I woke up first this morning, as has been the usual for Saturdays lately. I stayed in the warm, cozy bed, though, trying to get a few more snoozes in. A bit later, I was delighted when Brent got up to answer the demands being yelled from the other room by Little Miss. Eventually I decided I wasn't going back to sleep so I might as well get up. Of course my first stop after any time spent laying down, but especially first thing in the morning, was the bathroom.
I'll spare you details, more for my own attempt to maintain some level of decent modesty, but when I came out I stood looking at Brent, wondering what exactly I was going to tell him. He looked at me and could see the wheels turning (underneath the mat of some pretty incredible bed-head hair) and said, "What?...What?"
"Well...I think you might have to take me to the emergency room."
I wasn't anticipating saying those words, and I can tell you he wasn't anticipating hearing them. I called the hospital to speak to the on-call OB, who to my surprise got back to me within five minutes. I explained what was happening, he asked me some questions, and based on the information given he determined I should come in. "But don't hurry, because the roads are slick out there." Oh, right, because we got 4 inches of snow yesterday. In mid-March. Because this is our tropical paradise.
I don't think all three of us have ever been dressed and out of the house before 8 a.m. on a Saturday, so that was definitely a first for us today. Not sure why, but I was pretty proud of how we pulled ourselves together and out the door. The distraction of getting everyone ready was good for me. Once we were settled in the vehicle and driving down the street, I reached for Brent's hand. As he was driving and holding my hand, he started to pray out loud. That's about the time I started to cry. I didn't want another March preemie. I didn't want to be admitted to the hospital a few days before Haley's 3rd birthday. I didn't want to have the same thing happen as before. I just wanted a normal pregnancy. Normal delivery. Normal.
We were met at the door to the birthing center and ushered into a triage room. I put on the lovely gown and a nurse came in to check my blood pressure and gather other information. I couldn't see the monitor from where I was sitting, and no one was telling me what the blood pressure numbers were. So I asked.
...."High." Said the nurse.
I raised my eyebrows.
"150/94" she said.
Whoops.
I started having flashbacks. Being wheeled to a holding room. IV. Surgery. NICU. The nurse had moved on to the computer and was asking me questions about medication, history, etc. I came back to the present and answered them. It was hard to hear her petite little voice over the loud "chook-chook-chook" of the fetal heart monitor. Cletus-The-She-Fetus was busy trying to roll away from the monitors and would occasionally hit one dead on as she kicked. Brent looked at me, "Was that you?" No...that was her. She has a thing against cold gel and machines.
I was in the room for three hours. My labs came back free and clear. No pre-eclmapsia today. Thank you, Lord. In that time I was told to lay on my left side - a routine I was familiar with. The next blood pressure after laying on my side was 118/67. What a difference a shift in position makes. The doctor came in to examine me. At that point I wasn't sure I could handle actual child birth, because the little examination was pretty painful and I was making faces for quite a while. Turns out, I'm dilated 1.5 cm. That could certainly explain why I was experiencing what I was experiencing prior to calling. While it wasn't common per se, it fell within the range of normal. Sigh of relief. My blood pressure the next two times was the same low number. After going over my daily routine and him finding my activity level (rather, lack thereof) to be acceptable, I was being discharged.
Bed rest all weekend. Limited activity during the week. Work is fine, if I stay off my feet. Discharge paperwork also specifically stated, "Someone else needs to do the laundry and cleaning." I laughed a little. You've all seen me gush over my husband before and today is no different. He's in cleaning the kitchen right now. Because he has to? No. Because I can't. Because he loves me. Because he's freakin awesome. I pray my daughters - his daughters - are blessed to find a man as wonderful as he is.
I called my parents to tell them what had happened. Mom said we had to stop doing this to her. Both of her daughters have had anything but easy roads when it comes to childbirth. "I can't believe after all of this you would still consider having more." said Mom. I laughed.
The last time I was on bed rest, I was in the hospital, only allowed to get up to go to the bathroom. I had to wear compression socks and fetal monitors at all times. I remember after a few hours I was going crazy. Today, I'm at home, in my own clothes, and have limitations, yes, but more freedom as well. Six more weeks. Just six more weeks. Bake in there for six more weeks, Cletus.
...and thank you, God, today was what it was and nothing more. Please keep protecting this baby and this baby's mama.
To read the story of our precious Harlynn Renae, start here and follow the "next" links at the end of each post. Thank you for coming and sharing with us in this journey.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
Best Picture Goes To...
Today is day two of me being home sick. Wednesday night I was ambushed by congestion and a sore throat, and all ills have ignored the eviction notice and are trying to take up a more permanent residence within my pregnant, exhausted being. The plus side of all of this is I get to watch anything I want on Netflix. I'm no wild and crazy movie fanatic, so I mostly turn to documentaries. (Buzzkill...) I will tell you, though, watching these documentaries has opened my eyes to many a truth I wish I had known before entering my 30s. I might just homeschool Haley and her little sis and show them Netflix documentaries all day. Not really, but if I had learned earlier what I'm learning now - who knows? I might not be sick today! Or ever! Netflix = Best $8/mo ever spent.
It started with my sister (who is more of a hippie than I am, and I think I'm climbing the hippie ladder pretty swiftly) recommending The Business of Being Born. I reminded her that the first time I was pregnant, I made the mistake of watching the live birthing videos on babycenter.com. (This resulted in me bursting in to tears and telling Brent I was going to stay pregnant forever, and the child within was not allowed to ever be the child-on-out.) I sat and watched TBOBB, and to my surprise (because I'm not a Ricki Lake fan, and she was the brain behind the film), I not only learned a lot, but it confirmed a lot of what I had already been questioning or thinking myself. Then, lo and behold, I see they came out with More Business of Being Born - four follow-up episodes after the film. I've now seen all five, still not a fan of Ricki Lake, and if the good Lord (and my husband...that'll be a tough one) allow me to get pregnant again, things will be done differently on my end. Things are being done differently this time around anyway, but they'll be done even more differently next time around. Regardless of where you are in your life-walk of having children, if you ever plan to birth one after today, go watch those.
Next, it was a Saturday night and Brent wanted to kill some time watching a movie. He was scrolling through the queue and asked me what I was in the mood for. He regretted asking that, I'm sure.
"I'm kind of in the mood for a good documentary." I answered.
....."Seriously?" he replied.
"Yes, seriously."
After an emphatic sigh and scrolling through the documentaries, he asked if anything was catching my eye.
"I kind of want to watch that farm one." I said.
....."Seriously?" as if I suddenly was going to reveal the whole thing had been a joke and I would say, "Just kidding! Let's watch Dumb and Dumber!"
"Seriously."
He selected it, and pushed play. For the next hour and some minutes, we watched - mesmerized - Farmageddon. You know I've evolved over the years into a moderate food-hippie. (And please, my use of the word "hippie" means no offense to anyone who may be a hippie, doesn't like hippies, or whatever other negative stigma is associated with actual hippies. It's the only word I can think of, however, that captures my "against-the-norm-free-spirit" mentality without pinning me in any specific group.)
You see, I was raised by wonderful parents. They never made me eat my vegetables, except for the three times I remember gagging at the table and Mom accusing me of faking it. Mom hated (and still hates) to cook. Dinner for us was hot dogs, mac n cheese, beans and cornbread, or spaghetti. We usually had a roast on Sundays. That was the extent of cooking in our home, though. Otherwise, it was Burger King, Taco Bell, Mountain Mike's Pizza, Carl's Jr., You-Bee's Take N Bake Pizza, etc. We had take out a lot, and in 30 years, they still don't send vegetables home with their burgers or burritos. As I've gotten older, I've tried to add them to my own diet, but always lamented the fact that they looked so good yet tasted so awful.
That all changed when I was pregnant with Haley, and decided my children were going to eat healthier than I did. This also meant I needed to eat healthier than I did. Ugh. I started doing my own research and came to the conclusion that we would make a disciplined effort to consume organic fruits and veggies, and less processed food. I started buying farm-fresh eggs, organic milk, organic produce, and as much "all natural" meat our pocketbook could afford. It hasn't always been the tastiest result, but I'll tell you we're a lot better than we were (sans pregnancy...it all goes straight to crap while I'm pregnant, unfortunately) and we are definitely more intentional about incorporating healthier options into our meals. The bonus is, I actually love to cook and if you ask my dad, husband, or brother-in-law, they'll attest I'm pretty good at it. (Bro-in-law asked Brent if he proposed to me after he'd had one of my meals.) We've been very intentional about buying only organic milk and produce, and have gone to great lengths to be able to afford it regularly, and incorporate it diligently into our diets. So back to the documentary.
Brent and I sat watching Farmageddon. We were disturbed at the end for different reasons. My husband is passionate about politics and the see the political influence on our food industry had him riled up. (I'm sure you've heard the phrase 'profits over people' - your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen.) I was disturbed because here were these people trying to do the right, healthy thing, and they were being shut down and essentially bullied because...well, because they were food hippies.
Now I'm not going to get on a political soapbox, and you're not either by the way, because that's not my point in sharing all of this. If you get to be in my position, though, and find yourself wishing you had done things differently in your food consumption habits, I would recommend watching this and would encourage you to support your local farmers. Heck, I'm from Wyoming. 95% of my friends are farmers or are from a farming family. Farms are a big deal, and there's a lot of crooked stuff going on to regulate how they make their living to feed the masses. Support your local farmers. Okay, now for real I'm not getting on a soapbox. Again.
Once you watch Farmageddon, chase it down with Food Matters, Food Inc (if you can stomach it...I had to cover my eyes at least twice watching that one) and The Beautiful Truth. Why am I recommending these? I'm not sure, entirely. I've seen them all, I've had my eyes opened to things I wish I'd known about years ago, and I've been validated in wanting to buy local, organic foods for my family. (And in wanting to grow some of my own, which I've wanted to do for years, but haven't gotten around to doing yet...) I'm not trying to sway anyone one way or another. There are two sides to every story. Sometimes there are things a person learns and they think "why did no one tell me this sooner?" (i.e. "The School of Mines" is just that, not "The School of Minds"...this freakin' hearing loss and the embarrassing things I come up with in conversations...)
Now...if anyone has some yoga videos they'd recommend, I'd be up for that too. I will not, however, be rushing out to buy Birkenstock sandals or protesting for or against any event or cause I either support or disagree with. Let's be real - I'm a food hippie. Not an activist nut.
It started with my sister (who is more of a hippie than I am, and I think I'm climbing the hippie ladder pretty swiftly) recommending The Business of Being Born. I reminded her that the first time I was pregnant, I made the mistake of watching the live birthing videos on babycenter.com. (This resulted in me bursting in to tears and telling Brent I was going to stay pregnant forever, and the child within was not allowed to ever be the child-on-out.) I sat and watched TBOBB, and to my surprise (because I'm not a Ricki Lake fan, and she was the brain behind the film), I not only learned a lot, but it confirmed a lot of what I had already been questioning or thinking myself. Then, lo and behold, I see they came out with More Business of Being Born - four follow-up episodes after the film. I've now seen all five, still not a fan of Ricki Lake, and if the good Lord (and my husband...that'll be a tough one) allow me to get pregnant again, things will be done differently on my end. Things are being done differently this time around anyway, but they'll be done even more differently next time around. Regardless of where you are in your life-walk of having children, if you ever plan to birth one after today, go watch those.
Next, it was a Saturday night and Brent wanted to kill some time watching a movie. He was scrolling through the queue and asked me what I was in the mood for. He regretted asking that, I'm sure.
"I'm kind of in the mood for a good documentary." I answered.
....."Seriously?" he replied.
"Yes, seriously."
After an emphatic sigh and scrolling through the documentaries, he asked if anything was catching my eye.
"I kind of want to watch that farm one." I said.
....."Seriously?" as if I suddenly was going to reveal the whole thing had been a joke and I would say, "Just kidding! Let's watch Dumb and Dumber!"
"Seriously."
He selected it, and pushed play. For the next hour and some minutes, we watched - mesmerized - Farmageddon. You know I've evolved over the years into a moderate food-hippie. (And please, my use of the word "hippie" means no offense to anyone who may be a hippie, doesn't like hippies, or whatever other negative stigma is associated with actual hippies. It's the only word I can think of, however, that captures my "against-the-norm-free-spirit" mentality without pinning me in any specific group.)
You see, I was raised by wonderful parents. They never made me eat my vegetables, except for the three times I remember gagging at the table and Mom accusing me of faking it. Mom hated (and still hates) to cook. Dinner for us was hot dogs, mac n cheese, beans and cornbread, or spaghetti. We usually had a roast on Sundays. That was the extent of cooking in our home, though. Otherwise, it was Burger King, Taco Bell, Mountain Mike's Pizza, Carl's Jr., You-Bee's Take N Bake Pizza, etc. We had take out a lot, and in 30 years, they still don't send vegetables home with their burgers or burritos. As I've gotten older, I've tried to add them to my own diet, but always lamented the fact that they looked so good yet tasted so awful.
That all changed when I was pregnant with Haley, and decided my children were going to eat healthier than I did. This also meant I needed to eat healthier than I did. Ugh. I started doing my own research and came to the conclusion that we would make a disciplined effort to consume organic fruits and veggies, and less processed food. I started buying farm-fresh eggs, organic milk, organic produce, and as much "all natural" meat our pocketbook could afford. It hasn't always been the tastiest result, but I'll tell you we're a lot better than we were (sans pregnancy...it all goes straight to crap while I'm pregnant, unfortunately) and we are definitely more intentional about incorporating healthier options into our meals. The bonus is, I actually love to cook and if you ask my dad, husband, or brother-in-law, they'll attest I'm pretty good at it. (Bro-in-law asked Brent if he proposed to me after he'd had one of my meals.) We've been very intentional about buying only organic milk and produce, and have gone to great lengths to be able to afford it regularly, and incorporate it diligently into our diets. So back to the documentary.
Brent and I sat watching Farmageddon. We were disturbed at the end for different reasons. My husband is passionate about politics and the see the political influence on our food industry had him riled up. (I'm sure you've heard the phrase 'profits over people' - your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen.) I was disturbed because here were these people trying to do the right, healthy thing, and they were being shut down and essentially bullied because...well, because they were food hippies.
Now I'm not going to get on a political soapbox, and you're not either by the way, because that's not my point in sharing all of this. If you get to be in my position, though, and find yourself wishing you had done things differently in your food consumption habits, I would recommend watching this and would encourage you to support your local farmers. Heck, I'm from Wyoming. 95% of my friends are farmers or are from a farming family. Farms are a big deal, and there's a lot of crooked stuff going on to regulate how they make their living to feed the masses. Support your local farmers. Okay, now for real I'm not getting on a soapbox. Again.
Once you watch Farmageddon, chase it down with Food Matters, Food Inc (if you can stomach it...I had to cover my eyes at least twice watching that one) and The Beautiful Truth. Why am I recommending these? I'm not sure, entirely. I've seen them all, I've had my eyes opened to things I wish I'd known about years ago, and I've been validated in wanting to buy local, organic foods for my family. (And in wanting to grow some of my own, which I've wanted to do for years, but haven't gotten around to doing yet...) I'm not trying to sway anyone one way or another. There are two sides to every story. Sometimes there are things a person learns and they think "why did no one tell me this sooner?" (i.e. "The School of Mines" is just that, not "The School of Minds"...this freakin' hearing loss and the embarrassing things I come up with in conversations...)
Now...if anyone has some yoga videos they'd recommend, I'd be up for that too. I will not, however, be rushing out to buy Birkenstock sandals or protesting for or against any event or cause I either support or disagree with. Let's be real - I'm a food hippie. Not an activist nut.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
The Calm Before The Storm
That title seems so dramatic, but really I'm using it quite literally. It's supposed to be a gorgeous winter day today (high near 30!!) and then come Monday we're supposed to get a storm, accumulating between 6 to 12 inches of snow. More snow. Yay. In addition, we're already at a 79% likelihood of significant ("major") flooding in our area this spring, so the additional snowfall will increase that as well. No rest for the weary in the land Mother Nature can't seem to find favor for. Hey Mama Nate - what'd we ever do to you? Like, besides pollute, develop, and all that stuff. Besides that, name one thing! Big bully...
Anyway - I just used an entire paragraph explaining my title choice, so obviously I have a lot of poignant things to say today.
Or not.
Last night I had the pleasure of spending the evening with some women who I've become very fond of since last January - my fellow 35 Under 35 alum. There was a game night at a woman's apartment, and a few of us got together for that. Granted, I turn in to a pumpkin fairly early these days, but let me say I stayed over there till nearly 10 p.m. Ten!! I had to leave before I lost all ability to focus, so I could make it home in one piece, but it was a lot of fun. There's something about getting together with the gals that just refuels a person. I had a blast, wish I could have stayed longer, and will be doing it again. I came home, holding my eyes open, and found the sweetest belated Valentine's gift waiting for me on the kitchen table. Brent had written entirely sweet sentiments for me in a very special card, and there on top were...wait for it...Cadbury Creme Eggs. You all know I'm addicted to these, and if I could live on them, I would find a way. So much for being a food-hippie. I will only buy organic, unless it's a Creme Egg. There's only one way to make those, and that's with rich, chemically-induced goodness. I love them. And I love my husband for knowing how much I love them. I went to bed in short order, heart full, after girl time and husband adoration. Perfect Friday night.
This morning was supposed to be my morning "off". I wanted to be the last one out of bed, not decide on breakfast...just take my sweet time with my awesome bed-head hair do and morning halitosis. The joys of mornings off. Of course, I was the first one awake, due to growing a human in my belly and having to pee every 10.7 minutes. I laid in bed and pretended to be asleep, but it soon became painful to do that and I had to get up. When I sauntered to the bathroom (after fixing my insanely wild bed-head hair do, by the way) I heard a voice calling from her bedroom, "I NEED TO GO POTTY!......HEY!" Brent got up with her and I proceeded to enjoy my morning off by putting laundry away and unloading and re-loading the dishwasher (I know how to relax, right?) before he asked me if he could take a nap. Apparently being awake for 20 minutes was too much. Someone (Brent) stayed up far too late playing a video game with his brother-in-law and father-in-law (my 57 year old father, mind you...) and was a little tired. I would like this video game a lot if I could use it as a clay pigeon for shot-gun target practice. But these guys revel in it and would play it every day for hours at a time if they could. So they can hear each other talk about how frustrating their opponents are, and how it is pure "bullcrap" that they ended up shot themselves. I don't...I just...what in the sam heck is with you guys?
You all know how crazy I am about my husband. Seriously, if you doubt the existence of a mighty God, just look at how this man has stayed with me (me) for 12 years. Brent as himself is living proof of the power of miracles. So I'm crazy about this man, and love him more than I can even express, and sometimes more than I can even feel at times. I was thinking the other day of how we're so different, and how we drive each other crazy sometimes, and yet can't imagine life without the other. Well, I'm speaking for him now. I'm sure he's imagined life without me before and was so struck by the calm and quiet, he didn't know what to do with himself, so had to come back to the reality that is my crazy. Anyway. Take, for instance, mornings. When it comes to mornings, and I have always been this way, I need dark, and quiet. I open drawers and doors and quietly as possible, I pick things up and set them down as gingerly as I can, so as not to make a racket in the least. It's not because I'm trying to be courteous, it's because I can't stand noise in the morning. Don't talk to me, don't expect me to talk, don't turn on the radio or the television, and for the love of all things sane and sacred, DO NOT turn on a light. I have a transition time of at least an hour before I can say I am partially functional. Fully functional comes much, much later in the morning. You think I'm exaggerating, but this is my reality.
Then there's Brent.
Brent needs to not only have the radio on in the morning, but it has to be talk (sports) radio, and has to be blaring at least 34987348907 decibels. He makes his way to the radio by yanking open and slamming shut the dresser drawers, clearing his throat, sometimes even - don't make me say it - whistling. He walks (with far too heavy a step for the early morning) through the house turning on every light he can find, whether he needs it on or not. (Um hello, we have a planet to be conscious of, energy waster.) Yet, we've been married and I've been dealing with the polar opposite of my universe for nearly 10 years now. Does it drive me crazy? Please. Does it snow in North Dakota? Of course it drives me crazy. But I'm more crazy about the man than his oddities make me. How does that classic song go....I'd rather live in his world than live without him in mine. Even if he sounds like a bull in a china closet and turns on every light he can find a switch for.
So now he's napping, I'm taking too long to type this because I'm playing with Little Miss between keystrokes, and it's not the morning off I imagined. It is, however, a beautiful day, a beautiful morning, a beautiful life - and I will soak it all in gladly. God is good, and this day is proof of that. After all, there's a storm comin.
Anyway - I just used an entire paragraph explaining my title choice, so obviously I have a lot of poignant things to say today.
Or not.
Last night I had the pleasure of spending the evening with some women who I've become very fond of since last January - my fellow 35 Under 35 alum. There was a game night at a woman's apartment, and a few of us got together for that. Granted, I turn in to a pumpkin fairly early these days, but let me say I stayed over there till nearly 10 p.m. Ten!! I had to leave before I lost all ability to focus, so I could make it home in one piece, but it was a lot of fun. There's something about getting together with the gals that just refuels a person. I had a blast, wish I could have stayed longer, and will be doing it again. I came home, holding my eyes open, and found the sweetest belated Valentine's gift waiting for me on the kitchen table. Brent had written entirely sweet sentiments for me in a very special card, and there on top were...wait for it...Cadbury Creme Eggs. You all know I'm addicted to these, and if I could live on them, I would find a way. So much for being a food-hippie. I will only buy organic, unless it's a Creme Egg. There's only one way to make those, and that's with rich, chemically-induced goodness. I love them. And I love my husband for knowing how much I love them. I went to bed in short order, heart full, after girl time and husband adoration. Perfect Friday night.
This morning was supposed to be my morning "off". I wanted to be the last one out of bed, not decide on breakfast...just take my sweet time with my awesome bed-head hair do and morning halitosis. The joys of mornings off. Of course, I was the first one awake, due to growing a human in my belly and having to pee every 10.7 minutes. I laid in bed and pretended to be asleep, but it soon became painful to do that and I had to get up. When I sauntered to the bathroom (after fixing my insanely wild bed-head hair do, by the way) I heard a voice calling from her bedroom, "I NEED TO GO POTTY!......HEY!" Brent got up with her and I proceeded to enjoy my morning off by putting laundry away and unloading and re-loading the dishwasher (I know how to relax, right?) before he asked me if he could take a nap. Apparently being awake for 20 minutes was too much. Someone (Brent) stayed up far too late playing a video game with his brother-in-law and father-in-law (my 57 year old father, mind you...) and was a little tired. I would like this video game a lot if I could use it as a clay pigeon for shot-gun target practice. But these guys revel in it and would play it every day for hours at a time if they could. So they can hear each other talk about how frustrating their opponents are, and how it is pure "bullcrap" that they ended up shot themselves. I don't...I just...what in the sam heck is with you guys?
You all know how crazy I am about my husband. Seriously, if you doubt the existence of a mighty God, just look at how this man has stayed with me (me) for 12 years. Brent as himself is living proof of the power of miracles. So I'm crazy about this man, and love him more than I can even express, and sometimes more than I can even feel at times. I was thinking the other day of how we're so different, and how we drive each other crazy sometimes, and yet can't imagine life without the other. Well, I'm speaking for him now. I'm sure he's imagined life without me before and was so struck by the calm and quiet, he didn't know what to do with himself, so had to come back to the reality that is my crazy. Anyway. Take, for instance, mornings. When it comes to mornings, and I have always been this way, I need dark, and quiet. I open drawers and doors and quietly as possible, I pick things up and set them down as gingerly as I can, so as not to make a racket in the least. It's not because I'm trying to be courteous, it's because I can't stand noise in the morning. Don't talk to me, don't expect me to talk, don't turn on the radio or the television, and for the love of all things sane and sacred, DO NOT turn on a light. I have a transition time of at least an hour before I can say I am partially functional. Fully functional comes much, much later in the morning. You think I'm exaggerating, but this is my reality.
Then there's Brent.
Brent needs to not only have the radio on in the morning, but it has to be talk (sports) radio, and has to be blaring at least 34987348907 decibels. He makes his way to the radio by yanking open and slamming shut the dresser drawers, clearing his throat, sometimes even - don't make me say it - whistling. He walks (with far too heavy a step for the early morning) through the house turning on every light he can find, whether he needs it on or not. (Um hello, we have a planet to be conscious of, energy waster.) Yet, we've been married and I've been dealing with the polar opposite of my universe for nearly 10 years now. Does it drive me crazy? Please. Does it snow in North Dakota? Of course it drives me crazy. But I'm more crazy about the man than his oddities make me. How does that classic song go....I'd rather live in his world than live without him in mine. Even if he sounds like a bull in a china closet and turns on every light he can find a switch for.
So now he's napping, I'm taking too long to type this because I'm playing with Little Miss between keystrokes, and it's not the morning off I imagined. It is, however, a beautiful day, a beautiful morning, a beautiful life - and I will soak it all in gladly. God is good, and this day is proof of that. After all, there's a storm comin.
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