tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49626853018833132522024-02-18T17:36:39.842-08:00Musings of a Mended HeartRebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-34495114710039387392018-03-07T20:01:00.002-08:002018-03-07T20:20:36.444-08:00Came to My Rescue5 years ago, when I was going through the adoption process (it's a long process; the home study alone takes 7 months to a year). During that time I had a lot of doubts.<br />
<br />
Doubts that we would even be approved to adopt. <br />
<br />
Doubts that if we did get approved that we would never be matched with a child. <br />
<br />
Fears that I'm sure all adoptive parents go through. <br />
<br />
Going through that long wait, and dealing with that anxiety caused many sleepless nights. I would stay up until 2, sometimes 3 a.m,. and my only solace was to research the hell out of adoption. I'm the type of person who needs tons of details and information to ease my anxiety. The more I can understand something, the less anxious I will be.<br />
<br />
I would google adoption blogs and I would read every single one I could find. There was this one woman, who sadly I cannot even remember the name of her or her blog, but her words resonated with me. I bookmarked her blog site, and of all the blogs I read (hundreds!) I always came back to hers.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of the home study process when my anxiety was at a high, I was visiting her website nightly, and her words comforted me and gave me hope. Not the kind of foolish hope that believed that everything would definitely work out perfectly, but the kind of hope that made me feel that it was a<i> possibility </i>that things could work out<i>.</i> Hope is about the possibility, not the guarantee. To believe that there is a <i>possibility</i> that things can work out beautifully when all the research and all the signs say it won't. I think it's crucial to hope; to know that there is always a possibility that things can play out the way we want. But, also, you must have faith that no matter the outcome it will be okay. Something beautiful can come from either outcome.<br />
<br />
This woman had a song that would play on her blog site. I am not tech savvy and have no clue how to have music play on my web page. But hers did. I wasn't a huge fan of the song. It was a worship song, and I found it to be kind of cheesy, but I grew to love it because I loved this woman's words. It was love by association. Every time I went to her blog and heard those first notes start to play I felt a tiny sliver of peace. <br />
<br />
I never hear that song, even when I listen to the Christian radio station. <br />
<br />
Well, jump to 5 years later.<br />
<br />
This week was an emotionally draining week. It was rough....rougher than rough. I was kind of in a daze and overwhelmed by the magnitude of uncertainty and sadness I felt in certain areas of my life, and I've just been poring into prayer and trying to have hope and faith in the creator of the universe to sort it all out. <br />
<br />
Yesterday I was listening to Pandora (a Christian station), I glanced up from doing the dishes and started watching my 3 children playing outside in the backyard, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with joy at the fact that <i>I have 3 children. </i> <br />
<br />
And that they were happy. <br />
<br />
And they were playing. <br />
<br />
And the sun was shining. <br />
<br />
And as I'm staring in awe at them, <b>I kid you not,</b> that song started playing on Pandora. <br />
<br />
I had not heard it in years. I believe that God speaks in so many ways. And in that moment he spoke through that song, because as soon as those notes started playing my mind flashed back to 5 years ago, standing in my case worker's office to pick up my copy of our home study, which had just been completed. <br />
<br />
I remember being so excited to have it finally completed, and I was so ready to meet whatever child God had destined for me.<br />
<br />
I asked our case worker "So what is the next step? How soon will we be matched with a child?"<br />
<br />
And I will never forget her response, because it was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. <br />
<br />
She hesitated, then said,<br />
<br />
"We really don't like to give time lines. It could take up to 3 years...possibly longer for you... because you and Daniel are not 'ideal candidates' I mean, with your health issues...and the fact that you are young and haven't been married very long...<br />
<br />
And to be honest, <i>even if you are matched with a child</i>, you still have to go to committee for that child. After you're chosen you have to go before a committee with the other families that are chosen, and the committee has to choose between you and the other potential adoptive families that are interested in the child. I am working with a family right now who has been waiting 5 years. They've been to committee 3 times and have still not been chosen. So, I wouldn't get my hopes up that things will happen quickly."<br />
<br />
It was devastating. I cried in my car. And I cried again in the shower. <br />
<br />
And again when Dan got home. <br />
<br />
And when I went to bed.<br />
<br />
That night I went back to that blog that was bookmarked, read her words, and listened to that song.<br />
<br />
When I heard that song yesterday after not hearing it for years, I was flooded with emotion. <br />
<br />
I remembered how dark and fearful that time period was for me. But more importantly, I was reminded of the outcome of that situation. <br />
<br />
Our home study was complete at the end of December. <br />
<br />
We sent an inquiry on the boys the first week of January.<br />
<br />
On January 9th we were matched with the boys. <br />
<br />
2 months later (middle of March) committee chose us.<br />
<br />
We met the boys at the end of March. <br />
<br />
We brought them home in April.<br />
<br />
We were told it could take YEARS, yet we had our children <i>in our home</i> less than 5 months after the home study was complete.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yesterday I looked down at Pandora to see the name of the song, and its title is<br />
"Came to My Rescue"<br />
<br />
I never knew the title until yesterday, and how perfect is that?<br />
<br />
When we are at our lowest points, Satan (the darkness, evil, ego, whatever you want to call the "bad" things of the universe) will convince us that the sadness, or hopelessness, or whatever negative emotion we are currently enduring , <i>he will convince us that it's so much worse than anything we've ever gone through, and we are not capable of escaping it.</i><br />
<br />
It's a lie. <br />
<br />
I was reminded of that yesterday. <br />
<br />
I have felt hopelessness, sadness, uncertainty, and fear before. <br />
<br />
And every damn time, I have overcome it.<br />
<br />
There are times that he truly has come to my rescue, and things worked out the way that I hoped, and that gives me hope. I know miracles are possible.<br />
<br />
There are times that things did not go the way I hoped, and it was an excruciating struggle to get through it, but, <i>even still,</i> I got through it. <br />
<br />
So whatever I'm facing, whatever the outcome, I will get through it.<br />
<br />
You have felt hopelessness, sadness, uncertainty, and fear before. And you have overcome it. <br />
<br />
God loves to remind us of our darkest moments, so that we can remember that <i>we have been here before. And we overcame it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
That woman whose blog really helped me, she was not a top blogger. She was not popular. She had maybe 5 followers. I have no damn clue how I even found her. Obviously the main reason I wanted to share this story is because it's coming up on the 5 year anniversary of when I met my boys, and I love sharing their adoption story. But another reason is because if my story can bring a tiny sliver of hope or encouragement, to even just one person struggling to find that, then it is worth telling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-13567106385163439352018-02-05T19:10:00.001-08:002018-02-05T19:10:37.291-08:00Medical Update<div>
We heard back from the Mayo Clinic on their opinion of whether or not I should have a pneumonectomy. As I suspected, they believe that the risks of removing my lung outweigh the benefits, so we will not be doing that as long as I remain stable. I've been out of the hospital a month now with no further bleeding. If I bleed again, removing my lung will most likely be the solution, but as of right now I am good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The bleeding was largely due to the fact that I had been sick and coughing very forcefully for over a month prior to the bleeding. All of that pressure on my vessels and lungs due to the vigorous coughing, I believe (and the doctor agrees) caused the vessels to bleed. So the main concern right now is to prevent illness; specifically, bronchitis or pneumonia. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have started slowly back at work and have cut back on hours. Seeing as I work in childcare and am surrounded by germs, it is risky. But I am taking extra precautions as to not get sick, and if I do get sick I will take sufficient time off to recover, so that it does not develop into something serious. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm just trying to go back to normal, without having too much anxiety about my health. I have appreciated all the prayers.</div>
Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-73810692253385369892018-01-18T19:05:00.001-08:002018-01-18T19:05:04.771-08:00"I'm So Sorry, But I'm Probably Going to Shit on This Table" (and other things you don't want to say at 33 yrs old)My last post was intense, and the entire situation is intense. <br />
<br />
My go-to for dealing with intense situations is humor, which is why I believe that God orchestrated that night in such a way that it would guarantee comedy for me. <br />
<br />
My Jesus loves me.<br />
<br />
He knows I have to turn my heart aches into comedy in order to deal with them. <br />
<br />
He did not fail me.<br />
<br />
Everything I wrote in my last post was accurate. I simply omitted certain parts of that night. Parts that I will now share with you in hopes that you will appreciate the humor, as I am now able to do.<br />
<br />
In the words of the great Usher Raymond "These are my confessions. If I'm gonna tell it, then I gotta tell it all..."<br />
<br />
Yes, it's true, before I coughed up blood that night I had a pretty low-key evening. I did light house work and I ate homemade soup. <br />
<br />
Sounds lovely, right?<br />
<br />
What I failed to mention is that earlier that day, my coworker, Alison Langston - yes, I'm calling you out because this story wouldn't exist without you - brought me a box of Flaming Hot Cheetos mac n cheese bites to work, because she knows that I love flaming hot Cheetos, and I've never tried these snacks. <br />
<br />
In case you're unfamiliar with these, they are exactly how they sound; macaroni and cheese bites that are covered in flaming hot Cheetos, and fried.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I ate 8 of these as an "appetizer" with my soup.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOq3IYFpdBu-Dij7X1MoWXegFgR3Ygf2jS203hYGfT6NEQGtnAVhOAIROlcLHyRvDVeWtxCaoTk2lISNVympwHpFk1DH41dSvD5yM51Uc562QUSelsgubZSGq-SQNm4YUt-YhbgN9_XU/s1600/flaminghot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOq3IYFpdBu-Dij7X1MoWXegFgR3Ygf2jS203hYGfT6NEQGtnAVhOAIROlcLHyRvDVeWtxCaoTk2lISNVympwHpFk1DH41dSvD5yM51Uc562QUSelsgubZSGq-SQNm4YUt-YhbgN9_XU/s320/flaminghot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Another important fact to know about me is that I'm lactose intolerant, and I have an incredibly sensitive stomach.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alison knows this. But I told her that it would be okay for me to eat them that night, because I had no plans to go anywhere (ha!), and Jacob was going to be gone most of the night helping his dad move, so my thinking was that <i>if </i>it did upset my stomach I would be alone in the comfort of my own home, with access to my own bathroom. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
About 20 minutes after I ate them my stomach started acting up. I had to use the bathroom immediately. Of course.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Okay, now bear with me with this next part....</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For some reason, I happened to notice that my poop looked weird. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So weird, in fact, that I felt I should examine it...but with what?? How do you examine your own poop?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I grabbed a plastic fork from the kitchen.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have never, ever, NEVER examined my poop before, but for some reason <i><b>this night</b></i> <i>of all the nights in my 33 years of life</i>, I chose to do so.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Remember in the last post when I said that I laid in bed and was googling something on my phone right before I started coughing up blood?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The truth is that I was googling images of weird poop to compare it with my own. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
THERE. I SAID IT.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now here is where the comedy comes into this disgusting story.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I checked into the ER, the nurse and my doctor asked me what I was doing that night - leading up to coughing up blood. *hangs face in shame* I preceded to tell them about my poop; describing it in detail, and shamefully admitting that I dissected it and sifted through it with a plastic fork. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I also admitted this poop story to every cardiologist, intern, nurse, doctor, etc...who came in to speak with me. I thought that maybe there was some correlation between my strange dookie and my coughing up blood. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was wrong.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You know when you're telling someone a story that you think is relevant and interesting, and midway through you see that slight shift in their pupils, and you realize in that moment that they have no interest whatsoever in what you are telling them? (you actually may have this look in your eyes right now)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That's exactly what happened.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Midway through telling the 7th person my detailed description of my bodily excrement I realized that my poop had NOTHING to do with my coughing up blood, and I was just humiliating myself and making everyone incredibly uncomfortable.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I didn't think that I could embarrass myself any more that night, but God had other plans. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of course.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My stomach was still feeling gross, and I had the sensation that I will need to use the bathroom again very soon. The doctor told me that they were going to immediately take me into the cath lab. He also told me that I would be awake during the procedure. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was fine with being awake - mostly because I'm a control freak, and felt more comfortable being conscious so I could watch exactly what they were doing. I did not realize, however, how long the procedure would take.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I attempted to use the bathroom right before we went in, but I couldn't. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When the nurse took me into the room to put on my gown for the procedure I confessed to her the words I had been thinking but dreaded to say aloud.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"I'm so sorry, but I'm probably going to shit on the table during the procedure. I had diarrhea earlier and I'm probably going to have it again"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Luckily, I had met this nurse 2 years prior at a barbeque, and we are Facebook friends, so I felt a little bit more comfortable confessing this to her rather than the doctor. But, as we all know, being Facebook friends with someone that you met <i>once</i> 2 years ago does not make you actual friends, so this confession was still humiliating.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She was very sweet and responded right away with "That's okay. We'll just put extra padding under you. Don't worry, we've seen it all!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I appreciated her kindness, and her attempt at trying to make me less embarrassed by claiming they've "seen it all"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I doubt she has ever seen a 33 yr old woman diarrhea on herself in the children's hospital cath lab.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yes, that's another thing. I was in a children's hospital. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The procedure lasted until 2:30 a.m. and I had to shit the entire time I was laying there. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, on top of dealing with the fear of massive bleeding, possible lung removal, death, etc...I was also trying to get my mind off of the fact that I had to poop <b>oh, so badly.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
During the procedure they went in through an artery right next to my private area. As we all know from basic anatomy, the groin region is in <i>very</i> <i>close</i> proximity to the butt hole. The doctors hands were <i>right there</i> next to my crotch. <i>So close</i> to my butt. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The whole time I just kept praying that I wouldn't shit on his hands.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I farted probably 75 times, and was so thankful that they are required to wear those doctor's masks. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the end, I <b>did not</b> end up shitting on the table. As I said before, Jesus loves me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He gave me just enough comedy to temporarily take my mind off of death, and give me a good laugh, without fully destroying my dignity.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
After the procedure, the nurse said to me "You must be so tired. I saw you squeezing your eyes tight a few times trying to sleep" </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wanted to tell her "No, m'am. I was squeezing my eyes as tight as I was squeezing my butt cheeks, trying to stop myself from shitting on this table"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I just responded, "Yes, I'm very tired"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It wasn't a complete lie.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-78110386646890114942018-01-11T10:14:00.002-08:002018-01-11T14:43:01.426-08:00Naked Trees <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a2OU7R5mnbFtgwuOuap_x1ve9FSqSupe6XK1SCQprc9-4z59eM-Pxv-3AGUZ5_59W2Z3f5-ecU9tVs0TgrY3f78Nx4S4yTaNNiRzONVvNYos1LwM35uTBC8JvXUgz8O25fNFgYqHWvY/s1600/trees1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a2OU7R5mnbFtgwuOuap_x1ve9FSqSupe6XK1SCQprc9-4z59eM-Pxv-3AGUZ5_59W2Z3f5-ecU9tVs0TgrY3f78Nx4S4yTaNNiRzONVvNYos1LwM35uTBC8JvXUgz8O25fNFgYqHWvY/s320/trees1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Most of my family and closest friends know my medical history. If you would like details (because it is way too much for me to summarize) please read my previous post from 2 years ago, titled Psalm 73:26<br />
<br />
Without getting into too much detail, I was born with heart disease, had 3 open heart surgeries in my first year of life, and pacemaker placed when I was 8 years old.<br />
<br />
It is very common for children and adults with congenital heart disease to develop pulmonary collaterals. Pulmonary collaterals are arteries that develop within the body to "help" bring blood to poorly functioning lungs. In the majority of cases, this does not help. The body believes it is doing a good thing, but these arteries are not necessary and can cause a lot of trouble. The blood pressure in these extra arteries is usually higher and there's a chance they can bleed. <br />
<br />
That's exactly what happened in 2007 when I was pregnant. They coiled the arteries which were bleeding (coiling is exactly what it sounds like - they take a wire and literally coil/wrap the wire over and over the artery until it stops blood flow), basically cutting off as much blood supply as they were able to.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that was not the end of my trouble, because there are many, many collaterals within my lungs and it is near impossible to coil them all. They would have removed the entire left lung if my anatomy was normal, but because of excessive scar tissue and other factors, I was told that attempting to remove it was much more risky than leaving it, even though leaving it in meant that it was at risk to bleed again.<br />
<br />
So, since 2007, I've lived my life knowing that there was a possibility of bleeding any day, but remaining hopeful that it would not happen. All procedures to check on these vessels are too invasive, so the only way to know if they are bleeding is if I start coughing up blood again.<br />
<br />
I've lived a normal life for 11 years, and for the most part I have not been consumed with the fear of what could happen. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't reminded every now and then.<br />
<br />
Every time I cough forcefully there's this tiny fear in the back of mind that says<br />
"This is it. It's going to happen again"<br />
<br />
And this may seem silly, but in the winter I am reminded every time I look out my window or drive down the road.<br />
<br />
Every barren, naked tree I pass is a visual reminder of my anatomy.<br />
<br />
After the cardio catheterization 2 years ago, my cardiologist showed me images. Don't get me wrong, I loved being able to see these images and understand my condition better. The inner workings of our lungs/veins looks eerily similar to naked branches of a tree. And he also explained it using the terms "branches"<br />
<br />
"See, this artery comes down like this and then branches off into more vessels"<br />
<br />
My lungs have so many pulmonary collaterals and my internal "wiring" is so jacked up that it's just a hot mess of branches going every which way.<br />
<br />
So, naturally, when I'm sitting at my kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee, watching the barren trees outside my window, I can't help but be reminded of what's going on internally within me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXJ0bUnUflCP71-P_I9qg523xifZ5p1N4j4CYslPwAlvRQlPNmeB6lYEdng0kcL8TPujrFNqgoRoH9gQrtUSMqYOIPwxmY2CO8k93tuJNlsvySpEfy2s7r9dojV98FMNwJkiP0irffBM/s1600/trees2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="880" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXJ0bUnUflCP71-P_I9qg523xifZ5p1N4j4CYslPwAlvRQlPNmeB6lYEdng0kcL8TPujrFNqgoRoH9gQrtUSMqYOIPwxmY2CO8k93tuJNlsvySpEfy2s7r9dojV98FMNwJkiP0irffBM/s320/trees2.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJVAmGNJM_tCZAgP_N0Lg9YtRiMik8e1DM37WrcKd5qiDepRqXDFnOTMXIiEdeiZoEHoMNN-WVFUtEOZEOdKKQR-snFBK1MT2rkLBk00gHuEGHVjFemGbvaLHnvAr33Q6MuQ9o2YHQ-s/s1600/lungs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJVAmGNJM_tCZAgP_N0Lg9YtRiMik8e1DM37WrcKd5qiDepRqXDFnOTMXIiEdeiZoEHoMNN-WVFUtEOZEOdKKQR-snFBK1MT2rkLBk00gHuEGHVjFemGbvaLHnvAr33Q6MuQ9o2YHQ-s/s1600/lungs1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Fast forward to January 3, 2018<br />
<br />
I had been sick for over a month with a horrible cough. 2 days prior to Januarry 3rd my cough had finally stopped, and I was incredibly relieved. <br />
<br />
The night of January 3rd, I did some light cleaning, ate dinner and then laid in bed at about 8:30 and began googling a random question on my phone. Out of no where, I had a coughing fit. As I was coughing I could feel and taste blood gurgling in my throat. I ran to the bathroom and spit out the mouthful of blood.<br />
<br />
Then I calmly called my cardiologist and informed him that I just coughed up blood and would have someone drive me to the hospital.<br />
<br />
I called Jacob, he got home in less than 10 minutes, and drove me. <br />
<br />
They immediately took me to the cath lab. They were in my arteries until 2:30 am and never found the source of bleeding. That's great news! No active bleeding. As great as that is, part of me wishes they would have found the source of bleeding and could have coiled it. <br />
<br />
The position that puts me in now, is that we are just assuming that it was from my left lung.<br />
And because they are assuming it is that lung (in truth, it most likely is the source of bleeding, but I hate not being certain of things), my doctor believes that I'm at risk for that lung to bleed again at any time.<br />
<br />
He believes I should have that lung removed. <br />
<br />
I'm hesitant to jump on that wagon, because I had many doctors tell me 10 years ago how risky that procedure would be.<br />
<br />
So, here are my current choices:<br />
<br />
<b>A. Get my lung removed, which is risky.</b><br />
<b></b><br />
<b>B. Or...I can choose to not get the surgery (which is also risky) </b><br />
<b>That would mean I would be walking around like a ticking time bomb, hoping that I have no further bleeding. And if I did have further bleeding, then my only option will be A.</b><br />
<b></b><br />
Neither choice is appealing. And the weight of these thoughts and decisions is so heavy.<br />
<br />
I am choosing to not choose at the moment. We are waiting to hear back from the Mayo Clinic on their opinion, and I have a follow up appointment next Tuesday with my cardiologist.<br />
<br />
I have faith that I will know the right decision to make, and that God will guide and protect me through either choice. <br />
<br />
I am simply in waiting right now; waiting on the Mayo Clinic; waiting on my body to possibly do something crazy; waiting on God to give me peace about a decision.<br />
<br />
All prayers, positive energy, encouraging words, and kind thoughts that have been given have been so appreciated. Please keep them coming until we get this all figured out.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-85945771962704019842015-08-22T20:24:00.000-07:002015-08-22T20:51:49.559-07:00For Such A Time As This<span lang=""><br /><br />As a Christian, and as an adoptive mother, I have a very strong opinion on abortion, and with all of the recent Planned Parenthood videos being released I think now is the best time to talk about this subject. Please, <i>please, </i>hear me out, because this has been weighing so heavily on my heart for such a long time. And now that there's a chance that abortion laws and funding may change, maybe now people will finally act.</span><br />
<br />
There are over <b>1 million </b>abortions performed per year in the United States.<br />
<br />
If there is Planned Parenthood defunding and new abortion laws, the number of abortions will decrease (yay!) And, inevitably, the number of babies born each year will increase (yay! right...?) There will be many more infants up for adoption (yay?) , and even more children will enter the foster care system, as unfit mothers try their damn hardest to raise a child in unhealthy environments.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait, did we not think of that...?<br />
<br />
<br />
Currently there are <b>397, 122 </b>children living in foster care, without permanent families, in the United States. <b>101, 666 </b>of these children are adoptable (meaning the parental rights were either terminated by the court, or relinquished by their parents) <br />
<br />
<br />
Do you know what happens to the children who remain in foster homes and are never adopted? They 'age out of the system', which means that when they turn 18 they are completely on their own. <br />
Each year more than <em>20,000</em> children age out of foster care. 2 out of 3 of these children become homeless, or imprisoned.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying that I support abortion. I'm also not saying that I don't. <br />
<br />
Here is what I <em>am</em> saying: regardless of where you stand on the issue, there is another bigger issue on our hands- and it is only going to get bigger if these laws and defunding actually go through, which is what so many Christians are praying and fighting for.<br />
<br />
We demand that 1 million more babies be born, yet we are not caring for the ones who are already here. If we can't even step up and care for the thousands of children up for adoption, how could we possibly care for <em>hundreds of thousands</em> more that will inevitably be added if abortions decrease?<br />
<br />
And how can we condemn a woman who looks at the circumstances around her and comes to the heartbreaking conclusion that she simply cannot support a child at this time in her life, and chooses to abort, yet we sit here, <i>knowing</i> that there are literally thousands of children who desperately need a home (right here! already alive!)<br />
<br />
And we also <i>know</i> that we are called by God to care for orphans ('Pure and undefiled religion is this: to care for the orphans and widows in their suffering..." James 1:27) and yet we don't condemn ourselves for not acting on this? <br />
<br />
We are doing exactly what that woman is doing; looking at our circumstances and deciding that we simply aren't ready, not financially secure enough, or whatever the excuse may be.<br />
<br />
Those against abortion label the women who choose abortion as being incredibly selfish. <br />
But who is more selfish: a woman who chooses (based on her current circumstances) to not have a child...or a Christian, who is called to care for orphans, but also <i>chooses</i> (based on their current circumstances) to not care for a child?<br />
<br />
How about, instead of focusing on what <i>she</i> is doing wrong, we take a look at ourselves.<br />
<br />
If you would do anything to save the millions of unborn babies, then <span style="font-family: inherit;">please also</span> <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>do something</strong></span> about the babies who are already born...and abandoned, and in front of you. If you were unaware of the number of orphans and foster children in the United States, now you know. Once you are aware of an injustice, it then becomes your responsibility to act, and to make others aware so that they may act.<br />
<br />
If you are going to be passionate about abortion, then you must be equally, if not more, passionate about adoption. There should never be a conversation about abortion without an even lengthier one about adoption. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2N3UwQHJMEpf2jr7wtfBxeMba8JoTpdwkMYq7ifnXFVhOqE20zsOtKEnAyRWiE-9hh3AkXksixzS41BW5vQbXlOZbQfgzILPq53RPIUAhftK_zdoUsyuw78EhTKevnewOImygz39up4/s1600/statistics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2N3UwQHJMEpf2jr7wtfBxeMba8JoTpdwkMYq7ifnXFVhOqE20zsOtKEnAyRWiE-9hh3AkXksixzS41BW5vQbXlOZbQfgzILPq53RPIUAhftK_zdoUsyuw78EhTKevnewOImygz39up4/s320/statistics.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
If there is <i>any way </i>that you can adopt or foster at this time, please step up<span style="font-family: Courier;">.You are desperately needed.</span> We have a tendency to sit back and pray for the orphans, and pray for others to step up, but God asks us to not only pray but to also act.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> "What does it profit, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food and one of you says to them, 'Depart in peace, be warmed and filled' but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead" </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">(James 2:14-17)</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise from another place...but perhaps you were brought to this kingdom for such a time as this</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"</span> (Esther 4:14)<br />
<br />
And if you truly cannot, but are still passionate about abortion/adoption, and want to do something, then please <b>share this information with others</b>. <br />
<br />
Or.. <b>support a family who is fostering or adopting</b> (babysit for them, donate to them, bring them dinner) <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>***Share this information with your pastors; ask to have an adoption education night at your church, so that those who have a heart for adoption can be provided with resources and information, and also so that they will know they have the support from their church. Why is this not already happening in every church?!?</strong> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
NOW is the time to step up.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULkJpkNeHbtp909-L4sexOPJ2R4P8a77YFESbCjgjFAFxp6sHmSvgQLd14libckfti_kdXQ-AypaEx_W3pOCtF1Ozo_J-bYjrpChzSTf27ctLZV6WuAdWOydm2wxyr5xqlvjko5BXaMo/s1600/orphans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULkJpkNeHbtp909-L4sexOPJ2R4P8a77YFESbCjgjFAFxp6sHmSvgQLd14libckfti_kdXQ-AypaEx_W3pOCtF1Ozo_J-bYjrpChzSTf27ctLZV6WuAdWOydm2wxyr5xqlvjko5BXaMo/s400/orphans.jpg" width="338" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
If God has instilled in you a desire to adopt, and you <i>still </i>hesitate, why?<br />
<br />
<b><br />
"I don't think I could financially support a/another child" </b><br />
<b><br />
</b>Did you know that adoption through the foster care system in many states costs nothing? NOTHING. If there is fee, it is small, and can be written off on your taxes. Travel expenses can also be reimbursed. And there is a thing called "adoption assistance' which is a monthly payment given by the state to help with expenses until the children are 18. Call your local Department of Human Services and attend the information class to see what the costs would actually be in your state before dismissing the idea.<br />
<br />
If you are looking at private adoption fees, you can do many fundraisers. You could also get your church involved and ask for donations. Don't be ashamed to ask for help when it's a worthy cause; we are talking about children's lives.<br />
<br />
<b><br />
"I would really like to, but 40 hrs of classes, plus the length of time to complete a home study is just too time-consuming...how would i find the time?"</b><br />
<b><br />
</b>Really? When God puts a fire in your soul and commands you to care for a child, do you think this is an acceptable response? WWJD, eh?<br />
<br />
How long did it take Noah to build the ark? They predict it was over 100 years. Not sure if that's true, but the point is that when God commands something of us, the length of time it may require to complete the task is irrelevant. We make time for what really matters, and if it is a passion of yours then this excuse is silly. <br />
<br />
40 hours out of your life in order to give a lifetime of love and hope to a child is too much for you? Come on...<br />
<br />
I'm not trying to be insensitive, honestly. I understand first hand that there are real fears and concerns people have when trying to decide to adopt or foster. I had the same thoughts, and my husband had immense anxiety as well.<br />
<br />
But when we look back on those fears, we can see how minuscule and silly they were compared to the big picture.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm going to end this with my story of having to face my own excuses:<br />
<br />
A few months before officially deciding to start the adoption process I was standing in line at the grocery store when I saw a woman with a young boy (barely 2 yrs old) and he was in the grocery cart acting a fool; yelling, not buckled in, half hanging out. She was yelling at him and slapped him (hard) repeatedly, and I kept glancing over, my blood boiling, about to say something to her. <br />
<br />
All of a sudden he fell out of the cart and hit the floor, and i felt my heart drop into my stomach. He was crying and bleeding and she was screaming at him, and by this time the store manager had gone over to them, and I heard whispers that he had also called the cops. I could feel my heart pounding and i had this insane thought that I should stay and wait, and offer to care for him. Which is ridiculous, because that's not the way it works. <br />
<br />
If the state did decide to remove him from the home, he would have to go to a family member first, and then if a family member is not available he would go into emergency foster care. But I'll never forget what God spoke to me in that moment. <br />
<br />
Call it God, the universe, my soul, whatever your faith...the point is that I heard these words.<br />
<br />
(my internal dialogue)<br />
<br />
Me: I will take him. I can care for him<br />
<br />
God: Why?<br />
<br />
Me: Because he needs a home, and i can provide that. He needs love, and I can love him.<br />
<br />
God: But why <i>him</i>?<br />
<br />
Me: Because his mother is clearly abusive and neglectful. He needs me.<br />
<br />
God: There are thousands of children in abusive and neglectful homes. <i>Why him</i>?<br />
<br />
Me: Because he's right here. I can see him. <br />
<br />
And that's when it hit me. I had been wanting to adopt for years, and had discussed it with my husband many times. Yet we hesitated and hesitated, even when I knew that the majority of the children waiting for adoption came from abusive and/or neglectful homes. <br />
<br />
How sad it is that it took having to actually <b><i>see</i> </b>a child being neglected in front of my eyes, before I felt called to action. <br />
<br />
More than likely you will never actually <i>see </i>children being beaten or neglected in front of you, but it is happening. You do not see these children, but they are here. And they are then tossed into the system, where they just wait.<br />
<br />
Open your eyes and SEE these children. <br />
<br />
They are not in orphanages; they are in foster homes, and the longer we wait to act the longer they wait.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Here are some resources: <br />
<br />
ccainstitute.org (congressional coalition on adoption institute)<br />
<br />
childrensrights.org<br />
<br />
childwelfare.gov<br />
<br />
davethomasfoundation.org (yes, the founder of Wendy's created a foundation to help children in foster care find forever homes)<br />
<br />
adoptuskids.org (Click on the state you are in and get specific facts and steps for adopting in your state. Some states even show pictures/info of their adoptable children)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We live at a time where information is right at our fingertips, so please Google any questions you have and you are sure to find forums, blogs, websites to answer any of your questions.<br />
<br />
Also, pick up the phone and call your local office to attend an introductory meeting on fostering/adopting in your state.<br />
<br />
Because of the current uproar involving Planned Parenthood here in the United States, my focus of this post has been on domestic adoptions. For the record, though, I believe that all adoption, whether domestic or international, is beautiful.<br />
<br />
Do you see that we have the power to end the world's orphan crisis, if only we chose to stand up and fight for it as strongly as we stand against abortion?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNtBIxDM1BycMdaP6IfY86Pj5Exy5vXzem745PnvpqkF9Xm9qHr3xnsVuYN20yoDtU9Lwn2M33m7BRAmVL5x5RrfRH7qWZ3Ki-q6ev233DzTW0vGP5Fjn9fajRVNO7Y-fS9VRQSAXZyw/s1600/church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNtBIxDM1BycMdaP6IfY86Pj5Exy5vXzem745PnvpqkF9Xm9qHr3xnsVuYN20yoDtU9Lwn2M33m7BRAmVL5x5RrfRH7qWZ3Ki-q6ev233DzTW0vGP5Fjn9fajRVNO7Y-fS9VRQSAXZyw/s1600/church.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-58277115796106269222015-02-23T17:34:00.003-08:002015-02-23T17:43:00.968-08:00Psalms 73:26 My flesh and my heart may fail; but you are the strength of my heart and my portion forever<br />
<br />
I am scheduled to meet a new pulmonologist tomorrow, so I've been going over my medical history in preparation for the appointment. Most people know of the health complications with my pregnancy, that I have a pacemaker, and that I had surgeries as an infant. But I've recently realized that most of my family and even closest friends do not know the full story.<br />
<br />
I like to make jokes that I'm a "miracle baby". I also jokingly blame my health problems for anything I am unable to do (i.e. I cannot swim, nor whistle, nor flip a coin- all because of my poorly functioning heart) I will vaguely mention things like "I was born with heart disease" or "I have bad lungs", but never expand on it, simply because it's too long and complicated to explain. I don't want to bore anyone with the details.<br />
<br />
The truth, though, is that the full story is pretty incredible. I am slightly ashamed that I've had this testimony and never shared it before. And, regardless of your beliefs, it's still really interesting from a medical stand point. So here it is....<br />
<br />
I am not a medical professional, but tried my hardest to make sure all information was correct. Please excuse any mistakes. I used information gathered from my medical records, The Annals of Thoracic Surgery, and the book "Running The Midnight Marathon" by Craig Brian Larson (at the time of my heart surgeries, my parents' pastor came to visit and pray with them at the hospital through every surgery. Years later he wrote a book on faith and perseverance, and used my story as one of the examples)<br />
<br />
Excerpts from Running the Midnight Marathon:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"On July 26th 1984 Terri gave birth to their second child, a girl, whom they named Rebekah. The delivery had gone beautifully, and Rebekah appeared to be in perfect condition. As the weeks passed she continued to appear healthy, except for some discoloration in her skin, thought to be jaundice. At her 6 week check-up, however, the doctor, noticing a slight blue tint to her lips, became immediately alarmed, and ordered that she be taken to the hospital.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The terrifying diagnosis: Rebekah was in heart failure. She had only days to live. 'Her heart' said the cardiologist, 'is a mess' The four pulmonary veins that pipe clean, oxygenated blood from the lungs to the heart were detached, dangling behind her heart. There were two holes in her heart allowing clean and dirty blood to mix. Also, instead of left and right ventricular outlets, she had two right outlets, and no left. More revealing than the surgical report was the cardiologist's grim face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Open-heart surgery was scheduled. The doctors planned to do just enough to keep her alive: attach those four dangling pulmonary veins. Her other defects would have to wait until her body was </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">stronger.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Even doctors know their limitations. At the beginning of the crisis, as Vince and Terri conferred with the surgeons, Vince asked point-blank what Rebekah's chances were. The doctor pointed to the ceiling, looked up, and said, 'It's not in my hands'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Vince recalls, 'He said that he had only seen or read about 10 cases like Rebekah's in the last 10 years. I asked how many had survived. He wouldn't even answer' </span><br />
<br />
<br />
For those who like technical terms and details (as I do) here are the clinical terms of my defects and explanation:<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>1</strong>. <u>total anomalous pulmonary venous return</u>(TAPVR- also called total anomalous pulmonary connection): all four pulmonary veins are malpositioned. Normally, your pulmonary veins take blood from the lungs back to the heart through the left atrium. In TAPVR the pulmonary veins connect to the right atrium, hepatic portal vein, superior vena cava, or some other vein. <br />
<br />
The point being that they are not connected correctly to the heart, therefore, not bringing oxygenated blood back to the heart properly.<br />
<br />
<strong>But here is what made my condition different than most cases they see</strong>: <br />
Usually in TAPVR the 4 pulmonary veins are connected to some vein (not to where they are normally supposed to be attached, but still some sort of connection...<em>somewhere</em>) <br />
<br />
All 4 of my pulmonary veins coming from the lungs were not attached to <em>anything. </em> They were just hanging, draining blood down towards my diaphragm. So there was no oxygenated blood coming back to my heart. <br />
<strong></strong><br />
This is why my diagnosis is called TAPVD: total anomalous pulmonary venous <em>drainage </em>(not return/connection) <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>2</strong>. <u>atrial septal defect</u> : this is a type of "hole in the heart" While babies are in the womb there is an opening between the upper chambers of the heart, but it should close before birth. Atrial septal defect is actually beneficial to TAPVR, because the hole allows small amounts of blood to kind of leak into the heart; this hole is what keeps an infant with TAPVR alive at birth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>3</strong>. <u>double outlet right ventricle</u>: Normally the aorta connects to the left ventricle, and the pulmonary artery is connected to the right ventricle. <br />
<br />
With Double Outlet Right Ventricle both pulmonary artery and aorta flow from the right ventricle.<br />
No arteries were connected to the left ventricle (the chamber that normally pumps blood back to the body)<br />
<br />
<br />
The doctors were unable to explain how I had survived for 6 weeks with all pulmonary veins detached from my heart, and malpositioned arteries. The atrial septal defect allows a small amount of blood to leak into the heart, but certainly not enough to sustain my entire body for 6 weeks.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"Rebekah's frail body was deathly weak when I went to visit her prior to her first surgery. After donning a sterile yellow gown and scrubbing my hands with a plastic brush and brown, disinfectant soap, I pressed with Vince into the thick tension of the intensive care unit of Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I greeted Terri, whose face was taut with strain, and then turned my attention to Rebekah. She lay unconscious, her eyes moist and swollen. She was wrapped, not in pink baby blankets, but in technology. A clear plastic, saucer-like bed, a welter of wires and tubes networked her tiny body, and around the bed stood monitors and IVs and shelves filled with medical supplies. Two feet overhead a light radiated heat. On the screen, I observed the slow fluttering record of her heartbeat, now in such jeopardy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Then I noticed something with a human touch. Taped above Rebekah's head was a hand written note. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"My flesh and my heart may fail," it said, "but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever Psalm 73:26" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"While I was in bed last night," Terri told me "I prayed, 'God you have to tell me if she's going to live, or if she will die. You have to tell me. I just can't stand the not knowing' </span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Then I opened the Bible and read that scripture. My eyes fell right to it. So I wrote it out, ran to the ICU and taped it to her bed"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I survived the 1st surgery.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The next two weeks lasted forever. "The recovery involved constant monitoring," says Vince. "She could have died at any second. My wife lived at her bedside. Rebekah couldn't eat for three days. She couldn't drink for three days. We watched tears pour down her face. After a day's worth of crying, all we saw were tears, and her mouth open but no sound came out; her voice was gone. So it was horrible. It was just horrible."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Nevertheless, she made it. And after 2 weeks they brought Rebekah home.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, when I was 7 months old a cardio catheterization revealed pulmonary stenosis. The repaired pulmonary veins were closing, and the damage to my lungs was severe. The doctors suspected I may have interstitial lung disease. If that were the case, it would be irreversible.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They would try to reopen her pulmonary veins, and if she was not too weak, get a lung biopsy. They braced Vince and Terri for nothing but negative: even if they could reopen the veins, there's a chance they could close up again; more critical, if the lung biopsy showed lung disease, death was inevitable.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">...The surgery was scheduled for the next day. Vince and Terri went home to pack a suitcase for the hospital. While there, Terri opened her scripture calendar to the next day's date: </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">February 22, 1985: "A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a new heart of flesh" Ezekiel 36:26</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Terri says, "I'm not into fortune cookies, or superstitions, but when I turned the calendar to that date, I just stood there crying. I yelled to Vince 'You have to see this. You have to see this' The next day I taped that to her bed when she went into surgery. I knew God was speaking to me"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The surgery was successful, and they were able to collect a sample from the lungs to biopsy. They had to wait a week for the results.</span> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">During this waiting period Terri says "While the lung biopsy was in route, you see her struggle; you see them put a chest tube in her, and all of a sudden your mind starts flip flopping. But even in moments of disappointment, there was a peace that would come over me. I didn't flip out or say "God, you lied to me" Instead, my heart would say "It's going to be okay. God's just going to do it in a different way"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Terri's peace was justified. The biopsy report finally returned-negative. Eight month old, brown-eyed Rebekah, still weighing only 8 pounds, had bounded over another huge hurdle.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Vince and Terri sat down with the heart surgeon after the 2nd operation for a briefing on Rebekah's future. "We'll have to wait several months and see what happens to the pulmonary veins. If they begin to close again, there's no sense in attempting the final surgery"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Over the following weeks, Terri often wrestled with the feeling that time was running out. She would walk into the nursery, see her baby sleeping, and think of the painful procedure ahead and the risks. Frequently she knelt by the crib and after crying for a while would pray "Touch her heart and let everyone see your power"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Months passed, and finally the doctors scheduled Rebekah's 4th cardio cath. The procedure was supposed to take 2 hours. After the 3rd hour passed without report, tension mounted. For 3 hours they had been trying to insert the testing instrument into her veins; first in one leg, then the other, then her arm - all without success. They had to call in another cardiologist.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The next day they tried again, and were finally able to get through.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">With few words and no emotion, the cardiologist informed them that the veins were open, and they were clear to proceed with the 3rd surgery. He knew, all too well, that what lay ahead was nothing to get excited about.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Finally it was the night before surgery. Before putting Rebekah to bed, Terri anxiously danced with her in their hospital room, quoting scriptures, and singing praises. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The nurses wheeled 11 month old Rebekah - weighing only 10 pounds, but now with blondish brown curly hair - down to the second-floor operating room with her parents by her side. They had taped a new scripture to her bed:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">"I will not die but live, and I will proclaim what the Lord has done" Psalm 118:17</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Aside from the fact that I am alive today, and survived 3 open heart surgeries, the thing that strikes me as a "miracle" is that I was alive for <strong>6 weeks</strong> with no immediate sign of heart disease. Yes, sometimes infants can go months before discovery of a hole, or a common heart defect. But it is pretty miraculous that my body somehow sustained itself for 6 full weeks, without any medical intervention, with all 4 pulmonary veins detached and just draining, and the great arteries misplaced.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
I absolutely believe God sustained me those first 6 weeks of life. I absolutely believe in miracles.</div>
<br />
.<br />
Recently my father sent me an article from the "<u>The Annals Of Thoracic Surgery: Surgical Management of Infants with Complex Cardiac Anomalies Associated with Reduced Pulmonary Blood Flow and Total Anomalous Pulmonary Venous Drainage</u>" dated April 1986<br />
<br />
I am patient #2 in the study. Within the last 10 yrs the hospital had seen only 8 patients with a similar combination of cardiac anomalies. 4 patients died during surgery, 3 were alive and well, and 1 was alive but doing poorly. I was one of the 3 that were living and doing well at 18 months old.<br />
<br />
Interesting fact, the other 2 patients who were alive and doing well had their first surgery within the 1st week of birth; one at 4 days old, the other at 7 days old. <br />
<br />
Another interesting thing was that all 4 children who died had shunts put in prior to attempted correction of TAPVD. There were two points that this article makes:<br />
<br />
<strong>1</strong>. Time was crucial. The sooner the TAPVD was repaired the greater the survival rate<br />
<strong>2</strong>. Shunts should be placed<em> after</em> the repair of TAPVD, as fatality rate was higher when shunts were placed first. <br />
<br />
I was first seen at one hospital and then transferred to Children's Memorial hospital. The doctors at the previous hospital could not see my pulmonary veins clearly through the cardio cathetizeration, and therefore did not know I had TAPVD. Their plan was to place a shunt. If it wasn't for the incredible doctors at Children's Memorial Hospital in Chicago, who did a second cardio cath with pulmonary angiography upon my arrival, which showed my pulmonary veins draining down towards the diaphragm, I would have had an unnecessary pulmonary shunt placed, and an even greater chance of death.<br />
<br />
My father is very intelligent, rational and analytical. He was the one who asked the doctors every possible question, and he memorized every detail of my conditions. He researched to find the top heart surgeon in Chicago. He was the one who requested that I be transferred to Children's Memorial, and have Dr. Michel Albawi perform my surgeries. When he was told that they would not accept me as a patient, because of the type of insurance we had, he went up to the hospital and confronted the director of the hospital. They made an exception. If it wasn't for his persistence, I would have never been transferred, and I would have had a shunt placed at the first hospital. <br />
<br />
I am eternally grateful to my parents; my father's intelligence and persistence, and my mother's wisdom, prayers and unyielding faith.<br />
<br />
I am eternally grateful to my surgeon, Dr. Michel Albawi, and every doctor and nurse that cared for me.<br />
<br />
I've had issues with my health since those surgeries. I've had a pacemaker since 8 yrs old, and I've had 3 replacements. I also developed aorto-pulmonary collaterals during my first pacemaker surgery, which required coil embolization. I formed those collaterals again during my pregnancy. It was life threatening and required an 8 hour coiling procedure. I have come close to death multiple times, but each time God has sustained me. I may have complications in my future, and that is okay. <br />
<br />
Because when I read a report of 8 infants (simply known as Patient 1, Patient 2, Patient 3, etc...) and then I scroll across to the final column of the report which states "Outcome", and read next to each infant the words "died" or "alive", it puts everything into perspective.<br />
<br />
Patient 2: Alive. I've lived 30 yrs more than predicted. 30 years more than Patient 3, 4, 7, and 8. And for that I am forever grateful.<br />
<br />
Even if I were to die tomorrow, it would not be a tragedy. Every day on this earth is an incredible blessing that I may have never known. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-74632874178053585612013-03-15T09:06:00.003-07:002015-02-09T21:35:13.884-08:00 Adoption UpdateThe committee date was moved to March 12 (Dan's birthday). It usually takes them 3 hours to decide. Technically, they have 24 hours to make the final decision, although it is rare that they take that long.<br />
<br />
Well, I was driving with my mother from Chicago to Memphis on the 12th, so Dan was the one to get the call from our adoption worker. They thought all families presented at committee had great strengths, and decided they needed to take the full 24 hours to decide. It was a bit disappointing, because I was anticipating the decision all day and just wanted an answer. At the same time, it was great to know that they were not making a rash decision, and reviewed each family thoroughly. And I was also happy to hear that the other families were good, because if we were not chosen I wanted the boys to go to a great family.<br />
<br />
We found out March 13th around 1 pm that we had been the selected family. Ah!!<br />
<br />
It is insanely exciting...and a little scary. I'm excited that they thought highly enough of our family to entrust 2 boys to us. I'm excited that I potentially have 2 sons. I'm excited to see Adalee and the boys grow up together. There is a lot to be excited about. Scary, only because nothing is final until it's legally final, and that always gives me a bit of anxiety. <br />
<br />
The boys are 3 and 5 years old (just turned 5 this month) I still do not want to publicly post their names until after the transition into our home.<br />
<br />
Here are a few questions you may have that I have gotten from others:<br />
<br />
1. Have we met them yet? No. We have never met them. We have seen 2 pictures and that is all. It is a very weird process, and, yes, I wish we could have met them before committee, but that is not how the process goes.<br />
<br />
2. When do they come home? They have been in their current foster home for 1 yr and are attached to the foster parents. It will be a slow transition. We are hoping to meet them the week I get home, but they will not move in with us for maybe a month or more after the initial visit.<br />
<br />
3. How does Dan feel about it all? He is very excited. He has already started planning how he will insulate the garage and turn it into a playroom for the kids. He's cute :) He has already started collecting "boy" toys, and pirate outfits. He's anxious to meet them.<br />
<br />
4. Are you sure you can handle 2 boys? This is a weird question to me. We obviously would not be at the point we are at, if we didn't think we could "handle 2 boys". Our adoption worker, after hours of interviews and stacks of paperwork, would not have approved us for 2 boys if she didn't think we were capable. The committee would not have chosen our family if they felt we could not properly care for 2 boys. It's a silly question to ask us at this point...and quite insulting, too. <br />
<br />
5. How much does Adalee know about the adoption? She knows we are adopting. For the past year at bedtime we have been praying for whoever God has chosen for our family. Some days she is very excited and talks about having siblings, and other days she says she does NOT want to be a sister. She's a normal 5 year old, and it's going to be a transition for her, just as much as it will be for the boys. If I was growing a child inside of me, she would have the same anxiety about becoming a sister. We are doing our best to help her understand what is happening.<br />
<br />
Luckily, we haven't been asked too many weird questions. Mostly everyone we know is supportive, and we really, <strong>really</strong> appreciate that. Thank you for all the prayers.<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-18751139781173308772013-02-24T17:34:00.000-08:002013-02-24T17:39:12.620-08:00Adoption CommitteeMy initial intent was to start a separate blog, solely devoted to our adoption process, but that has not happened...obviously. Instead, I rarely write about the adoption, and the posts I do write involving the subject are dispersed among other posts about fitness, family and ridiculousness. Sorry.<br />
<br />
Here is what has happened and what is currently going on:<br />
<br />
Dec. 22nd - Home study was complete and we became certified<br />
January 10- We were matched with 2 boys (brothers, 3 and 4 yrs old)<br />
<br />
Once you are "matched" you get the children's bios, stating why they came into foster care, all family history that is known, education/special needs, etc. After you read their bios, you tell the case worker if you are still interested in the children. If you are, you then begin the process of collecting further info (talking to their foster parents, requesting school tests, sometimes even speaking to their teachers, doctor's reports...etc.) <br />
<br />
So, this has been going on since January. Once you collect all information available, you then decide:<br />
A. No longer interested/do not believe it is a good match for your family or<br />
B. Still interested and wanting to "go to committee" for the children<br />
<br />
The phrase "going to committee" is a bit misleading, because Dan and I are not actually present at the committee meeting. Our adoption worker is the one actually going and representing our family. The children's case worker is at committee and has narrowed it down to the families that she feels would be best for the children. Out of the many many home studies she received, she chose us as one of the best matches, which is very encouraging, since we were worried my health concerns would make it hard to get a match. At committee they present our family to a panel of children advocates/social workers and they decide if we are the best match for the boys.<br />
<br />
There can, however, be up to 3 families total at the committee. We do not know if there are 2 other families involved, we just know it is a possibility. The reason I have refrained from getting too excited and spilling all the info is because there is still a chance we may not be chosen. If we are chosen, we would begin visitations, and then they would move into our home.<br />
<br />
After a lot of prayer, phone conversations with the foster mother, and conversations with each other, Dan and I decided we <strong>do</strong> want to "go to committee". We just kept waiting for God to lead us in a certain direction; to show us any red flags that would make it clear it wasn't the best choice, or to open our hearts and minds to see that it very well could be a great match. He did the latter, so we will continue on this journey and trust that if we are meant to be their parents we will be chosen, and if we are not, they will be placed with the right family. <br />
<br />
I don't think it would be right for me to give any more information on the boys until we know if we are chosen, but I would love prayers and positive thoughts. Committee should take place on March 14th and we will find out that day. <br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-49642264534254764872012-06-23T22:19:00.001-07:002013-11-25T14:07:49.617-08:00My Work-Out SecretTruth be told, I don't have an exercise routine. When I feel like working out, there are some very legit moves that I do, and I repeat them often, until my body is the way I desire it to be. But I will not be sharing those moves with you today. Most adults I know don't have time for gym memberships or strict, repetitive regimens. Who has time for that nonsense? <br />
<br />I do, however, have a different type of nonsense that you may have time for...here's a little secret of mine for getting into shape:<br />
<br /><strong>Move!</strong><br />
<br />Sounds like a no-brainer, but you'd be surprised at how many perfectly good opportunities to move we pass up every day. Just because you work, it does not mean you can't move in <em>some form</em>. Wiggle your fingers, tap your toes, start shaking your whole body in your seat while you read this. Do it! Don't tell me you don't have time. How many times do you stop and check email, or check your phone while at work, or go to the bathroom? All you gotta do is move a little prior to, or immediately after, doing those things.<br />
<br />Wiggling is so underrated, and so ideal for many situations. I'd say, "dance" but that often scares people, so I prefer the term wiggle. Call it what you will, but if you would just shake that body a little every time you check your phone or your email, you'd be moving a hell of a lot more than you do currently. If you are in line at a store, march in place or sway side to side. <br />
<br />At home and have a few seconds to spare? Roll your shoulders, clap your hands, do 3 jumping jacks (I didn't say 10... I didn't even say 5. I said <em>3</em>. You <strong>can</strong> do it) <br />
<br />Hop to the laundry room, dance to the kitchen, skip to the garage. I don't care what you do, just freakin' move! Get into the habit of being mobile in some way, all the time. I'm not going to lie, you will look ridiculous. But it may make you laugh, and as we know, laughter burns calories. Laughter will also instantly put you in a good mood, so it's a fine trade off. <br />
<br />One of my more ridiculous moves is rolling. I have been known, on many occasions, to roll on my floor during commercials, and even sometimes during the show I'm watching. How do I roll exactly? I lay on the floor and just start rolling all over the place, like a little kid hyped up on pixie sticks. I roll all over the living room floor. There is no science to it. I don't roll to one end of the living room and back 10 times, change my position, then repeat. I just roll as ridiculously as possible, all over the place, for as long as I can. Sometimes I'll switch it up and just lie on my back and kick into the air, or pretend I'm being chased and pedal my feet like I'm riding a bicycle to get away. If it gets my adrenaline really going, I'll jump up and run in place, or dance, or...something. Anything.<br />
<br />Is this going to get you into great shape? Absolutely not. <br />
<br />What it will do, though, is get your body into the habit of moving. It will also increase circulation throughout your body, which will give you more energy and clarity of mind. With all this new energy and mind clarity, you may now have the motivation to start some legit exercise moves, eh? See, moving in frequent and very small ways does have benefits.<br />
<br />Start incorporating different types of movement into your daily activities. Forms of movement that are often overlooked:<br />
<br />
wiggling<br />
clapping<br />
stomping<br />
jumping<br />
hopping<br />
swaying<br />
kicking<br />
hitting/punching (Grab an old pillow...and just beat the shit out of it)<br />
skipping<br />
tip-toeing<br />
rolling<br />
crawling<br />
bouncing <br />
<br /><br />
Oh, one more thing I must say...<br />
If you are a mother (or father) and you have had to A. pick up your children's toys or B. give them a bath today, I give you props. How dare you do those things and claim that you did not work-out! Give credit where it is due. It is, quite literally, a pain in the ass (and back) to bend back and forth over a tub to wash your child. Same goes for bending over repeatedly picking up toys. Go on and pat yourself on that aching back. <br />
You definitely deserve it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-62309513543251702912012-03-10T21:08:00.001-08:002012-04-03T19:26:48.709-07:00Overly Ambitious Goal for 2012I had decided at the beginning of this year to read more. After having a child, the opportunities to get lost in a book for hours (or even 30 minutes) become very rare. I believe I've read less than 10 books, fully, within the 4 yrs of Adalee's life. I have a terrible habit of starting 5 books at once, and whichever book can hold my attention the longest is the one that I finish. The other 4, half-read books get tossed to the side and forgotten. I decided to try my hardest not to do that this year. Start one; finish one. <br />
<br />
The first book I started was Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.<br />
<br />
Aside from the very far fetched plot (a young boy wandering all over New York, going into strangers homes to find clues that he believes his dead father left behind for him...) I really, really enjoyed it. I finished it in less than 4 days, which was... invigorating. I hadn't finished a book in less than a week in years. It felt so gooood. I started having all kinds of crazy thoughts. <em> At this rate, I could read 2 books/wk. And, technically, that would come out to 8 books/month... 96 in a year! I am going to read 96 books in 2012!</em> <br />
<br />
Hence, my overly ambitious goal for 2012 ;)<br />
<br />
I have since settled down. My momentary high from finishing <strong>one</strong> book has waned a bit. The high has died down to what I would describe now as a mere buzz, which still feels excellent. I still want to commit to reading on a regular (preferably daily) basis. <br />
<br />
Since reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, I have finished 2 more books. And I am half way through 3 more (yes, I fell back into my habit of juggling multiple books, but instead of choosing 1 and dumping the rest I am committed to finishing them all)<br />
<br />
So, my new goal is to read 2 books/month, as a minimum. 24 per year compared to 96 is pretty sad, but at least it's realistic. And, it's much better than the previous quota of 2 per year. If I can finish the 3 I am half way through before April begins, I will still be on track.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">2012 Book List:</span></strong><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
1. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close- finished</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUicEsX7479nOQj7iUbxoaA2W1FUppbcGSmrvDGWZpufIVkyroozUYUGCOBaWE-ISDbDcm3VVzlPJyWDFZbpyn_XBwF50O3o3N2jT5sX0zwtmLX7gn4upYMo2GwyCmiZD4agr6STFDk0g/s1600/Book1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUicEsX7479nOQj7iUbxoaA2W1FUppbcGSmrvDGWZpufIVkyroozUYUGCOBaWE-ISDbDcm3VVzlPJyWDFZbpyn_XBwF50O3o3N2jT5sX0zwtmLX7gn4upYMo2GwyCmiZD4agr6STFDk0g/s1600/Book1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2. Angela's Ashes- finished</div>Excellent memoir of a young boy growing up poor in Ireland<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLRZrqwdBF66Tmy-8EeO-H1uJMrklynI_S3PjesaA17gpIxi_j9rw_rOz5OfghQYQ55v9ZRume-Vxr9Q24UNikpe0jme57XDYnuQv3OcqcXrGlmyQuR06E7lXbeqDYF2P1AM5Sdh6nEs/s1600/book2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLRZrqwdBF66Tmy-8EeO-H1uJMrklynI_S3PjesaA17gpIxi_j9rw_rOz5OfghQYQ55v9ZRume-Vxr9Q24UNikpe0jme57XDYnuQv3OcqcXrGlmyQuR06E7lXbeqDYF2P1AM5Sdh6nEs/s1600/book2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">3. The Hunger Games- finished</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Yes, I finally caved and began this teen series. I was very hesitant, due to the popularity of the Twilight series and how disappointed I was in those books. This is much different. Still, it is very obviously written for young teens, but the plot is much more appealing than that awful, vampire, love triangle story line of Twilight.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CE81HVnDxwPcWBM5fDT3bqV8b1GM-lC5knq-iVD-Yz6lTw5KA2OCYgV5AAPq2Y4JDveHhHbujbcXdCdRsgdS9lSxj2BeTYfwJPjEZ0YwkgNwvg8e4RPro6ljhHGgqdBVLqAPWWthX-Y/s1600/book3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CE81HVnDxwPcWBM5fDT3bqV8b1GM-lC5knq-iVD-Yz6lTw5KA2OCYgV5AAPq2Y4JDveHhHbujbcXdCdRsgdS9lSxj2BeTYfwJPjEZ0YwkgNwvg8e4RPro6ljhHGgqdBVLqAPWWthX-Y/s1600/book3.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">4. Mockingjay- currently reading- 2nd book of Hunger Games series </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Update: Finished</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWp7Qs_yYbWS9pmKgmi9_PABNI7nNW3rC5pdxztVNO8SYFe2blb21IFJo_a6tpImntGUUPK4_62FAbUZ1mViOA4oWb9PkZW-QQr57U2VAHbqPSrf91ndbxXkROXf3KibfcWa0COO-Kuc/s1600/book4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWp7Qs_yYbWS9pmKgmi9_PABNI7nNW3rC5pdxztVNO8SYFe2blb21IFJo_a6tpImntGUUPK4_62FAbUZ1mViOA4oWb9PkZW-QQr57U2VAHbqPSrf91ndbxXkROXf3KibfcWa0COO-Kuc/s1600/book4.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">5. Attaching in Adoption- currently reading</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1F0OyKBRmi9voyXYRdbLW2NO1Fjh6y3xIHJj4WDUGuvMcrXSUdIwGALRUDRjUyLNB8hk4Cx_PgAOHppY0J9tV_D5P5kyIC_C89tJo7DFbdUeyej4HOQ8eHdof3BKJ-x6DGRU9Ny8SBDI/s1600/book5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1F0OyKBRmi9voyXYRdbLW2NO1Fjh6y3xIHJj4WDUGuvMcrXSUdIwGALRUDRjUyLNB8hk4Cx_PgAOHppY0J9tV_D5P5kyIC_C89tJo7DFbdUeyej4HOQ8eHdof3BKJ-x6DGRU9Ny8SBDI/s1600/book5.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">6. Jane Eyre- currently reading (I read in high school and wanted to relive it)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ivIfHF-HwGnpniK0sabeFVL9KISdGi8y0VYM1xdNaEt2YL0CThDCg1SBvXM6TFGDACT1NcTg5PWIdCFwX4I-kshTBnXz64xZT_P_CLT7I1xpjvj1Z_tAmyf4jCGKXfVNa3BKg2TmCYw/s1600/book6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ivIfHF-HwGnpniK0sabeFVL9KISdGi8y0VYM1xdNaEt2YL0CThDCg1SBvXM6TFGDACT1NcTg5PWIdCFwX4I-kshTBnXz64xZT_P_CLT7I1xpjvj1Z_tAmyf4jCGKXfVNa3BKg2TmCYw/s1600/book6.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Update:</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Bad news: I began 2 new books before finishing #5 and #6</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Good news: I FINISHED those 2 new books :)</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>7. Catching Fire (3rd in Hunger Games) - finished</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq_HMKa4y3if1H_4vQ5B8FbCvSsskXATN9DZVPb9DhJkTeXBSF4E83NWqEguUlbkxHPg5IH7rk1FwXqOyO8vISzri9WdTPyvNCH8hkG_2R57XEkdhlr4sTHbOHFubeQrbJ0H2JEGa0nGg/s1600/Catching_fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq_HMKa4y3if1H_4vQ5B8FbCvSsskXATN9DZVPb9DhJkTeXBSF4E83NWqEguUlbkxHPg5IH7rk1FwXqOyO8vISzri9WdTPyvNCH8hkG_2R57XEkdhlr4sTHbOHFubeQrbJ0H2JEGa0nGg/s1600/Catching_fire.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>8. The Lost Boy - finished</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">by Dave Pelzer (same author as A Child Called "It")</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A Child Called "It" chronicles Dave's childhood as an abused child, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">being raised by a mentally unstable and alcoholic mother...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Lost Boy is his experience going through the foster care system</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">after escaping his mother's abuse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-54737950245270186522012-02-16T16:04:00.000-08:002018-01-11T14:12:52.399-08:00Exciting NewsDan and I had been discussing adoption for a few years now (basically, since Adalee was born 4 yrs ago) With all the craziness of Papa's illness/death, the holidays and trying to figure out Adalee's neurological issues, it was too difficult to find the time to write about that subject.<br />
<br />
Last summer we started to seriously research and discuss our options. I always felt a tug on my heart, leading to the foster/adoption route, but Dan had decided that he would be more comfortable with a domestic infant adoption...so we started down that road. The more and more we discussed and discovered information on this avenue of adoption, the more tension and disagreements we faced. It got to the point where we just called it quits on the whole thing. We decided to pray individually and not bring it up, until we felt certain of something. I was certain where I stood, but I would never push Dan into something he wasn't sure about. So, I just waited. <br />
<br />
It was so heart breaking, seeing as this has been something I have wanted my whole life, and especially in the last 4 yrs, knowing this was our only option of growing our family. I went to a church women's retreat in October, hoping to just take my mind off things and have a great time. About 10 minutes after being there I unloaded all my emotions onto the women I was rooming with. Ha! It just spewed out. I had no control. But they were very kind, and it felt good to get it off my chest.<br />
<br />
Literally, less than 2 weeks after that retreat Dan came to me and said "Now, I don't want you to freak out or anything but....I just wanted you to know that I've really been feeling God leading us towards the foster/adoption route. I'm not absolutely sure, but I <em>think </em>that's what he's telling me"<br />
As time passed, Dan felt more certain of that idea. Discussing the infant adoption brought so much tension and anxiety, but with every discussion we had about adopting through the state we both felt such certainty and peace.<br />
<br />
We attended the informational meeting and then tried to sign up for the 30 hour required training, but the Dec/Jan. classes were full. <br />
<br />
So we signed up for the Feb/Mar classes. I wanted so badly to tell people our decision, but I was worried about one thing; my health. Although I am capable of raising my daughter and caring for my household, my doctors do not want me working full-time. I feared that my health issues would affect our application being accepted. I mean, if my doctors do not feel that I'm capable enough to work, why should someone else find me capable enough to handle the demands of multiple children? That fear haunted me.<br />
<br />
I decided not to officially announce anything until I was assured that my health would not be an issue.<br />
<br />
Today the case worker called me and said that she received the health forms that my cardiologist filled out and also the forms that I had filled out. She shared them with her supervisor. Neither she nor the supervisor, found anything in them that would cause our application to not be accepted, and we are welcome to start the training. Such great news! And on my Papa's birthday, too :)<br />
<br />
So, the news is that we are officially <strong>starting the adoption process</strong>. Our first class is this Saturday.<br />
<br />
We will complete our 30 hour training on March 8th <br />
<br />
Then begin the massive amounts of paper work. <br />
<br />
After the paper work is completed we will start the home study. <br />
<br />
After the home study we wait for a match.<br />
<br />
It's going to be a long process, but we are ecstatic to finally begin, and see what God has in store for us.Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-82231645965657462772011-09-30T15:46:00.000-07:002011-09-30T15:46:52.666-07:00Didju do that?! Yes. Yes, I did.It has been almost a year since I began crocheting. Sadly, none of my creations have been worthy enough to post. There are so many crafty people in this world, with crafty little blogs showcasing their talents. I don't think I will ever be one of those people. But, every now and then, I hope to create a winner that I can share and not be ashamed of. Little masterpieces that will evoke questions such as, "Didju do that?!" <br />
<br />
I decided to try my hand at Amigurumi - Japanese word that literally means "crocheted stuffed toy"<br />
<br />
They are so freakin cute, and seeing as I have a 4 yr old little girl that loves soft cute things, I decided to give it a go.<br />
<br />
She initially wanted me to make an ugly looking airplane, which didn't really even look like a plane, even when crocheted by professionals. I am not about to put in that much time, effort and yarn to make a toy that looks ridiculous. I vetoed that choice and had her choose between the 3 that looked like real toys: Bunny, Giraffe or Elephant. She agreed on the giraffe.<br />
<br />
<br />
So with no further adieu....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFZy4nqH9uJJs0hVds78k0Chsv3IDAE9AVrC6dbTqI8ohdSDJVJK6MAhQWbTeqEV2TyfkMuqDulr68KYrUraK0Sx9IwknRrPdDkX6zY_Z3i27CpFkZQTqmUtjcwBx1eToexGkKBwA-rY/s1600/IMG_7894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFZy4nqH9uJJs0hVds78k0Chsv3IDAE9AVrC6dbTqI8ohdSDJVJK6MAhQWbTeqEV2TyfkMuqDulr68KYrUraK0Sx9IwknRrPdDkX6zY_Z3i27CpFkZQTqmUtjcwBx1eToexGkKBwA-rY/s320/IMG_7894.JPG" width="276" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQjrf_sRQsIsRMgNSDx3kDAn5kDoNfgu0HAfOqma_g8KxYZY4YjuNZEiYsrGxUrzPIcoYYAI-Ebms-39vCYI7OjM-TjaVpZdxj26Gs1tKJcyLhdVZkp3FpZT1r9yi6cpJmKFrTxo1_5U/s1600/IMG_7895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQjrf_sRQsIsRMgNSDx3kDAn5kDoNfgu0HAfOqma_g8KxYZY4YjuNZEiYsrGxUrzPIcoYYAI-Ebms-39vCYI7OjM-TjaVpZdxj26Gs1tKJcyLhdVZkp3FpZT1r9yi6cpJmKFrTxo1_5U/s320/IMG_7895.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPUURMVBPIwRjRQn43Qf9qpfAfSmKeL_2h-2MgLIoVnwFruoN-7RR8cf3NVhe1dYOBeD7IDLbnbeYhiEALGwcxW44_AXmCYkDV_wMynhR4E8kQXWOKEJebUV-x1RFwseD1u2tLvmN9pQ/s1600/IMG_7888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPUURMVBPIwRjRQn43Qf9qpfAfSmKeL_2h-2MgLIoVnwFruoN-7RR8cf3NVhe1dYOBeD7IDLbnbeYhiEALGwcxW44_AXmCYkDV_wMynhR4E8kQXWOKEJebUV-x1RFwseD1u2tLvmN9pQ/s320/IMG_7888.JPG" width="242" /></a></div><br />
<br />
He is pretty darn cute, I must say. I need to work on sewing the pieces together a bit, because I kind of jacked up the neck seam....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx66p23UD4I61kN9kSAFblRvL2wlfzZYwBogy6A6q6Py5LQA_xAuJv2uuzbV4YeO1a6_wAkb8JskBFbaIb1KmsWwKPFgxJdTaq2MW72lyH_15JBx6HQLkXVRkzGrwKo7gJVTjvVMzbkD8/s1600/IMG_7898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx66p23UD4I61kN9kSAFblRvL2wlfzZYwBogy6A6q6Py5LQA_xAuJv2uuzbV4YeO1a6_wAkb8JskBFbaIb1KmsWwKPFgxJdTaq2MW72lyH_15JBx6HQLkXVRkzGrwKo7gJVTjvVMzbkD8/s320/IMG_7898.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
...but Adalee didn't notice. She named him Carlon - her favorite girl's name is Carla, so all boys are "Carlon"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjycr7kVE6zge9rHaZhqbLBDRbmMfl1gQgs4IAiBhKmZ6d6rJobJemYpDi3-u14RvDLkFTUhFITQkAr1gi9ai-sOXImrcPjGsPuq1Wfy-FFd-MRjEuTxQ311YHSY9mN4w6o-Fqkn8ieKM/s320/IMG_7904.JPG" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39jRGiMoNRnNI7vPcgfB81uCOiqJl1BKzoGviD5AvtScZOzugCvYZIijfuXZI-dP4tRmvx0DSV2QxagetfAjsI0X3okC61nRhoVNcpbDwnqFu_MXvKB2ggKLTYMrQCtXMN4s_zwrbiUk/s1600/IMG_7901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39jRGiMoNRnNI7vPcgfB81uCOiqJl1BKzoGviD5AvtScZOzugCvYZIijfuXZI-dP4tRmvx0DSV2QxagetfAjsI0X3okC61nRhoVNcpbDwnqFu_MXvKB2ggKLTYMrQCtXMN4s_zwrbiUk/s320/IMG_7901.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ta Da!!</div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-5233777054313966782011-06-30T15:13:00.000-07:002011-06-30T22:49:12.985-07:00Love you, Dad<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I have always been a daddy's girl. One of my favorite movies is Father of the Bride and I will cry at just about anything having to do with daddy/daughter relationships. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My father is not perfect, by any means. And our relationship has been very, <strong>very</strong> rocky at times (during the divorce I wrote him a 4 page poem, entitled "Shit", which basically just called him shit in many different ways. Yep, <em>rocky</em>)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, don't worry, all you dads out there with teenage daughters that hate you. It can get better!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I have hundreds of stories about my Dad and it's really hard to choose my favorites, but I tried to narrow it down. In honor of Father's day -and my dad- here are a few things my father taught me throughout my 26 years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(By the way, I totally jipped my mom on my mother's day blog! I'm totally going to do a redo and give her the credit she deserves. I love love love her and I'm sorry I only talked about being hung over and throwing plates...that would be me, hungover and throwing plates, not her)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">1. <strong>There is no wrong time to take a nap. </strong></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATNyeGbpIagR4TqwrJOfB1-Q_j2UaiJmJGs5GMQ9YYeWVhUpnnwcckt94Rf74veT26cxe4jFLSbl-GFUWojbn3r6EIEr0RG_RpmaoOFvNwYqvUFLa_9-1nTBLqgjPfrFlGOqmB-WIcik/s1600/Hammock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATNyeGbpIagR4TqwrJOfB1-Q_j2UaiJmJGs5GMQ9YYeWVhUpnnwcckt94Rf74veT26cxe4jFLSbl-GFUWojbn3r6EIEr0RG_RpmaoOFvNwYqvUFLa_9-1nTBLqgjPfrFlGOqmB-WIcik/s320/Hammock.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My father is a huge napper. If I'm not feeling well, or just in a bad mood his suggestion is always "just take a nap" He can nap 2 hours after waking...and again at noon... and again at 5 pm. Really, there is no limit to the amount of naps you can take in a 24 hour period. He takes his sleep very seriously.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we were young, my siblings and I would always be very quiet when dad was napping or he'd yell at us in a half-asleep, crazy daze. He was never violent, he would just yell and threaten, and give us "crazy eyes". One of my favorite (and funniest/most traumatic) memories of this occured on my 8th birthday... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I had a slumber party with about 7 of my closest friends. We all slept on the living room floor. The morning after the sleepover we were all waking up and giggling quietly when someone suggested that we scream as loud as we could to wake the last girl who was still asleep. Seven, high pitched, 8 yr old girls huddled together and on the count of three...1...2...3....screamed "<strong>WAaaaaKE Uuuup, Jeeesicaaaaa!!!!" </strong>All of a sudden my parent's door bursts open and my dad is standing there in his boxers, ( I want to say he was holding a belt, but I can't quite remember if it was that dramatic- it felt like it, though) like a mad man, screaming "If I hear <em>one more word</em>, EVERY SINGLE ONE of you is getting spanked!!!" In his half asleep/half awake mind I'm sure he had forgotten that it was my birthday party and probably assumed it was just me and my brothers and sister out there yelling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My mother hurried to the rescue and quickly got my dad back into the bedroom, then ran out to console the 8 hysterical girls crying in the living. Happy Birthday To Me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">2. <strong>Never hesitate to invite strangers to church</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One Sunday morning, when I was about eh...7?, we were getting into the car to go to church when we saw a man attack a woman and take off with her purse. We lived on the south side of Chicago, so this was not an unusual occurance, but I had never seen it live. We were told to get in the car, my mom called the police, and my dad took off down the street to get the theif. I was kind of scared for my dad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I remember having so much pride for my father when I saw him walking back to the house with this criminal. This is the first memory I have of me thinking my dad was, literally, a hero. By the time they made it back to the house the cops had arrived and were ready to take the guy in. My dad begged them to let it slide and asked if he could take the man to church with us instead. My family laughs about this now because, although it was a very kind suggestion, it was probably not the smartest thing to do...having a criminal ride in the back seat with your children. The cops declined his request.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">3. <strong>I am beautiful just the way I am</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I remember being about 10 yrs old and feeling ugly. Very ugly. It's weird to look back now and think that a 10 year old could feel that way, but I did. Between the ages of 8-12 it is so awkward for girls. The tween years were harder than the teen ones. You start to notice and compare yourself to others. You're not old enough for makup, so the contrast between the "pretty girls" and the "ugly ones" is very easy to see. I felt like an ugly one.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I broke down crying to my dad one night, confessing that I felt ugly. I know that must have broken his heart. He responded with the usual "You are beautiful to me...it maters what's on the inside...blah blah blah...." When he saw that none of that cliched jibberish consoled me he asked what exactly I thought was ugly about me. I remember this conversation word for word. I told him "my nose is big, my eyebrows are bushy, my teeth are big and crooked, my hair is curly and frizzy, and I have a mole on my face" Right away he came back at me with "Sarah Jessica Parker has a large nose, big teeth and curly and she's gorgeous! Boys love her. Cindy Crawford has a mole on her face and it's what makes her different from the other models. And she has full eyebrows too! The girl from Father of the Bride has very full eyebrows and you love her. All of those things are beautiful in their own way" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, I must admit, <em>at the time</em> I thought his response was horrible. Basically, he confirmed that I <strong>did</strong>,<strong> </strong>in fact, have all of those ugly features. I remember wanting him so badly to laugh and say "Becky, you're crazy! Your nose is not big at all. Your teeth are not crooked. Your hair is not frizzy. I'll tell mom to tweeze your eyebrows. I'll look into how much mole removal will be" That's what I hoped his response would be. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Looking back years later though, I'm so happy he didn't say that to me. I love that he didn't just say that I was something I was not to make me feel pretty in the moment. He saw me <em>exactly</em> the way I was (big nose and all) and <em>still</em> thought I was beautiful, and encouraged me to accept every feauture I had as beauty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">4. <strong>Guns are nothing to joke around about.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here's another fun, birthday story. On my 16th birthday my dad took me down to the DMV to get my license. At the time we lived in Memphis, Tennessee. Anyone who has lived in Memphis knows that the DMV is equivalent to hell. You usually have to wait 2-3 hours no matter what you go in for and the people who work there hate their jobs and are not helpful in the least. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anyone who knows my dad, knows that he is not very patient. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">DMV + Dad is a terrible combination.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">About 20 minutes after we took our number and finally found a seat in the crammed waiting area, my dad got up "to see what's going on". They hadn't called a new number since we sat down and he was not happy about it. He came back frustrated and decided to get some fresh air outside to calm down. This whole sit-see what's going on-get frustrated-take a breather outside went on for about another hour until he couldn't take it anymore. Finally, he says to me "This is ridiculous. They have 6 people working up there and not one of them is doing a damn thing" And then he took off to...see what's going on...again. I watched his hands wave around as he got into a heated exchange with the woman at the front desk. It was only about a minute and then I saw him abrubtly storm out of the building and go to his car. I assumed he just needed a breather. The woman at the front looked horrified and I saw her making some calls and talking to the other workers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">10 minutes later I see the police pull up and now the entire wait area was whispering about some crazy man who has a gun. I instantly knew who they were talking about. I turned to the man next to me and asked "What's going on?" He said that a man had threatened the woman at the front desk with a gun. I looked outside and saw the cops talking to my dad and then escorting him inside. I reassured the guy next to me that he did <strong>not</strong> have a gun, "That's my dad..he's never owned a gun in his life...yada yada..."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Apparently, when my father went up to the woman at the desk he ranted about how long he had been waiting and how slow the workers were. His closing lines to her were "What does it take to get anyone to do their job around here?! A gun?" And then he stormed off and started rifling through his car. Which, perhaps, gave her the impression that he was getting a <strong>gun</strong>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I actually wasn't that embarassed. It was too funny. Had my father actually owned a gun and threatened her with it, it would not be funny. My father had never even shot a gun before, so the thought of everyone thinking he was going to go on some crazy, shooting rampage was hilarious to me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">They searched him for a gun and made him apologize to the workers, which took longer than it should have because he refused to apologize. Finally, he caved and made ammends.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I did, eventually that day, get my license. Happy happy birthday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">5. <strong>Sometimes it's OK to lie to your children</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just recently I started going over some childhood memories in my mind. I was thinking about some of the stories my dad would tell me, to help me deal with issues I was having. He would always relate to what I was saying in some way and then tell me about a similar situation he's dealt with.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I started to remember some of the stories my Dad would tell me about himself as a child, and then it dawned on me. He made them up. All these years of hearing heroic tale after tale about my father...and they never actually happened. I'm sure there was some truth dispersed here and there, but the majority were fabricated. They always had some moral lesson in them. Fables, I suppose. I'm slightly embarassed that I didn't figure it out sooner. I was 26 yrs old before I even questioned their validity. It's so obvious looking back now.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here are the two that I recall most vividly:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">1. Once I learned the word "asshole" (at about 11 yrs old) I would whisper it to my little brother Joe all the time when I was mad at him, and eventually he got tired of it and told on me. He told me he was going to tell my dad so I went to the backyard and hid behind our pool...as if he'd never find me there. After about 5 minutes of hiding he found me, and told me to come sit with him and talk. He then told me a story about when he was in school and all the 'cool kids' ganged up on him and were teasing him and telling him he 'better swear or else!' He proudly told me that he refused to do it. He told them that they could beat him up if they wanted to, but he wasn't going to say those words, cause it was wrong. So I asked "well, what happened?" And he told me that they were so impressed with his stubborness that they let him go. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Moral of the story</em>: Stand by your morals no matter the cost, and in the end even your persecuters will be impressed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">2. My brother was having a school dance and they were talking about asking girls out. He took the opportunity to tell the story of when he was in high school. He wanted to ask the most beautiful girl in school to the dance, but he was nervous. He was nerdy and she was popular. It was the day before the dance and he decided to just try, assuming she probably already had a date. Turns out, no one had asked her yet because everyone was so intimidated. She said yes to him, because she was impressed with his confidence and everyone else was jealous and regretted not trying. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Moral of the story</em>: Always go for what you want, because you never know how it will turn out and you won't want to regret not trying.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anyway, after I had this revelation that my father had told me false stories the majority of my childhood I got angry and started ranting to Dan. After I stopped, Dan says, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Really? So your dad made up stories about himself to try to be a good role model for you, and to encourage and help strengthen your morals?" ...and then he laughed... "Do you know how many kids would love to have a dad care enough to try to give a good example, even if it's not entirely true? Seriously, of all the mistakes a father can make you're going to hold that against him?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He had a point. My father had good intentions and a good heart. It may not have been the best way to go about things, but it was all out of love. And it worked! I clung to those stories and I <em>was</em> encouraged by them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So thank you, Dad. For all the good and not so good. It makes for good lessons and greater memories. I love you.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFGHArP8l7agHm1g9196fCOAA75EZJy924OPjg0MgHyr6RjsFdVPSOrFBxYHe8vNvSd5IIbpe0C7p-JvV8g4yIJL2Jk0asIvgEtdd7tcj3UoDOH9Iu-y-Vw96EFp8fe0U7Pe_qWvxri4/s1600/wed3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFGHArP8l7agHm1g9196fCOAA75EZJy924OPjg0MgHyr6RjsFdVPSOrFBxYHe8vNvSd5IIbpe0C7p-JvV8g4yIJL2Jk0asIvgEtdd7tcj3UoDOH9Iu-y-Vw96EFp8fe0U7Pe_qWvxri4/s320/wed3.jpg" width="228" /></span></a></div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-35329679721857298082011-03-16T12:58:00.000-07:002011-03-16T12:58:16.173-07:00My Friend With the GlassesAdalee has an incredible memory. Like, scary good. She is always saying "Remember....?" And it's always some obscure memory that I have to rack my brain to retrieve.<br />
<br />
Recently, I bought some pistachios and mixed nuts. The kind with the shells still on. While we were putting them in the cart her face lit up and she excitedly asked me, "Are those for me to play with?!" Ummm....No. "Why would you play with these? These are nuts. We eat these" And she said, "No. We spin them!" I had no clue what she was talking about so I laughed it off and finished shopping. <br />
<br />
When we got home she was so excited and kept asking when she could play with them. After me questioning where she got that idea, she finally said "But I really want to spin them like my friend with the glasses!" She was so frustrated with me at this point. "You remember my friend with the glasses spins them on the table?!" <br />
<br />
Was she at a play date and she found one on the floor or something...and her friend spun it on a table?? She doesn't have that many friends, so I started naming them. After going back and forth for 10 minutes, asking questions and having her say "no!" she finally gave me a clue to work with. "He lives in Chicago!" You would think that would make it a lot easier. Unfortunately, she met at least 50 family members in Chicago and more than one wears glasses. She just kept repeating "You remember? In Chicago my friend with the glasses spins them on the table. It was really funny. Remember?!"<br />
<br />
And then it hit me. I finally figured out this mysterious "friend with the glasses" . At my grandpa's house he always has mixed nuts and pistachios on his kitchen table. He also wears glasses. <em>But</em> he does not spin them on the table. <br />
<br />
However, I do have a cousin that wears glasses, who was at Pa's house with us... and I now recall him spinning them on the table for Adalee. She even drew a picture for him, of himself. She even included the glasses in her picture :) So I went through the pics on the computer and showed her his picture to confirm. Yes! I got it right.<br />
<br />
<strong>Jacob Ochoa,</strong> you are the friend with the glasses! Thank God we figured that out. She was so mad at me. You know, for having such an amazing memory, you'd think she'd remember a name...oh well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZxpzApHWzeE3L2A82mvbZLlgR4IzKQMGeEFJJqpM_1V-XFGNEReo53swls2Q_pEwOnxlbE5upi7Fv-Lq187PJwz4Cvi2JBQdXN9j56srE7DGZVclooPMCz7oQ8UpfJMBsPOX1hTf2VU/s1600/75.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZxpzApHWzeE3L2A82mvbZLlgR4IzKQMGeEFJJqpM_1V-XFGNEReo53swls2Q_pEwOnxlbE5upi7Fv-Lq187PJwz4Cvi2JBQdXN9j56srE7DGZVclooPMCz7oQ8UpfJMBsPOX1hTf2VU/s320/75.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
After reviewing this picture again, I'm starting to believe that my cousins lied to me and actually drew it themselves. It's just too good. And I <em>know</em> that my daughter cannot write "JAKE" Ha! You jerks either sloppily wrote that for her and lied to me or you made up the whole thing! Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-2620077105340445142011-02-25T21:48:00.000-08:002011-02-25T22:05:53.335-08:00Television CrushesTelevision is, and always has been, a huge part of my life. Over the past 20 years I've built some seriously intense, one-sided relationships with some of the characters. You know you have some of your own. We can't help it, really. After years of getting to know the most intimate details of their lives we become attached. It's a shame they are fictional, and also a blessing... because you know you would be a huge creeper if they were, in fact, real.<br />
<br />
Here are my Top 5 Television Crushes:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNKzdTB65N7pjx2Yp4qfwf3xIZJRRvkpaQxJj4FQ90rIl_8oX1WFquo-jC8DBiCqx5lUjklYPu4gJpaRE3YikkvyNDcuNw_fsiBQVozvoce3EyLc0XFx0kddnz0HxAVyPQiWSmozudtU/s1600/Dawson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNKzdTB65N7pjx2Yp4qfwf3xIZJRRvkpaQxJj4FQ90rIl_8oX1WFquo-jC8DBiCqx5lUjklYPu4gJpaRE3YikkvyNDcuNw_fsiBQVozvoce3EyLc0XFx0kddnz0HxAVyPQiWSmozudtU/s320/Dawson.jpg" width="255" /></a></div> Dawson Leery (Dawson's Creek)<br />
<br />
<br />
From the ages 13-19 I was obsessed with Dawson's Creek. I related most to the character of Joey, so it makes sense that I fell <strong>hard </strong>for Dawson Leery. He was a gentleman...a dreamer...very naive and hopeful. Sure, he had some very corny, mushy lines, but he somehow pulled them off and made me a believer in love. For a teenage girl, dealing with her parents divorce, hating all men and losing faith in humanity, Dawson was my savior. That show was my therapy, and I will always love Dawson Leery.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEQQKjeySrULHaWnerg7rHQ9re6ZTMkM7KCSxmFcLlPvnsf3M7Wy7pMx0eM6b0qxIE_aKVTy7TnQmNIaT0bOuCOZfOId-hDR4xZMi0YPe1SWayGOsRSDbv4kwGSrkG1xI0JPUMswAh4c/s1600/Mr.+Shue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEQQKjeySrULHaWnerg7rHQ9re6ZTMkM7KCSxmFcLlPvnsf3M7Wy7pMx0eM6b0qxIE_aKVTy7TnQmNIaT0bOuCOZfOId-hDR4xZMi0YPe1SWayGOsRSDbv4kwGSrkG1xI0JPUMswAh4c/s320/Mr.+Shue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Mr. Shuester (Glee) <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, Mr. Shue. You are such a dream boat. For those unfamiliar with Glee, let me give you the rundown. Will Shuester is a Spanish teacher, who decides to take over the Glee club. For the home schooled kids reading this, a "Glee club" is basically show choir, or what I like to call, bedazzled singing. Anywho... he is a nerd, speaks a second language, sings, is passionate about encouraging his students and basically just a very kind hearted person. Combine all that with a butt chin, hairy chest and gorgeous smile and I'm hooked. Take a look at this nerdy yumminess...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fwiLBoh24qg" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQPQUV33NNCYPxush9jP3hF9MumPex4kZlCy3UeXbzt3kZcoM9HtNfZdobURE6MmYne8ckT18sCdjk9NxmcjqtQlKjfdpORlDGR5AhEOpJrjMAzvVXZ9O9Vz98M_POG3eCdr2dGwzG_M/s1600/Charlie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQPQUV33NNCYPxush9jP3hF9MumPex4kZlCy3UeXbzt3kZcoM9HtNfZdobURE6MmYne8ckT18sCdjk9NxmcjqtQlKjfdpORlDGR5AhEOpJrjMAzvVXZ9O9Vz98M_POG3eCdr2dGwzG_M/s320/Charlie.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> Charlie Kelly (It's Always Sunny...)<br />
<br />
<br />
As soon as you start to think I have a pattern of going for the nerdy, artistic, do-gooder type, I whip out Charlie. <em>Wild card, bitches!!</em> I have to admit that I hated this kid when I first watched the show. His high pitched, constant yelling annoyed the hell out of me. Then I got to know him...and, well, you know the rest of the story. <br />
<br />
Charlie is so <em>so</em> stupid, but so lovable. And the most hilarious person - ever. In real life, this is the guy that I would've loved to be best friends with, possibly hook up with once, but never ever consider seriously dating because of his poor grammar and hygiene. And most importantly, because of his general stupidity<br />
<br />
<em>OR</em><strong> ...</strong>this would be the guy that I would be secretly in love with, but hesitant to admit to myself and pursue a relationship with, because of the previously listed flaws. <br />
<br />
Pheww! Good thing he's just pretend and I don't have to actually deal with those decisions<br />
<br />
<strong>Favorite Charlie quotes:</strong><br />
<br />
"Wild card, bitches!!"<br />
<br />
"Day man; fighter of the night man. Champion of the sun. You're a master of karate and friendship, for everyone"<br />
<br />
"Taked baby. Meet at later bar, night or day sometime.”<br />
<br />
"Here's a confession: I’m in love with a man. What? I’m in love with a man ... a man named God. Does that make me gay...am I gay for God? You betcha.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtZ7HNHtVl8OBvk4tJoZn1qYF0xNQIXm-Lhhn6Ap1Ja25gCvDp3ZJdJhX0ktoGBHmpX5YYvRntlKhyQQxVnFUlUrBuRcLlAP2yfwgr94eKZf_XJfA1CHf_2tWWrGYb4NujKRP8v7n_qg/s1600/JohnLocke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtZ7HNHtVl8OBvk4tJoZn1qYF0xNQIXm-Lhhn6Ap1Ja25gCvDp3ZJdJhX0ktoGBHmpX5YYvRntlKhyQQxVnFUlUrBuRcLlAP2yfwgr94eKZf_XJfA1CHf_2tWWrGYb4NujKRP8v7n_qg/s320/JohnLocke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> John Locke (LOST) <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yeah yeah, I'm just bouncing all over the place here. I don't exactly have a "type". I know he's old enough to be my father -possibly grandfather- but I don't care. Love knows no age. If we were talking about physical attraction alone, there are two other Losties (that's what us nerds call the Lost characters) that would beat Locke, hands down: Desmond and Charlie. But we are talking about the whole package. Locke's passion for truth, spiritual strength, and insane loyalty to the island trumps fleeting, physical attraction. <br />
<br />
Lost has many christian references and draws many parallels between the characters on the island and biblical/religious figures. John Locke was almost a Jesus figure to the island. He obeyed and trusted the "island" to the very end. Although he had his breakdowns and contemplated suicide twice, he always got back up and remained faithful. He was eventually killed by another Lostie, who was influenced by an evil force. But if it wasn't for his death, Jack Shepard would not have gained his faith and become the leader of the island, which was the island's plan all along. Jack, who initially thought Locke was insane, finally admits in the end that Locke <em>was</em> "right about everything"<br />
<br />
My mother hated this song when it came out, because she found it to be sacrilegious. Sorry mama...<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="289" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rQXsB0rpn8k" title="YouTube video player" width="460"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sticking with my "love knows no age" motto, we move on to my final crush...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijrtj_f6dqn9ORdBei46pgvkCwUQvGwb9pMuAcizOHe2qIUOLgHxP3j7sFYtIj5idM42BvqMtZPC3NyEnUjaNW4250X5uKdlD_OKUwNrkiuX9WoC6rolmLwUq_Y1HE-ewxPKwbdcv3xw/s1600/Kevin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijrtj_f6dqn9ORdBei46pgvkCwUQvGwb9pMuAcizOHe2qIUOLgHxP3j7sFYtIj5idM42BvqMtZPC3NyEnUjaNW4250X5uKdlD_OKUwNrkiuX9WoC6rolmLwUq_Y1HE-ewxPKwbdcv3xw/s320/Kevin.jpg" width="249" /></a></div> Kevin Arnold (The Wonder Years)<br />
<br />
<br />
This picture had me nearly pissing my pants when I found it. Too funny. But seriously, I love this kid. Yeah I used a creepy, pedophilic (word?) photo for laughs, but Kevin Arnold grows up to be a man on the series, so this crush <em>is </em>appropriate. Out of all the characters on the history of television, I admire Kevin the most. He is probably the closest thing to perfection. Talk about honesty and self-reflection! Even as a child, he was always so insightful and full of wisdom. But I almost didn't want to list him, because I adore him and Winnie. I <em>must</em> include him though, because he is the epitome of what a boy/man should be. <br />
<br />
Besides, him and Winnie don't end up together anyway.<br />
That being said, this clip is probably going to be brutal to watch...<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/CIeWfGFfuAA" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I must pay special tribute to my other favorite, fictional men who did not make the list:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyAg50GlJkffwR7ZJaXshntM0dwvNESqTtWPCMQQy6gNXzxgbWFGQUauBvSCYcAXmgUGdzy_em7P-kogjgmrDtCu65QPUxp66mvZv2yH2PAKAHshAlCukgSg2E52mqQ6rcmVH-JY7qOQ/s1600/Michael+Scott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyAg50GlJkffwR7ZJaXshntM0dwvNESqTtWPCMQQy6gNXzxgbWFGQUauBvSCYcAXmgUGdzy_em7P-kogjgmrDtCu65QPUxp66mvZv2yH2PAKAHshAlCukgSg2E52mqQ6rcmVH-JY7qOQ/s200/Michael+Scott.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Michael Scott</strong></span> [The Office]<br />
<br />
It was so hard not putting him on my list<br />
Screw it, Top 6! He has to be in there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WN33NiFRG0n6_MTm0d-k2xdRN3wrIvpQljgzvaDFrMDat317FUxf94RsZry4D0MbP9TruKHEaWWGbrHL9D3HNbOoSLwVVuqW__PoJdQcLKBLz1u3bf8blQuoEEqmVTJidFgKmZGBT5w/s1600/Jordan+Cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7WN33NiFRG0n6_MTm0d-k2xdRN3wrIvpQljgzvaDFrMDat317FUxf94RsZry4D0MbP9TruKHEaWWGbrHL9D3HNbOoSLwVVuqW__PoJdQcLKBLz1u3bf8blQuoEEqmVTJidFgKmZGBT5w/s200/Jordan+Cat.jpg" width="183" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Jordan Catalano</strong></span> [My So-Called Life]<br />
<br />
Jordan was such a shitty guy on the show,<br />
so I couldn't put him in the Top 5, <br />
but <strong>holy mama </strong>is he beautiful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclI_sPDYwijWseWev-dBD1QuyFTbf0a-6Z3f19tr36-NRUdRpuxqg4Y1-WOETbmzxG6l9GZb3PYeUpkH0AHnfKyy04QETBcKB5cvy12_rOrsjqDUIiexd5FN4GR4Ii75xNy2zbl3dfss/s1600/Michael+Bluth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhclI_sPDYwijWseWev-dBD1QuyFTbf0a-6Z3f19tr36-NRUdRpuxqg4Y1-WOETbmzxG6l9GZb3PYeUpkH0AHnfKyy04QETBcKB5cvy12_rOrsjqDUIiexd5FN4GR4Ii75xNy2zbl3dfss/s200/Michael+Bluth.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Michael Bluth</strong></span> [Arrested Development]<br />
<br />
Quiet, funny, business savvy, great father<br />
All around good guy<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyu9pRl9Kz1434LNfowmzg1otbckG1yppLeJ0a959vub_YLYrlHzsLk-QptAuxakKKNJg4M9BvxLWpP8X3ZiMqCQ4ASO5SDo-sdD2K51rX4oRP-5O2MWzeNG3ZQCxUqEfQOOEmRulqffI/s1600/Jack+Donag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIWEINE34eowPlBL-q2AEg3KxFu12zpKhXpxrGpMWrK7YDV_dWB2KFiNr9RLGCTPJaXHK6jP960JvKMgImx6r5qBDhubLOPmIlpZRz4vAbEooEaB5WB7biuEx3OPLe_6wfA7k7AR1SUM/s1600/JTT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIWEINE34eowPlBL-q2AEg3KxFu12zpKhXpxrGpMWrK7YDV_dWB2KFiNr9RLGCTPJaXHK6jP960JvKMgImx6r5qBDhubLOPmIlpZRz4vAbEooEaB5WB7biuEx3OPLe_6wfA7k7AR1SUM/s200/JTT.jpg" width="141" /></a></div><strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">JTT </span></strong>(Jonathan Taylor Thomas)<br />
[Home Improvement]<br />
<br />
I chose the classic Teen Beat pose<br />
<br />
I seriously thought I was going to marry<br />
this boy. I find it funny that every girl<br />
I knew felt the same way and we all secretly <br />
thought that the others were crazy, because<br />
we <em>knew</em> that we were his true soul mate.<br />
<br />
I find it even funnier that he is married to <strong>no one</strong>. He fooled us all<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-81311227415133700752011-02-19T02:13:00.000-08:002011-02-19T02:13:19.831-08:00Something MoreContinued thoughts from previous blog:<br />
<br />
I over think things. I analyze and then over analyze. As a child I would ask the same questions over and over again if I didn't understand something. I remember my Sunday school teacher commenting to my mother that I was very "inquisitive" And I remember asking my mom what that meant. <br />
<br />
My brother still teases me "Hey Beck, what does 'amen' mean?" When I was a child I never quite understood why everyone said amen after a prayer or during a sermon. After the hundreth time of me asking the same question, my mom always got frustrated with me and would just say <br />
"It just means you agree with what we are saying!" <br />
<br />
And I used to always think, <em>That's so dumb. Obviously I agree or else I would stop the prayer or sermon and ask a question OR tell you I don't agree with what you're saying. And why in the world would the person saying the prayer or giving the sermon say 'amen' afterwards...isn't that redundant? Why would they be speaking at all if they didn't agree with what they were going to say?!</em>" This went on for years. It never made sense. <br />
<br />
I am "inquisitive" ...but a slow learner at times. Terrible combination.<br />
<br />
As I was trying to wrap my brain around any possible reason for Branson's snowboarding accident and consequent death my mind started reeling. Why? Why? Why? I felt like a child again, never content with the aswer. I know that God is real and that he can heal so <em>why</em> did he not do that? I know that God loves Branson, so <em>why</em> didn't he protect him from the accident? <br />
<br />
Then I started thinking about death in general and it's going to get a little morbid and disturbing at this point, but hear me out. As I was giving God every possible question my brain threw at me, he interrupted me and completely ignored all of my questions (yet answered them all at once)<br />
"Why did you sign Adalee up for death?" Yes, this was <em>him</em> asking <em>me</em>. The nerve of him... <br />
<br />
But it did get me thinking. There are many things we do not know about this life, but there are some definites.<br />
<br />
At some point in life everyone <strong>will</strong> experience at least a few (if not all) of these things: <br />
<br />
physical pain, embarrassment, disappointment, sadness, betrayal, shame, rejection, anger, confusion, worthlessness, hopelessness, sorrow, loss, fear, anxiety, illness...etc. Not just once, but these horrific feelings and events will happen <em>repeatedly</em>. <br />
<br />
Let me rephrase to get my point across:<br />
<br />
<strong>Your children</strong>...<strong>my Adalee</strong>... will most likely be completely humiliated , have her heart betrayed, be lied to and lied about, feel worthless, feel used, hopeless, lose people she loves dearly, experience illness, have broken bones/hospitalizations, be so terrified she can't even breathe, feel so emotionally crushed that she won't want to get out of bed. <br />
<br />
These things will happen <em>repeatedly </em>throughout her life. And then she will die. It could be of old age (this is what all us parents expect for some odd reason) OR it could be at 2 weeks old, 4 yrs old... 14...22...43... <br />
It could be from cancer or any number of diseases. <br />
It could be a car/motorcycle/airplane/train/snowboarding accident in the prime of their life. <br />
You get the point; death surrounds us. <br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Before having a child we have the experience of life to know <em>exactly</em> what we are throwing them into</strong>. And we all know that ultimately they will experience death. We don't like to think about it, but it's a done deal. Every single person that my sweet girl comes to love and know and grow close to will eventually die. I will die. Adalee will die. The second I gave birth to her I signed her death certificate. I told you I get a little morbid. Forgive me, but it's necessary that we all grasp this.<br />
So after I had this terrifying revelation my next question was: <br />
<br />
<em><strong>Why in the world would anyone have children?!</strong></em><br />
<br />
Because let's be honest here, when your child is crying or hurting or ashamed, and you think to yourself, "I wish I could have stopped this from happening to them" Guess what? You could have. But you chose not to by having the child. So we are either the most disgustingly selfish beings on earth OR we believe there is <em>something more </em>to this life. Something so beautiful that it's worth all the pain. <br />
<br />
I know we are very, very selfish beings and as much I would love to solve this riddle and just say that complete, disgusting selfishness is the final answer, I don't believe it. I know many people do believe that having children is a completely egotistical and selfish act and I totally understand where someone would draw that conclusion from (clearly... did you not just read the previous paragraphs?) But personally, after much thinking and questioning, and a very deep evaluation of even the darkest parts of my heart, I believe it's the latter. There <strong><em>is</em> </strong>something more. <br />
<br />
<em>Love</em> joy hope <em>love </em> excitement beauty <strong>love</strong> ...Umm, food. Come on, it's an amazing part of life! <br />
<br />
Even if you wiped out every other enjoyable thing in life and left even just the <em><strong>possibility</strong></em> of love I'd still go through all the pain. I would. <br />
<br />
My parents didn't know that I was going to be born with heart disease and go through multiple open heart surgeries and have a pacemaker at the age of 8 yrs old. They didn't know. True... <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>But</strong> they sure as hell knew it was a possibility. And I am so grateful that they took that risk. I am also so grateful that even after having such a messed up child as me they didn't look at each other and say "Man, that was rough. Let's not take that risk again" If they had decided that life was too risky I wouldn't have my younger siblings. <br />
<br />
And even if my very weak heart decided to give out tonight I would still have wanted to live this life and endure this pain, because the love I am able to experience and give outweighs everything, even death. Our parents gave us a chance to experience something beautiful, because they knew that just the possibility of beauty was something worth living for. That is why we continue to give life, still knowing that death's shadow is lingering near.<br />
<br />
And as much as people say that <em>if</em> God does exist he's just a purely selfish entity who created us so that he could be worshiped and adored, while we just suffer and then die, I'm sorry but I just don't believe that to be true. It is my belief that God would not have allowed mankind to exist right now if there wasn't <em>something more</em> to death. I believe that this life is not the end. I believe that the love that we experience here on earth, that same love that I just said over rules death, is only a ridiculously tiny, <span style="font-size: x-small;">tiny</span>, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">tiny </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">fraction</span> of the love we will experience with our eternal father in the after life. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">People get upset over heaven and hell and question why God would even allow a hell to exist. It's way too much to get into right now (seeing as this is forever long already) but the way I see it is:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><em>If </em>heaven and hell do exist and God is giving me an option to experience the most wonderful thing this earth has to offer - <strong>love </strong> (but magnified by a bajillion... <em>for eternity</em>) Pssssh, I don't even care what the other choice is. The fact that I am even given that as an option amazes me and makes me see the goodness of God.</span>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-87532938043284587732010-12-02T10:29:00.000-08:002010-12-02T10:29:18.404-08:00MILF Island or Bitch Hunters?These are both fictional television series created by the brilliant writers of 30 Rock.<br />
<br />
Question: Which would you most like to see become an actual television show?<br />
<br />
Premise of MILF Island: 25 super hot moms...50 eighth grade boys...no rules<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/pqUdPa0EfbE?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/pqUdPa0EfbE?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Premise of Bitch Hunters....uhhh...<br />
<br />
<object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/cLPm_IUx-Kc?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/cLPm_IUx-Kc?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/i9IA4XFPEnk?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/i9IA4XFPEnk?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<br />
I personally think that MILF Island would do better. Sex sells and the premise is so ridiculous and shocking that people will be compelled to watch, even if they are completely against everything the show stands for.<br />
<br />
Bitch Hunters is hilarious, but I'm not sure where it could go. There's no room for development seeing as it's just one guy shooting up bitches. Oh geez, just writing that makes me laugh.<br />
<br />
This is a tough decisionRebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-87235195388083755432010-11-23T11:46:00.000-08:002010-11-23T11:47:34.372-08:00Robot We added another member to the Walker family.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYanAatQ93U2A-os2zqinRTYswSrpJhSIx4MGL5dTMXy_-izbKZ1znqvsvjFyuZh7Rq2mLHmqQXqQNAf_Qr3b8Ivk4_L25SSYrrp6HCuEWCTl-OKsb77Jd_YE6o-XzEbQe5LaC8-e0SAs/s1600/IMG_4797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYanAatQ93U2A-os2zqinRTYswSrpJhSIx4MGL5dTMXy_-izbKZ1znqvsvjFyuZh7Rq2mLHmqQXqQNAf_Qr3b8Ivk4_L25SSYrrp6HCuEWCTl-OKsb77Jd_YE6o-XzEbQe5LaC8-e0SAs/s320/IMG_4797.JPG" width="307" /></a></div> And we shall call him....ROBOT.<br />
<br />
Dan has had this dream (for the past 3 yrs) of owning a mini weiner dog and naming him Robot. He was very specific in his requirements for the dog. 1. It must be male 2. It must be short haired 3. It must be a solid color 4. It must be light colored 5. It must be playful, but not stupid.<br />
<br />
Living in a small town does not leave many choices of breeders, but after searching all over the internet and waiting quite a while we finally found a dog that met all the criteria. <br />
<br />
When I called Dan at work to tell him of this amazing discovery he told me he didn't have time to "deal with this crap", so I assumed that was the end. But then he came home that night with a puppy hidden in his coat. What a trickster!<br />
<br />
So now we have Princess, Suki and Robot. Aside from Dan being allergic to the cat (and Robot shitting on the floor constantly) things are going well :) Princess and Robot are best buds. They play together, share food, fight each other, sleep on the same doggy bed, and tag team Suki. The only thing unpleasant about their relationship is that Princess (our female dog) tends to hump the new puppy. No, this isn't a new thing for Princess; she used to hump our female cat constantly, so I guess I should be kind of relieved that she's now attracted to her own species. But still, it's a puppy which makes it kind of disturbing. And she's a female. That's supposed to be the male's job. I'm just going to chaulk it up to her coming from an abused home and being very lonely. Poor girl. I'm glad she has a new friend.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8xkvE1qsdAv6-ruTeetLE0UqSfa9SMO5md2CnZXWFT0nnXxL173OYOFOi9YkyJeIr14ABzD_MFcQJ8Xsn6QkoCZHZjJuy8lfuAL1JtpHM11-f6AXAQC8Ez18f-2lsXJ3M0vQrYjqC50/s1600/IMG_4823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8xkvE1qsdAv6-ruTeetLE0UqSfa9SMO5md2CnZXWFT0nnXxL173OYOFOi9YkyJeIr14ABzD_MFcQJ8Xsn6QkoCZHZjJuy8lfuAL1JtpHM11-f6AXAQC8Ez18f-2lsXJ3M0vQrYjqC50/s320/IMG_4823.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Aint' that the sweetest thing?<br />
<br />
Even though I hate dachshunds and think they are hideous, I'm sort of in love with Robot. He's pretty darn cute. I'm sure he'll be ugly when he's older, but by then I'll be so emotionally invested in him that it won't matter.<br />
<br />
My favorite thing about him are his soft, dumbo ears. I love how they flop around and blow in the wind when he runs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilt-bpUSzSUWuLrPWy0FuFkHz3Wyq0Pe-lt9R9WfgJNqhcBBjseYT-PtfUjcRtGAjcJUSD5RkwtH-Ek6s6LFXotQdvIgtfrI5QBFlM2Hndfm_nDeOwaNQv5DM9t7h8iDSKx9JwFaIBBX0/s1600/IMG_4831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilt-bpUSzSUWuLrPWy0FuFkHz3Wyq0Pe-lt9R9WfgJNqhcBBjseYT-PtfUjcRtGAjcJUSD5RkwtH-Ek6s6LFXotQdvIgtfrI5QBFlM2Hndfm_nDeOwaNQv5DM9t7h8iDSKx9JwFaIBBX0/s320/IMG_4831.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfGc9ZCnsO_benIyZyQMbdVwL24qAwkJcFHcQy7qCgBp-4UVH7nrGczfvSYdCmG6X0OQ2AbNaiW-HQgKmbtOam7ukbhX0X3QEiU2dNmUregIQubR2M4mjvLWXdapxiuF6agNx_KSEdzA/s1600/IMG_4782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfGc9ZCnsO_benIyZyQMbdVwL24qAwkJcFHcQy7qCgBp-4UVH7nrGczfvSYdCmG6X0OQ2AbNaiW-HQgKmbtOam7ukbhX0X3QEiU2dNmUregIQubR2M4mjvLWXdapxiuF6agNx_KSEdzA/s320/IMG_4782.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Cute story involving Adalee and Robot: Dan was showing Adalee how the puppy plays tug of war. He got out a towel and showed Adalee how Robot pulls on it with his teeth. He then handed it to Adalee and asked if she wanted to try. She said, "No thanks. I don't like putting towels in my mouth" <br />
:) Oh, it made us laugh. <br />
<br />
<br />
And now a double dose of cuteness in the form of pictures. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kOigVthBYiNuldB73SMsARCvEhfnYg2ghUfJ52vh25G3STTPXFlrb0IDrZnd95Bfns1QeqYUROBrsDzuzXHHtobr8CfkysIQLRit1hiaL5p9IWJ7zdB2dIZMlJDXK9R4hAU_lLeQ8QM/s1600/IMG_4819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kOigVthBYiNuldB73SMsARCvEhfnYg2ghUfJ52vh25G3STTPXFlrb0IDrZnd95Bfns1QeqYUROBrsDzuzXHHtobr8CfkysIQLRit1hiaL5p9IWJ7zdB2dIZMlJDXK9R4hAU_lLeQ8QM/s320/IMG_4819.JPG" width="258" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adalee loves making "beds" for the puppy</div><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6me1_ibqD9anuzxJV6lpdVrWXk1-hLtxseRMiO9OsYe9tjBM7Aaxfov7F8Hsj_f_UdqdBIunVpQhVlckh0-tuU_zj5YmiI4ruMUObVy-tvHNkBP4uoawcAhop5W4GDZUdsZRoQb6p_Po/s1600/IMG_4825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6me1_ibqD9anuzxJV6lpdVrWXk1-hLtxseRMiO9OsYe9tjBM7Aaxfov7F8Hsj_f_UdqdBIunVpQhVlckh0-tuU_zj5YmiI4ruMUObVy-tvHNkBP4uoawcAhop5W4GDZUdsZRoQb6p_Po/s320/IMG_4825.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Adalee put a stuffed seal, her scarf, and a blanket <br />
in a shoebox for Robot. He loved itRebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-83409540001341541042010-10-28T21:12:00.000-07:002012-07-03T17:26:14.030-07:00Jesus Camp (Part 1)I've been wanting to blog about this movie ever since I first saw it a few months ago. And I have so much to say about it I'm going to have to break it down into 2 parts...possibly 3, although I'm really going to try to not make it that long. <strong>Please watch the video clips</strong><br />
<br />
If you have not seen this movie, here is a little preview:<br />
<br />
<strong>*video link*-------></strong> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RNfL6IVWCE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RNfL6IVWCE</a><br />
<br />
<br />
This is a documentary that follows 3 children to the same christian summer camp (camp is for children 6-13 yrs old, I believe) The religion of these children (and the camp) is stated as "evangelical christian" which is kind of a broad term, seeing as evangelical is defined (Webster's dictionary) as "1. of or according to the gospels or New Testament. 2. of those protestant churches that emphasize salvation by faith in Jesus." There are many, many protestant denominations, so keep in mind that the people in these videos are from one protestant denomination and it is not the norm for most evangelical Christians. Saying that, I must also add that there are many churches that are this radical (not the majority, but there are many) You are much more likely to see speaking in tongues, people falling and convulsing in a Pentecostal or Assembly of God church. They are much more charismatic than, let's say, Church of Christ, Lutheran, Baptist, Presbyterian. This is my knowledge, based on my experiences of growing up in different churches, so if I'm wrong, please correct me. I actually grew up in a charismatic Assembly of God church, so this movie really hit a personal nerve. As a teen, my family joined a "non-denominational" (but very similar to baptist) church. I have friends of different denominations and have visited their churches. <br />
<br />
It would be very easy for me to just rip into this movie (and Christianity) if I were an atheist, but I am not. I am still a believer. I have a relationship with God and I try to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. I believe in the gift of tongues and I believe in the power of prayer, so it saddened me greatly to watch this documentary. And it reminded me, yet again, of how far we have come from true Christianity. Here are some things that really bothered me:<br />
<br />
<strong>*video clip (@2:20)*-------></strong> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqcVGsofOpE">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqcVGsofOpE</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>1</strong>. <u>"Every parent brain washes their kids with their own beliefs...so, let's be fair" -- Becky Fischer, head pastor of Jesus Camp.</u><br />
<br />
Yes, it's true that we all "brainwash", to a certain extent, our children. We do not consciously do it (well, most of us don't). Being around us 24/7 our children are bound to pick up on our words and actions and apply them in their own lives. It's inevitable. What I have a problem with is that she uses this as justification for purposely taking advantage of children. <br />
<br />
The rationality of "It's inevitable. There's nothing we can do about it" is about as logical as "We're bound to make mistakes (sin). It's inevitable, so let's not put in one ounce of effort to prevent it" It makes no sense. It's a BS justification. If we can acknowledge that children are very impressionable and are bound to be brainwashed/molded by their surroundings, shouldn't we be a whole lot more careful about our choice of words and actions and <em><strong>not</strong></em> take advantage of this fact?<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>2</strong>. <u>Creationism is the only possible way the world was created. </u><br />
<u><br />
</u><strong>video link------------></strong> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z14iuazhuTQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z14iuazhuTQ</a><br />
<br />
<br />
I have friends and family members who teach their children similarly, and I don't want to offend anyone. But at the same time, I don't think they realize the negative impact this kind of one-sidedness (not sure if that's a word, but you get what I'm saying) creates in kids. Many home schooled children from conservative christian homes think that public schools, democrats (especially Obama), evolution, and science in general are bad, and that these things go against the Bible. I don't even think some parents are aware of the things they do and say that instill these ideas into their children.<br />
<br />
God blessed us with intelligence and, I believe, he loves science. As a child I always said "I don't believe in science" which I now find very ironic, because my heart is now run by a pacemaker. What I meant by "I don't believe in science" was that God is above science. He is capable of anything, so just because science says one thing, it doesn't mean that that's the end of the matter. But I never explained myself and people just made fun of me. I grew up being taught creationism and my parents would make fun of other scientific theories. They threw a fit when our public school was teaching evolution and told us numerous times that evolution is a huge lie. I understand where they were coming from, but I still don't think it's the right approach.<br />
<br />
Sticking with my first point, I think we should <strong>not</strong> be taking advantage of the fact that children are very impressionable. We should be fully aware of it, and choosing our words wisely. Here's my thing, IF the God of Christianity is the truth and he is the one and only true God...and IF the Bible is truth, like we claim it to be, why are we so afraid of our children learning what other's theories/beliefs are? Do we not believe they will be intelligent enough to decide (when the time is right) which is truth and which are lies? <br />
<br />
Mathew 7:7 says, "Ask and it shall be given to you; <strong>seek</strong>, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you" IF we believe this verse is true, shouldn't we be confident that our children will find truth? Should we not be encouraging them to seek out truth and to be sure of what they believe instead of repeatedly shoving one idea in their face? Should we not be asking God to give our children wisdom to make the right choices...and then actually have peace that what we're asking will be given unto us? I don't know about everyone else, but I want my daughter to come to have <em>genuine</em> faith in what she believes. I want her to be sure that God is real; not because of what her mama told her is real, but because of an honest seeking and finding of the truth. Why does this idea so terrify parents?<br />
<br />
I'm not saying keep your mouth shut and don't talk about God, I'm just saying be honest! Tell your children that <em>you </em>believe<em> </em>this and that, but also explain that other's do not. And do not put others down for what they believe or laugh at the claims of other religions in front of your children. This just creates intolerance and misunderstanding. <br />
<br />
The boy in this video was 12 yrs old and I think that some political issues are fine to discuss. I think that when they're controversial subjects, like global warming, it's best to give both sides of the argument and let them make up their minds. But let's be honest, most political issues are beyond a child's understanding (children under 12 yrs old anyway) and we really do not need to discuss them with children. The most a young child should know about global warming is that our world is a gift and we need to take care of it. That's something we can all agree on...I hope. If you're going to talk about political issues, like gay marriage, abortion, etc., with your older children <strong>please</strong> discuss them in a respectful way. Which brings me to the next thing that greatly disturbed me...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>3</strong>. <u>Abortion:"Do you know that a third of your friends should be here tonight, but they never made it..."</u><br />
<br />
<strong>*video link*--------------></strong> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mefXbLXlRpw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mefXbLXlRpw</a><br />
<br />
This one upset me so much. I think it was so upsetting, because I remember being told about abortion at a very young age (at least 7 yrs old) And the only thing a child that young can understand is that a baby is being "killed". Children do not understand the timeline of a fetus' growth, nor can they grasp the heart wrenching circumstances often involved in abortion. <br />
<br />
I am "pro-life". I do not agree with abortion, although I do have an understanding for cases such as rape, incest, risk of mother's life. It's a very complex issue that does not have a simple answer. But I was not taught that as a child. I was only taught that little, sweet babies were being killed because people were selfish. I love my mother for being brutally honest about issues, and I admired her passion for what she believed, but I can see from experience that it was probably not the best approach <em>at such a young age</em>.<br />
<br />
I would have less of a problem if it were brought up to children in a very "this is a very complicated, adult issue..." sort of way, but that is usually not the case in conservative Christian homes. It is talked about with such emotion, hatred, and disgust, which only instills that into the children. <br />
<br />
Another huge problem I have is that most Christian families I know tell their children about the horrors of abortion before they even discuss sex. How backwards is that? If they are not mature enough to understand how a baby is made, they are definitely not mature enough to grasp the complexities of abortion.<br />
<br />
And the pressure put on the children in this video is so sad. Telling a child they need to pray for the end of abortion, because "they have the power to change the world" and telling them it is "their responsibility" to pray for Christian political leaders is ridiculous. I believe in prayer, I do. What I don't believe in is putting that kind of pressure on children. And then having them feel the guilt of "If only I had prayed more..." And I know that most Christians do not purposely guilt trip children, but what they don't understand is that that's just how a child's mind works! If you're telling them they have power to change something and they try...and then nothing changes, it's a huge unintended guilt trip that they do not deserve. <br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
When it comes to children, I believe that the most important things to instill in them are the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22) <br />
<br />
And let me say something else, I think many Christians today have forgotten how powerful leading a good example is. I'm not talking about turning down an alcoholic beverage in front of your children and feeling like you lead a great example. And I'm not talking about having the entire Bible memorized and quoting it often to your children. I'm talking about the minute by minute way that you carry yourself, speak and act in front of them. Children pick up on every tone of voice, every change in attitude, every joke you make at another's expense, every look you make, and every word they overhear. No one is perfect. I'm not asking perfection of anyone. I am asking for responsibility and for humility when you realize you've messed up. We, Christians, have become masters at defending ourselves, especially when we're wrong. We need to own up to the bad examples we lead at times, ask for forgiveness and try to do better. A lot better.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
to be continued...Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-52896298780033742542010-10-27T21:55:00.000-07:002010-10-28T07:38:40.205-07:00"I Didn't Fart...I Was Just Making Elephant Noises" and Other Embarrassing StoriesI moved from Chicago, Illinois to Memphis, Tennessee in the 6th grade (11 yrs old). It was not a very smooth transition. I was born in Chicago (south side), and lived in culturally diverse neighborhoods throughout childhood. We moved to a quiet cul-de-sac in a suburb outside of Memphis and it was very different from what I was used to. Don't get me wrong, it was very exciting and it felt like my family was moving up the social ladder (popularity was always the most important thing at that age) but still, very different.<br />
<br />
So, as you can imagine, things that were "cool" in the windy city weren't cool in these southern suburbs. You will be able to see in the pictures that my "style" of flannel shirts and crop tops were not a hit with the popular kids. Middle school was rough. High school wasn't much better. It has been 10 yrs since these events took place and I can now laugh...so, please, feel free to laugh as loud as you like. I tried to keep these stories in chronological order.<br />
<br />
<br />
** I had an imaginary dog in 6th grade. Oh, you think I'm joking? No. She was a miniature, white poodle, named Fifi. I carried a picture of her with me to show people who could not see her. I had a pretend leash for her too. She went to class with me. I created her mostly as a joke, but looking back now I think I was kinda lonely. Oh, and she died by suicide on the last day of 6th grade by jumping off the school roof. Or so the story goes...<br />
<br />
Yeah, I realize that one is more disturbing than funny, but stick with me here.<br />
<br />
<br />
** 6th grade: I made a cat in art class out of paper mache and I spent hours on it. It was life sized. Like, I'd go to the art room every chance I could get to work on it. My friend (we became friends in 7th grade and are still very close today) told me, "I always just thought you were that weird girl with the paper cat in art class" Apparently, they would make fun of me when I would go in to work on it. Well, guess who placed 3rd in the school wide, paper mache, art contest? Take that, bitches! Who's the loser now?<br />
<br />
My mom had that cat on display in our dining room for years. hahaa. What a sweet mama I have.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
** At the end of the summer after 6th grade, right before starting 7th grade, I decided that I didn't want bangs. BUT I did not want to wait for them to grow out. So the most logical thing to do, in my mind, was to shave them off. Oh yes, I did. I instantly regretted it. I didn't want anyone to see me. It was mortifying. I would pull the sides of my hair over it to sort of hide it but right in the middle was visible. I ended up cutting bangs again to hide it, which is why when they finally grew out my bangs were super thick. You can sort of see the shaved part in this pic, as it was growing out...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKoLEJZVr0GCqj4jXiVYPV5W7l11LRQcHZ_yov2RovSIw9-Cf5Gl4O2qKHF9ISa2uZ9D-11LbucFYZJ4wsRvIUn6AbGEtqx4oUH8bcwFM7bIo1EoJkl6ZCXmFHjjtDo0tUmnLPk5c2WQ/s1600/bangs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKoLEJZVr0GCqj4jXiVYPV5W7l11LRQcHZ_yov2RovSIw9-Cf5Gl4O2qKHF9ISa2uZ9D-11LbucFYZJ4wsRvIUn6AbGEtqx4oUH8bcwFM7bIo1EoJkl6ZCXmFHjjtDo0tUmnLPk5c2WQ/s320/bangs.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><div align="center">We often wore matching shirts. </div><div align="center">Dang, my mother really should have tweezed my eyebrows</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="left">** Moving on to 7th grade...there was a boy that I liked who lived down the street from one of my friends, so they both rode the same school bus. I asked her to ask him if he'd ever "go out" with me. She asked and he answered, "No, because she's a lesbian" 12 yr old boys are so kind.<br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="center">I can't really blame him though....</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iD_VspL0gLcs1wh3D9_L89hzakc-n55_thh9tr22YwPCuKOAmJxUuDtUTjbilaakiJzOKINCBunvq193Q80j0-QiOMhMW7Oai_4h_Q5lGd_iGehDhGtbXYzWG84FPthPTQOiGTjfoLg/s1600/7th+gr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iD_VspL0gLcs1wh3D9_L89hzakc-n55_thh9tr22YwPCuKOAmJxUuDtUTjbilaakiJzOKINCBunvq193Q80j0-QiOMhMW7Oai_4h_Q5lGd_iGehDhGtbXYzWG84FPthPTQOiGTjfoLg/s320/7th+gr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="center">This is me in 7th grade (on left), still sporting the flannel shirts and crop tops</div><div align="center">Taken in the bathroom at school</div><div align="center">For their own sake, I will not name the other girls</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">** Still 7th grade...We all (me and my 3 friends) were in love with the same boy. We would write poems about him, listen to love songs while talking about him and the <em>worst</em>: we would call his home (I stole the number off of the class roll at school) and play "For You I Will" by Monica into the phone and then hang up. We did this at every sleepover, until that ill-fated night when his older sister *69ed the phone number, called us back, and told us to stop calling.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">** We decided the next step to take with this boy was to write a <em>group letter</em> to him. It went something along these lines "We really like you. You're a cool guy. We'd love to be friends with you. Is that okay?" And then we all signed it and passed it to him. I think we had a line on there for him to sign, to show that he was in agreement. It was ridiculous.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">**This same boy sat one row over and one seat back from me in history class. One day we were making animal noises in class and someone made a really funny one and I laughed so hard that I farted. LOUD. He sooo heard it and said "Ugh! Becky did you just fart?" The only thing I could come up with on the spot was, "I didn't fart...I was just making elephant noises with my mouth" I then preceded to recreate an elephant noise with my mouth. But I couldn't... and he knew the truth. It was painfully embarrassing.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">** My husband likes this next story and quotes it often. The summer after 7th grade I was afraid I would never see that boy again, so I mustered up some courage and called...his friend. Come on now, I was not brave enough to talk to my dream lover one on one. So I called his friend and asked him "Well, do you think he'd ever go out with me? Like, maybe we could meet at the movies or something...." And he said "Yeah, I'm sure he'd be down for that. I mean, it's not like he's <em>only</em> into looks" </div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Ouch. Teenage boys aren't even aware of how poorly they choose their words.<br />
</div><div align="left">And no, he never did agree to meet me at the movies. Apparently he <em>was</em> only into looks</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">_______________________________________________________________________________________</div><div align="left">Those are my favorite (and most horrifying) middle school stories. High school wasn't much better. I may have to do a separate blog for high school. Here are some more pictures for your entertainment :)</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkg1qAuLDKR00pkWS-T8xPjyVb5c3aA7lDfoOPEX8ZMMpkBA9qO6QT4OiI5NZq4i2drRmJug1Qf68B5Tctdi_XIyr3QLMI_Dfi_XSZAnAN7j1apGdsvN9PhnXTl4su7UcY-lVJw6GUrY/s1600/8th+gr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkg1qAuLDKR00pkWS-T8xPjyVb5c3aA7lDfoOPEX8ZMMpkBA9qO6QT4OiI5NZq4i2drRmJug1Qf68B5Tctdi_XIyr3QLMI_Dfi_XSZAnAN7j1apGdsvN9PhnXTl4su7UcY-lVJw6GUrY/s320/8th+gr.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><div align="center">8th grade dance</div><div align="center">I'm in the middle, bottom row...matching my friend, yet again</div><div align="center">Notice the giant bangs? </div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBk086oGdCxo4nIo0mexsvv0sJ_6Gc5Y5F_EHUwcaZeFfthWajlHPy58r7RdBGvcG9YlHg9N79UhBqght_8pfGcAb9wlGuB03hDpN3qpw2_gB7P_EjXG7RG4EXJd8OAW_Z4AkdT-j4jts/s1600/hs.+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBk086oGdCxo4nIo0mexsvv0sJ_6Gc5Y5F_EHUwcaZeFfthWajlHPy58r7RdBGvcG9YlHg9N79UhBqght_8pfGcAb9wlGuB03hDpN3qpw2_gB7P_EjXG7RG4EXJd8OAW_Z4AkdT-j4jts/s320/hs.+hair.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><div align="center">This is my sophomore year of high school (I am on top)</div><div align="center">This is when I discovered Sun-In and theater.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6KzrFV2HyJdVw-CQH59kPH7KNgsb_R3VGvBayRH9CrYPz1QspCPWZfsOEaxCFDkHpaWrOgbYfIOaxk9UC8cVZieh6ThCcBwskOBeM3R5n-aLu4YtRSrZs9tN92dDI_LbAa5JWN4Qjqc/s1600/hs.+theater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6KzrFV2HyJdVw-CQH59kPH7KNgsb_R3VGvBayRH9CrYPz1QspCPWZfsOEaxCFDkHpaWrOgbYfIOaxk9UC8cVZieh6ThCcBwskOBeM3R5n-aLu4YtRSrZs9tN92dDI_LbAa5JWN4Qjqc/s320/hs.+theater.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center">I am on the far left in red. Theater class.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">If you have any embarrassing middle/high school stories I'd love to hear them!</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="center"></div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-278081904282088982010-10-14T21:27:00.000-07:002015-02-09T21:28:38.353-08:00Doctor UpdateSo...many people know that I had some pretty scary complications with my pregnancy with Adalee. To catch you up in case you were unaware, I have adult congenital heart disease, asthma and a pacemaker. Those were present before my pregnancy.<br />
<br />
As if that's not enough, at 12wks pregnant I bled into my lungs and had to be MercyFlighted to Portland and had an 8 hour lung embolization procedure. They were not sure what caused my blood vessels to, basically, burst, but they suspected it was the pregnancy. Although, with my medical history it could have been caused by a number of things. I was not allowed to work, lift things, etc. for the rest of the pregnancy. <br />
<br />
During this lung embolism mess, I had to get 4 blood transfusions...and during the transfusions my blood produced an "antigen E" Which means (in the most simplified terms) that it formed an antibody against the protein E that is found in certain blood cells. Soooo what this means for me and having babies is, if my child carries this "E protein" in their blood my blood will attack the baby. Adalee obviously did not carry this protein (thank God)<br />
<br />
AND during my 8th month, I developed a heart arrythmia and had to be put on medication. Adalee had to be delivered in Portland, which meant I had to go up there a month before the due date and live in an extended stay hotel until she was born. <br />
<br />
During the actual delivery I was not allowed to push at all, because they were afraid that the strain on my heart and lungs would cause <strong>A</strong>. Heart failure or <strong>B</strong>. more bursting blood vessels in my lungs. She was delivered by forceps 3 weeks early. She was perfect. I was perfect. Everything went as beautifully as we could have hoped. Thank you, Jesus! <br />
<br />
Ok, so now you are caught up.<br />
<br />
We met with the perinatologist today to discuss the risks of having more children. There are all of the risks of the last pregnancy, but it's even more complicated this time, because my lungs are not fully functioning because of the embolization (plus, the already present asthma) We run the risk of me bleeding into my lungs again, having a similar heart arrhythmia, or worse: complete heart failure. Or baby not making it to full term (Adalee was early, and women with heart/lung complications can go into very early labor if there is too much strain on their bodies)<br />
<br />
The chances of me dying during delivery are about 40%, although they just made up this percentage because there are not other similar cases they can compare mine to. Also, the whole "Anti E" thing is huge, because if Dan's blood tests positive for the E protein (we don't know if he has it yet) they will have to do an amniocentesis while I'm pregnant to test the baby's blood for it. And<em> IF</em> the baby does carry it they will have to do an intrauteral (probably spelled that word wrong) blood transfusion on the fetus...through the umbilical cord...<em><strong>every week</strong></em>. <br />
<br />
Can you imagine the risk involved in giving a fetus a blood transfusion EVERY WEEK? And the cost of all this?!<br />
<br />
It was almost comical hearing this woman talk. In fact, Dan and I started laughing. We stopped her and asked straight up "What is your honest opinion about us having more children?" <br />
<br />
She told us "We aren't really allowed to say 'don't have kids' or 'yes, have kids' but since you asked...this is one of the most complicated cases I've seen in a very long time. <em>If </em>you did decide to get pregnant, it would not only be terrifying for the both of you, but for every single doctor involved. Unless you have a strong, nagging desire in your hearts that is telling you you <strong><em>have to</em></strong> have more, I would <strong>absolutely not</strong> recommend it"<br />
<br />
The risk of the Anti E, on top of the crazy medical issues I could possibly face, are just too much. Dan and I had been leaning, very much so, towards not having any more of our own. And we just wanted to have an open mind, because we know that God is bigger than all of these complications, which is why we were even considering having more and decided to have the consultation. <br />
<br />
But the more I prayed and thought about it I really felt good about the idea of not having any more biological children. When I was sitting in the waiting room before our appointment I wasn't even hoping to hear we could have more. Not that I wouldn't have wanted that, but my point is that I was completely content with whatever they would tell us. And anyone that knows me even a little bit, knows that I have always wanted a million children and the thought of me not being able to have my own would have crushed me in the past. God's really changed my heart and I feel so incredibly lucky just to have one child. The appointment was confirmation of what we already felt God telling us.<br />
<br />
It seems selfish of me to complain about not having more when, against all odds, I had Adalee. There are so many couples who can't have any children <em>and</em> there are millions of children in the world who desperately <strong>need</strong> a family. My heart has always been open to adoption and I really feel God moving us in that direction. I'm excited to see where God leads us. And, no, I'm not canceling out the possibility of God healing me and us having more. I know that's always a possibility. I'm content. And excited for the future, whatever it may be.Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-33106141035971172682010-10-14T15:47:00.000-07:002010-10-14T20:14:55.118-07:00My New CrushOur dish washer broke last week. Upon removing it, Dan found this little man wedged between the wall and washer...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfzg6akuQS_5OdVh1W9vmolt48Sgid4U2Jb7BnLFd05xrvkTHbtaTyfc6dVOBNbIBBtinpm8LdL80XSzsOdoM-LwmxlUMwL2aLra8G-Z_M6SoRU1gHta5EtND1-7K-mNKUwjgtzRc0OQ/s1600/man9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfzg6akuQS_5OdVh1W9vmolt48Sgid4U2Jb7BnLFd05xrvkTHbtaTyfc6dVOBNbIBBtinpm8LdL80XSzsOdoM-LwmxlUMwL2aLra8G-Z_M6SoRU1gHta5EtND1-7K-mNKUwjgtzRc0OQ/s320/man9.JPG" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMdQogLWkyq0DKysK8CWvuHDhlk6M_PmqDxkx2ZMR2lHVLiLxts3MrBeKq4LMVral3qKPJSOqlppSK3ZNjO8gbn0lYFgez6YHzGObQXLmDyTo-a8A2Tcxf68obbIYoPgA-KIgIa6I9C-Q/s1600/man1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMdQogLWkyq0DKysK8CWvuHDhlk6M_PmqDxkx2ZMR2lHVLiLxts3MrBeKq4LMVral3qKPJSOqlppSK3ZNjO8gbn0lYFgez6YHzGObQXLmDyTo-a8A2Tcxf68obbIYoPgA-KIgIa6I9C-Q/s320/man1.JPG" width="241" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He is amazing! His arms, legs, knees and neck are movable and his facial features are very defined. </div> He is quite handsome. Adalee and I keep fighting over him.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Later, while Adalee was distracted by coloring, I stole him away for a photo shoot...</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHmUx8MpIhHaNyQ2RQB-eR1_47VI638YfRVe6ABLd3_KORgMhQhBofvAFSRUwE6CpHkL48ENYhHO3ioXxxZaJ9MV0Ckj70S1AmwTv0Nzs-JEr4V5H79m6ShOZaM-xL3M358X_i143gvw/s1600/man3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHmUx8MpIhHaNyQ2RQB-eR1_47VI638YfRVe6ABLd3_KORgMhQhBofvAFSRUwE6CpHkL48ENYhHO3ioXxxZaJ9MV0Ckj70S1AmwTv0Nzs-JEr4V5H79m6ShOZaM-xL3M358X_i143gvw/s320/man3.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZWhmB6apU6nGXOMON6lK20bnoSh9bbJHVxhNqiuc4e5Cig65XVzEXFecrX7c-dbw7XcdFkKgxCVV66tLUZDCgs_hiZGCDJu_7egkVwXRtZiAdBNFT7KHT8D8ntsNEdcNmU_uN3g5iY0/s1600/man5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZWhmB6apU6nGXOMON6lK20bnoSh9bbJHVxhNqiuc4e5Cig65XVzEXFecrX7c-dbw7XcdFkKgxCVV66tLUZDCgs_hiZGCDJu_7egkVwXRtZiAdBNFT7KHT8D8ntsNEdcNmU_uN3g5iY0/s320/man5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERUgqcFLHXWA6IqIL0jM8KF5QmIcnoaEv9quoCdkbdD_T3SOGWHgI7pR3qCqSd4BRB7nqrFxKXeef4ga2-RY-34rcypOswGdGS-AyyMO4bLJrdvxASsOG7cVWRgteSX8VE2bL_cxMbs4/s1600/man7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERUgqcFLHXWA6IqIL0jM8KF5QmIcnoaEv9quoCdkbdD_T3SOGWHgI7pR3qCqSd4BRB7nqrFxKXeef4ga2-RY-34rcypOswGdGS-AyyMO4bLJrdvxASsOG7cVWRgteSX8VE2bL_cxMbs4/s320/man7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4FGokTHIUAPt6Bvh4rl_vj77ebJwCgPCaT_F0__V7nc2MAbwjMjlzmbutSO637gLDKyTAzz0yMCPcB47n9mKLPROxN54nW-3MWPDyXt1EkBED7eHJVHkz2MF-rf2EJDx_LXvXuOyIhY/s1600/man6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4FGokTHIUAPt6Bvh4rl_vj77ebJwCgPCaT_F0__V7nc2MAbwjMjlzmbutSO637gLDKyTAzz0yMCPcB47n9mKLPROxN54nW-3MWPDyXt1EkBED7eHJVHkz2MF-rf2EJDx_LXvXuOyIhY/s320/man6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76_d_s6Ngxt0MJd9SX_dmLTev2bgWckO2n888G7YQiiMC0PfMiNrquF36Ed7UZdzyozFNo8o4P0m4w8-7clpwGwp2v-42KOMldUm-jVJuL3syaO4IcQQGoRNirC4Ko_Yj8dVWJcQeVME/s1600/man8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76_d_s6Ngxt0MJd9SX_dmLTev2bgWckO2n888G7YQiiMC0PfMiNrquF36Ed7UZdzyozFNo8o4P0m4w8-7clpwGwp2v-42KOMldUm-jVJuL3syaO4IcQQGoRNirC4Ko_Yj8dVWJcQeVME/s320/man8.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">We had a lot of fun.</div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-28275892537363391102010-10-06T21:52:00.000-07:002010-10-06T21:54:03.780-07:00Child ProdigyYes, all parents at some point in their child's life consider them to be a prodigy. But in this case, it's true. <br />
<br />
Ok, so I just googled "child prodigy" and it turns out that Adalee is probably <strong>not </strong>a "child prodigy",<br />
but dang it, I still think she's awesome! And very talented. My Grandma Jean always put an emphasis on the arts and would take us on frequent trips to The Art Institute of Chicago. She passed away when I was 13 but I think that she's still with us, and I believe that she is giving Adalee art lessons (in spirit, of course). Yes, yes I know that sounds a bit crazy. But when I watch Adalee draw I see her drawing the same way my grandma used to teach us. I've never sat down and tried to guide her drawings, so it's very interesting watching her draw as if someone is telling her step by step. I'm not really one to believe in ghosts...but part of me wonders if perhaps God grants visits...? I suppose it's wishful thinking. Point is, my grandma would be so proud :)<br />
<br />
<br />
To most people these would look like scribbles of a toddler, but if you've ever had a child or worked with actual toddlers you would agree that she's pretty darn good. Most 2 yr olds do not even draw a circle well. And if you think I'm boasting, let me just say that Adalee did not start walking until 1 1/2 years old and she is over the age of 3 and still <strong>not even trying</strong> to potty train...so let me rejoice in what she <em>is </em>doing!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC5vlJP32alBsy_monaNYLk0ZNddWFpgAZOagXGMuNOhp6-TDw6bzAyfQwO3cdVNKv1QYkIMqhBL0c9Qls-shRLtexkRAq39sfmTmE5GCkbw6I6xHGH15yyV2k9vFmXRiDcRVxrzoJCc/s1600/comicbook.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggC5vlJP32alBsy_monaNYLk0ZNddWFpgAZOagXGMuNOhp6-TDw6bzAyfQwO3cdVNKv1QYkIMqhBL0c9Qls-shRLtexkRAq39sfmTmE5GCkbw6I6xHGH15yyV2k9vFmXRiDcRVxrzoJCc/s320/comicbook.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> 2 1/2 yrs old <br />
They look sorta comic like, eh?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPA7OMTFDL03VWzkEF_dGxPFboiHXyx4j-eeHDmOnmAMZssZlK9IWD9-7XjnSgdXarpvLLJKL3cU0JIvDwUptSlOE2oCXZdDcsIBlQkbfl4OOLVSbqQVoWw0aluJzVGbmmhUjPSprX_k/s1600/bird1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPA7OMTFDL03VWzkEF_dGxPFboiHXyx4j-eeHDmOnmAMZssZlK9IWD9-7XjnSgdXarpvLLJKL3cU0JIvDwUptSlOE2oCXZdDcsIBlQkbfl4OOLVSbqQVoWw0aluJzVGbmmhUjPSprX_k/s320/bird1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC0MbLuGN2-oIK2EDIIsO2ipQqZ9uYtjLJ6u_vTxsWp1WWcJ25n7RcMJT9-lhCrD-MHaoPoHKO2rOS-HMrHgRy05U67X_6Vr9iUCrPkX4SjxLrNx1QeHQGeRsAdslw_LlC5hHwiMI9FU/s1600/bird2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLC0MbLuGN2-oIK2EDIIsO2ipQqZ9uYtjLJ6u_vTxsWp1WWcJ25n7RcMJT9-lhCrD-MHaoPoHKO2rOS-HMrHgRy05U67X_6Vr9iUCrPkX4SjxLrNx1QeHQGeRsAdslw_LlC5hHwiMI9FU/s320/bird2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> 2 yrs 10 months<br />
She painted a bird. Do you see it? The green is the "tree", the bird <br />
itself is yellow and the feet (are they called "feet"on a bird?) are pink<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This next one looks a little crazy. But I assure you, Adalee knew exactly what she was drawing and told me what each part was, so I put a larger picture underneath, with labels.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXqD9RInL16rIDZXTtKxFSIZif1LH3yZO3-dHrRhtxia0kyrxRFDRh5J9bxN8pamwnYmpA00pgOdhqP3ySVBQn9mxf9UDH8T4uz38ICKS-6V1aESYTX-HcYHeXbm1uh81VAvT29sNLkw/s1600/Ads+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXqD9RInL16rIDZXTtKxFSIZif1LH3yZO3-dHrRhtxia0kyrxRFDRh5J9bxN8pamwnYmpA00pgOdhqP3ySVBQn9mxf9UDH8T4uz38ICKS-6V1aESYTX-HcYHeXbm1uh81VAvT29sNLkw/s320/Ads+Pic.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhga9XOwgCZF0u9yY6EB3ONxowAaxuymPdpoixErCYvtIWSXFJM6_X_OE6A7qByRq-bQ89EdfQRdZDV6aY8kHSO7e1e8A1_ZQ0cPxYzv1Trsh1E85hagydMwZNpTgbAVeOmcZKrVW5Kquk/s1600/cute6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhga9XOwgCZF0u9yY6EB3ONxowAaxuymPdpoixErCYvtIWSXFJM6_X_OE6A7qByRq-bQ89EdfQRdZDV6aY8kHSO7e1e8A1_ZQ0cPxYzv1Trsh1E85hagydMwZNpTgbAVeOmcZKrVW5Kquk/s640/cute6.JPG" width="406" /></a></div> 2 yrs 11 months<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVVJELOUyMdevTVyjziJMgemxIMgDYgOYs0k7llateoSK2Qsl72RMhA2M0MU86L0Xw7OlKCTq1K17nCEk7km5qwBXz0xAkktb0DdAm_fosiG3ohAIN4pcGUSLPArZ356evtxcVyvjqOU/s1600/IMG_4295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVVJELOUyMdevTVyjziJMgemxIMgDYgOYs0k7llateoSK2Qsl72RMhA2M0MU86L0Xw7OlKCTq1K17nCEk7km5qwBXz0xAkktb0DdAm_fosiG3ohAIN4pcGUSLPArZ356evtxcVyvjqOU/s320/IMG_4295.JPG" width="258" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCKrBdmnTAfTEWmEMECGsJXtXbnVaDI1CUAFbAgeIZ9KTi4QonnKJUJJcIc8zPTyYImvZu6Rl9ZkV5F7CmlKbtGLnS1j4SOM6dk-SW6DZo5_cTAh9rdgQYgtNIu1bL__hLdMxL0VDILs/s1600/IMG_4297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCKrBdmnTAfTEWmEMECGsJXtXbnVaDI1CUAFbAgeIZ9KTi4QonnKJUJJcIc8zPTyYImvZu6Rl9ZkV5F7CmlKbtGLnS1j4SOM6dk-SW6DZo5_cTAh9rdgQYgtNIu1bL__hLdMxL0VDILs/s320/IMG_4297.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> 3yrs old<br />
Isn't that an awesome circle?!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Adalee draws and paints a couple times a day. I've been pretty bad about not taking pictures of her drawings, but I was happy that I at least got these few. I am so in love with that little girl!<br />
<br />
Oh, I am also in love with my husband and I know my next post was supposed to be about him, but it's going to be fairly long and I'm too tired to do all that tonight...it is coming thoughRebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-8412071302571691222010-09-24T22:51:00.000-07:002012-07-03T17:00:53.515-07:00Are you kidding me, Daniel?My husband and I are opposites in many ways. There are things that he says and does that just baffle my mind and make me wonder "Really? Are you really the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with?" I realize this sounds really bad, which is why I plan on making my next post about the things I love about him. But for now...here is a list of things that I love, that Dan (to my complete amazement) does not care for. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4OLEXwMswf35d4lXzJkeVdOnau9sDH5sKbfFvKxMkySoAvu7kP9xoHG7wcK68qUxAKzjHLrZA1-K8ExQfj8YcYB05EB2Dap1vfkyG1DpmRH3Iwziur7aZLJEDfthiKuXuNy0XR2RoYI/s1600/Jon+Stewart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4OLEXwMswf35d4lXzJkeVdOnau9sDH5sKbfFvKxMkySoAvu7kP9xoHG7wcK68qUxAKzjHLrZA1-K8ExQfj8YcYB05EB2Dap1vfkyG1DpmRH3Iwziur7aZLJEDfthiKuXuNy0XR2RoYI/s1600/Jon+Stewart.jpg" /></a></div>
Rally to Restore Sanity? Yes, please.<br />
<br />
1. <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><u>Jon Stewart</u></span>. It's not that he dislikes him, but Jon would not be on his list of favorite people. Which is absolutely crazy to me! He's hilarious and intelligent...and damn sexy. What is there not to like? Dan says, "Eh, he's okay. I don't think he's that funny" What?!<br />
<br />
Here is some evidence that supports my case. Check out the link of him on Oprah. How can you not love this man?<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pae4ZXRySmI&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pae4ZXRySmI&feature=related</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjklcaQSifURGiOeHMyTLPtl6xTyU_5nBebLs3HqC8unuOsRYnCWwPIWvDzxIiYRaKbqtvqIk-7bXb5kv5A_R2oiPJxZ4p1fht-_sTykTbcWVvN7kQZLPP67e5RxEnIc6KiUE4fY4xZdY/s1600/Jon+Stewart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjklcaQSifURGiOeHMyTLPtl6xTyU_5nBebLs3HqC8unuOsRYnCWwPIWvDzxIiYRaKbqtvqIk-7bXb5kv5A_R2oiPJxZ4p1fht-_sTykTbcWVvN7kQZLPP67e5RxEnIc6KiUE4fY4xZdY/s1600/Jon+Stewart2.jpg" /></a></div>
He is so precious. Ok, on to the next subject...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81p9SkVAOcmcVYa0P4OFAosCW4PFxe_WgjFlwA85bgcYKet95w4sHU2vd8KYNr_dCA1NOFCweny6z7zsI6zLl69wh2ANbaPUAacE9ijHdoxdXBkrdQTml4Wi-_eeFZhj1MxhaJ2eTXdc/s1600/Banana+Buttermilk+Pancakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81p9SkVAOcmcVYa0P4OFAosCW4PFxe_WgjFlwA85bgcYKet95w4sHU2vd8KYNr_dCA1NOFCweny6z7zsI6zLl69wh2ANbaPUAacE9ijHdoxdXBkrdQTml4Wi-_eeFZhj1MxhaJ2eTXdc/s320/Banana+Buttermilk+Pancakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
2. <u><span style="font-size: large;">Banana Pancakes.</span></u> Who in their right mind does not love banana pancakes? In Dan's defense, he does not care for bananas unless they are sort of green. But I am the same way and I still love banana pancakes, so that's still not an excuse. And I also want to bring up the walnuts in the picture. Dan does not eat walnuts, nor does he eat ANY type of nut. Well, except for peanut... <em>butter.</em> Ridiculous.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9u8Smi9sUFAr8aG0Co-q-KRK7CXs-DFx2bsHGd2ONMZRa1Ph_p2hySBa4ykYGy5ZV4mRab2q67yzUu-EuHny6Ca_-0OXpu7UWy3r3KPsLpuH0GOeSQNFP8BQ9TBuIxypkxiC1qcM4awM/s1600/Dori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9u8Smi9sUFAr8aG0Co-q-KRK7CXs-DFx2bsHGd2ONMZRa1Ph_p2hySBa4ykYGy5ZV4mRab2q67yzUu-EuHny6Ca_-0OXpu7UWy3r3KPsLpuH0GOeSQNFP8BQ9TBuIxypkxiC1qcM4awM/s320/Dori.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
"Just keep swimming...just keep swimming...swimming, swimming..."<br />
<br />
<br />
3. <u> </u><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Dori</u> </span></span>from Finding Nemo. It's Ellen DeGeneres in fish form. Come on! I was so upset when I found out his disdain for Dori. It really hurt my heart. AND he doesn't even like the movie Finding Nemo. He has no heart. Speaking of having no heart...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjJUFYHzVtuWbZSwU5_ZuJGyqk7t4YvHpasa6HsqySfWU3iqwN4-n9sIE56wv3c149TWmYs98FZZysF24XuiPLNJoiV0SfRgcUsYcx9mNEG0sbXrV7xF-SPpbP812QkFp__zHuDQha7M/s1600/pic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjJUFYHzVtuWbZSwU5_ZuJGyqk7t4YvHpasa6HsqySfWU3iqwN4-n9sIE56wv3c149TWmYs98FZZysF24XuiPLNJoiV0SfRgcUsYcx9mNEG0sbXrV7xF-SPpbP812QkFp__zHuDQha7M/s320/pic4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Merry Christmas<br />
<br />
4. <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><u>Holidays.</u></span> Dan does not like any occasion that most people love celebrating. All of the festivities and merriment are just too much for him to handle. This is appalling to me, since I ADORE holidays. I start preparing for Christmas before Halloween. I believe in birth weeks, instead of birth days. I have actually contemplated, on more than one occasion, filling out a calender with a "holiday" for every day (ex: Jan. 3rd "Bubble Gum" day, Jan 4th "Crazy Hats" day, Jan 5th "I Love Pastrami" day...etc) that way every day can be a celebration and I will always be thankful. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTXkreD0KXfaXq3VnVOGzLIShhrxgHG1Cl_paETkVxnQruydMs67PWgJKPtXYDi66LOk-Qs-Zu-50wik9tzDkvxmSdDpnrFb7McyjWBB2DL91MhorQNBMswuJXiDRDJnp_Oh-viEt3XkI/s1600/Juno+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTXkreD0KXfaXq3VnVOGzLIShhrxgHG1Cl_paETkVxnQruydMs67PWgJKPtXYDi66LOk-Qs-Zu-50wik9tzDkvxmSdDpnrFb7McyjWBB2DL91MhorQNBMswuJXiDRDJnp_Oh-viEt3XkI/s320/Juno+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">"I mean, can't we just, like, kick this old school? Like, I have the baby, put it in a basket and send it your way... like, Moses and the reeds?" </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">5</span>. <span style="font-size: large;"><u>Juno.</u></span> <span style="font-size: small;">This movie was genius. Every character was relatable and acted brilliantly. The script was clever, but not so much that you felt it was trying to be clever. The music was perfect. Basically, I loved it all. And Dan didn't like any of it. He said it had "fake, quirky characters that do not exist in real life" The only thing I can chaulk this up to is him being home schooled and only knowing the same 20 people his whole life. Boo ya! (He hates when I bring up that he was home schooled. Sadly though, he probably doesn't even know what "boo ya" means...most likely because he was home schooled)</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Oh Dan, I do love you. Let me count thy ways...in my next post.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span> </span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4962685301883313252.post-72043141564317366252010-09-23T16:27:00.000-07:002010-09-23T19:20:14.138-07:00Show Me 'Dem Boobies. Please?Adalee is now fascinated with my breasts. It all started last week when I was in a low cut, pajama shirt-sans bra- and I caught her looking down my shirt. "What's those?", she asked. I thought for a minute on whether I should just say "my body" or be more specific. She's old enough, I thought..."Those are mommy's boobies" She proudly hit her chest and said, "And these are my boobies!"<br />
<br />
I tried to explain that she does not have boobies yet...they are for grown ups...when she's older she'll have boobies...etc. After I told her this she got SO excited and announced (while jumping up and down) "Yes! When I get older I will have big boobies just like you!!" What I wanted to tell her was that mommy's boobies are really not big, so if that's the goal she's aiming for... she really better set her hopes on taking after daddy's side of the family. But I kept that to myself.<br />
<br />
Ever since this conversation, she's been asking to see my boobies. <br />
<br />
"Can I see your boobies, mommy?" <br />
<br />
"No, Adalee. I'm sorry but those are private."<br />
<br />
She then throws a fit, "But I really, really want to see them!"<br />
<br />
"Adalee, stop that right now! It's not nice to ask people for their boobies. We keep our boobies to ourself"<br />
<br />
Then she calms down, turns on the charm and says with the sweetest smile, "Mommy, can I please see your boobies... just one more time?" The same tactic she uses when sweet talking me into giving her 5 extra goldfish crackers, is the one she uses when asking me to expose myself to her. It's terrible. AND I hate that word...boobies. But because I chose that word for them I have to hear it all day long.<br />
<br />
Last night was pretty funny, though. I had just come out of the shower and she ran into the bedroom before I had a chance to throw my clothes on (Dan was <em>supposed</em> to be watching her so I could shower in peace) When she saw me she started laughing hysterically and said, "Mommy, you aren't wearing your shirt! You are just wearing your boobies! That is so silly" We both had a good laugh about that.<br />
<br />
I guess my point in sharing this with people is that I, obviously, think it's funny. And also, as a warning that my daughter may ask to see your breasts. I apologize.Rebekah Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17073625263281989138noreply@blogger.com1