Check out this contest for a chance to win one of 2 $25 gift cards at Amazon. Try not to squee at the cute baby costumes while you are over there.
Comments Off I had an old friend add me on Facebook this weekend. Not old as in OLD, but old as in “I knew ye back in the day and I miss you”.
This was a nice break from the other Facebook friend requests that have been of the: 1. I HAVE NO IDEA WHO YOU ARE or 2. WE DON’T TALK IN REAL LIFE SO WHY ARE YOU ADDING ME? or 3. THERE IS A REASON WE LOST TOUCH 20 YEARS AGO variety.
I sent her a message telling her I had missed her and asking where they were at. She emailed back to tell me that they were good and that they had a “Nate” too.
I bristled involuntarily. It was not her fault or anything, but I do not have a “Nate”. My son’s name is Nathan.
NATHAN.
People in the community will occasionally call him Nate and I just let it roll. No need to pick fights when there are battles to be waged.
It got me thinking about the quirky name issues that I have. I might be (and probably am) completely crazy, but I have “Rules” when it comes to my name and the names of my family members.
My name is Angella. If you want to get technical, the correct pronunciation has the emphasis on the last part of my name: Angella.
You can thank the extra “L” for that. I was only called Angella when I was in trouble. I never introduce myself as such because, well, it sounds a bit pretentious.
“Hello, my name is Angella. Would you like some tea and crumpets?”
(Not to mock any English folks. It’s just the stereotype, you know?)
Here are my rules:
1. I need to be introduced as Angella. Anything short of that seems too familiar.
2. Ange is completely acceptable if you are a friend of mine. To introduce me as Ange to someone new is completely unacceptable. See point #1.
3. To call me Angie is punishable by death. Seriously. Unless you are my Mom or my sister Melanie. They both call me Angie and I do not blink an eye. Melanie prefers to be called “Mel” so I guess we are even.
4. I cannot remember he last time Matthew called me by my first name. He will say, “Angella” when talking to others, but only ever calls me “Honey”. The boys thought that was my real name until only recently. Emily is young enough that she thinks that Honey is my name.
When I first met my Honey, he was known as “Matt”. When we got to chatting about my irrational name issues, he told me that he actually preferred the name Matthew. It is what his family members call him.
I have called him Matthew ever since, in the rare instance that I do not call him Honey.
It usually goes like this:
“Honey? Hon! Honey?!? HONEY!!! MATTHEW!!!!!!!”
Some friends and work folks call him Matt, and I roll with it.
Graham is a pretty hard name to shorten, which makes me kind of giddy.
The occasional person calls him “Gram” which I also let roll.
If they have a hard time with two syllables then who am I to judge?
Then we have Emily.
I love her name because of the fact that is both traditional and feminine.
Some folks have taken to calling her “Em”. I try not to let my blood boil. There is nothing wrong with “Em”, per se, but I named her “Emily”.
EMILY.
I may call her Em when she is older, but I may not. I haven’t had the urge to call her that so far.
I guess I am of the kind of person who prefers the traditional. The classic. The given name.
How about you? What are your name preferences?
Thursday morning started (not so) bright and early. My body did that thing it does every second night or so when it wakes up in the middle of the night (4 am) and cannot get back to sleep.
At 5 am I hauled my sorry butt out of bed because I SURE WAS NOT SLEEPING.
Nathan needed to be at the hospital at 7 am. The sheet told us that we may be there up to two hours before surgery. As far as I knew, his surgery could be at 9 am.
We arrived at the hospital just before 7 (after stopping for gas because someone decided that all we needed was fumes in the 4Runner) and made our way to check-in. The receptionist told us that Nathan was first in line for surgery.
We were brought to another room where the nurses took Nathan’s weight, heart rate, etc. He did not want to wear the hospital pajamas until I pointed out that they were yellow. Like Bumblebee (The Transformer)!
He charmed the nurses (as he is prone to do) and then they gave him the magic purple drink. We went off to the waiting room where we watched TV and waited for the “sleepies” to kick in. I told him that he was so brave and offered him a treat for being so brave. I asked what treat he wanted.
Smarties
That’s my boy.
(He brought Bumblebee as his “teddy bear”)
At about 7:45 the nurse came to bring him to the OR. I was allowed to accompany him while they hooked up all of the wires and such. I gave him a hug and a kiss and went back to the waiting room down the hall.
At 8:10 the Doctor came to the room and told me that all went well. Nathan was in the recovery room. I asked if I could wait there but it was against hospital policy. The nurses would come get me when he was awake. Just before 8:30 I was summoned by one of the nurses.
I arrived to the room two doors down to see my sweet boy crying and hugging another nurse. He was completely out of it and incoherent. I picked him up and they led me back to their nurses room where we had started. I sat in a rocking chair with my sweet boy. I stroked his head and kept repeating. “I’m here. Mommy’s here.”
The nurses brought him a popsicle. Apparently in the thirty seconds that it took me to reach him after he awoke, he had answered, “Yes, please” to a question as to whether he wanted a Popsicle.
That’s my boy.
Because he was the first in line for surgery, we were actually leaving the hospital at 9 am. He was still groggy…
We arrived home and I gave him some apple juice as suggested by the hospital.
Daddy and Emily arrived home and the four of us sat on the couch together. Nathan wanted to go to sleep (as did I) so we went up to my room and had a nap together.
We awoke at lunch time. Nathan ate his regular lunch (And then some!) and seemed to be his normal self. Emily went for her nap and Nathan asked if he could have what the Doctor had ordered. I obliged.
Then he asked to play outside. I told him to put his shoes on while I ran upstairs to change. I came outside to see this:
Then we did this.
And ate these.
And did a little more of this.
Wheelies!
His expression since noon has been pretty much of this variety.
We have asked him if he can hear better and he says he can. When I ask him what he can hear better, he points at me, at Graham, at Emily, at Matthew.
I am looking forward to seeing if his speech will improve on its own, or if we will need to go for therapy. The impatient person in me thinks it should change tomorrow. The practical person in me knows it might take some work. I hope we meet somewhere in the middle.
The biggest lesson that I learned all day was one that I know in my head but can sometimes forget in my heart.
I am not a “worrier” by nature. I am the eternal optimist. The person who says that it will all work out, that everything will be OK, that there is nothing to worry about.
The few times I let worry overwhelm me, it all comes to naught. I worry and fret and NOTHING IS WRONG. The verse that comes to mind is, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.”
I quote it all the time, but sometimes forget to live it.
Do you have a life lesson that has hit home lately?
*ABBA, of course. I sang it all. day. long.
I have a post up at Blissfully Domestic about understanding aperture. You can read it here.
Comments Off 
The day that I have simultaneously been looking forward to and dreading has arrived.
I mentioned back in June that Nathan’s unclear speech and occasional clumsiness led us to wonder if maybe he had a problem with his hearing. He does. The good news is that it is not permanent; it is due to fluid in his ears. The bad news is that to clear it up he has to have tubes put in.
I know in my head that this is a good thing, that all will be fine, that he will come through like a trooper. My heart seems to have some fluid on its ears as well, for the reassurance from my head does not seem to be penetrating the fog.
I know that many families have dealt with far graver circumstances. I get that, and I cannot fathom the heartache that comes from having a child who is really ill.
My little family has had no medical drama to speak of. The only trip Nathan has ever made to the ER was to check his lungs after our house fire (His oxygen level was 100%). We have had nothing beyond the normal coughs, colds and flu. No broken bones, no serious illnesses, nothing. We are blessed, indeed.
I have been put under anesthetic twice in my life and it was absolutely awful. The first time was after my knee surgery when I was twenty. I remember waking up and being on a gurney in the hallway with nobody nearby. Uncomfortable, confused, alone. Even after arriving home I was dizzy, incoherent, nauseous.
It took me a whole day just to recover from the anesthetic.
I am praying that Nathan comes through it all fine. That the doctor has steady hands, that the tubes do what they are supposed to do. That Nathan will not be afraid, that he will recover quickly, that he will know that we are doing this to help him to live his life to the fullest.
That when he opens his eyes upon waking up he sees his Mommy’s face smiling down on him.
Please join me and pray for my sweet little boy.
And maybe his Momma too.
**Update:
We are home and Nathan (and I!) had a nap. He was a hit with the nurses, which is not really shocking. He is feeling good and is sitting here colouring while I type this. The plan is to lay low, but he is already asking if he can ride his bike…
Thanks to everyone for your love and prayers. We are blessed, indeed.
