the end...

This has been fun.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

But it's time.

I am not totally deleting my blog. Not yet. I have a few "stories" that are only on my blog, and until I can permanently save them elsewhere, I don't want to get rid of everything.

I've made some friends, met new people, and kept up with people I knew. However, it is simply a "time" factor. I do not want to MAKE, nor TAKE, the time anymore to keep up with my blog nor everyone else's blogs. It is amazing how much time I can involve myself in just sitting in front of the computer and "checking up" with the blog world.

So, take care.

Later...

Kathleen

Happy Birthday, Rogers!

RAA, Jr. /
Living Doll, Delicate Thing, and an Angel…

This is a scrapbooking entry I wrote in 2005 in honor of my brother, Rogers A. Adams, Jr. This past Tuesday, October 28, was his birthday. He was in Houston visiting for the occasion, and all of the boys and I got to spend some wonderful time together with him Saturday night. Time moves SO very quickly and is so precious; I want to spend what time I can with him when he is in the states.

Love you, Bubba. Happiest of birthdays to you!!! Hope you enjoy my blog entry…
_________________________________________________________________

I have NO doubt that if today one would ask my brother Rogers if the above title that was given to his little sister was true, he would give you an unequivocal, and resounding, NO!!! Growing up, he was thoroughly indoctrinated by our daddy that this little sister was just that, and that he should take good care of her and not let the boys in the neighborhood “mistreat” her. Oh, my. Never would Rogers A. Adams, Sr. ever suspect that his sons were the ones that wanted to mistreat her the most, and often did!

That’s not completely true, for my brothers did love me. Yes, they did try to scare me constantly. They knew I was a serious scaredy cat, and they played on that! They told me that a big black man lived in my closet and would get me if I got out of my bed at night, and I believed them. They also told me that monsters lived under my bed. I believed that, too. Boy was I stupid or so incredibly gullible or what!!! They would get me outside to “play” hide and go seek with them, and then lock me outside. I could go on, but one gets the picture.

Granted, I was sort of a pest, I’m sure, (I’m sure they would delete the “sort of”), wanting to be with them all of the time, doing what they wanted to do, going where they were going, and I know they just wanted to do “boy” things. Rogers and I were closer than Kelly and I. Even though there was more than 6 years difference in our ages, we got along. I loved to go places with Rogers and his friends, plus Mama would get Rogers to take me to all of after-school activities, like dancing, choir, Blue Birds, etc. There would be Rogers, Greg Pitts, Tommy Skelton, Mike and Monte Richardson, Mike Reiney, and others and they would take the LONG way to every activity, and make the “drag”, go to the Burger Bar, or Burger Chef and get cokes and ride around, smoking, being cool, and wasting gas. I KNEW never to say anything about where they went or what they did, for then I would not get to go again, and I wanted to be with all of these cute guys, and so on and so on…

I loved my brothers. We grew up and apart, but there were always childhood bonds that kept us together. Rogers was there more than once during my late teens and twenties to help me during times when I needed a true friend. We were there together during the loss of Daddy, Mama, and Kelly. He supported me, and I supported him. During the late 90’s and early 2000’s, we hit a most incredibly difficult time and he chose to not have anything to do with me and my family. It was such a difficult time for me, for he was all I had left of the “Adams family.”

Things have been great for all of us for about a year now, but even though we are getting along once again, there is now the difficulty of space – Rogers moved to Mexico June of 2004. I’m glad he’s happy, but I almost find it unbearable with him being so far away.

Included here are pictures of Rogers and me taken when he came to Houston to visit in the summer of 2005, and, of course, of the “Living Doll, Delicate Thing, and an Angel” with her “Bubba”.

_______________________

Hey, Bubba, I surely do miss you. You’ve been an incredibly good brother and the best “Uncle Bubba” – “UB”. Thanks for just being you...

And HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I LOVE YOU!!!

It's Matt's Turn...

Bare with me, please, in my somewhat feeble attempt to paint a picture with words. While I do consider myself a good “writer”, the goodness comes from being grammatically correct, with “exact nouns and vivid verbs” – from being taught, and then teaching, grammar and composition. I envy writers that their words actually seem to come alive - to pop - to become pictures in my head - as I read them.

This “story” almost requires me to SHOW you what I mean, and since I can’t, I can only hope that you can “get the picture”.

My number three son, the one-and-only Roger Matthew Newton, had a birthday this past Wednesday, October 1st. He was finally 23. Because of issues with his past employment with Boy Scouts of America, I have trouble remembering just how old Matt is supposed to be. A Scout is trustworthy… hm-m-m-m… but that is definitely a whole ‘nother story…

Matthew was a beautiful baby. I mean it, too. With an infectious grin and beautiful white-blond tufts of hair. He was a wonderful baby, too. So good, so happy. So different from baby #2, Andrew… Matt was truly a joy. We knew we were blessed.

When I was about 7 months pregnant with Matthew, my daddy became very ill. There were many scary days that we just knew we would lose him. During one of these fateful times, my daddy told me he knew that we almost named Andrew “Roger Andrew” after the two grandfathers, but for some reason chose “James” as the first name. He then asked me, if this baby was a boy to please name him “Rogers” or “Roger”. Of course, during stressful times as that, without hesitation, I replied, “Yes, Daddy. Anything for you.”

As I have mentioned in previous blog stories, Andrew was stressful baby of the century, and Adam being the older brother was NOT sure another baby was something he wanted – but, he was SURE of one thing: he did NOT want another brother. Well, you know, those babies are going to be one or the other: brother or sister. So, to hopefully make the chance that there would be another boy a little more appealing, we let Adam choose the middle name for the new baby. Now, Adam was six, a bright child with a VERY active imagination, and I guess we should have been scared he would have wanted to name the baby “He-Man” or “Michelangelo” or “Thundercat” or “Shredder” or “Luke Duke” or some other cartoon name. But, he liked the name Matthew. So, Roger Matthew it was.

After a traumatic delivery, when my pediatrician finally placed my new baby boy in my arms and I looked into his beautiful little face, he was NOT a Roger. He wasn’t my daddy, he wasn’t my brother, and “Roger” just didn’t fit. Then again, neither did Matthew, as far as I was concerned. While in the hospital, I dreamed we called him “Road Map” for the RM, and that stuck. For several months, my cute little blondie was called “Road Map” – even some of his first Christmas gifts were given to “Road Map”. Truly a strange bunch we are… Thankfully, we finally got adjusted to “Matthew” or just “Matt”.

The only “problem” we had that kept Matthew from being the perfect baby was in the fact he didn’t sleep very well, nor for very long. But neither did my other two babies, so at first it wasn’t a big deal. But waking up every hour on the hour was a little harder then it was with Adam, because now I had to get up in the morning and get kids off to school, and I had responsibilities that simply come along with the job title “Mama” of older, growing children – and a household of 5 people. There was no “sleeping in” anymore. No “take a nap when the baby naps” either. And there were after school activities and evening activities that had to be attended, so early bedtime because Mama was tired wasn’t happening either.

But TRULY!!!!! My favorite memory of my sweet little Matthew was me – waking up in a “start” -- trying to focus in a sleepy haze, and seeing this cute little grin. On the side of my bed would be Matt, with his little arms crossed on top of the mattress, and his head resting on his arms, just staring at me. He knew if he just waited, I would wake up.

He would just look at me, and sweetly say, “Hi, Mama. I’m awake. Did you miss me?” Then he’d add something to this effect: “Aren’t you glad I came to see you. I went to ‘tee-tee’, just like you told me. Can I crawl in bed with you? You look kinda lonely. Just scooch over so we won’t wake up Daddy.”

Of course, I “scooched” over closer to Paul, pulled back the covers, and let him crawl in the bed with us. We had always had a “family” bed, so add-ins weren’t too unusual, but it was just so cute the way Matt did things. He always tried to make it sound like he was getting into our bed because good old Mom was wanting the extra body in the bed with her. Like it was MY idea...

Wait a minute…

I think that’s called “MANIPULATION”!!!

And, looking at Mr R Matthew Newton NOW, I KNOW it was. And, knowing that he spends the vast majority of his time trying to make other people think HIS ideas should be THEIR ideas, too, I KNOW he fist learned his lessons on me. What a willing victim he had, too. Such a sappy victim, too.

As a matter of fact, one of his favorite t-shirt sports the comment: “A team effort is a lot of people doing what I say”. Hm –m-m-m… I’m not sure if a family of 6 is a lot of people, but he got an early start. As Stephen would say, Matt’s the “Golden Child”. We all do what he wants…

What can I say…

Happy Birthday, belated, but the feelings are still the same. I love you, Matt. And I guess if there’s going to be a “Manipulator” in my life, I’m glad it’s you. HAHAHAHA!!!

It's been 3 months...

I know everyone is waiting to hear the latest update on the Kathleen’s Weight Loss Program. Yeah, right! I really am not at all shy about talking about myself, but putting this issue up for “look-see” is hard for me.

People who know me, know I thrive on being the “center of attention”. Of course, I would - only girl in the family for 54 years now, and a baby of the family, too – what else could you expect. And yes, I THRIVE on praise. I have always felt sorry for Paul when it comes to this topic. I seem to require lots of “Great, dear” from my husband. It is always “do I look okay?”, “does my hair look okay?”, “did I do okay?”, “was the dinner good?”, etc. You get the picture. Lots of positive reinforcement has been needed for me. Thankfully, Paul hasn’t minded. Or at least he has never acted like he does – hm-m-m-m… I do have to admit that I have KNOWN for some time now, he just says “Yes, Dear”, or “Great, Dear”, and has NO CLUE what I have just said. Oh well, one can only expect so much, and one can only give so much...

But while I love the praise and attention, I hate phony, insincere attention. And I always question that, in an arena such as blogging, people will say things just to be saying them. Of course, that is MY OWN insecurity showing. But, whatever.

Poor Andrew knows that I blame him for me being fat. Surely no one expects me to accept the responsibility for this. HAHA! Yes, all of my life I have always had weight issues of some sort, first the "slightly chubby little baby-fat" kind of problem, then it was the 10/15 lbs overweight kind of problem. The it can be fixed with “I-won’t-eat-any-sweets-for-a-month-and-this-weight-will-be-gone” kind of problem. When I got pregnant with Adam, I was at my “proper” weight. For the entire 9 months, I was very strict with my diet, wanting to have the healthiest baby, and I gained 65 lbs. I was horrified! But, by the time I went for my 6-week check up, I had lost all of the weight except for 10 lbs.

I never lost that 10 lbs, but that’s not too bad. When I got pregnant with Andrew, I joined Weight Watchers for I knew they had a fabulous program for pregnant moms. Besides the fact I puked my guts up for the entire time, I gained 85 lbs. My "sweet" doctor always just shook his head and said obviously I was keeping something down. I DID NOT appreciate his humor.

Andrew was a 10 lb baby and by the time I went for my 6-week check up, I had NOT lost anything. This was not a good sign. Well, here I still am. Great!!! I still have those 85 lbs. Probably plus some, if the truth be really known. But who wants to admit it, ya know!!!

When one is as overweight as I am, it will take some kind of losing before anyone will truly notice. For example:

About 2 months ago, one of the “regulars” to my work came in and I was drinking one of my protein drinks. She asked about it, and I told her I was dieting. I told her “this was it”. I was going to finally lose this weight and keep it off. This little lady is about 85 years old and about the size of a toothpick. She was glad I was doing something.

About 3 weeks ago, she was in again, and asked if I was still dieting. Oh yes, I said, and I was so excited for on that day, I had “officially” lost 17 lbs. She looked right at my stomach and said, “I can’t tell. You’re still so big.”

Really made my day!

But, you know, while I can’t wait for someone to come up to me and say, “My goodness, Kathleen. How much weight have you lost? You’re looking so good!”, I know that day isn’t quite here. BUT IT IS COMING!!!!

Saturday, September 6th, was my 3-month anniversary with my eating program, Curves, and now my elliptical. (which I still haven’t even begun to master…) And, I am ecstatic to announce that I have lost … (drum roll please…)

22 pounds!!!

Glenda Martin is my hero (even though I truly am so jealous of her I can’t see straight, and feel like tripping her at church in her cute little clothes on her cute little self), but she also is my inspiration. She has lost over 90 lbs. I remind myself every time I see her that SHE DID IT, and so can I. She is a real life person, with real life situations in a real life world. She’s not a 20 year old with a 20 year old metabolism. Yes, she’s younger than I am, but that isn’t is. She made her mind up, and succeeded! She’s my hero, and while I don’t mean any offense at all to her, for she’s one awesome woman, I know if Glenda did it, so can I. I am so proud of her and I am so glad that I have her to look to in my journey.

So, off I go. And hopefully, off with more pounds. December will be 6 months. My goal is 50 lbs. It will be a struggle, but that’s okay, I’m ready!!

Andrew's bike saga

There is the debate as to exactly how old Andrew was in this story, but we do know it was after Matt was born and before Stephen. Making Andrew either 4 or 5 years old. Too young, I can assure you. And the events of this story AGED this mama a lot in just one day…

I have always said that Adam was my cerebral child, and Andrew my physical one. Oh, was that ever true. While all of my children learned to walk too early, Andrew learned to RUN on his 11th month birthday. He ran EVERYWHERE after that! And, let me insert, that after that day, he NEVER took another nap. He ran ALL day, everyday, and then WE ALL CRASHED about 8:00/8:30 at night.

Andrew ALWAYS had a mind of his own. It is that simple. I remember reading Dobson’s “The Strong-Willed Child” and going to my then Pastor, Rev BH McCoy declaring that Andrew wasn’t simply strong-willed… it was so much more than that. It was a single-minded will. He got his mind made up and that was that!!! Bro McCoy agreed whole-hearted with me, and admonished me to never, never try to break Andrew’s will, just keep guiding him to the Lord, because someday his dogged-ness, hard-headedness, single-mindedness, if you will, could pay off, and he’d be one incredible soul winner. Of course, this sounded so awesome, so easy, but let me assure you, Bro McCoy wasn't living with Andrew.

Andrew learned to ride a bike shortly after he turned two years old. My parents had purchased a little bike that was really small. It had hard rubber tires (not the inflatable kind) and no training wheels. Well, Andrew just got on it and away he went. He loved the freedom of riding. The only way to stop was to put your feet down to the ground. This method worked well, but was really hard on the shoes.

We had one of those old-fashioned neighborhoods that had sidewalks everywhere. And, the type of neighborhood where we knew everyone and the moms visited together while the children played. (Truly idyllic, I might add, for a family.) On this day, Adam was at school, and Andrew and I were outside playing, Andrew riding up and down the sidewalk. Matthew was inside, taking a nap. I told Andrew to stay right in front of the house while I slipped inside to check on the baby. Such a great neighborhood, that I even could leave the door open as I went inside.

Needless to say, I wasn’t gone a minute. However, when I came back outside, Andrew was nowhere to be found. I called and called, then hollered and hollered. Walked to the back yard, walked around the house. Started running around the house. Ran two houses down to the DuBose’s house – he wasn’t there. Marla, the DuBose mom, came down to watch Matt while I got in the car and rode around the block.

Panic had long since settled in. Perhaps panic isn’t the most descriptive word. Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Lots of good words to describe my gut feeling. I called Paul and asked him what to do. I was ready to call the police. We lived in an area with lots of winding streets. I went up and down them all over and over. Where to next? Paul said he would come home immediately.

But, before I was going to call the police, I called my mother to ask her to please come over and be with the baby while I dealt with all of the mess that was ensuing. I was hysterical by this point.

My mother had trouble understanding me on the phone. Then she said, “Do you want to speak to Andrew? He’s right here!”

Right there??? You have got to be kidding me!?!?! Yes, he was at Grandma’s. Grandma said that he was hot and sweaty from the ride, so he’s inside watching TV with PawPaw and was drinking some Slice.

Isn’t this just great! I’m having complete heart failure, and Andrew is sitting in the AC at Grandma’s drinking "polli-pop" with PawPaw.

WHO DO I KILL FIRST – ANDREW or MY MOTHER!!!

To get to my parents’ home, which was about 1½ miles from our house, one had to cross two rather busy streets. The side streets that you had to go down were narrow and did not have a “bike lane”. It was NOT the safest of bike rides.

My first question to my mother was something close to why in the name of God's green earth didn’t you call me when Andrew arrived at your house without me!?!?! Wasn’t this a bit strange!!!!! We went over to their house every day, but all of us, not just a kid…

She was all innocence, too. We had all ridden bikes to Grandma’s several times, and I had also let the boys ride “by themselves”, with me in the car behind them. So, she thought that I had followed him in the car and let him just come over by himself. You know, to have some fun with Grandma and PawPaw!!! Fun, fun, fun. Right.

This was before cell phones, and Paul didn’t know that Andrew was alright until he got home. Paul was almost shaking by this time. We got into the car and all went over to my parents to get Andrew. We were still so upset, but at the same time so glad to know that Andrew really was alright.

We got Andrew, got the bike, and came home. Paul and Andrew went to garage where Paul made a BIG display of parental authority by putting the little bike all the way into the rafters of the garage. He told Andrew that while we loved him very much, we were very upset with him just leaving the yard and riding off without permission. Did Andrew understand all of this? Did he KNOW how much trouble he was in, had he learned a lesson from this, and did he realize that it would be a very long time before he would get the bike down?

Andrew’s response: Yes daddy, he knew he was in real big trouble, he had learned his lesson, but it sure had been fun, and beside that: It was worth it!!!

Scary words for parents…

So, as a mother, looking at the last 8 weeks of her son’s life, as he joined the Navy and is now back home - I see some similarities. This time, you’re not in trouble. But we all now know that God "let" you go, let you do what you felt you wanted/needed to do, gave you just enough rope to go and not hang yourself, then He brought you back home.

However, I think God has “put up” your proverbial bike, and while the Navy maybe wasn’t fun, He wants to make sure that you learned what you needed to learn, and that most importantly you can say “it was worth it”.

Today, August 11, 2008

marks the 21st birthday

of MY BABY,

Stephen Hart Newton!!!

Happy Birthday to You!!

(a smart-alecky man one time told me that Paul had 4 sons, but I only had 3 sons. Three sons and a baby! Smart-aleck indeed!)

There definitely is a “story” with Stephen Hart. As with most of my stories, a little foundation work is necessary. However, with this one, I feel I must be more than discreet in the laying of the foundation, not to embarrass Stephen, any reader, or even me. Yet, there are some things that must be explained to understand “the rest of the story.”

As I have said several times previously, Paul and I have mainly strived to be more back-to-nature kind of people. It truly isn’t the “hippie” brand of natural, but a more simplistic Christian style. We always wanted God to be at the helm of our marriage, and therefore looked to Him for direction in all facets of our lives – including birth control. We practiced what is called Natural Family Planning, a highly successful method of planning when to have children, and how to not get pregnant. Our success rate for the first 9 years of our marriage was 100%. Adam, Andrew, and Matthew had been planned to the month.

For years, on the first weekend in December, Paul and I, with the kids, went to Dickens on The Strand in Galveston. We dressed in period costumes and simply had a blast. It was Dec of 1986. Matt was 14 months old. Paul had just come back from a class in Dallas. He came in on Friday and we wanted to go to Galveston for Saturday. I had worked and sewed getting our clothes together. I really hadn’t been feeling very well for a few days – kinda flu-ish. But nothing serious.
If you’ve never gone to Dickens on The Strand, let me assure you it is wonderful. Sights to see everywhere. Something going on literally on every corner – and in the middle of the street! There are “hawkers” selling their wears and food galore. Bagpipes, street urchins, gorgeous clothes. Remember this is supposed to resemble Dickensian England – mid 1800’s.

There was also smells emanating from everywhere and everything. Literally.

My flu-ish feeling went from bad to worse. Everywhere we went some smell would assault my nose and I would rush to find somewhere to heave. I was lightheaded, past nauseated, gagging constantly, and generally yukky, too. I felt simply awful and worried about ruining everyone’s good time, and giving Matt, who I held most of the day, my flu. I was not having a good time.

Well, of course, you’ve all got it figured out by now. My “FLU” was delivered the next August. We were so shocked when we found out that I was pregnant! Yes, we knew how it happened, but we didn’t know how it “happened”.

PLEASE, never get the idea that Stephen wasn’t a “wanted” baby. Oh, he most assuredly was. We wanted a big family – the more the merrier. He just wasn’t a “planned” baby.

However, the real truth of the matter is, God knew what Paul and I needed. I had some fairly serious, undisclosed health concerns, and if we would have waited to have baby #4, we never would have been able to even conceive him. So, God gave us Stephen at just the right time.

Of course, getting Stephen here was a whole ‘nother story. It was a very different pregnancy. Very different. I have always had low blood pressure – however, with this pregnancy, my blood pressure simply stayed out-the-roof. Then to make matters worse, the baby would go for days and never move – a concern of mine and the doctor’s. My doctor wanted me to have full bed rest. PUH-LEEZ! I had an 8-year old, a 5-year old and a 1 year old. REST!?!?! Sure!

Then came the delivery. I had relative easy deliveries with the first three boys – and they were big babies. Adam weighed 9 lbs, Andrew 10, and Matthew 11 lbs, and all of them were 21 inches long. Good sized babies.

I went to the hospital at 1:00. The doctor said I was 100% ready to have the baby. Well, this baby was NOT 100% ready to get here. The baby just didn’t want to move. Then, he decided he did want to move - at the wrong time, right in the middle of a contraction – and of course, the wront way, sideways. Then, no matter what the doctor did, the baby would not move again. (Yes, I can hear people saying, and Stephen’s still like that, isn’t he!!! HAHAHAHA!!!)

My blood pressure quickly became a serious issue, and the doctor felt a caesarean section was necessary. I was devastated to go this route, but knew I didn’t have any options. And, thankfully, even though it was considered an emergency, the doctor would still let Paul be with me.

So, at 11:23 pm (or at 23:23, as we say at the Newton house), Stephen Hart Newton came into this world, tipping the scales at 12 lbs, and measuring 21 inches.

He was a big baby. He filled up the little plastic isolette-thing they used to hold him. The hospital personnel were coming from everywhere to see the “grown baby”. He was an instant celebrity.

AND, he was a very “red” baby with DARK hair. Nothing like the others. All of my other babies were very light, pink-ish, and bald. Yes, he was different, even then…

But he was such a good baby. A very content baby. Yes, like the rest of my babies, he was happiest being held, loved being close to mama. Nothing wrong with that! I completely wore out the Lazy Boy rocker, too. Matt sat on one side, and Stephen in my arms on the other side – then they’d change sides. It was an ongoing event. Matt was so jealous of the new baby, but that’s story has already been told.

But one thing I know for sure: I would never change a thing about how I loved and nurtured my boys.

Oh, I have many more Stephen stories, but that’s for later. For now, just let me close by saying

Happy Birthday, Steve-O.

You’re my favorite piano player in the world.

And you’re my favorite son, named Stephen!!!

Absolutely one of my all-time favorite scriptures is Romans 8:28,

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to [his] purpose.”

And I know that God’s promises are ALWAYS true.

So, with this said, and this thought in our hearts and in our minds, I want to tell this reading audience and all our friends and family that as of today, August 9, 2008, Andrew is coming home. He should be home around the 19th of the month.

This last week has been the most incredible emotional rollercoaster for all of us Newton’s. We first found out, Saturday, August, 2nd, that Andrew was named “Honor Recruit”, then 2 days later, he called and told us that YES, he was going to Officer Candidate School, and had an arrival date of September 28th.

Then, a mere two days later, Andrew called us to tell us the Navy was discharging him because of the damage to his ear drums. We knew that his eardrums were damaged or scarred, but that they were both functional eardrums: he could pass an audiological examination, his hearing within normal limits. I was shell-shocked by this news! He passed 2 physicals before he joined, and one thorough physical after he arrived in Illinois. None of us understood.

But to make a LONG story short, God’s hand is in all of this. I have repeated aloud constantly the verse found in Proverbs – “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

We DON'T have to understand any of this. Our job is to trust in God.

Paul, Adam, Matt, Stephen and I have absolute peace about all of this, and we really do KNOW that God is in control, and that God is moving in a way in the life of Andrew that will soon be revealed and we all will sit back and marvel at God’s handiwork!!!

So, a mere 7 weeks after we said good by, we are now saying a whole-hearted -

Welcome Home!

Change – the news, magazines, e-zines etc are totally focused on the word. Everyone seems to believe that things are so bad that we must change. While I DO NOT buy into that notion, I do think that change can be a good thing. Some are very resistant to the very idea, yet I know some people that relish change to the point they rearrange the furniture in their homes ALL of the time just for change sake. (Hello Sis A…)

But, I experienced an example of real LIFE change right here in my own home Friday night. Paul and I hosted a party / get-together for the Connect life group from church. Why are called “Connect”? It is a subject to talk about. Now just what we’re really supposed to stay “connected with” is of some concern, even debate. You see, Connect is the over-50 yrs old group. Are we supposed to be the connection between the younger kids and the older church of yesterday – you know, the “Amazing Grace” sung from the hymnal generation? Or, are we needing to stay connected to each other in this rapidly changing world where so many values we hold dear, as “tried and true”, are replaced by “brash and bold”? Or, are we just needing to stay connected to our brains in a time where some of us don’t remember what day it is, much less other things…

I really believe that everyone had a very good time. After speaking with Sis Patrick and others, I asked to change the focus of the party. The last several get-togethers we have had have been “eatin-meetins”. We have some good cooks among us, so we all bring the proverbial “pot luck” and eat and visit. While we have had wonderful times doing this, I wanted to play some games, like we did at some of the first meetings. While some of the joiners said it was kinda loud at these parties, it was still fun, and I wanted to play again.

So, in planning the party, we just asked for finger foods, snacky-type items. That way, we would eat, even munch while playing games. Keep the night “lite”.

I made “Centers” around my great room. I had a “Domino Center” at the dining table, a “Card Center” at one card table, and a “Game Center” at another card table. The “Food Center” was set on the island and around the counter tops in the kitchen. We were set to “party”. (Even though Chris and Misty Ferguson said I had finally arrived at my dream job of Activity Director at a Nursing home, I turned a deaf ear to them and still had my centers, and I acted like I wasn’t offended at their inference. You’ll be old some day, you two. ***smile***)

We had a great turn out. Most of the “senior set” came. (In fact, the youngest people here were Pastor and Sis Smith who “crashed” the party, being they are still in the middle 40’s!!!) While some simply sat around and visited, relaxing after a long week, the rest were in the middle of playing games, laughing, and having fun. I learned who NOT to play cards with, because age DOES NOT always temper everyone. One of our group, a relatively newcomer to our church, was the oldest at our card table and really played cut-throat Skipbo. (I can hear ALL of you reading this say, “You have got to be kidding? Cut-throat Skipbo? You’re losing it, Kathleen.” Let me just say nyah-na, nyah-na boo boo to you!!!) Some had to leave early, while other closed the place down about 11:30.

11:30. Is that what I really said? Yes, 11:30. The party was over at 11:30.

Change. Who would have thought there would come a day when 11:30 was LATE and the party was over because we were tired? (I know there were at least a couple of us at this party that closed many a bars / dance halls singing “Happy Trails to You” at 2:00 am).

Oh, there were definitely the days then I would have laughed my head off, maybe even gotten a little riled, if ANY ONE would have even SUGGESTED that I would be playing Skipbo with a bunch of old Pentecostals. Deliver Me! You have got to be joking!

Change. Who’d a thought! Playing dominoes and Skipbo. Playing “Apples to Apples”. A bunch of adults sitting around a table playing “UNO”. AND HAVING FUN DOING THIS!!! Who would have thought it. Not me. I never thought I’d arrive at this point.

But, I have. We have. We’re here. We’re there. We have arrived. We’re arrived at the Real Senior Moment. What a change.

And, I think it is really a GOOD THING…

Now, I hate to be too corny, but here I go…

Change. I really am blessed with the wonderful life I have. What a change from where Paul and I were 31 years ago. While WE'VE have really changed, I would NOT change anything for the life we share today. We are a blessed couple and truly blessed parents!

I also am blessed with the relationship I have with God. I am so glad I met Him at an old-fashioned Pentecostal altar this summer 26 years ago. He changed my life so completely. Talk about change…

Change. There was a time that “change” for this mama simply meant another diaper. Now it is life changes. And the types of diapers that I had to change can also be indicative of some of the life changes. There are some that are really foul and everybody knows about it. But, just like the diaper, you got to change or face further dire circumstances.

Think about it: The “diaper rash” of life is truly a pitiful place to be…

(And, while I am at it, let me clarify something, too. For those politically savvy friends of mine, I am NOT talking about the Obama-type of change. I know you all knew that, anyway, HAHAHA) SO...

Change. Yeah, it’s all good…

One Month Down...

I have really wanted to post an “update” on the old weight issue, but felt so incredibly vain or even silly doing so. First, it isn’t really anybody’s business / does anybody really want to know anyway. Second, I feel those people who read my blog are in “my sphere” and will say encouraging words whether they mean it or not, and lastly, I feel people will be cheering me on / fussing at me for my real thoughts in the matter.

After my first month at Curves, on the Kathleen’s Instead-of-Lapband-Procedure New Eating Agenda, I lost a grand total of 11 lbs and 6.5 inches.

Now, I know that is great, I know that “losing is better than gaining”, I know that “you have to start somewhere”, I know that “you didn’t put the weight on over night and you can’t take it off over night either”, I know that “to lose weight too fast means you’ll just gain it all right back”, etc etc etc. I know all of the platitudes. I’ve said them myself, or have already heard them.

But, the fact of the matter is, I have been very, very good, and I honestly was hoping for more drastic results. There, I’ve admitted my human-ness. In the entire month, I only “cheated” twice. Once at Andrew’s going-away party where I ate fried food, though I still measured them out. Second was another weekend when we went to San Marcos to see Matt and Adam. I ate “real” food all day instead of the protein drinks for two meals, however, I still ate only what I am supposed to eat, like salad and fruit and protein, AND I only ate the correct amounts. Another reason I felt I should have “lost big”, was I was really sick for about 3 ½ days with a bad stomach virus, and didn’t eat much at all.

Another issue with my “diet” is that I truly only lasted with liquid only for about 10 days. It was the pits, and if truth be known, after the initial big weight loss the first week, I started gaining, because except for the protein drinks, the broths, soups, and Gatorade-type drinks are loaded with sodium – I mean really loaded. For example, one day, I had two “Soup on the Go”, the non-lower sodium version, and those two little 11-oz containers had more sodium than I needed for the entire day. Back to plan B, C, or D.

I have modified my regimen to drink two protein meal-replacement kind of drinks for breakfast and lunch. For my other 2 snack times, I have fruit or raw veggies or I still have a soup or something, but the reduced sodium kind. I know that I need to keep my protein level up to maintain losing weight, too.

I LOVE Curves. It is fun, I’ve made “friends”, and it makes me feel like I’m in control or something. (we all know I’ve never been really in control of anything, but FEELING like you are is good). I have set some short-term and long-term goals – nothing too outrageous – and am working towards them.

Like most other “issues” in life, the Battlefield of the Mind is the greatest obstacle. I have my mind made up, and I know THAT is way more than half of the battle.

One month down…

11 lbs down...

It’s a long and arduous journey, but...

“it’s gonna be worth it all !!”

A heck of a way to celebrate

It began quite innocently on Wednesday the 2nd. Like most mornings, unfortunately, I woke up not feeling quite all right. Not bad, ya know, just not right. I really do yearn for the days I can wake up and feel good. Went to work, just not into things like I usually am. Then about lunch time it started. I couldn’t stay out of the toilet. Barely made it home after work. Just couldn’t even leave to go to church.

It was important for me to be at work Thursday because the two bosses were going to be out of the office for most of the day, so I pulled myself out of the bed and went. Thankfully, it was incredibly slow because I felt very light-headed all day long – the proverbial “woozy”. Then about 2 o’clock the gags and the pukes started. Again, I barely made it home. I was really friendly with the toilet by now.

Friday, America’s Independence Day, the 4th of July. No, we don’t have really big plans, but I DEFINITELY planned to spend the weekend scrapbooking. The house was clean, the dinner bought, and I had pictures and great paper, and IDEAS. I couldn’t wait! Well, I spent the entire day, feeling like I had been run over by a truck. I hurt all over. I got up, took a shower, put on clothes and laid on the couch ALL DAY. The only activity I had was moving from one end of the couch to the other because my body hurt so badly and my legs were cramping constantly.

Melanie and David Hauser came for dinner that Stephen and Paul cooked. I did go to the table, but just couldn’t stay very long. Back to the couch. Soon it was dusk and every one went outside for fireworks that Melanie had brought. I got up and went to the glider on the porch. I couldn’t see very well. I tried one of the rockers. Still not a very good view of the festivities. So I went and sat on the porch steps. Not as comfortable as my sore body wanted, but I could see better.

About this time, Calla, our 12-year old, temperamental, cranky, generally old-woman-type cat sauntered up to get her back scratched. I scratched her neck, her back, and then her neck again, then stopped. She meowed, and moved around and I scratched her neck again. I stopped. And she turned around and BIT ME right on the thumb. I slapped at her and she didn’t quit – it was like she couldn’t retract her fang – it was embedded deep into my left thumb. IT HURT. I moved her head to get it out, she looked at me and meowed once more.

I went inside to the bathroom. There were about 6 puncture wounds all bleeding quite a bit. I pushed on them to get the bleed more, then I washed the area with lots of soap and water and then poured peroxide on everything. I was still bleeding, so I wrapped a bath rag around my thumb and went back outside for the rest of the fireworks. I can assure you though, IT HURT.

Saturday: I really didn’t sleep very well. I know it sounds really wussy to say my thumb hurt all night long, but it did. I woke up this morning with my thumb really swollen, and a long red streak from the puncture wounds to my armpit. The tenderness of the area was something similar to a deep fresh bruise. I was shocked. I fiddled around the house a little, and got dressed and Paul took me to the Urgent Care center where they were shocked that the bite was only hours old. The doctor said the cat must “really have a dirty mouth”. No, duh. This cat licks her butt and rolls in the dirt. He said that the infection was in my lymph system and needed to be closely watched.

Anyway, I got two high-powered shots: 1) an antibiotic, and 2) a steroid. Then the doctor gave me prescriptions for more of the same and told me to watch the streak and if it got worse to go to the ER and make sure I contacted my Dr on Monday.

Well, it is now Sunday night, and if you could see my hand and my arm, you would know that the FIRST thing I am going to do tomorrow is call my doctor. The streak is very dark, pronounced, and swollen now. The swelling is not only in my thumb, but also all over the back of my hand, into my fingers, and around my wrist. The redness is everywhere the swelling is. And the swelling is VERY tender. That is what is so strange, and makes this so miserable.

Miserable – that is exactly the word I want to use. Sounds very whiney, very pity-partyish, but is just the right word. I can’t sit because the two shot areas are quite sensitive and one’s even bruised. I’m tired of lying down because I’ve been there off and on for 5 days, and beside that, I can’t lay on my left side because it hurts my arm and hand. Whaa-whaaaaa. Miserable.

Can’t wait to hear what good ole Dr Maribeth says tomorrow…

Oh yeah, there was a very bright light in here somewhere – I GOT A LETTER FROM ANDREW!!! He’s happy, but homesick, yet doing very well!!!

And finally, hope you had a Happy 4th!

One Post Script: It has been a long and expensive Monday. The good news is that Calla did not knick the bone when she bit me;the bad news is that I'm not responding to the antibiotic like I should. They changed the meds, gave me another shot, plus a tetanus booster, and told me if things weren't better tomorrow, I would need to have my thumb lanced and drained, or else it wasn't going to start healing. I can't believe all of this!

Melanie asked me if I needed to have a serious talk with God to see what I had done to warrant this "attention". Thanks Melanie.

29 and Holding...

This past weekend, Paul, Stephen, and I took our summer pilgrimage to El Rancho Cima to spend time with Adam and Matthew. They had just finished week #3 of summer camp, and by all appearances, are having a very successful experience.

Last Wednesday, June 25th, was Adam’s 29th birthday – the main reason for the mom and pop trip to camp. I was having MAJOR trouble believing I was actually old enough to have a kid that was 29 years old, if you know what I mean. Really. It seems like I was just a kid yesterday.

I remember calling my mama on Adam’s 5th birthday, upset that my “baby” was already FIVE YEARS OLD. She laughed her gentle laugh, and then told me it was no big deal, since her baby – me – was 30!!!

Adam was one loved little boy. Besides having a mama and daddy that were so excited about being parents, the GRANDparent element was beyond thrilled!!! My daddy was 44 when I was born, and 79 when Adam was born. His first grandchild at 79! You would have thought that there was not another child ever born. The ICING on the cake was the fact that Adam was a red head. Whoa! My dad was especially partial to redheads! Then we named this cute little redhead “Adam”. My dad was overboard in love with this kid for sure!!

Rogers Adams was something else. I could write for DAYS about him – The Reverend R. Angel Adams, as he was affectionately known. To quickly sum up my daddy, I feel it is safe to say he was a lousy husband, not particularly a good dad, but a FABULOUS Paw-Paw. He loved those boys of mine. He never tired to them at his house, loved to tease with them, watch TV with them, even play “Nuh Nin Toe” (his very weird way to say Nintendo – just to poke at the boys) with them. And while he was sick for the last 7 years of his life, from 1985 on, he wanted to be as involved in their growing up as he could.

Adam Paul Newton was born at 11:11 am. I promise you, and I am not at all kidding, nor even exaggerating, that every day from then on, when the digital clock on the TV read 11:11, my Daddy would say OUT LOUD, “Well, it’s 11:11.” Like it was some mystical time. It was a time that was as important as Dec 7, 1941, or his birthday, or something. What a difference one little boy made.

Paw-Paw never missed a birthday, either. Whether it was at the house or at Putt-Putt or Show Biz Pizza, he was there and right in the middle of things, too. Hey, are there any Putt-Putt golf places anymore? My boys had a blast playing, and they had good parties, too.

Hey, son, let me say that time surely has gone by very quickly. Scary sometimes, I might add. But let me take this time to say, 6 days late, but you know me…

Happy Birthday, to you!!!

Love you more than you'll ever know.

It really did happen...

What can I say that hasn’t already been said!?!?

Let me repeat myself by admitting I am a very spoiled mama. And, I love it!

Thanks to my father-in-law, Andy Newton, for instilling in his oldest son a respect bordering on reverence for women in general, and wives and mothers in particular. By all accounts, it appears Andy was taught / demonstrated this quality by his dad.

Thanks to that oldest son, my wonderful husband, Paul, for loving me and continuing to exhibit this love and honor for wives and mamas to his sons for yet another generation to learn.

I know many mothers. All different kinds, from all different walks of life with different families, and with all different kinds of children. Few of them have the adult children that are as good to their moms as mine still seem to be to me. Again, I know I am “spoiled” .

This past Wednesday night, June 18th, Paul, Stephen, and I had a late dinner with Andrew and then just watched idly by as he walked away from us, through motel doors into the lobby and into a new phase of his life. Anchors Aweigh just doesn’t even begin to encompass the myriad of emotions that I am experiencing.

Everyone thinks that I am “worried” about Andrew’s choice of careers: the US Navy. No. Pure and Simple – No! I am so excited about this new venture. I know he is truly in the will of God, and He is in control. Andrew is going to have a blast. I just know it. Worry has never been a factor. That is not my problem.



I AM GOING TO MISS HIM!

There is no other way to say it. Few people know that he has always come by to see me once or twice a week. Ever since he graduated from high school back in 2000, he has managed to “swing by” and see me at work. Additionally, he, like Matt and Stephen, call me on a daily basis just to “check in” – see if I need anything, what I’m doing, etc. Andrew, like his daddy, tries his best to take care of the mama!!! Yes, I’m gonna miss him.

BUT, I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT IS GOING TO MISS HIM!

He’s a great man. He is incredibly active in our church – besides playing an awesome bass guitar, he does many things “behind the scenes” that no one really knows about. He goes by a couple of times a week to “check on things” – make sure the sound is okay, make sure the microphones and the cords are still straightened (he’s very OCD about these things). He is there. He’s dependable, consistent, and trustworthy – to say the least.

He’s an AWESOME cook. He can turn a simple piece of chicken into a meal fit for the King. He doesn’t do meals very simply either – they are generally masterpieces of culinary delight. He makes the best cheesy-chicken fondue / dip. His hot sauce is renowned. No one can make an alfredo sauce quite like he can, either. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, the boy can cook! My family is going to have to settle for Mama’s plainer-style of cooking again.

He’s a fabulous friend. You can tell him anything, and he will never repeat it. He will stand by you when no one else will. He has been known on many occasions to put his plans aside to be a friend to another. He will go to all kinds of extremes to help someone out – even put himself into fairly prickly places. We kid him that he’s a KISA – Knight In Shining Armor. There have been many girl “friends” that have needed help, needed a shoulder, needed a male with no pressures, and Andrew has been that male. Much to the consternation of many, though. Talk about some “prickly places”. Girls might say they just want a friend, but they lie. Girls might say no strings attached, but they lie. But Andrew still will help anyone who needs him.

He’s an incredible worker. All of his life he has been the “physical” child. He loves doing things – loves being busy. He can figure out “how-to” do just about anything, too. He has never been afraid to work, has an incredible work ethic. There are many people all over Montgomery County that when they need something done, they call Andrew.

I guess I need to shut up. I do not want to sound boastful or prideful, but I am one proud Mama. I really am.

Yes, I am going to miss James Andrew Newton. But, I AM proud of the man my son has become. Truth be known, I am PROUD of the men all of my sons have become. And, while Andrew has made his parents proud, and his friends and family also, I now know that he has the chance to do something bigger.

He can make his country proud.
Anchors Aweigh. I love you, son.

6 down... God only knows how many more to go...

Let’s see. I really am enjoying this week. Oh, don’t be fooled. The trick to the lap-band surgery is that your stomach is cinched to about the size of a lemon instead of about the size of a football (the size of most “fatties” stomachs). With the surgery, you are “full” after drinking your 6-8 oz of protein drink, or eating your 6-8 oz of jello. Well, let me share with you that I have definitely, absolutely, positively - whatever is the buzz word that I am saying too much at the time - been HUNGRY!!! My arm looks good about 3 in the afternoon, or especially 11 at night.

BUT I HAVE MADE IT through week #1. Only going by the Curves scales – not my own or the ones at work – I have officially lost 6 ½ lbs. I worked out Mon – Fri (even went to a workout before Wednesday nite service. Just told people not to sit too closely!!! Hahaha!!!)

I HAVE MADE IT.

You have to understand. I hate, hate, HATE to sweat. Let me say that again. I HATE to sweat. I have NEVER liked to exercise. It was not even remotely close to anything I would want to do. Even in school, PE was my LEAST favorite subject. Oh, I did everything, and I could perform all of the activities well, always made great grades, it just wasn’t fun.

Now DANCING was another thing. I loved, loved, LOVED to dance. I started taking ballet when I was 5 years old and took either ballet, tap or jazz or a combination every year until my jr year in high school. I even took dance classes for all of my PE classes in college. And, of course, I danced my life away during my college years, too. In my quest to lose weight, since then, I’ve tried the “sweating to the oldies”, or the like type of exercise, but never very successfully.

I obviously needed to try something else…so…

Thankfully, this is different. Of course, I will admit, I have a different mindset than ever before. That is the primary difference. You know: the old battlefield of the mind problem. It takes waking up one morning and saying this is it!! But, the ladies at Curves have been great. They are encouraging, without being pushy, helpful without being showy. Moreover, there are other women there with great success stories to let you know “you can do it, too”. They play great “get up and go” music: some oldies, but mostly Christian music set to an up beat. I have to admit “Holy, Holy, Holy” or “Great is Thy Faithfulness” or “Amazing Grace” performed to “moving music” is a little much, even for me. Oh well, whatever works.

Now on to week #2.

Thirty Days

I am definitely showing my vulnerability. Such an incredible way to embarrass myself completely. I am willing to take that chance…

Just today, I told a young friend of mine who is very new to the world of “blogging”, that I didn’t blog like most people: I didn’t write the daily goings on, or daily thoughts of my life. However, I still loved blogging. I started this journey using this writing as a vehicle for me to finally get my “stories” written down. You know, for posterity, and all of that. HAHA.

Point of Departure...

However, today marks a very important day to me. And, perhaps if I use a rather public forum to “announce” it, to talk about it, I will find success in my new venture.

I have struggled with my weight for 26 years now. No, that really isn’t true. It’s been a lifelong dilemma, just at different levels. I was “chubby” as a kid. Never ever fat, just more than I needed. I had a “normal” weight from about 12 to 17 years old. I gained a little extra weight in a fun summer in California before my Senior year. I got the extra pounds off very quickly and kept it off until my second baby. By then, I was 28 years old and it is not chubby anymore – but fat!!

I have added and subtracted, then added again, and find myself now at 54 years old fatter that I ever ever dreamed was possible. I have never had any health problems associated with the weight, until now. For all of my life, I have had low blood pressure. Too low sometimes, especially when I was having migraines. But, the opposite is oh-so-true these last couple of months. My blood pressure has been stroke level, and difficult to control.

I could elaborate here talking of other health issues, but there’s no need. Let it suffice to say there are some.

Oh, diets. I have tried them all. As a family, we try to eat very healthfully, I just like lots of healthy food. HAHA! I know it is almost past time to get serious.

Let me begin by saying my Dr is a very good friend. I like her a great deal, and trust her opinion. She feels that I am a prime candidate for lap-band surgery. She has already talked to my insurance and certified that the procedure in medically necessary, and therefore my insurance will pay for it.

I am not really sure this is what I want to do. So I have read everything I can find about the surgery, talked with several people that have had it done, talked with a surgeon yesterday.

Still, I am not sure. So, I decided that I would try to just “eat” the way one must eat after the procedure and see where that will get me. Think about it: you only get to eat 6-8 oz of food 6 times a day, with 64 oz of water “sipped” during the day. The first couple of weeks, perhaps even month, is limited to liquids and soft foods, protein drinks being a chief source of nutrition.

Come on now!!! If any “fatty” only drinks 48 ozs of “food” for about 6 weeks, one should definitely expect some changes. Right!?! So, I am going to try this first.

Oh yeah, I joined Curves today for 30 days.

So, on July 5th, my 30 days will be up with Curves and I will have completed 30 days of the Kathleen’s not-lap-band-non-surgery diet. It can’t help but be different.

Later…

Happy 31st Anniversary - 5/28/2007

31 years!

Who can believe it!

Thirty-one years ago today, Paul and I were married. It was a sweet, simple, yet beautiful ceremony. We had planned and planned wanting everything to be “Just Perfect”, but we didn’t want to spend lots of unnecessary money. The day finally arrived. If you know me very well, for me to tell you the wedding started almost one hour late, you’re not surprised! But it really did start late…The florist was lost, and then didn’t bring the correct flowers. It was ridiculous! My poor mama was frantic, but I wasn’t too worried. I was so in love and so ready to get married to Paul, I didn’t care what happened.

I have so much to be thankful for that day. Paul is a God-given gift to me. God sent Paul into my life when I was definitely at the nadir of my existence. There were family troubles, failed relationships, worthless friendships, and life going haywire. However, when I reached that bottom, I remembered all of that Sunday School training and did the only thing I knew to do – PRAY. And honestly, while I was praying, telling God that I was ready to turn my life around, the phone rang, and it was Paul. I had met him about 7 weeks before, but had not heard from him at all. I was fairly taken with him the one time I met him, (in fact, I even called my mama the night I met Paul and told her I had met her future son-in-law! She told me to go to sleep and call her in the morning...) but wasn’t sure how he felt about me until he called. 17 months later we were married…

I have had a wonderful life being Paul’s wife. He has been so good to me, spoiled me mercilessly. He’s a fabulous husband, a wonderful daddy, a good provider in all ways, not just monetarily. Oh, he is not perfect. He’s anal, a major procrastinator, a “believer in compromise – as long as you do it his way” type of guy. He treats me like I’m 10 years old, and I hate it, but then if I wouldn’t act like I was 10, things would be different. HAHAHA.

Basically, our lives have been very equitably meshed together. I am the one who likes to be the center of attention; he doesn’t like attention. I like to be up front “being the star of the show”; he is definitely the behind the scenes worker. I like the whole cart and pony show; Paul is cleaning up after the pony. But it has worked so well for us. He has been my biggest fan, the “push” in my life. I don’t always have the best of self-confidence, possess limited self-esteem, but Paul has always believed in me. He helped me all of the way getting my Master’s degree, overcoming obstacles, and some serious collegiate departmental politics.

When we decided that I should be a “stay-at-home” Mama, he was there for me against the odds of most of our friends and family. He learned to love beans and rice so we could afford for me to stay home. He was my rock steady against ill winds when we chose a brand of parenting that was foreign to most people. He learned to love snuggling with his wife and his babies in a family bed. I could go on and on with examples of Paul’s love and support of me and our kids, but the greatest instance of this love was demonstrated from 1990 until 2007. Paul was my greatest support for my participation in the Christian education of our children. What a gift to me, what a gift to our children, and to others. What a wonderful man, what a magnanimous contribution he was willing to make.

It is simple: He had my back.

Last year, as we celebrated our 30th anniversary, we went out for desserts with our sons and their “others.” We had a wonderful time and we have the greatest pictures of the night to prove it! One of my favorite pictures is right here. I just thought it was “so cute.” However, as I truly looked over these pics with a more discerning eye, I noticed something else.

Yes, while I have basked in the knowledge of my wonderful husband always standing not only with me, standing not only for me, but my support system standing behind me, I now know how he’s survived.

He has made faces behind my back all of these years.

Who would believe this!!!

HAHAHA – I love it, and I love him!

(and he says he "hates" this picture - too bad!)

Happy Anniversary, Paul!!!

Blue, Baby Blue

Just for you, APN---

How do people tell stories with laying the proper foundation!? This process makes my stories so much longer than they probably need to be, but…

No one, and I mean no one at all, advised Paul and me what the 3rd addition of a child would do to our family. With only 2 children, there is balance. There is one child for each of you. Or if mom is out by herself, she still has two hands – one for each child. What is a mama to do with baby #3? I know God made mothers to be able to master incredible feats, but face it – we only have 2 arms and 2 hands. Puts a whole new flavor to the ice cream…

Matthew was born October 1. He was such a beautiful baby boy, and such a GOOD baby. I felt so blessed, but still a little overwhelmed. Adam was in the first grade, had a VERY strict, anal teacher. So, even though he was an incredible student and NOT at all a discipline problem – in fact, he made “citizen of the month” the first month of school - mom forgetting to give him his lunch one day, and Adam not telling mom he needed more notebook paper because he didn’t want to bother her since she and the baby were tired, just pushed the teacher into orbit. In fact, she even sent him to the office, made him call home and “tell why he was in trouble.” Do I need to say how close the teacher and I became that year?!

It was right after Thanksgiving that Entergy sent Paul to California to go to a school. Great timing, huh! We missed him, but I have always loved Christmas, so to keep my mind occupied, I just jumped into the middle of decorating and getting ready. I thought it would be so cute to make all of the boys, and Paul, matching sweatshirts. I wanted them to have green shirts with a brown fuzzy reindeer on the front. They would look so cute. So, whatever “down” time I had I was sewing.

At that time, every Christmas, Entergy had HUGE Christmas parties for the workers’ families with children. It was a very big thing, too. Everyone came, there were NICE presents for the kids, food, fun and, of course, SANTA!!! I was a little nervous about going without Paul, but I knew other people that would be there and besides that, like I said, it was a very big event! No one wanted to miss it!

On the afternoon of the party, I finally got Matthew to sleep, and decided to take a shower and get myself ready ahead of time. Wanted to look festive, you know!

In a previous story, I introduced the Allison’s. This was one of the days that Christopher was at the house with Andrew. That should pique some interest. Things never were calm with the two of them together. (Let me interject that things weren’t calm with Andrew and Kyle together, or Andrew and Blaine together, or Andrew and Jerry together, etc. Do you see the underlying thread in all of these scenarios? Hm-m-m-m. Make no mistake. You’re right in your assumption!)

I showered, rolled my hair, listening for the boys the whole time. The sounds were “normal” household / play sounds for the most part. Then before you know it, it was just a little quieter than it should be. Of course, all mothers know that when things are quiet, or are “too” quiet – you have a problem.

However, I quickly knew things were all right, because I heard the Lego bucket getting turned over, sounds of play, and knew they were doing okay.

Mind you, I was a VERY attentive mom. Played right there with the boys most of the time. SO, let me assure you, a lot of time HAD NOT passed, yet.

Soon it was time for me to have to go get Adam from school. I needed to wake the baby, get Andrew and Christopher, and head down the street to Tyrrell. I walked into the room where Matt was asleep and the first thing I noticed was that the baby was NAKED. This was NOT the way I left him. The next thing that I saw was that he was BLUE. Yes, BLUE.

By way of story-telling, let me elaborate here: When Matt was born, he was not breathing, and was declared “dead” by the OB delivering him. He was the most intense color of blue I had ever seen – something I will NEVER forget! SO---

So---seeing him BLUE again just made my heart lurch into my throat, and I immediately rushed over to him. However, I then noticed that the BLUE was little circles each with a flower in the middle of it. Hm-m-m-m… I grabbed a blanket, wrapped the baby up, and went to check on Andrew and Christopher. Can’t imagine why I would suspect them of anything, huh?!

Those two little “darlings” had taken all of Matt’s clothes off him, and taken a STAMP marker and stamped him ALL OVER! I was livid. I “stormed” into the older boy’s bedroom, and there they sat. They looked like little meek lambs, playing contentedly in the middle of the bedroom building towers, or something.

I rushed into the kitchen and tried to bathe the baby as quickly as I could to get the marker off. Of course, this didn’t work in the slightest, for you see, I only bought quality toys, books, and “educational” presents for the boys. If it would have been “RoseArt” cheap stamps, I wouldn’t have had a problem. But, since I bought premium markers and stamps, adding water only made the blue circles RUN TOGETHER and absolutely cover the baby. I had a BLUE baby for sure, now.

OH NO!! I HAD A SMURF!! That is EXACTLY what he looked like. BABY SMURF had come to live at the Newton house. How exciting is that.

It didn’t stop the Christmas event from happening, and we all donned our new reindeer sweatshirts and went to Beaumont for the production. Kathleen, her 2 older boys, and their new Smurf baby.

The icing on this cake is when we got to the Christmas party – remember this is 1985 – it was beautifully decorated. They always went overboard making things special. And guess what the theme was ---???

Yes, you guessed right! It was Christmas at the Smurf village. Even Santa was “Papa Smurf”!

Everyone there just laughed and laughed, thought it was GREAT, and acted so surprised that I had dressed our new baby to match the theme. They really were probably thinking I was a lunatic to bring my obviously very sick baby with such a horrible breathing problem out in the cold weather. I don’t know. This is another one of those times that there are vague moments in my memory. Some things are probably for the best…

What I do know is that we had a good time, got cute toys, drank punch, and had bites of a giant Smurf cake. Plus, my three boys looked so cute in their matching sweatshirts, even if Matt looked like a Smurf. AND, thankfully, it gave me a chance to “cool down” and collect my thoughts, and Andrew and Christopher are still alive today.

I somewhere in my house is a picture of the cute sweatshirts. Who knows where, though...