Bad To The Bone

Last night was our family's eagerly anticipated trip to a local trampoline gym for family night.

We slid...
we jumped...


A grand time was had by all! Right, Thumbelina?


(ahem.) Right, Thumbelina?


That's better.

Coolister was having a great time trying to perfect his front and back flips.



It was all fun and games... until someone got hurt.

ElemenoB found me in the '4 Feet and Under, Please' trampoline yard and told me that Coolister was hurt. "How hurt?" I asked. "He has a bone sticking out of his leg," was her response.

I ran to where he was and saw that a small group had gathered around him. A lady was there, holding his foot. "I'm a nurse," she told me calmly. I caught a glimpse of his injury and knew right then that I needed to remain calm instead of allowing the freak-out that was building up inside of me to happen.

You know it's bad when things don't look as they should. When the parts of your body that you are only supposed to read about in anatomy books are right there, visible. I was amazed by how brave Coolister was. He was not crying, he was not screaming, but I could tell that he was scared.

The first thing he said to me was this:

"I am so sorry this happened, Mom."

I about lost it right there. Here was my boy, in obvious pain, trying to be brave and apologizing to me for getting hurt. "You're going to be okay," I told him. "This was an accident. You don't need to apologize. We're going to do all we can to make things better."

Allen phoned for an ambulance. We waited.

Coolister posed for pictures.


"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"A lot."

Finally the paramedics arrived. They were wonderful.


They gave him some pain medication, stabilized his leg...


and then carried him out


to a waiting ambulance.


When we arrived at the hospital, they gave him 2 wristbands to go along with the one that served as a reminder of what had happened.


Through x-rays it was determined that he had an extreme open dislocation that would require immediate surgery.


The good news was that there were no broken bones. The bad news was that it was dislocated in more than one place. The good news was that he would heal well. The bad news was that he would not be able to choose between running track or playing tennis as his spring sport this year. The good news is that he should be healed and ready for cross country next season, although the bad news is that he will remember this injury every time he runs.

The good far outweighed the bad.

Coolister is doing well today. His pain is manageable and his spirits are good. In a couple of days he will come home and continue to grow stronger.


There were many heroes in this story.

The nurse who happened to be there when we needed her. (I wish I had gotten her name! I was so inwardly stressed-beyond-belief that it didn't even occur to me to ask.)

The paramedics who treated him with such care and concern, who talked with him to keep his mind off of things yet still made sure he understood all that was happening.

Our oldest girls, ElemenoB and Thumbelina, who kept the littler kids occupied through the whole ordeal despite the fact that they must have been scared themselves.

Allen, who let me ride in the ambulance and took the other kids home before meeting up with us at the hospital even though I know he was as worried as I was.

But most of all, Coolister. He was brave beyond belief, cool and composed. He cracked jokes to help make the situation more comfortable for everyone else despite his own fears and realizations of what this injury meant for him. He was constantly thanking everyone for the smallest things when he had every right to be crying in pain.

To everyone involved, I echo his thanks (although that seems insufficient).

To Coolister, you never cease to impress me. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I am so proud to be your mom.

$20? $20! Do I Hear $25...

I'm not sure how many of you have heard the story of the recent tragedy at the Nutty Putty Caves here in Utah. I'm not sure why it has affected me so much or why I can not stop thinking about what happened. We do not know John Jones or any of his family. Perhaps it was because Coolister had just been to the cave the week before and returned, along with his scout crew, with stories of excitement and adventure. Maybe it is because Allen and I were following the story online as soon as we discovered that someone was stuck in the cave.

We went to bed the night before thinking that the morning would bring news of a rescue and were shocked to learn that he had died. It weighed on me for the following few days and still makes my heart heavy to think about what happened and how this unexpected turn of events is affecting his family - specifically his young daughter and his wife who is expecting their second child next year.

It is one of those times when I really wish there was something I could do to help, but feel completely helpless... until yesterday.

My friend Rebecca posted on her blog about an online auction being held to raise funds for John Jones' widow and children. This is how I can help. And I wanted to pass the word along.

Just visit the online auction here, find something you want for yourself or maybe as a Christmas gift for someone else, and place a bid. New items will be posted until December 7th, so you can shop all week, all the while helping someone in need.

It's a win-win situation. So click over there and buy some stuff!

By the way, the warm fuzzies you'll get are free.

Bedtime Songs

I do not sing to my children often enough anymore.

Last night as I went downstairs to silence the bedtime rabble-rousing, Hubba made the request. "Mom? Can you sing me a song?"

"Which one?" I asked.

"Angel song," he answered without hesitation. This song, actually called Angel Lullaby, is one I have sung to every child in their infancy. It is one I learned as a child and have loved ever since.

I began to sing and Hubba stopped me. "Can you please look at my eyeballs like you're singing it just for me?" he asked. I smiled, looked into those wide-open, inquiring eyes and was immediately struck with the idea that this would not last. That these kids of mine are growing up much too fast and that I needed to make more time for things like this - simple things like singing a song to them at bedtime.

I felt an urgency to create as many memories as possible in the short amount of time I have with these kids while they are still in our home - to create a bond that would bring them back home to visit once they no longer lived here.

For a moment, I could not sing. I could only enjoy the warm feeling that seemed to permeate my heart - a simple yet profound gift to me wrapped in melancholy - a reminder to enjoy every minute with my kids while they're here with us in our home.

So, I looked into those beautiful blue eyes of his and began to sing the Angel Song, just for Hubba. When I finished, he gave me a little smile and quietly muttered, "Fanks, mom." Be still my heart.

I started to leave when Cowgirl made her request. "Can you sing Be Like A Child?" Another favorite.

I sang. And then All-a-Boy asked for a song as well. I even heard Coolister crack his bedroom door open. Was it so that he could once again listen to the songs he heard so often when he was younger? I like to believe so.

Upon finishing my last melody I stood to leave the room. All was silent. I took a moment to look at each sleeping (or almost sleeping) child and offered silent thanks that I am blessed with so many amazing little (and some not so little) people to share my home and life with.

Today, I am thankful for the chance I was given to remember that each moment (and each child) is a precious gift. I am thankful that they teach me so much. And although my dreams of performing on Broadway stages were never realized, I am thankful for the captivated audience I have at bedtime.

I am thankful for the song of my heart.

Heartstrings

Photo from amisimms.net

I am often overwhelmed at the continuous string of terrible, tragic stories of things that are going on in the world. Yet, when I look for the good that can come about as a result of these, I am buoyed up with hope.

Like a quilt is tied together with bits of string or yarn, I believe that our lives are tied together with heartstrings.

When we hear of a tragedy in the community, our heartstrings call us to action.

When we find that a friend has suffered a death in the family, our heartstrings bring to mind the ways we can offer comfort.

When someone we know tells us of their child's successes or failures, our heartstrings make us want to cheer them on.

When we learn of a stranger's struggle over a personal loss, our heartstrings evoke sympathy.

When we read about the homesickness and heartache (but also happiness and hope) of a young neighbor who is serving the people of a foreign country, our heartstrings bring emotions close to the surface.

When we learn of unrealized dreams, lost hope or broken faith, our heartstrings can cause an incurable aching which prompts us to help where we can.

My personal definition for heartstrings would be: the love for humanity that binds the deepest love and emotion in our hearts to each other.

Much like twin siblings seem to forge an unbreakable bond in utero, I believe that all of us, as human beings who share this planet with each other, as imperfect individuals who were all created by the same loving Father, have an inherent connection which defies definition.

And I think that if we could learn to recognize those pulls on our heartstrings - and to act upon them - it would be a beautiful thing.

What Would I Say If You Were Here

Thank you, Dad, for giving me my love for children.

Thank you for teaching me to have a sense of humor.

Thank you for giving me that uncontrollable love for performing.

Thanks for loving me unconditionally.

Thank you for teaching me compassion.

Thank you for my awesome metabolism.

Thanks for all your support in whatever I decided to do.

Thanks for making me laugh.

Happy Birthday, Papa.

Every song I sing is for you.