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.