Anna's Second Emergency Room Visit

Apparently (and hopefully not really) the ol' ER is a yearly rite of passage. Remember the allergy attack? This time no sesame seeds were involved.

Let me set up the scene for ya:

Anna and I traveled sans Daddy to Nashville for my niece's high school graduation. Friday was the big day, and I was helping my sis with party prep at the dining table. Anna and her cousin were playing hide and seek. She was running towards me at the table, trying to escape Kullen. She turned back to look at him and ran right into the rounded corner of the table. (THANK JESUS it was a rounded corner.)

Immediately she cried. 

Immediately I saw the gash, busted completely open about 1 inch.

After a photo sent to Daddy, a consultation with a plastic surgeon friend, Anna and I headed to Vanderbilt Children's, along with Aunt Lori, who I can never thank enough for being with us during everything that ensued.

Long story short: Anna needed stitches. With a doctor, one nurse holding her head, one nurse holding her feet, me holding her arms and laying across her body, and two ladies who try to distract kiddos with a bag of tricks (bubbles, Mickey Mouse, balls, etc), we were "ready." 

**Because of potential respiratory complications with sedation, the doctor chose to only use topical numbing cream. This is a key turning point in the story.**

Just imagine you getting stitches with only topical numbing. Now imagine you are 2-years-old. Exactly.

She screamed so hard and loud and sad. And my heart broke into thousands of pieces as I mustered my most soothing voice, singing "Buzz Buzz Bee," kissing her hands, humming, telling her I love her, and on and on. With each stitch, she screamed. It was all intense and chaotic. I could hear the nurses talking to the doctor. The child specialists was trying everything to distract Anna. I could see the doctor stitching, focused and calm, which is a miracle and impressive. In the middle of the third stitch, Anna screamed for Daddy twice.

I felt completely helpless and cruel like I could do nothing for my dearest. Then I started getting sweaty and clammy. 

If you know me well, you know I often faint when I get my blood drawn. The story only goes downhill from here.

Somewhere around stitch four, I could no longer hold Anna's hands sufficiently. I knew if I didn't sit down, I was going down. I kept trying to comfort her from my chair and also keep myself from completely wiping out. The whole scene, while at the time was horrific, is now mildly comical. Perhaps, in a few years, I will find it fully funny, but we're not that recovered. :-)

With the last stitch, they got Anna off the bed and put me on it. I felt like the WORST mother in the world. Sigh.

It was only seconds until I was fine. Anna was laying beside me calming down. It was over. Whew.

Anna is really, really tough. Although, I wasn't a fan of the pain she endured, she did great. She didn't flail around. She was brave. And was pleasant just a few minutes after it was over. Oh, I love her.

Did I mention we missed Kristen's graduation? We did. As it started, we were recovering with a popsicle. And by "we" I mean me. Ha.

Waiting in our ER room with topical numbing goop taped on her boo-boo.

The next day when I changed her dressing. I was so relieved it already looked so great!

Frontera Bayless Chicago Love

Have you ever eaten at Frontera Grill in Chicago? If that's a no, dear reader, then please put this restaurant on your must do, no excuses bucket list.

Yum.

Being an amateur (very amateur) foodie, I'd heard about Rick Bayless a time or two.

Then, a few seasons back, the hubs and I watched Top Chef Masters. Rick Bayless was a contestant and become my top pick. He seemed genuine. He exuded passion for food. He was nice. And he won--rightly so, I might add.

So on our recent weekend getaway to the Windy City, a meal at Frontera Grill, perhaps the chef's most famous, was a m-u-s-t. There were no available reservations, which we inquired about THREE months ago. The restaurant does allow walk-ins. So we got in line (yes, in line) at 4:15 to score a spot. Frontera opened at 5, and we were seated at 5:20 in the bar. Did you get that? We were there 45 minutes before opening, waited in line, and still didn't get a seat in the main dining area. We ate at a cute little table for two by the bar. And I will never complain. Ever.

The food was so original . . . and so AMAZING! Bryan raved and raved over the black beans. Yes, the black beans were the best ever. Bayless makes black beans spectacular. I had this chili-infused, melt-in-your mouth steak. Hallelujah. So, so good. Really, it was unlike any steak I'd eaten before.

Rick, we are best friends now.

Oh, and did I mention the hallway to the bathrooms are lined with James Beard awards after James Beard award (that's like an Oscar in culinary land), along with other awards. Unbelievable.

Frontera did not disappoint! When can we go back????

During Nap

Anna went to sleep at 2:10.

I went downstairs to check the rug and wood floor I soaked last night when watering a plant too much. The carpet and floor were dry. I moved the plant on the carpet to clean the plant holder. I discovered mold on the bottom of the plant holder and thus, the wood floor. (My husband is now grimacing as he reads this.)

Out comes the wood cleaner. I set the plant holder outside. I see spots on the glass door I've been meaning to clean.

Out comes the window cleaner. And then I remember to clean a spot on the dining room window. All left by you-know-who.

Back to the floor and mold and water--all clean. I move the plant onto a plastic pan I retrieved from the laundry room. Quickly realize, there is now water and dirt on the new rug.

Out comes the carpet cleaner. Spray. Wait three minutes.

Gather the towels from the floor under the dining table being used to soak up a glass of milk spilt by Anna at lunch. Toss in laundry.

Notice crumbs under table on other side. Sweep.

Use damp, color-fast cloth to clean rug. Vacuum.

Get out mop. Clean sticky, milk floor and decide to mop by front and back door since I'm usually the culprit tracking in.

Put all cleaning products away.

Open dishwasher to unload. Realize the soap dispenser never opened but was stuck on the tab.

Restart dishwasher. Wash lunch dishes by hand.

What ever happened to sleep when the baby toddler sleeps?

Timber! Tree Service (Fort Worth)

Grand ol' 2013 will include tips garnered from the remodel of 2012. These may not be the most popular or most fun posts, but--hey--when a tree falls in your yard, you'll thank me.

And that's where our relationship began with Timber! Tree Service LCC (Urban Forestry and Land Management).

Back in . . . oh, I don't even remember. Maybe 2008, a tree tumbled from heavy winds. Our neighbors hired Nathan, the owner at Timber!, to take care of the tree. We were so impressed.

When tree trimming needs cropped up, we called Timber! When a tree had to be removed for the remodel, we called Timber! When we needed to nurture and older tree through the strain of the digging and sawing of the remodel, we called Timber! And when we plant a new tree in the fall, we are calling Timber!

Here's why:

• Nathan knows his stuff. He's been loving trees since childhood. And he has all the certificates and arborist credentials to impress. 
• Nathan cares about the environment. Anything he does--trimming, pruning, removal--he does with utmost care for the tree and its surrounding environment. He's not the hack it and whack it guy. Any tree items removed from your land are taken to a recycling center for compost and mulch. Your tree lives on. :-)
• Nathan is professional. Period. So nice with a great work ethic. His whole team is courteous.
• Nathan cares about safety--yours, his, and his staff. He takes great precautions to keep everyone and everything safe.
• Timber! charges a fair price. And who doesn't love that?

So, if you need trimming, stump grinding, tree removal, CALL TIMBER! Here's the contact info: 817-637-5715 or e-mail at timbertexas@gmail.com

Easter 2013 with the Youree Three

Thanks to my participation in the study of Luke at my church this year, I was essentially a basket case this Easter. Since September, my women's study group at church has been studying Luke chapter by chapter. We came to the crucifixion and resurrection just in time for Easter. Add in a Seder Feast we attended, and I was tearing up at the mention of a candy egg. Ah, so refreshing for my heart and mind to actually be focused on the meaning of Easter--and its implications for the world!

While Anna doesn't understand the intricacies of Easter, she does know to wave a palm branch and say, "Hosanna, Hosanna" and that Jesus is alive. She also mastered the art of hunting plastic eggs stuffed with treats. Over and over and over and over. 

We celebrated Resurrection Sunday at our church and brunched with good friends at--where else--Hot Damn Tamales. I mean, isn't that the go-to Easter brunch spot? Actually, it was dee-lish. I'd so go again. Yum.

To top off the Easter post, here's a pic or two of God's gift to us:

Anna Is Not a Handbag: Learning to Handle Difficult Adoption Discourse

As Anna and I were walking into a store, a white lady about my age came out of the store, apparently running to the car to get her wallet.

She said, "Oh, look at the cute, little black girl. I've got one just like her at home."

I let out a that's-not-funny "oh" and went inside.

We only made 10 steps into the store before the lady came inside with her wallet. She, of course, felt compelled to talk to us again.

She said, "Is yours adopted? Mine's from Ethiopia."

The only thing I said was, "My daughter was born in Dallas."

And that was it.

But I fumed about it for days. The nerve. My daughter is NOT a handbag, and no, you do not have "one just like her" at home.

I'm calm now, though. I've reflected.

Occasionally, we encounter people who say, well, stupid stuff. Most of the time, it is innocent. I mean, we've all had words come out the wrong way or have said something insensitive unknowingly. I am sure this lady was frazzled because her wallet wasn't in her purse when she went to check out. I am sure she was pleasantly surprised to see another family that looked like hers and couldn't resist talking to us. I pray she replayed our conversation and felt mortified by her choice of words.

The saddest part to me of this whole interchange with this lady above is that she is an adoptive mom. She of all the people in the world should be championing for more positive discourse regarding adoption, know to use words that edify our children.

Children who joined their family through adoption are not accessories or novelties. They are not charities or a good deed. Yes, we look different from some but not different from all. We function, we love the same. My daughter is my daughter. She is my family. Period.

This episode did prompt me to consider more how I will respond in the future, especially when Anna is present. I pray God to guide us to use words that uplift the bonds of family and the beauty of adoption, all while encouraging and loving our sweet angel girl.

Naked in the Crib

Nope, not the title of a new VH1 show. It's my life.

I had plans today to post some Easter pics and a recap of our celebration. Is it awful that post was booted because of poop?

Let me explain.

Remember, I waved the potty-training white flag. We are not working on such achievements at present. So, it was a surprise when Anna Zane produced a surprise in the bathtub last night. Just use your imagination. But that, my friends, was nothing. Nothing.

As Bryan was going to bed, he noticed Anna Zane was sleeping on the opposite side of the crib; so we couldn't see her very well in the monitor. That's my disclaimer.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into Anna's room this morning to find her sitting on her pillow in same said corner, pointing to a small pile of poo in her crib. Imagine my surprise.

Quickly, it became clear she was not wearing pants or a diaper. She also looked horrified about her present situation. She patted the bed and said, "Bed wet."

I asked: "Where's your diaper?" It was nowhere to be found . . . until I lifted her balled up blankets. (See, when we lay down Anna at night, we put the blankets over her. Comfy, cozy goes the routine. And once we shut the door, she "adjusts" things by balling up her blankets beside her.) Since the diaper was under the blankets, I feared the worst. Did she?

Oh yes, she did. The diaper was completely dry. My best guess is that she took off her pants and diaper last night after Bryan laid her down. She SLEPT ALL NIGHT IN HER CRIB WITHOUT A DIAPER, PANTS, NOTHING.

And the reason why she was sitting bare-bottomed on her pillow? Because every.inch.of.her.crib. was doused in urine . . . like through the mattress pad and everything.

Imagine my surprise.

I wasn't angry, and I didn't reprimand her. Honestly, she seemed so mortified that I didn't really "mention it" again. It's a great story, though; one to be repeated many times as she gets older, no doubt. (I can see it now. She's 13 and giving me attitude. I'll say, "Oh no, young lady, I have cleaned up your mess when you peed all night. No ma'am, don't tell me that I'm ruining your life.)

Oh, and be thankful I didn't post pictures.

Anna Zane . . . Anna Zane.