Tradition! Tradition!

29- I am blessed with Tradition. Thanksgiving traditions abound in the family I sprouted from. Thanksgiving is the biggest holiday in our family. I think it stems from generations of good-pie-bakers. Not fancy bakers, just really good ones. My dad took a room-mate home to his Grandmother's for Thanksgiving one year. The roommate was concerned that he might be intruding, or that there might not be enough food (??????) or something. My dad assured him there would be at least 30 pies. Roommate doubted, roommate repented of doubt. There is generally an open-door policy at all Stewart feasts, which is anything Grandma puts on, it's all a feast. But Thanksgiving is still special. Aunts fill brown bags with treats and toys, Uncles hide said bags all over property (in most absurd hard to find places), and cousins make the great search for the bag with your own name on it. And get a good laugh at the cousin who has to climb up a pole to retrieve his/her bag. Some years have brought sugar cookies but in the shape of pilgrims to be painted with colored milk by kids. There have been plenty of football games on the large back-lawn. Many years have brought late nights of board games while feasting on pie. One year, the boy cousins took a bunch of pies out to the trailer they were staying in and polished them off on their own. The funniest part? No one missed the pies, there were plenty more. In a large (very very large) family, everyone has their own specialty, and when many hands pitch in, the load is lightened and the feast is amazing. Turkey, pan gravy, potatoes, rolls, cornbread dressing. Rainbow Jello, green salad, sweet potatoes, green-bean casserole, some-other jello, fruit salad, fruity-sugary-yummy drink concoction. Pie, pie, pie, more pie. They all come together so beautifully on our giant plates. But don't fill them too full. 'Take all you want, but eat all you take' (or else) says Grandpa. No worries, there should be a nice handful of teenage boys to help you out when your eyes are bigger than your stomach. This year, things weren't quite the same. Not as many people gathered together, and while we tried to make up for it, they were missed. The food was still good, but no Rainbow Jello procured itself. No pilgrim cookies. We even had to sneak the kids leftovers to the trash, because there was a decided lack of boys to finish it off. I really did not do my mom's rolls justice either. Unfortunately, it is a simple fact of life. We are growing up. It's hard enough to get together 11 households. (or even just half of them) but now that cousins are moving out, getting married, having kids, it's nigh unto impossible. My marvelous Aunts and Uncles are probably just as grateful as my parents are when they can get the kids back to their own homes, to say nothing of Grandma's house. But the traditions are still there, waiting for us to carry them out in our own ways, with our own children. I have a lot to learn before I can make a holiday run as smoothly as my Aunt PhyllisAnn can. I'll probably never pull it off, but I can take the most important parts, and create a wonderful Thanksgiving for my own family.

30- I am grateful for my extended family, and all they are. oxoxoxoxoxoxo(((HUGS))) to all of you. And Tyler, I'm gonna tackle you with my biggest one, just for old times sake.

Counting THANKSGIVING

26- Pie

27-Rolls

28- Turkey

'Nuff said.

Counting Blessing 25

I am grateful for my SLING. When Willie arrived, I ordered a ring-sling from an Etsy shop. I'd always heard that baby #3 was hardest because you didn't have enough hands anymore. And boy, oh boy was that true. Since I figured it out, I've worn Willie practically everywhere and gotten lots of compliments. I was able to tend to almost anything that needed my hands, and still have him right there 'in my arms'. It was great. It hasn't been used as much since he started walking, but this morning he brought it to me, and when I put it on he reached up to be picked up. Actually he's done it twice this morning. He may be a bit more independent but he still like to be secure with his mommy I guess. I am so grateful for this apparatus that made having a clingy baby a joy, not a frustration.

23, 24

23- I am grateful for Harvey. He is such a playful, incredibly fun little guy. He makes me laugh and smile, and drives me up the wall. Often times he doesn't seem to have a clue what he means, or what he wants. But it's always an adventure trying to figure it out. He's very loving, and just wants to be around the people who love him. His playful smile is very difficult to stay mad at. And his favorite response when he is told no is 'But it's FUN'. Harvey is our rubber child. He bounces right back from almost any hurt. Of course this sometimes means he bounces back and forth from emotion to emotion, opinion to opinion. But I wouldn't change him for anything. What would life be like without Harvey's imagination?? No fun, that's what

24-I am grateful for Willie. During the first half of his pregnancy Jeff and Abby were convinced we were having a girl, I expected we would have a girl, because my family came GBGBGB. And I was depressed, it just felt all wrong. I didn't know my baby at all, I never saw him in a dream like I did the older two. But as soon as we had the u/s and saw it was a boy- I realized I had known all along that a boy was on the way, and all was right with the world. Willie is very much a Momma's Boy. He is my most affectionate child, he really loves to give love, be loved, cuddle, and more. Before he was mobile he hated being put down, and was kind of difficult that way. But when he finally learned to crawl at 9 months old, his whole attitude changed. He's been into everything ever since. He's at that perfect stage where he is incapable of being naughty. And he almost never throws a temper tantrum. I am so glad we had another boy, because Harvey very mcuh needed a friend that would look up to him. If we had had a girl, Harvey would be the only boy as far as the eye could see, and would never get over it. Definitely grateful for Willie. I keep trying to tell him to just stay the way he is now, but I'm pretty sure he is ignoring me.

November 22nd, my best blessing.

Today is November 22nd. Six whole years ago my daughter was born. It is a day emblazoned into my brain, my heart, and my soul. The day that a first-child is born is an especially momentous day for any mother. It is not just the child born in that moment, but the mother. The past nine months discomfort is a barely adequate introduction to the immense change that your life is about to go through. We eat right, we visit the doctor, drink lots of water, take lots of naps, make frequent bathroom visits, don't sleep well, worry over every little change, desperately wish for it all to be over so we can hold our little miracle. But in the end, a healthy baby arrives and a mother is born. Or so it should go(and usually does). We tend to take for granted that it will indeed play out in that very way. I know I did. But, apparently Heavenly Father (and probably Abby too) saw fit that I have true appreciation for the miracle that was my daughter. And so they forced it onto me.

November 22nd 2003 was a Saturday. I don't really remember what day of the week my boys were born, I'd have to go look it up. But I remember lots of which-days in Abby's birth story. From the Wednesday night that she was more active than she had ever been, turning somersaults and doing flying acrobatics. To the busy Thursday where the doctor said things were looking well, how was the baby moving? 'Not much that I've noticed today, but that's normal and last night she was going nuts.' 'OK then, we'll see you on Monday (due date), then discuss possible ways to encourage labor'. The Sealing Session at the Temple that night was interesting, kneeling down on a narrow ledge with a giant belly in front of you is tricky. Dinner out was good, I was tired, I still hadn't felt my daughter move really. But, her movements in general were so slight, and I'd been so busy today, I probably just hadn't noticed. And I really don't want to go to the hospital just to be told I was being paranoid and should simply take time for kick-counts every day. It's late, we have an hours drive ahead of us, let's just go home. Friday still nothing much. Definite decrease in movements. But I second guessed myself ALL DAY. We ate a big spaghetti dinner in and effort to jump start some baby movements. That night I called my mom. In tears. And she promptly told me in no uncertain terms to call the doctor RIGHT NOW, who said yes, go get checked. Rather than drive an hour to St George where my doctor was, just to be told baby was sleeping, we went to the local hospital. Apparently the nurse was about to send me to St George where I already was a patient, but changed her mind and hooked me up to some monitors. I think it was about 8:00 at night. Friday night blurred into Saturday.

On the monitors, I was relieved to see Abby's heartbeat. Pretty steady at about 156. Definitely good. As is standard practice, they kept me on those monitors for a full hour, and handed me a button to push so I could record any movement. I pushed it a couple of times, but the sensation was very, very small. While I sat there all relieved that my baby's heart was beating, Jeff and the nurse were noticing that the monitor line was practically flat. She had no accelerations or decelerations at all. It took me a little bit longer, but I'd gone to the pre-natal classes too. I knew this wasn't good. But she might be sleeping after all. A thought which seemed far more hopeful than silly now. The nurse said it seemed likely that the baby would need to be delivered, I asked if we should get to St. George. She said no, if I was transferred at all, it would be after. They have a tool they use to wake up sleeping in-utero-babies, did you know? I don't know what it's called but it vibrates and sounds like a power tool. So the nurse pulled out this little gadget, applied it to my belly and **BUZZ** **BUZZ**. Nothing, not a flinch, not a twitch. Her heart rate remained steady. I was terrified. I wanted my baby out right now, because something was very, very wrong. The nurse called the on-call ob and he arrived quickly, with an ultrasound technician and machine. They began what I have since learned is called a bio-physical profile. An ultrasound in which they score certain indicators regarding babies well being(like an in-utero apgar). It usually takes a half-hour. They took a lot longer on mine. During which they asked me if there had been anything unusual found on my ultrasound a few weeks prior. NO. Should there have been??? Well, there's something floating by her head. The doctor showed me her upper lip, it was perfectly formed with lines like a bird flying high in the air. She was beautiful, I knew. With the BPP, immediate delivery is recommended for scores 6 or lower. Abby scored a 2. Time to set up an emergency c-section.

In the middle of the night, in a small but well-equipped hospital, an emergency c-section takes some time to set up. They need to get an anesthesiologist out of bed, along with some operating room staff, a pediatrician and neo-nate nurses. Then everyone had to drive in the middle of the first big snowstorm of the season. If the emergency had been a delivery complication, it would have been different. But there was a baby coming that was going to need some help. Just what the problem was, no one knew. And the situation was steady, better to have everyone there than to rush. The pitocin that they had given me for a required 'trial of labor' made every muscle in my back spasm, so the nurses used a sheet to roll me onto the operating table, where the anesthesiologist gave me the spinal. Jeff got all decked out in the surgical coverings, and came to sit with me. Up went a big teal curtain across my chest and they started prepping. An important part of which was making sure the anesthetics were working. They pinched my abdomen, yes I could feel it. Then they pinched my arm, ok NO I didn't feel that much. So they proceeded since I didn't feel any real pain. But I felt the pressure. And it isn't a little bit of pressure either, the pulling and tugging is remarkable. Especially with stomach half-full of spaghetti dinner. So the anesthesiologist held a bowl and a vacuum hose while I vomited, and talked to me. He reassured me that I was doing fine, and let me know what was causing the sensations ('They just opened up the uterus') while Jeff held my hand and kept his mouth shut. Kept his mouth shut about the copious amounts of blood all over the table and floor. Kept his mouth shut about the doctor's comments that they had never seen this much blood, where was it coming from??. When Abby was delivered at 4 am, not a single sound came from her. She never drew a breath, her apgar score was 0. I only saw the top of her head as they took her to the NICU. She had beautiful dark hair. It was off to the recovery room for me, where I think they drugged me so I would sleep for a few hours.

It was about 10 am before I got to go see Abby. Dr. Ghaffari had spent 6 hours hand-bagging my baby to keep her alive. The only reason they let me get up at that point was because the life-flight team was there to get her, and she would be transported soon. Getting into the wheelchair was agony, and the trip down the hall felt like a roller-coaster. I looked at her and set my finger in her hand. That was all I was allowed to do, because more touch would cause more over-stimulation. Her beautiful upper lip was covered in tape that secured the ventilator tube to her nose. Her body was swollen from the IV fluids they had pushed to keep her blood pressure up. The life-flight attendant came to talk to me, get the required permissions, and confirm which hospital they were taking Abby to. They gave me the choice of sending her to a hospital in SLC, or to the Utah Vally hospital in Provo. I chose Utah Valley, they had taken very good care of my baby brother 4 years earlier(this whole thing was like a horrific flashback for my family), and it was a little closer. She told me that I needed to sign forms for a possible heart-lung bypass, informed me of the high risks, and said some other scary stuff that I gratefully have forgotten. Jeff came to kiss me goodbye, and followed Abby out into the hall. They had given permission for him to go with her. I had just had surgery, and would have to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. I was taken to my room, where I would have to wait alone.

Many details of my time in the hospital are blurry. I know I had visitors. Jeff's mom must have been with me a good deal of the time. My grandparents drove up to sit with me for a while. My Aunt and Uncle came by. My parents left Green Bay earlier than they had planned and drove straight through, so they must have been there on Sunday. But I think I was alone a lot on Saturday. I know I was alone when Jeff called. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. He called to tell me they were at Primary Children's Medical Center in SLC. They had tried going to Provo, but a large cloud bank rolled in and they couldn't land. So they had to fly to Salt Lake, where Primary's said they had plenty of room, hurry up and bring her in. There was still no real change in Abby. They'd gotten her apgar scores up to a 2 at this point. But nothing was improving. Jeff was calling to let me know that they were going to get ready to put her on an ECMO machine. The heart-lung-bypass. They would have to administer blood thinners to prevent clotting. This was likely to cause a bleed in the brain, and if it did they would stop trying. I was in tears. I vehemently told Jeff that he couldn't let them take her off of life-support. At least not until I got there to say goodbye. He didn't say much, we'd talk more later. He was going to go talk to the doctor and wait. I was alone, so very, very alone. We had home teachers assigned to us, but I couldn't remember their names. So I looked up the phone number of Bishop Steffensen and called him. No one answered, and I left a message on their machine through my tears. As I sat there and grieved for my daughter, I wished desperately that they hadn't taken her. Why did they take her away from me?? Why couldn't I have just held her for an hour? I just wanted to have a relationship with my baby, if she had to die, couldn't she die with me? Then other thoughts forced their way through my grief. There had been so many close-calls. If I had waited until Saturday morning, she would have died. If I'd gone to St. George, that extra hour may have been too long. That bank of fog?? If they had gone to Provo first, they would have been transporting her to PCMC right now, because only PCMC had the ECMO machine she was needing. Heavenly Father was taking care of my baby, and he wouldn't let her die alone, I'd see her again. I was sure. I was fierce in my certainty, I practically growled at the demons in my head. "You can't have her!! She is my baby, and she is here to stay!! God wouldn't take her away from me now, not after all this!" I was a little concerned that I was being irreverent, but held onto the hope. Sister Steffensen returned my call then, Bishop was not home just now, but he'd be home soon, and would come see me right away. I told her I appreciated it, and that I just desperately needed a blessing. I needed some comfort, something more than the hope that had formed in my mind. I don't recall exactly which happened first. But 2 things happened. At 4 o'clock I got another phone call. It wasn't Jeff, it was the doctor. She had wanted to call me herself. Abby was finally stable. They hadn't needed the bypass. She didn't know how long recovery would take, or how much permanent damage there was but for now, Abby was fine. Jeff would tell me later that Abby was literally being prepped for surgery when the improvement started. It wasn't medicine that did it, it was Heavenly Father. Bishop Steffensen came in and gave me a blessing. In that blessing I was promised all that I had desperately prayed for earlier. In almost the very same words. A relationship with my daughter and she would live. I hadn't told Bishop what exactly I was wishing for, but someone had heard my prayers, and was answering them in a way I could not ignore.

I believe in Miracles. I believe in the power of the priesthood. I know that my daughter is a blessing straight from Heaven. She is my daughter, and she is incredibly special. There is so much more to tell about this story. The blessings Jeff and other worthy priesthood holders gave her. Men who were nearby in the hospital and could help him. I don't tell them now, because I was not there for them, and this story is what I remember about that day. There is more I'd like to share, but it will have to wait for another day. The miracle of her recovery. The impact she had on the people that helped her. The impact they had on us. The prayers of dozens of close-family members. The worries that my mother and husband hid from me. Then there is six years of wonderful life stories. Abby is my refining fire. She is intense, and stubborn, and loving, and smart. I am so grateful for her. I am so incredibly grateful for the priesthood power that kept her here. It is very, very easy for me to Give Thanks this time of year.

13-21 !!

Whoa. I have a lot I'd like to blog about, and really wanted to do this Blessing Blog daily this month. HAHAHA. Let's just say I've been busy.

13- I am grateful for Sisters. For all the women in my life that have had, or will have that role. Whether by birth, marriage, or pure survival bonding us together. For Irene who calls me, even though I'm horrible at calling her. For Melissa, who joined our family in a whirlwind and I'm so glad she did. For Emily, my baby sister who seems to like us as much as we like her, and has rightfully earned the title of Favorite Aunt to my kiddos. For Trisha, who lets me feel needed and is a fellow mother-of-kids-the-same-size-as-mine. For Bekah, whose fun detail oriented mind keeps the parties WAY nicer than anything I can pull off. For Helen, a wonderfully gracious woman. For Shelly, her smiles and spunk made me feel loved when my other sisters went so far away. For Leigh she's quiet, beautiful, and amazing, I just wish I knew her better. I'd love to spend more time with some of my sisters and get to know them better. It seems I blinked and suddenly I was surrounded by amazing women. Some new in my life, some just a lot more grown up. I am so grateful for my sisters.

14-I am grateful for second hand clothes. Why pay full price when it will look used just as soon as you wear it?? Hand-me-downs have really been a blessing for me. I have 2 little boys, and I've been blessed with lots of boy clothes, so that I don't really need to buy any play clothes at all. And this week, I had a neighbor give me a bag full of size 12 pants. Hurray!! Because those size 10s? Vanity sized. And those 14s? too big. Now I have pants that will fit me and my legs will not turn blue from frostbite.

15- I am grateful for Bountiful Baskets. I've been wishing I could join a produce co-op for years, but there weren't any in the area. Bountiful Baskets came to Cedar City in September, and I picked up my first basket on Halloween. Basically with a large group of people contributing we are able to buy produce at the same price the store gets it. I don't get to pick and choose, but I do get a large basket of produce for an excellent price.

16- I am grateful for a yeast infection that plagues my belly button. I don't know, don't ask. But if I've been eating too much sugar, boy oh boy does the flaming itch on my navel motivate me to change my ways.

17- I am grateful to be a nursing mom. So what if I'm super saggy and deflated, so what if I can't just run off for a whole week? I've lost all of my Willard-baby weight, plus an extra 30 pounds. And Aunt Flo hasn't come-a-calling for at least 13 months. (What is with that one random cycle 2 months post-partum???) Do I miss her? No not really.

18- I am grateful for color. All my life, or at least all that I can remember, I've lived in homes with whitish walls. But when we painted Abby's room pink, wow. It is so very fun having a colorful room. So I think it may just be catching and spread all around the house. I love our colorful world, I always have. My Grandmother Langford had a beautiful flower garden always full of many colors. Staring into the eyes of my little family, I'm amazed by all the facets of color in that one little spot. How dull would life be without color?

19-I am grateful for my education. I may just have an Associates degree from a community-just-turned-state college, but it has served me well. I may have spent all of my time taking practically redundant classes on child-development, but those have served me well too. I've also learned a few things from my various jobs and assignments working in preschool and with special needs kids. My first teachers in that field were my baby brothers therapists. I owe them so much. Without all of the knowledge gleaned from these sources, I'd be completely befuddled in Nursery. Some days, I still am.

20-I am grateful for dirty dishes. I am grateful for food thrown in the garbage can. I am grateful for hours spent in the kitchen. It means we have an incredible bounty of food to eat.

21- I am grateful for my Mother-In-Law. I think I have the best one in the world, really. She loves to spoil the kids, but her version is taking them outside and playing. She will do what I rarely condescend to and pretend to be whatever animal strikes Abby's fancy at the moment. She encourages dirt, thought, music, and imagination. She never tells us how to run our lives. (Well except to say that she thinks we shouldn't sell our car, but that is always a suggestion, not an order). And best of all, she raised the awesom-est sons in the world. They pitch in, they rock babies, they are gnetleman to the core, they respect their mother, but they put their wives first. There is only one left and he's just 18, sorry ladies.

Counting My Blessings 10-12

(This is totally harder than I thought it would be, sorry I'm not more consistent)

10-I am grateful for Kindergarten. Abby is having a wonderful time learning at school, making new friends, picking up on new things, interacting with OTHER people. I have had the opportunity to go and assist at the start of class a few times, and it really is so much fun working with little kids on classroom stuff again. It reminds me of when I was assisting at the DSC preschool, the kids are cute, friendly and oh-so-bright. Harvey tags along with Abby while I'm doing the parent-job and is none too happy when we leave. Willard gets into everything, I am going to have to figure out something else before I take him back in there. Abby has started sounding out and reading simple words. Today she read 'facts, moon, from, cheerios' and a few others. She also is starting to write out simple sentences to label her pictures 'early at school' looks like this 'R L Y A T SOSL' Personally I thought her spelling of early was dead on for sounding it out (and super cute). She is struggling some with counting to 30, she gets completely tripped up in the teens. If she remembers 14 and 15, the next in line is usually 51, lol. But we are going to practice some with the calendar. Which totally makes her giddy because her birthday is coming up very, very soon. I'm grateful for all that Kindergarten has offered Abby. I'm also grateful for the opportunity I have to bond with Harvey. I'll admit right up that reading blogs and For Better or For Worse usually takes most of my time. But today I unplugged the TV, and read to Harvey. We got sleepy holding each other in the rocker, and went to lay down on my bed. Harvey fell asleep and took a nap, for the first time in FOREVER. And he has still gone to bed at a decent hour. Oh yes, I am very grateful for Kindergarten.

11- I am grateful for my gym membership. I know I need to make better use of it, and as I sit here relaxing in my post-Pilates Class euphoria, I wonder why I hadn't gone in so long. There are many reasons for it, most of which can be classed under timing. But I've got to get back in there. Not only is it essential if I am to have any chance at all of shrinking my saggy baggy elephant skin. But the effects are almost as good as a massage. I can relax, my body stiffness almost melts away, I can get up and out of bed without silently cursing my various achy spots. Not that I wouldn't still appreciate a nice foot or back rub, but in general I feel much better. Ironic as it may sound, I also have more energy and fewer munchies. When Abby was a baby I was able to put her in the stroller and go for a walk on a nearby trail. Now that there are three kids and no trail, I am so very grateful for a gym membership. Now does anybody want to be my gym buddy??

12- I am grateful for my Bosch Mixer. And my NutriMill. We are out of bread right now, I made a double batch last week and it all got eaten that weekend. So tomorrow I need to mix up some fresh bread. And I am so glad I've got a mixer with the muscle to pull it off. When I first started making bread I was using my Kitchen Aid and although it is a nice mixer it could only do a half batch of bread at a time. Neither did it have the power to knead whole wheat dough until is was nice and smooth, so I got to do that. Whenever I got sick of that process and decided to buy bread, we'd go to church within a week and taste once again Sister Fife's bread. (Her son was bringing their bread to be used for the Sacrament.) ONE bite and I would automatically thing, "mmmm, real food". Now, I can't afford to buy 3 or 4 dollar loaves of real bread, so I make it. And I am very grateful for my Bosch mixer, which will take 12-16 cups of whole wheat flour and knead it into beautifully smooth dough. Dough that makes pretty decent bread. If I don't mess it up. :D

(Now that I've done that, I can remember a beautiful list of blog worthy blessings. Hopefully I'll still remember tomorrow!)