0">Leave me, as a gift, those virtues</span><span data-offset-key="eah2r-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="eah2r-0-0">Which have beautified your life.</span><span data-offset-key="3rqi4-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3rqi4-0-0">Dear, bequeath me that great patience</span><span data-offset-key="71s01-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="71s01-0-0">Which has power to sustain</span><span data-offset-key="b4a41-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="b4a41-0-0">A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit</span><span data-offset-key="auseq-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="auseq-0-0">In its prison-house of pain.</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="auseq-0-0"><br /></span>
<span data-offset-key="ae1g3-0-0">Give me, for I need it sorely,</span><br />
<span data-offset-key="3hjso-0-0">Of that courage, wise and sweet,</span><span data-offset-key="54jc5-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="54jc5-0-0">Which has made the path of duty</span><span data-offset-key="d9g4f-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="d9g4f-0-0">Green beneath your willing feet.</span><span data-offset-key="5vi0b-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="5vi0b-0-0">Give me that unselfish nature,</span><span data-offset-key="a98vi-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="a98vi-0-0">That with charity devine</span><span data-offset-key="55ran-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="55ran-0-0">Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake--</span><span data-offset-key="7qc6r-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="7qc6r-0-0">Meek heart, forgive me mine!</span><span data-offset-key="cu9jr-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span data-offset-key="a0u58-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="4nbao-0-0">Thus our parting daily loseth</span><span data-offset-key="ffqp6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="ffqp6-0-0">Something of its bitter pain,</span><span data-offset-key="ca1g0-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="ca1g0-0-0">And while learning this hard lesson,</span><span data-offset-key="cesqv-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="cesqv-0-0">My great loss becomes my gain.</span><span data-offset-key="d3fbh-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="d3fbh-0-0">For the touch of grief will render</span><span data-offset-key="91li3-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="91li3-0-0">My wild nature more serene,</span><span data-offset-key="foukt-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="foukt-0-0">Give to life new aspirations,</span><span data-offset-key="f4sil-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="f4sil-0-0">A new trust in the unseen.</span><span data-offset-key="3vdf8-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span><span data-offset-key="da36g-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="5lfdl-0-0">Henceforth, safe across the river,</span><span data-offset-key="8ss80-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="8ss80-0-0">I shall see forever more</span><span data-offset-key="em5fc-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="em5fc-0-0">A beloved, household spirit</span><span data-offset-key="ai8qf-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="ai8qf-0-0">Waiting for me on the shore.</span><span data-offset-key="pl1s-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="pl1s-0-0">Hope and faith, born of my sorrow,</span><span data-offset-key="bpmhm-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="bpmhm-0-0">Guardian angels shall become,</span><span data-offset-key="a5mgs-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="a5mgs-0-0">And the sister gone before me</span><span data-offset-key="1vqjg-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="1vqjg-0-0">By their hands shall lead me home.</span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="9a8k0-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="1vh8l-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-Louisa May Alcott, <i>Little Women</i></span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="37n28-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br data-text="true" /></i></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="7qfie-0-0">Imagine how embarrassed I was, Beth, </span><span data-offset-key="7qfie-2-0">when we arrived at Alcott's family home this last summer for a tour. I was embarrassed because I quickly learned a fun fact I'd long forgotten: Louisa Alcott was the second daughter of her family, just the same as my Louisa is in our family. And guess what Louisa's older sister was named? ANNA!!! So I felt like a psycho fan coming to take the tour with my daughters Anna and Louisa along for the ride. I only tell you because I KNOW you would've laughed and laughed.</span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5noho-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0">I decided to read <i>Little Women </i>again in 2018. I hadn't read it since the summer between sixth and seventh grade, so I knew the gist of the story but had forgotten so many wonderful details. It was like reading it again for the first time. I LOVED EVERY PAGE.</span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My heart ripped with a knowing pang when the beloved Beth started to decline. I knew what was coming. To say I sobbed during the "Dying and Death of Beth" chapters is an understatement.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0">I experienced the same startle, though, when I turned the page to see Jo's poem, "My Beth." </span>For years, I called you "My Beth," addressing nearly every email with that greeting. Clearly, Alcott had influenced my 12-year-old self way more than I realized. ;-)</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, this is in honor of you My Beth, <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/we-prayed-for-miracle.html" target="_blank">four years</a> after you've left this world for another.</span></span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0">"One day Beth told her. Jo thought she was asleep, she lay so still, and putting down her book, sat looking at her with wistful eyes, trying to see signs of hope in the faint color on Beth’s cheeks. But she could not find enough to satisfy her, for the cheeks were very thin, and the hands seemed too feeble to hold even the rosy shells they had been collecting. It came to her then more bitterly than ever that Beth was slowly drifting away from her, and her arms instinctively tightened their hold upon the dearest treasure she possessed. For a minute her eyes were too dim for seeing, and when they cleared, Beth was looking up at her so tenderly that there was hardly any need for her to say, Jo dear, I’m glad you know it. I’ve tried to tell you, but I couldn’t.</span><br />
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<span data-offset-key="abuj6-0-0">"Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way, 'I don’t know how to express myself, and shouldn’t try to anyone but you, because I can’t speak out except to my Jo. . . . I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I’m not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven.'"</span></div>
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Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-9169173511391953402018-10-22T20:04:00.002-05:002018-10-22T20:04:41.857-05:00Signed Up for SurgeryLast September, I wrote a blog post for the Fort Worth Moms Blog about my family's history with ovarian cancer and other gynecological health issues. <a href="https://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2017/09/25/blood-on-the-couch-cramps-in-the-bed/" target="_blank">"Blood on the Couch, Cramps in the Bed"</a> is the title of the piece.<br />
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In writing this, I hoped to urge women to take notice of changes in their body, to be proactive about screenings and appointments because these types of cancers and diseases can be sneaky -- and are often explained away by our excuses and reasons.<br />
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Well, it's now time for me to practice what I preached. I'm signed up for surgery on October 25.<br />
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Some ongoing pain issues and changes here and there mean a cystoscopy, laprascopy, and hysteroscopy are on the docket. In other words, I'm having a lot of scopies. ;-)<br />
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So, I'd love to know, friend, if you have experienced any of these procedures, or are an expert on this topic, I'd love all your tips on recovery. Mama wants to be comfy as possible through the weekend. I'm getting uninterrupted sleep for three days, so I've got to make the most of this. Can I get an amen?Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-29727144799882009792018-05-09T17:41:00.001-05:002018-05-09T17:41:19.840-05:00Spinal Cord Surgery and Food AllergiesWait. Wasn't I JUST <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2018/05/cedar-mulch-pecan-and-congress.html" target="_blank">writing about allergy issues </a>with Anna Zane? Yes, yes I was. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.<br />
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Louisa had a MRI in April to re-check her spinal cord issues thanks to a new symptom that popped up. Today we had our follow-up visit with the neurosurgeon to go over the MRI findings. In short, he still thinks the results are inconclusive, which makes me want to scream, haha. (No really.) She does have a spinal abnormality and a filar lipoma, along with a couple symptoms of a tethered spinal cord, but he wants to hold off on surgery until we see more definitive symptoms. The doctor feels encouraged by how strong her legs are and her quality of muscle tone, so this is indeed encouraging.<br />
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I honestly haven't even had a minute to process much of this -- or fully decide if I want a second opinion because . . .<br />
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As we were walking out of he neurosurgeon's office, I noticed I had two missed calls and messages from Anna's school. It was the dreaded "allergy reaction" phone call. Thank God her teacher picked up on it quick, and the nurse responded quickly with the appropriate medications.<br />
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All of this allergy stuff lumped together may be simply coincidental, but the allergist is covering all bases, which means more testing for her in the next few days. We need to figure out what the heck is going on.<br />
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I'm thinking about turning this blog into a medical accounting of the Youree ailments. ;-)<br />
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Until next time. . .Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-4043923956643410902018-05-08T14:04:00.004-05:002018-05-08T14:04:49.142-05:00Cedar Mulch, a Pecan, and CongressWe've had one too many nights of watering eyes, itching eyes, and red, swollen eyes. While Anna Zane struggles with mild-to-moderate outdoor allergies (in addition to her <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2017/07/anna-zanes-allergy-update.html" target="_blank">food allergies</a>), these last couple of weeks have certainly shown more intense symptoms.<div>
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Then Saturday happened. After being outside for a few minutes with a friend, Anna bolts in complaining from visibly watery eyes, itching, and congestion suddenly onset. I gave her Zyrtec and made a mental note. </div>
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I thought something HAS to be going on outside because these symptoms seem to be building. She's played outside a lot the lately because the weather has been bearable -- which is rare. </div>
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Cedar Mulch</h2>
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That afternoon -- like a light bulb moment -- it hits me: We just had major landscaping done to our front and back yard, which was now covered in cedar mulch. </div>
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Guess what is Anna Zane's #1 outdoor allergen? CEDAR!</div>
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Later that afternoon, Anna's symptoms increased in severity. She was at: itchy, puffy, watery eyes; nasal congestion; sore throat, sore and stiff neck; upset stomach; and ear pain -- along with feeling lethargic. Sunday wasn't much better. </div>
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That was it: I was convinced. The repetitive exposure to the mulch exacerbated her symptoms. It was so severe, at one point, I thought I might need to give her an epinepherine injection. I stopped short of that because after a prolonged period, her symptoms didn't progress to her airways, lungs, and no significant swelling like what occurs when she has a <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/09/open-sesame-annas-allergy-identified.html" target="_blank">sesame anaphylactic reaction</a>. </div>
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Monday finds her home from school and at the allergist, who burst my mulch bubble. He thinks it is very unlikely the cedar triggered this type of response because she is allergic to the tree pollen not the wood. He prompts me some more and thinks maybe it is a viral incident, but that doesn't really make sense either. So we've opted to keep up a rigorous antihistamine regimen (three times per day at least), and to document any additional flares with photos and notes. </div>
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A Pecan</h2>
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Then we drive home. Anna Zane remembers something we'd both forgotten: She touched a pecan just after her friend arrived on Saturday.</div>
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Mystery solved.</div>
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With that said, the pecan does not explain her previous less severe itchy/red eyes that have occurred before Saturday, but it most certainly explains the much stronger, obviously allergic reaction she had on Saturday -- and that lingers still today. She's on day 4 and still struggling. </div>
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I'm thankful her reaction to the pecan didn't involve wheezing and significant swelling. I'm discouraged because a quick, 2-second touch of pecan resulted in all of this. No eating, no rubbing a pecan all over her face. Just a touch. It's a sobering reminder that her food allergies are no freaking joke. </div>
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We are still watching for any continuance of symptoms. She may have some newly developed outdoor allergies, or we may need to pursue cedar oils (from the wood) more seriously. All of which require more testing.</div>
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Congress</h2>
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Along the food allergy lines, I'd like to ask your help. You see, sesame isn't considered in the "top 8" by the FDA so it does not require food and cosmetic companies, etc., to disclose sesame in their ingredient list. Sesame oil and seeds and tahini can lurk in verbiage like "spices," "natural flavoring," and what not. Recent studies show that 1 in 1,000 people have a sesame allergy, which is a more common incidence than tree nuts. Tree nuts get lumped together and thus represent a higher percentage. Even in Anna's instance, she can eat almonds, hazelnuts, and pistachios all day long -- all tree nuts -- but she cannot touch a pecan, walnut, Brazil nut, or cashew. Yet, the FDA makes no distinction between these and labels them all as "tree nuts." By not knowing what foods contain sesame or were produced in the same facility of sesame, food buying becomes tricky and taxing. Yes, meaning literal phone calls to manufacturers asking about the definition of "spices" and "bread crumbs." </div>
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Anna Zane has never swallowed sesame in her life. She's only rubbed a microscopic oil in her eye once and touched her tongue to some hummus. Her allergic reactions are intense and severe -- and bi-phasic anaphylactic, which is some of the worse reactions you can have.<br /><br />
Yet, right now there is a bill making its way to Congress that has the support of the <a href="https://www.foodallergy.org/" target="_blank">Food Allergy Research and Education</a> -- and the support of Bryan and Emily Youree.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">H.R.5425 and S.2647 is on <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">the floor and is being supported by FARE. If enacted, this legislation would require that sesame be labeled under the Food Allergen Labeling and Consumer Protection Act (FALCPA) and that allergen information be included on the labels of non-packaged foods sold at retail.</span></span></div>
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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE consider contacting your legislators asking them to support this bill. Yes, I am begging! It is so easy to do; you can click this link <a href="https://secure2.convio.net/fare/site/Advocacy;jsessionid=00000000.app20103b?pagename=homepage&id=171&NONCE_TOKEN=C8D66B320743660683B927B247FED821" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</div>
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I encourage you to mention in the "personal message" section to mention that you know someone who lives with this terrible food allergy.</div>
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THANK YOU FOR HELPING ANNA ZANE!</div>
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Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-78130025033723945282018-02-17T11:59:00.000-06:002018-02-17T11:59:23.739-06:00The Truth About February 17On February 17, 1998, my nephew died . . . before he even breathed his first breath. He was 40 weeks gestation, full size and full term. I was 16 years old -- full of nothing but myself.<br />
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The magnitude of the grief I felt -- unfamiliar to me -- paralyzed me emotionally. The magnitude of grief I witnessed seared my soul. It felt all wrong.<br />
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As my sister buried her infant, the layers of the loss became deeper and deeper for our family. February 17 is a day of sorrow, mourning a child who never tasted air. We remember all we lost in losing him, wishing the story was different. February 17 is a day death won.<br />
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So imagine my shock on March 7, 2011, when I received the most life-changing phone call: <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2011/03/its-girl.html" target="_blank">"Congratulations, it's a girl!" </a>This was followed with all the pertinent information, like her birth date: February 17.<br />
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Thirteen years to the day after Kyler left this world, the most life-filled little girl entered it. She is a wonderfully constant reminder that God hints at His redemption and restoration in all kinds of ways, in all kinds of ways that reach to the most tender corners of our heart.<br />
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February 17 is a day of sorrow and celebration. We cry a good hard sob, and we sing "happy birthday" to the top of our lungs. Ashes and beauty. Death and life. Loss and hope. That is the truth about February 17.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-37632240775768850402017-09-05T13:47:00.003-05:002017-09-05T19:56:33.113-05:00Eight YearsEight years ago <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2009/09/dad.html" target="_blank">my father died</a>. That year, 2009, also seemed to be the start of a lot of loss. In these eight years, I've lost:<br />
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<ul>
<li>My father</li>
<li><a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/10/wilma-deanna-baker-white-10-17-43-10-10.html" target="_blank">My mother</a></li>
<li>My last living grandmother</li>
<li>Two grandfather-in-laws</li>
<li>And a grandmother-in-law</li>
<li>Two first cousins</li>
<li>An aunt</li>
<li>And a best friend</li>
</ul>
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This doesn't include the passing of an elder, and friend, from my church recently and a beloved college professor -- both dying this summer.</div>
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When you experience grief in all its fury, you think -- or at least I did -- that you understand all there is to know about it, mainly because the first months of grief feel all over the place. Surely I've experienced every emotion, every thought grief could produce. Yet, a dozen funerals later -- and, no doubt, dozens more to go -- I confess I know little about grief, except that it is unpredictable and uncontrollable. </div>
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Grief goes from being a stranger who will not leave you be, forcing weird emotions on a whim, to something you tolerate, hoping he will take the hint. Grief is in one instance an enormous sense of comfort and closeness and the container of deep loss and regret the next. Grief enters as a stranger but settles in to be a constant companion. You get used to his smells and habits and intrusion. Dare I say: Grief becomes a friend.</div>
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Eight years seems like a massive amount of time. I've welcomed two daughters my dad never knew. I've lived a lot of life. I'm due for a conversation with my mom, now nearly five years since her death. And for sure I yearn to catch up with <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/we-prayed-for-miracle.html" target="_blank">my Bethany</a>, nearly three years gone. </div>
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Saying the years out loud stirs me, reminding me of all that has been lost, all the years "without." However, it also means I am one year closer to these losses being redeemed -- eight years closer to all things being made new and right and good. My good buddy grief keeps reminding me of that. And for that, I'm thankful.</div>
Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-85425451326795001432017-08-13T15:29:00.000-05:002017-08-13T15:29:12.237-05:00Robbed :: Another Fake Emily Youree StrikesThis last Friday, I loaded the girls into the car for a morning of errands: Walgreens, uniform shop, Target. We picked up school prescriptions, a supply or two here and there, and school clothes. I felt accomplished that we'd checked everything off our to-do list by noon. A trip to Chick-fil-A was in order. We went through the drive thru and headed down the road a tiny bit to Trinity Park, where we had a quick picnic -- 15-20 minutes at most. See, we were trying to get to Bryan's office to grab ice cream from an ice cream truck by 1:00 p.m. I'm like mom of the year at this point: Chick-fil-a, spontaneous picnic, and promised ice cream.<br />
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I gathered three Chick-fil-A bags, three drinks, my phone, keys, and sunglasses -- plus two children -- and walked to the picnic table maybe 50 feet away. I left all our shopping bags and my purse in a locked car.<br />
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Here's the scene: 12:30 p.m. in a park parking lot that is nearly completely full. Numerous people coming and going to the park trails; numerous people coming and going to the Chuy's on the other side of the side street. There are tons of people around.<br />
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Shock and the worse sinking sick feeling in my stomach soon greeted me when I saw this shattered window once we were back at the car. Glass everywhere and my purse nowhere to be found. Gone, wallet and all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-34Lmq0lgoxozYByqV0qV3tjOb-tn06W6z0Q0Q0Lgr7ZPRxlkvL2cxspZz9_RhfCYlPQexQipPAGqa6g06x0dQKvhmgaJ_q_7-ZrBvcdNhNIwqePn6ofWr-eaKseOVVEy4Z-aAbpFFDC/s1600/robbed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-34Lmq0lgoxozYByqV0qV3tjOb-tn06W6z0Q0Q0Lgr7ZPRxlkvL2cxspZz9_RhfCYlPQexQipPAGqa6g06x0dQKvhmgaJ_q_7-ZrBvcdNhNIwqePn6ofWr-eaKseOVVEy4Z-aAbpFFDC/s320/robbed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The actual temperature was near 100 degrees; the heat index was well over that mark. There I was with two small children baking in the heat, waiting on the police to arrive. Louisa and I cried randomly while Anna Zane held it together.<br />
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During my 1-hour wait for the police, one woman stood with me when we first got to the car and watched the girls some while I called 911. Shortly, another man came to offer assistance. And then a family of three repeatedly asked to help, not listening to my "no, we are okays," waiting with me for a half hour, worrying about the kids getting too hot. The dad walked to Chuy's bringing back three large ice water drinks and two popsicles for my cuties. Two teenage boys stopped to ask if we needed help. Another mom and her baby came to check on us too. Three men walking from lunch at Chuy's made sure we were okay before leaving the parking lot.<br />
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In one moment, the worst of humanity impacted my life in a dramatic way. In the next several moments -- and throughout the day -- the best of humanity helped me pick up the pieces.<br />
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Bryan arrived just after the police. He spent the minutes after my alerting him to this robbery quickly cancelling as many cards and accounts as he could. In my wallet were debit cards and credit cards for our personal accounts and my business accounts. The robbers made quick work at a nearby gas station and Walgreens, spending about $200 total. I hope they enjoyed the $5 cash and $10 gift card I'd just earned at Target.<br />
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Thanks to the kindness and compassion of our nanny, she took the girls until nearly 9:00 p.m. that night so we could spend . . . wait for it . . . five hours closing and reopening accounts. Not only all those credit cards and bank accounts, but also HSA accounts, replacing insurance cards, and on and on.<br />
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By the end of the day Friday, we were wiped, but we were safe, we had lost only $5, and my car will soon be repaired. Everything is JUST fine.<br />
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Then the plot thickened on Saturday. While I was running errands, a woman shows up at the house with a purse that is not mine but contains practically all of my non-valuables: zoo membership cards, Carmex, receipts, insurance cards, even a doll dress that belonged to Anna. The purse also contains some info for another woman, whom I presume owns this handbag. She said she saw it on the side of the road, pulled over and picked it up, and brought it to this address. I mean I'd like to believe this, but . . . .<br />
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Will this <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2016/09/to-fake-emily-youree-in-georgia.html" target="_blank">fake Emily Youree</a> who busted out my window, grabbed my purse as his or her own, and used my cards ever be caught? Who knows, but we are trying. The case will hopefully be assigned a detective this week.<br />
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Thanks to the strangers who stepped out of their comfort zones to help me. Thanks to a super nice police officer who encouraged me not let this ruin my day. Thanks to Ms. Lisa and all the crew who took such great care of my kids. Thanks to Cathy at Allstate and Victoria at Chase. Thanks to Jesus who knew it all, showing mercy every step of the way. (The rainbow in the sky that evening was a nice touch. Good one, God.)<br />
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So, after all of this, I think I deserve a new purse, right? Ahahahahaha.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-65996747664241767042017-07-17T21:41:00.004-05:002017-07-18T10:09:35.126-05:00Anna Zane's Allergy UpdateYes, I realize the world at large will not flock to this blog post, but it serves us well as a means of sharing this update with friends and family who come in contact with Anna Zane on a more regular basis. It's my one-spot stop to explain . . . . We all know the written word is the way I process and best communicate. So here goes.<br />
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Long story short: Anna Zane suffered an exposure to sesame at school in May. One fact of that incident is concerning to us: There was no visible trace of sesame anywhere to be seen. Like I said, it is a long story about <i>how</i> she was exposed; for the purposes of this blog, we will focus on the fact she reacted in hefty fashion to an invisible trace of sesame on her finger . . . that landed in her eye. Whiz. Bang. Boom. Swollen eye and cheek and lips. Epi pen, hospital, the whole nine yards.<br />
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That landed us in the allergist office. Since the end of May, Anna had a blood test and a skin test. Today, we received the verdict on all of it.<br />
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Here's what we discovered:<br />
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1. Anna is severely allergic to sesame. This is not news, obviously. She is still bi-phasic anaphylactic. The only new bit of info to come along is her increased sensitivity. Her reaction has moved from "ingestion only" to "contact," meaning she will react in some form or fashion if she touches sesame. This also points to the likelihood of her sensitivity to her allergy increasing every time she has an exposure. We pray to God that she never enters the "air borne" phase of this.<br />
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2. Blood work confirmed an "impressive" allergy to mountain cedar. This explains why her eyes swelled and were blood red when visiting family surrounded by freshly chopped mountain cedar. Hello, Zyrtec.<br />
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3. To me the next development seemed out of the blue, however, her doctor was not surprised. Tree nuts, specifically Brazil nut, pecans, and walnuts also posted "impressive" results with almonds, cashew, and pistachios coming in at "mild." It appears that she now has cross-reactivity issues with some tree nuts . . . well, varying degrees with tree nuts. What in the world is cross-reactivity? Ah, I'm so glad you asked. First, know that science doesn't know WHY or HOW allergic food reactions first occur . . . like why one person has it and another doesn't . . . or even why sometimes it escalates and sometimes it doesn't . . . . why some grow out of it, etc. But it does know this: In most instances, the antibody created to "fight" when she ingests sesame is coded super specifically: It will only start fighting when it identifies the sesame protein that triggers her allergy. However, in instances of cross-reactivity, that antibody gets a faulty signal. There is something about the protein make-up that is similar to these tree nuts that causes a percentage of those antibodies to think it's sesame, and thus, start to fight. This explains why her tummy hurts, tongues tickles, and ears burn when she eats pecans. So the tricky part is this: Can she continue to eat tree nuts -- even tree nuts she consumed many, many times before (pistachios) -- safely? The reaction to date isn't ANYWHERE close the reaction to sesame. Not only is the reaction not close, but the numbers in the blood work and skin test are no where NEAR her sesame. (For the record, the tree nut spots from the skin test are gone. Her sesame spot on the skin test? Is a hard knot about the size of a half dollar -- red and tender. That's after two rounds of benadryl cream, washing with soap/water, a dose of Zyrtec, and a dose of Benadryl.) The doctor completely recommends avoiding all tree nuts because, as he put it, it's like playing Russian Roulette. Most of the time when she eats nuts, she will likely have a mild reaction because a small percentage of the antibodies think those proteins are sesame and not tree nut. However, there is no way to predict when a larger percentage of those antibodies will get the faulty message . . . . If that happens, it's a full-on anaphylactic reaction.<br />
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There you have it. We are still processing and making changes to school, home, and play -- digesting this information. But, I think it is safe to say we are saying adios, tree nuts. Now our dates nights will consist of humus for an appetizer, sushi for a main course, and pecan praline for dessert. ;-)Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-42710146586960046442017-03-07T22:03:00.001-06:002017-03-11T11:49:43.245-06:00Say It with Me: No More Sesame in the Cafeteria<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>:: UPDATE :: I'm super thrilled to report the FWISD Nutrition Services department has responded so kindly and so thoroughly to our concerns! Sesame is going to be removed from her school's elementary cafeteria not only next year, but this year too! I cannot even tell you what a huge relief this is. I am mostly stunned they responded so quickly, kindly, and thoroughly -- certainly not what we are used to. My only regret is I did not contact the director sooner. I did meet with a dietician from Nutrition Services back in September. At that meeting, she recommended I contact the director around the first of the year when they begin the process of creating next year's menu. Thus, that's what I did because she did not think any changes would be made to this year's menu. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>From my recent talks with the director and assistant director at Nutrition Services, I have even made more contacts with a couple of other departments that can help with establishing food allergy protocol and standardization throughout FWISD. YAY!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Those who know me best know the biggest hurdle we've faced with the transition to kindergarten has been food allergy management for Anna. Oh, I could go on and on -- and I probably will at some point -- about the surprises I encountered, i.e. the lack of pre-existing food allergy protocol at one of the finest elementary schools in the state.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But that's not the point of this post. It is the pressing matter at hand, and I need your help.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At the beginning of this school year, I met with a dietician about Anna's anaphylactic food allergy to sesame. She very graciously and very thoroughly helped me scour through the ENTIRE lunch menu for any sesame ingredients. As you likely know (or don't know), sesame can be a tricky ingredient as it is part of bread crumbs, tahini, hummus, sauces, granola, trail mixes, packaged rices, and dressings. Upon inspection of the current menu, we discovered the three Asian dishes served on three Thursdays of the month (chicken teriyaki, beef and rice, and orange chicken) contained a sauce made with sesame oil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's the deal: Anna's allergy to sesame is severe, scoring a 4 out of 6, and is deemed bi-phasic anaphylactic, meaning she will have an immediate anaphylactic allergic reaction upon ingesting the sesame and will then again have a second anaphylactic reaction 3-4 hours after the initial encounter with the allergen. This type of reaction makes her at greater risk for death. Certainly, we take her food allergy </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">very seriously</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">. So you can see the alarm and concern we felt when we realized her allergen was being served three times per month to elementary students who have zero idea about clean hands and friends with food allergies. Anna Zane herself is cognizant of her food allergy, but even at five and six years old cannot be expected to posses the discernment and maturity to fully protect herself from exposure at school.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As she began kindergarten this year, we not only had to tackle the normal transitions of starting elementary school, but also had to navigate managing a food allergy at school. We met with the school nurse multiple times; her teacher; and the principal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The most challenging aspect of managing Anna Zane's safety is the presence of sesame, her allergen, being served in the cafeteria three times per month. As you can quickly deduce, this raises her risk of exposure significantly. After realizing FWISD would not remove the sauce for the 2016 - 2017 school year, we had to make a plan to keep Anna Zane safe at school. These steps are:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I take off from work most Thursdays to remove Anna Zane from the school during her lunch time. We travel to a nearby restaurant (which is challenging for a 10:30 lunch time) or eat a picnic in the park if weather permits. </span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On days I cannot take off from work, her teacher makes sure that Anna Zane does not sit by anyone who purchases a lunch from the cafeteria and that she sits on the end of the table away from a walking path so that no lunch could accidentally spill on her. This, of course, puts her teacher in a tough spot because she now becomes patrol for Anna Zane's safety, adding extra work for her that should not be hers.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thus, I reached out to the director of nutrition services, making two requests:</span></div>
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<ol>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That this sesame sauce used in these three Asian dishes be completely removed from the menu and replaced with an Asian sauce that does not contain sesame in any form. There are numerous sesame-free options.</span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That the nutrition services department be vigilant in not introducing anymore sesame-laden foods into the menu.</span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although studies are just emerging about sesame allergies in this country, they are finding that sesame food allergies produce some of the most severe reactions and do not appear to be an allergy that one outgrows. It is also one of the fastest growing food allergy diagnoses in this country, ranking in the top 10 most common. However, the FDA only requires notification of allergens for the top 8.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here are some quick reads about this allergy:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://www.kidswithfoodallergies.org/page/sesame.aspx&source=gmail&ust=1489031439602000&usg=AFQjCNErMNRUqVwmqSB0O_TyreFghRi45A" href="http://www.kidswithfoodallergies.org/page/sesame.aspx" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>kidswithfoodallergies.org/<wbr></wbr>page/sesame.aspx</a></span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://www.kidswithfoodallergies.org/page/sesame.aspx&source=gmail&ust=1489031439603000&usg=AFQjCNEBrJ9GTPIi5tZ96f7c8p3Iaz7WOw" href="http://www.kidswithfoodallergies.org/page/sesame.aspx" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>kidswithfoodallergies.org/<wbr></wbr>page/sesame.aspx</a></span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.eatrightontario.ca/en/Articles/Food-allergies/intolerances/Facts-on-sesame-allergy.aspx&source=gmail&ust=1489031439603000&usg=AFQjCNHi5pGOcj2QH0TgnDjvhGZe581BXw" href="https://www.eatrightontario.ca/en/Articles/Food-allergies/intolerances/Facts-on-sesame-allergy.aspx" target="_blank">https://www.eatrightontario.<wbr></wbr>ca/en/Articles/Food-allergies/<wbr></wbr>intolerances/Facts-on-sesame-<wbr></wbr>allergy.aspx</a></span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.foodallergy.org/allergens/sesame&source=gmail&ust=1489031439603000&usg=AFQjCNEC2Rr8c9UJ1ahMJgi1BtVsXUpoHg" href="https://www.foodallergy.org/allergens/sesame" target="_blank">https://www.foodallergy.org/<wbr></wbr>allergens/sesame</a></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, will you say it with me: No more sesame in the cafeteria? If you feel so inclined, would you consider emailing the director of the FWISD nutrition services <a href="http://www.fwisd.org/domain/162" target="_blank">(http://www.fwisd.org/domain/162) </a>asking him to replace the sesame sauce with a sesame-free option for the 2017 - 2018 school year?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna Zane thanks you! (Oh, and I REALLY do too.)</span></div>
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Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-76880794870899540482017-02-06T20:59:00.001-06:002017-02-06T20:59:40.065-06:00Anna-isms #11In only a few days, my Anna turns six. While you may not need that to sink it, I sure do. Anna felt something when <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2016/02/finally-five.html" target="_blank">she turned five</a>; it was a milestone. The last 12 months have certainly been filled with milestones: <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2016/08/on-eve-of-kindergarten.html" target="_blank">kindergarten</a>, loose teeth, sight words, reading, counting to 100, and tying shoe strings. But there's something about six that feels big to me. It's full on elementary student . . . reading and spelling . . . and asking tough questions. It's a turning of a page when I'm not quite ready to finish the first chapter.<br />
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Where is her story at these days?<br />
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<ul>
<li>Reading at a mid-semester first grade level, which is blowing my mind.</li>
<li>Always trying one bite of a new food, making me proud, proud, proud.</li>
<li>Struggling with jealousy . . . of sister, of friends, of toys.</li>
<li>Showing responsibility by taking her plate and utensils to the sink without being asked.</li>
<li>Soaking up any chance she gets to craft or color; she's a stunning artist.</li>
<li>Completing simple addition/subtraction in her HEAD! Amazed!</li>
<li>Still eager for snuggles and hugs and kisses and for me to "scratch her feet."</li>
<li>Eating cheese whenever she can.</li>
<li>Wondering about slavery and why people are mean.</li>
<li>Wishing mom would let her ride her bike down the street by herself (isn't happening any time soon, thank you)</li>
<li>Hoping for an American Girl doll for her birthday.</li>
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And what is she saying these days?</div>
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<ul>
<li>Mom, you're not young at all. I'm only sort of young because I'm five and three quarters.</li>
<li>"Your hair is multi-colored," referencing the bright white hair multiplying exponentially in my head.</li>
<li>Hoooooolllllddddd meeeee.</li>
<li>Mom, Louisa is [fill in the blank].</li>
<li>Can I read this one? Please?</li>
<li>I'm going to be a baker when I grow up.</li>
<li>Can I have some cheese?</li>
<li>Ladies and gentleman, Anna Zane Youree, the dancer!</li>
<li>Are we still in Texas?</li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zHtSolBXlR1ZIirITyxrldFqqlvxWmzHwPgGMzlqKiVU5f1L22Tz7WYsNvcuiNNQc3yfX7YdiIa0Aih6j0dSM7IvXkXa1pVNWglx59X03Xl0eJjIeOB1Lmg6csHzxGm405HWw4_NX4Ki/s1600/100+days+of+kindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zHtSolBXlR1ZIirITyxrldFqqlvxWmzHwPgGMzlqKiVU5f1L22Tz7WYsNvcuiNNQc3yfX7YdiIa0Aih6j0dSM7IvXkXa1pVNWglx59X03Xl0eJjIeOB1Lmg6csHzxGm405HWw4_NX4Ki/s320/100+days+of+kindergarten.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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She recently celebrated 100 days of kindergarten. After I recovered from the idea of having to craft to create a 100-day t-shirt for school, we brainstormed a shimmering shirt (thanks to the help of Facebook friends). I wrote the slogan; she glued more than 100 jewels on the front, back, and sleeves of her t-shirt. I mean, why stop at 100 . . . </div>
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It is only by God's grace that she is blooming as well as she is. I'm mostly paralyzed and silent when I think of what beauty He is crafting in her. </div>
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Happy -- almost -- sixth birthday, Anna Zane!</div>
Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-48024599138335222702016-10-24T16:55:00.002-05:002016-10-24T16:55:31.124-05:00Thankful for the Pain of a Missing Mother on My BirthdayYou always think of your mama on your birthday.<br />
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It's an assertion I never considered fully until this year. Without conscience thought, I assert that most everyone, if not everyone, thinks about their beginnings, particularly their mother, on their birthday. It makes sense, right?<br />
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On the day you were born, your mind flies through favorite birthdays, bad memories surrounding birthdays, and ultimately, to the woman who made that birthday possible. You rehash your birth story, wonder about the details. There is truly only one person on the planet who knows those intimate secrets and feelings about the day you were born -- your mother.<br />
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Sure, your dad may have been there, along with other family and friends, but he doesn't know the ins and outs and pains and thrills like the woman who pushed you to that first breath. There's something sacred and intimate about the connection mother and child create when the work and fruit of labor climax.<br />
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It's something you take for granted until <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/10/wilma-deanna-baker-white-10-17-43-10-10.html" target="_blank">she's gone</a>. At least, that's my story.<br />
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With the onset of motherhood and its evolution through the years, I become increasingly more interested in the details of my own birth . . . how my mother handled the newborn years . . . how she recovered from birth . . . about her memories after she birthed her last baby. I didn't think to ask these questions, and I don't remember many of the stories she told because I was young and dumb and didn't understand what she was trying to tell me.<br />
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So today on the day of my birth, a tinge of loneliness fills my heart. The other main player in this day 36 years ago isn't here on this earth. I can't ask my questions. No one else knows the answers. It's a layer of grief you don't imagine until it's here.<br />
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Yet in one breath I inhale sorrow, today I also exhale gratitude. Thankful for the pain of a <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/10/birthday-musings-of-orphan.html" target="_blank">missing mother</a> on my birthday -- the unanswered questions, the longing for her, the desire for a different story. Why? Because it makes me a better mother to my two darling girls.<br />
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No doubt the birthdays to come will bring more and more thoughts about their <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2015/05/07/loving-my-childrens-birth-mother/" target="_blank">birthmothers</a>. While my story and their stories are not identical -- and I will not pretend they are -- there is camaraderie in loss. When birthdays bear heaps of beauty and fun along with sadness and loneliness, I will, at least in some way, know what they mean, what they feel. I can empathize with the unanswered questions, the longing for her, the desire for a different story.<br />
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The three of us have all lost mothers. I am thankful <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/10/god-moves-in-mysterious-way.html" target="_blank">God gave us each other</a>.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-46843856924790027032016-09-17T14:53:00.002-05:002016-09-17T14:53:21.984-05:00To the Fake Emily Youree in GeorgiaDear Fake Emily Youree in Georgia:<br />
<br />
You are on my mind today. Since I learned of your existence and actions this morning, I can't honestly stop thinking about you.<br />
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I know what you were doing yesterday, but I'm curious about what you are doing today.<br />
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Here is what I, the real Emily Youree, have been doing today:<br />
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The story actually started last night when we realized someone withdrew 72 percent of the funds from our checking account. My husband spent nearly an hour on the phone getting information, learning about our next steps. This morning, he was at our local bank branch before the doors opened, spending two hours there. I also visited the branch for about 30 minutes earlier this afternoon. We've closed accounts, filed reports, spoken with law enforcements, created credit monitoring, submitted formal complaints, grocery shopped, and made breakfast and lunch for our family.<br />
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But what about you? What do you do the day after you steal? Rob from someone you don't know?<br />
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My gut reaction is to be angry, very angry with you, at you. And I am mad. At you, the bank teller, <i>and</i> manager in Canton, Georgia who somehow thought it wasn't suspicious at all for a woman "from Fort Worth, Texas" to show up in Canton and ask to withdraw a few thousand dollars.<br />
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I digress.<br />
<br />
While I am angry, I am mostly sad and hurt.<br />
<br />
Sad because I know what bad feels like. No matter how much stuff you buy or pay off . . . no matter the thrill of the high that comes with outsmarting another . . . no matter how you can rationalize your choices and actions . . . bad still ultimately feels bad. What were your hopes and dreams? What choices led you to today? Is this what you envisioned when you were a little girl? Are you proud of yourself? How did your heart get to a point where it is okay with hurting other people? I'm sad you are living life with such a heavy burden to drag around.<br />
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I pray that you feel guilty today, that your purchases don't live up to your expectations. Why? Because the presence of guilt means soft spots still live in your heart.<br />
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I am hurt because you are a woman -- part of my tribe. It stings when another woman, maybe even another mother, deliberately wrongs you.<br />
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You have my bank account number, a fake driver's license that resembles my own, and a fake credit card with my name, but you are not me. You do not have the love of a man who oozes with humility, loyalty, integrity, and a stellar sense of humor. You do not have the privilege of raising two of the most precious people on this planet. You do not have my friends, my church family, my neighbors, my family. You do not have a business that challenges you, inspires you, and motivates you. You do not have a conscience at rest thanks to redemption.<br />
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You may have a new handbag or television or a basket full of goodies from Wal-Mart, but please let me be the one to tell you: The money you stole from me yesterday does not, did not determine my value. Money doesn't provide worth; things do not bring security; addictions don't save you; fraud only makes you fake.<br />
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So, to the fake Emily Youree in Georgia, you may wish to be me, but I certainly never want to be you. I've put the pretending and pain behind me; I hope you do the same.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-25909691677524050172016-08-21T22:25:00.001-05:002016-08-21T22:25:05.724-05:00On the Eve of KindergartenMy mother spoke the best advice she ever gave me on the night before I started kindergarten. The room was dark; my covers were up. I can only assume I had been put to bed, and then called back to her. I was crying because I didn't want to go to kindergarten; I was scared.<br />
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She said, "Don't cry about tomorrow until it gets here. And if, when you get to class and realize your teacher is as mean as your mama, then you can cry." She was, of course, joking. But I have thought about that many times during my life. Don't cry about what might happen or if something will be scary . . . because, well, it may never actually happen. Yet, when the worst does come, it is okay to mourn it. Oh, and a little humor goes a long way.<br />
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Here I am again on the eve of kindergarten. <br />
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I may or may not be crying (that is code for "I'm crying"). I cannot, though, think of this new season without remembering my mother's words. So, while I am sad about the realities Anna will soon encounter, grieving the loss of those many days at home, and wondering how in the world we are going to adjust to this new routine, in a weird twist of fate, I <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/10/what-i-know.html" target="_blank">miss my mom</a> tonight.<br />
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If only she were here -- happy and healthy -- to celebrate this milestone in her namesake's life. Anna will own kindergarten, and love every social minute of it. I can't wait to cheer her along.<br />
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Mrs. Cook did not turn out to be as mean as my mother. She was a delight, filling my first year of school with many happy and fun memories. I know Anna Zane's teacher will do the same.<br />
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But what gives me comfort is knowing that tonight I want my mom, no matter how cool Mrs. Cook was. I know Anna will always find home in me, even if her teacher has a jar of lollipops on her desk.<br />
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<br />Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-67469325353671410242016-02-17T20:42:00.000-06:002016-02-17T20:42:33.211-06:00Finally FiveIt's been an eternity in the making -- if you ask Anna Zane. To me, it feels like only a flutter and here she is: Five years old.<br />
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She's <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/11/anna-isms-10.html" target="_blank">fantasized about five</a> for months, assuming it means ears pierced and pets welcomed. This morning she reported on her growth in height and strength . . . just over night.<br />
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We've visited kindergarten roundup. We've played with friends "alone" in the backyard. (Why am I saying "we"? Please. It is all her.) Gone to the restroom without an adult. Said <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/12/anna-gets-surgery-for-christmas.html" target="_blank">adios to tonsils and adenoids </a>in a braver, tougher fashion than I could ever muster. Learned to use the brakes on her bike. Planted vegetables. Trimmed bushes with real clippers. Stopped napping. And all of this while yet four. What will happen during year five??????<br />
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I'm proud of her. She is a free spirit, loves to create, has a knack for math, competes with the best of them, is a fiercely loyal friend, loves her family deeply, dreams of being big, and is certain she and her sister are twins. My life is more meaningful, more vibrant, just more because of her.<br />
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I've <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2012/02/to-anna.html" target="_blank">shared this poem before</a>, but I couldn't stop thinking about it today. For my eldest daughter, with all my love:<br />
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17 Again</div>
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Three tiny stanzas to turn into three</div>
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Famous words. Your 10 fingers and toes</div>
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Take hold of my one heart.</div>
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Until 18, I have you. Until 99, I’ll miss </div>
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You. Two eyes, two ears—we share it all.</div>
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Millions of curls to adore.</div>
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I love you. <i>I </i>love you. I <i>love </i>you. I love</div>
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<i>You.</i> My little sunshine, redeemed again.</div>
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Two. Seventeen. Eleven.</div>
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Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-72791624791824809442016-01-08T20:18:00.001-06:002016-01-08T20:18:54.714-06:00Far as the Curse Is FoundConfession: I like <i>Once Upon a Time</i>, the television show (well, except for that Peter Pan season). It's like a fairytale soap opera. The way the writers twist the stories of well-known characters always entertains me. Each season -- or every few episodes, I should say -- some sort of curse is enacted or a powerful spell cast that puts the heroes in peril. So campy at times, but so great for a break from my mothering, working, managing, cleaning, cooking life.<br />
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When I think about curses, I associate them with fantasy -- a fairytale, a witch's story, a voodoo religion. Or I think about humor and slang sayings: Curse it. Don't curse. I'm cursed for life.<br />
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However, because I am a Christian and believe the Bible to be a true story, I must then believe a curse, THE curse is real. We may not live in Storybrooke, but we do live with, live under a hefty curse.<br />
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I've never felt the weight of this curse -- God allowing sin to takes its full effect -- more than I have this year. I am suspicious that every January I will say the same. Each year that passes exposes me to more and more of its effects. The cumulative nature of the ire and ick makes life boggy and treacherous.<br />
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Unlike the curses of television, this curse is real and more horrible than imaginable. It doesn't go away with time or self-soothing or vacations. I can't escape the curse. You can't escape the curse.<br />
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Although I have already buried too many people at this point in my life, <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/we-prayed-for-miracle.html" target="_blank">the death of my dear, dear friend</a> last year rocked my world. I felt the loss in so many ways. Loss. Lost. Gone. A deep cavern without a bottom. The <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/03/bethany-marie-tribute.html" target="_blank">loss of Bethany </a>feels like a nightmare. I feel <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/cancer-is-eating-my-friend-pray-for.html" target="_blank">the weight of the curse of death and all its ramifications</a>.<br />
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This sin-stained curse is not a scary scene in a movie or an antagonist in a book. This is not the Evil Queen or Darth or Voldemort. It's death alive and well in our souls, minds, bodies. Death of the dying sort and death of corrupting sort and death of the molding variety. This curse is death both now and later.<br />
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It shows itself in a three young kids yearning for their mother for the rest of their lives.<br />
Mothers burying children too soon.<br />
Tumors in our brains, ovaries, breasts, and colons.<br />
Viruses ravaging our body for 24 hours or 24 years.<br />
Disease wrecking our nervous system.<br />
Men addicted to pornogrophy.<br />
Women beaten and bruised by lovers.<br />
Hang nails and splinters.<br />
Food allergies and noses that will never stop running.<br />
Boys who shoot their fathers with a gun.<br />
House fires that take lives and homes.<br />
People who use words as weapons.<br />
People who use religion as weapons.<br />
Men who force sex upon women.<br />
Wives and husbands who cheat.<br />
Kids that disobey and tell lies.<br />
Dry skin and oily hair and bad vision and varicose veins.<br />
Kidnapped children.<br />
People who kidnap children.<br />
Girls who form cliques and gossip and exclude and isolate.<br />
Single parents working two jobs.<br />
Religious persecution.<br />
Orphans who cannot find a forever family.<br />
Stomach and bowels that refuse to function properly.<br />
Diabetes that silently destroys a body.<br />
Curved spines and aching joints<br />
Walkers. canes. wheelchairs. knives. guns. alarm systems.<br />
Drugs and alcohol worshipped as gods.<br />
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And these are just the people I know . . . er, a small sampling of the people I know.<br />
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The curse is found far and wide. Even if you don't believe in it, you can't escape it. But both like and so very unlike <i>Once Upon a Time</i>, there can be a happy ending. There can be some relief, some respite, some hope that this curse does not have the last laugh. This is not the end of the story. We have not reached "The End" quite yet.<br />
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I have sang with gumption this recent Christmas season: No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground; He comes to make His blessings flow far as the curse is found. We know the curse lives far and wide and deep, yet Jesus Christ "redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us" (Galatians 3:13). By enduring the full, complete brunt of the curse, Jesus can offer us hope in the midst of sorrow -- beauty for ashes. This hope points to a time when wrongs will be thoroughly right, death will play its last act, and redemption will be in full bloom. </div>
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So, in my grief, my loneliness, my sadness, I know His living grace and love runs farther still, far as the curse is found . . . no matter what shape it takes. </div>
Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-15752681468291061012015-12-27T20:18:00.001-06:002015-12-27T20:23:48.540-06:00Anna Gets Surgery for ChristmasBefore we discuss the big "s" word, let's talk about another one: survive. <i>The mister and I survived the Christmas week, which was filled with a plague-like virus. </i>If you follow me on Facebook, you've read my post after whiny post about the HORROR of this virus that leached on to Anna, Louisa, and myself. By the day after Christmas, the Yourees had experienced excessive amounts of snot, two rounds of antibiotics, more diarrhea than I even care to mention, and vomit. Please come quickly, new year.<br />
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Yet, we've got a different sort of medical issue to tackle on Monday. That spunky gal of mine, Anna Zane, is all set for surgery on Monday morning. Her tonsils and adenoids have got to go. Although, I will miss that look of shock each time a doctor looks down her throat -- almost jumping back in amazement. "Her tonsils are huge!"<br />
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Yes, we know. Now is the time to have them removed. To be honest, we are not totally sure what we are in for. We've heard from the doctor that the recovery can be intense and long. Bryan stocked the fridge and freezer with all sorts of hot and cold liquids. We've got new movies and crafts and books. Here's to hoping she handles it well! Here's to hoping I handle it well -- hahaha.<br />
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The surgery has already been bumped from 7:00 a.m. to 12:10 p.m. AGH! Tomorrow we will make it, but we'd love for you to pray for Anna in the afternoon and the following days. Adios, tonsils!Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-21636090198117676462015-12-11T22:55:00.001-06:002015-12-11T22:55:34.197-06:00If Lou Had Been a Boy . . . In a previous post, I discussed the <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2013/11/baby-names-for-2.html" target="_blank">baby names that did not make the cut</a>. We also had a third girl's name. <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/why-did-you-name-her-louisa-and-other.html" target="_blank">Louisa Bryn Caroline</a> was almost Zella Ruth Caroline. <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-mamaw-zella-christine.html" target="_blank">Zella </a>was my paternal grandmother; Ruth was Bryan's paternal grandmother's middle name. Ruth too was my maternal grandmother's middle name. It was a grandmotherly fit. But in the end, that sweet girl looked like a Louisa. We knew that was her name <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/introducing-our-baby-girl.html" target="_blank">the moment we knew she was ours</a>.<br />
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When we <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2013/08/baby-youree-2.html" target="_blank">announced our pursuit of a second child</a>, we fielded a few questions here and there about the gender. Would we go for a boy because we already had a girl? For whatever reason, most who asked were surprised when we said no. In fact, while we were open to welcoming a boy into our family, <a href="https://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/anna-zane-is-big-sister.html" target="_blank">we really wanted a girl </a>. . . for no explainable, logical reasons other than we just felt like girls were meant to be our kiddos.<br />
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A friend of mine and former <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/" target="_blank">Fort Worth Moms Blog</a> contributor wrote <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2015/11/08/boy-girl-miracle-lets-talk-really-matters/" target="_blank">an excellent piece</a> about our culture's obsession with having balanced genders in a family, "one of each," and still a belief that a "father needs a son." Certainly, in the adoption world that sentiment is less true because the root issue of genetics is taken out of the equation. You should <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2015/11/08/boy-girl-miracle-lets-talk-really-matters/" target="_blank">give the article a read</a>; it's interesting and makes a good point.<br />
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But I digress.<br />
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If God had given the Yourees a boy, this would have been his name: <i>Silas Baker Joseph Youree</i>.<br />
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<b>Silas: </b>When we were dating, Bryan cited his paternal grandfather (Forest Eugene) and his maternal grandmother (Betty Zane) as the two greatest influences in his life. As you likely know, our eldest daughter is named <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2011/03/whats-in-name.html" target="_blank">Anna Zane</a>. So, for a boy's name we chose Silas. You know how Matthew and Levi are the same name? Well, Forest and Silas are the same name. Silas would be in honor of Papa Youree as we like to call him.<br />
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<b>Baker: </b>Baker was my mother's maiden name, the surname of her father Paul Albert Baker. Because he passed before I was born, he's always been mysterious to me. I've noted that no one in my family really ever had anything negative of consequence to say about him. Actually, quite the opposite; apparently to know him was to love him. And I'm sorry I never did. So, for me, the name means being a man of integrity, of empathy, of strength. It means all the qualities I imagine Papaw Baker possessing, all the qualities I hope he possessed.<br />
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<b>Joseph: </b>This is a family name from Bryan's side. Rumor has it Bryan was almost named Joseph. Thus, adding Joseph to the mix honors his father's dreams and family heritage. Joseph is also a nod to my dad, who's middle name was Joe. His initials were B. J. This little boy's initials would have been S. B. J. The name Joseph was for our dads.<br />
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But it doesn't look like Silas Baker Joseph will join our family . . . yet. (Hahahaha. Just kidding there, Bryan. Please don't faint.) I suppose, though, never say never.Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-43200176913152920742015-12-08T13:52:00.001-06:002015-12-08T13:59:03.184-06:00Lots About Louisa #2I couldn't wait to write this post.<br />
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<a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/12/another-medical-test-for-louisa.html" target="_blank">Louisa's procedure</a> went well last week. (Although she was not a fan of recovery.) Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the well wishes, prayers, and concern. Today the follow up visit with the urologist confirmed her bladder functions perfectly. This news makes us more and more hopeful that <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/03/louisas-mri.html" target="_blank">a tethered spinal cord </a>--and the subsequent surgery -- is not a reality for Lou. The appointment with the <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/louisas-visit-with-neurosurgeon.html" target="_blank">neurosurgeon </a>is next week. While we anticipate him wanting to follow Louisa for a few more months or years -- and even the possibility of another MRI -- we are optimistic he agree these positive test results point to a healthy spinal cord.</div>
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Now enough of this medical jargon. Let's talk about that cutie Lou Lou.</div>
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This big girl is ONE YEARS OLD! How in the world that is true I have zero idea. I so remember in <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/introducing-our-baby-girl.html" target="_blank">the first days of her little life</a>, when the feedings were 'round the clock, wondering how quickly November 17 would come, how quickly she would change and grow because even then in the midst of the exhausting newborn days I knew it was but a wisp of time. As all mothers know, my heart rejoices in healthy growth and the fun of discovering more about her, but it aches knowing this leads to independence . . . . more and more away from mom. (Sniff. Boo hoo. Wawawawah.)</div>
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We celebrated Louisa's first birthday in a feast-ly fashion. Because Bryan worked Thanksgiving, we combined the two festivities into a Thankful for Louisa party. Thirty family and friends squeezed into our house to dine on turkey, ham, and fixin's (mostly prepared by my husband; be jealous) and to love on our little lady. We thought she'd be a little timid or overwhelmed because strangers and crowds are not her thing, but Louisa did so well! I mean she totally knew it was her party, right? </div>
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When it was time for the ceremonial first birthday cupcake, Louisa was such a delicate gal. (Shout out to big sis helping blow out the candle.) I had to help her at first with a nibble of icing -- and it was a hit. Instead of making a mess, she very gently grabbed a bite between her thumb and index finger until she ate the entire cupcake.</div>
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Big sister also helped with the presents. Louisa's favorites ended up being a shape sorting lunchbox, a ride-on choo-choo train, and singing bear night light toy. </div>
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<b>Growth</b></div>
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At Lou's 12-month appointment, she weighed 19 pounds and 4 ounces. Y'all that means she is in the 40th percentile! We've gone from <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/lots-about-louisa.html" target="_blank">not even on the charts </a>to the 40th! Someone please celebrate! She's hitting those milestones like a champ (even a little early, but who's bragging?). She's walking -- the side step sometimes, which is really funny. </div>
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She says dada all the time. She says nana when she's mad at Anna. She says mama when she's really desperate. I see where I stand.</div>
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Louisa loves black beans. <i>Loves</i>. She's also a fan of green beans, carrots, and meat. Any meat. All day. Just meat, please. At such a young age, she is clearly more of an opinionated eater than Anna. I can only imagine what the full-on toddler years will be like.</div>
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Speaking of eating, Louisa refuses avocados and sweet potatoes, but she enjoys nibbling on a bar of avocado SOAP . . . and sneaking tastes of sister's CeraVe lotion. Things I never thought I'd say: Louisa, do not eat the toiletries.</div>
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Her other trouble spots include a constant fascination with electrical outlets, cords, and the carbon monoxide monitor in the kitchen. Perhaps she will be an electrical engineer.</div>
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Her interests are really starting to show. She continues to favor cars, balls, toys that make music, and Elmo. She also enjoys pulling out tissues from the Kleenex box, pilfering through my purse, taking lids on and off and on and off and on and off, playing the piano (now tall enough to reach the keys), and "kitchen" (a box of plastic lids who no longer have a container mate along with a small kitchen set equals tons of fun).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8whTIILkjbcDSzPbKrtc6f1m48VzMyIPekqhK7j1yK2C309iX_DMzU8dP4ax8_jca6awTe3y9OjrIhPpJ0B9Mzk1vuvgjbxhJHmK2M50PzGz177_TCHb_IoUMSE9YE1MqPMu5-lFwiCYz/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8whTIILkjbcDSzPbKrtc6f1m48VzMyIPekqhK7j1yK2C309iX_DMzU8dP4ax8_jca6awTe3y9OjrIhPpJ0B9Mzk1vuvgjbxhJHmK2M50PzGz177_TCHb_IoUMSE9YE1MqPMu5-lFwiCYz/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Louisa also pursued her modeling career as I continue to paste my kids' pictures on the <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/" target="_blank">Fort Worth Moms Blog</a>. You can see her 7-month self on this post I wrote, <a href="http://fortworth.citymomsblog.com/2015/09/15/infant-photography-made-easy/" target="_blank">"Infant Photography Made Easy."</a> For a complete look at her oh-so-adorable professional pics to document her six months of life that actually ended up being her seven month photos because she is the second child and nothing happens on time, simply click <a href="https://www.facebook.com/emily.whiteyouree/media_set?set=a.10208291865400420.1073741832.1417237386&type=3" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-39873255669143759132015-12-02T16:07:00.002-06:002015-12-02T16:12:40.893-06:00This Time Last Year<br />
It all started last August. The self-appointed deadline of ending our <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2013/08/baby-youree-2.html" target="_blank">wait to adopt </a>came near. Yet, we had no second child to welcome home. In a rare move, I detracted my previous commitment to this deadline thanks to a sense of desperation I never ever wish to feel again. Graciously, my kind husband agreed. In retrospect, I have a sneaky suspicion these desperate feelings were an unexplainable maternal, Divine intervention. You see, my second baby was on her way.<br />
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October came and went with an <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/09/home-study-third-times-charm.html" target="_blank">updated home study </a>and the comfort of "doing something," but <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/08/still-waiting-for-that-phone-call-our.html" target="_blank">the weight of waiting </a>never left. November I wore the waiting like a heavy coat.<br />
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Then, on November 14, we learned about a baby girl yet to be born. We chose to show our profile book to the birthmother that next Monday.<br />
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Monday came and went and no news from the adoption agency.<br />
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Tuesday came and nearly went. I sent an email only to receive the reply: "There isn't any updates to send along to you at this time."<br />
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I was totally suspicious and over-analytical of every word, the order of the sentence, and so forth. <i>How much longer until there was a concrete update?</i><br />
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On Wednesday, while waiting in the drive-thru line at Chick-fil-A, I get the call: Not only did the birthmother choose us, but the baby was also born that Monday, November 17. This was why we weren't informed. A lot had been developing faster than expected!<br />
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But there was a catch or two, and the adoption agency wasn't comfortable placing with us until the week after Thanksgiving.<br />
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So I lived with the possibility, a likelihood of a baby girl. Maybe mine. Maybe not mine. Willing December to make its appearance as quickly as possible. That is also a heaviness.<br />
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The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, we met the birthmother -- a delightful, smart, loving young women. The meeting went so well, and we felt hope.<br />
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So this time last year, I was in the middle of a muddle: I went from not knowing if a second child was in the cards for us to waiting for a response to cautiously <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/anna-zane-is-big-sister.html" target="_blank">rejoicing for a girl </a>all to wait for several more days not knowing so much until finally . . . .<br />
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On this day last year, <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2014/12/introducing-our-baby-girl.html" target="_blank">I met her </a>-- my baby daughter, <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/01/why-did-you-name-her-louisa-and-other.html" target="_blank">Louisa Bryn Caroline</a>. I loved her at first sight. My waiting was over; my heart burst with joy and thankfulness -- two sentiments I continue to embrace one year later. A family of three became four.<br />
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So if you are waiting for something or someone, don't despair. Who knows what will be this time next year.<br />
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Happy family day, my loves!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QsmQZnSracAr1sOibhDXLMRZukQJAkQDoWkAnHNIFBJV7IGtjNIOIL4Oghv8lzP1MAL-KU5cL50CHrRiOHBM9c8_mM7HDKMDucrahKqJaemrxZHATxJbWUil5P44Sgenck3kfAzSQqD7/s1600/2014-12-02+17.24.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9QsmQZnSracAr1sOibhDXLMRZukQJAkQDoWkAnHNIFBJV7IGtjNIOIL4Oghv8lzP1MAL-KU5cL50CHrRiOHBM9c8_mM7HDKMDucrahKqJaemrxZHATxJbWUil5P44Sgenck3kfAzSQqD7/s400/2014-12-02+17.24.23.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first photo as the Youree Four!</td></tr>
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<br />Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1621442242872185563.post-32689878905692776552015-12-01T19:51:00.000-06:002015-12-01T19:51:45.875-06:00Another Medical Test for Louisa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhay1Nu1P7hQ6zXSLb3VPklenN3-q4vTs8uuJEW4SJEJ59WB8GM8L9TIXEHALYY0311E11v4n-sHjIdhCTTD0pw8FbWhUDiK-cAjSiSbOEk0fgKzs3FibbX1sSITM92073b5WKkTf8jQ-yO/s1600/first+bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhay1Nu1P7hQ6zXSLb3VPklenN3-q4vTs8uuJEW4SJEJ59WB8GM8L9TIXEHALYY0311E11v4n-sHjIdhCTTD0pw8FbWhUDiK-cAjSiSbOEk0fgKzs3FibbX1sSITM92073b5WKkTf8jQ-yO/s320/first+bday.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
You may remember <a href="http://emilyyouree.blogspot.com/2015/03/louisas-mri.html" target="_blank">Louisa had a MRI </a>earlier this year. Since then, we've visited neurosurgeons, urologist, a genetics specialist . . . had ultrasounds and other tests all to determine whether or not this little lady has a tethered spinal cord. While one radiologist believes her images are normal, her neurosurgeon and a second radiologist felt something is abnormal.<br />
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So, here we are in December. Louisa has reached the 1-year mark, and the doctors are hoping her anatomy has grown enough to undergo the next procedure -- which will hopefully be the ONE that gives some direction to the doctors.<br />
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On Thursday, December 3, Lou will have light sedation to complete this test. Prayers for a smooth-sailing procedure and for her to recover from it all well. My mama's heart is also fretting because her appointment will not be until 1:00 p.m., meaning she will go without any solid food from 7:00 a.m. and her last clear liquids at 9:00. Prayers for an understanding heart and tummy!Emily White Youreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12664784336895541402noreply@blogger.com0