Hannah's party
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 8/25/2007 05:45:00 PM
1 Comments
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Happy B'day to Hannah
Pardon my blurry pictures. As usual with the older photos, I've taken pictures of pictures.
Eleven years ago today a 9.9 pound red baby with lots of black hair came into my world. (She had actually been in my world long before then, but not in my arms.) Hannah Kathleen. She looked nothing like my previous babies and had I not witnessed the whole thing, I would have said they'd given me the wrong baby. I wanted to tell everyone in the delivery room, "Hey this is really weird. My other babies were pretty. Really, I mean my others were very pretty. Everyone said so." But no, not Hannah. She looked like a mixture of a cranky Winston Churchill, the fat toothless old lady down the street, and a red poached egg. But I loved her. I loved her lots. "Oh Gordon, she's so ugly," I said proudly. And I was proud.
When we came home from the hospital, my next door neighbor came over and oohed and awed saying stuff like "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." I wanted to tell the neighbor that I knew she was ugly, but I didn't want to sound un-proud, because I was proud. I know a few tricks when it comes to dealing with ugly babies. Among my tricks are, "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." Might as well just come out and say, "Woe is it ever homely."
But I loved her. She loved me too, so I loved her all the more. As she grew she lost the Winston and egg look but kept looking more and more like the toothless old woman down the road. More than a couple times I thanked God that it was a woman down the road she looked like and not a man. When she became expressive with grinning and all, the resemblance to the sweet lady was astounding. My girlfriend Elisa knew the lady down the road. Once the old lady left my house and I confided that I thought Hannah looked like her. Elisa laughed and said the she and Walter thought so too.
Well the pretty fairies visited when Hannah was about 5 months old and she became cute. Actually very very cute. She got a couple teeth and lost the little old lady look.
Unfortunately I was exhausted from having two babies. And it sure didn't help that one of them was Rachael. Exhaustion, hormones, - call it what you wish - wiped me out. Depression came on and my memories of Hannah's babyhood are cloudy and murky. I simply don't remember a whole lot.
When she was just a couple weeks old Gordon told me that there was a surprise baby shower for us two doors down. I sat and wept. I cried hysterically, "I'm too tired to go out." But I pulled myself together and we made it. Those sort of emotions marked those days. Fortunately I have pictures and when I look at the pictures I remember things. She's smiling in the pictures so I think she fared okay through it all.
From the get go in her little life, Hannah had a big sister that was a baby herself. Rachael colored all over Hannah, sat on her, man-handled her like a sack of potatoes. Hannah smiled through most of it.
She learned fairly early how to stand her ground with Rachael. We realized in her young life that she had her own methods of handling her overbearing big sister. Some of those things we still quote. Once as we drove Rachael protested that Hannah was touching her. They were both in car seats and Rachael said, "Hannah's bothering me."
Hannah made a pointy with her index finger and began a little sing-song as she poked Rachael over and over saying, "Bovering, bovering, bovering." We knew then that life was going to balance things out fine. And occasionally we all say, "Bovering, bovering, bovering," as a way of saying I'm trying to get on your nerves.
Hannah grew and became sensitive. She cared about the feelings of others including animals. She became very articulate, loving to learn new words. Her musings in the backseat often were word games. She played it alone and with no guidance whatsoever. "Re-spect-ful. Re-spect-ful." "Dis-cip-line." She spoke slowly and crisply. We could tell she was saying the words just to enjoy rolling them off her tongue. She played this game for years actually. Once after watching the Tigger Movie, she sat in her carseat quoting Tigger. "Splen-dif-er-rous. Splen-dif-er-rous." We loved to drive along just listening to Hannah practice saying big words.
Twice Hannah did weird little falls that knocked her out cold. The first time I was vacuuming when she fell off the sofa. It scared me silly. I phoned Gordon and he did the typical man thing. He rebuked me for worrying too much. Months and months later I felt rightly vindicated. He had taken the kids to Burger King. Hannah did one of her weird falls and went out cold. He absolutely panicked. Someone phoned 911, a lady came over to help out. She told Gordon that Hannah was breathing and would probably be fine. Gordon sat holding her, crying like a baby, waiting for the ambulance.
By the time I got to the emergency room, she was in a tiny green hospital gown soaking up the attention. She was fine. I've often wished I'd stolen that little gown. She looked so cute.
Hannah has always marched to the beat of her own drummer, more than once taking abuse for doing so. When she was in grade 1 she loved to look for and collect bird feathers. At the park some boys teased, "Ooh, it's the feather girl. She's always got feathers." Hannah was hurt, but undeterred.
Her grade one teacher told me that Hannah was a strong little girl who was willing to be different. And she was a bit different.
Hannah is my easiest child to buy for and treat special. She has so many likes, interests, and passions. Dogs, horses, art, music, piano, stationery, pretty things, porcelain dolls, - she has many interests. It's an endearing quality.
She's thoughtful, considerate, compassionate. She's kind, funny, artistic, and clever. She's typically an absolute doll to be around.
Yesterday she and I went to the Humane Society for a date. I was struck again by how easy she is to please.
This morning she smiled broadly as she was served breakfast in bed.
Tomorrow she is going to Beppe's for two nights. I guess they'll do the usual birthday shopping trip. She's excited. Then on Saturday we'll celebrate. She's chosen horseback riding and a picnic. She's so happy with her plans.
Hannah is delightful. I love her so much and marvel at her many talents. Truly to know her is to love her. I'm thankful for her.
Happy Birthday my sweet Hannah. You are beautiful (but I'd love you no less if you still looked like a poached egg). You bring delight to our lives and to our home. May you grow to be all God created you to be. And may you always point others to Him.
I love you.
This morning, breakfast in bed for an 11 year old.
Eleven years ago today a 9.9 pound red baby with lots of black hair came into my world. (She had actually been in my world long before then, but not in my arms.) Hannah Kathleen. She looked nothing like my previous babies and had I not witnessed the whole thing, I would have said they'd given me the wrong baby. I wanted to tell everyone in the delivery room, "Hey this is really weird. My other babies were pretty. Really, I mean my others were very pretty. Everyone said so." But no, not Hannah. She looked like a mixture of a cranky Winston Churchill, the fat toothless old lady down the street, and a red poached egg. But I loved her. I loved her lots. "Oh Gordon, she's so ugly," I said proudly. And I was proud.
When we came home from the hospital, my next door neighbor came over and oohed and awed saying stuff like "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." I wanted to tell the neighbor that I knew she was ugly, but I didn't want to sound un-proud, because I was proud. I know a few tricks when it comes to dealing with ugly babies. Among my tricks are, "Look at all that hair," and "She is so sweet." Might as well just come out and say, "Woe is it ever homely."
But I loved her. She loved me too, so I loved her all the more. As she grew she lost the Winston and egg look but kept looking more and more like the toothless old woman down the road. More than a couple times I thanked God that it was a woman down the road she looked like and not a man. When she became expressive with grinning and all, the resemblance to the sweet lady was astounding. My girlfriend Elisa knew the lady down the road. Once the old lady left my house and I confided that I thought Hannah looked like her. Elisa laughed and said the she and Walter thought so too.
Well the pretty fairies visited when Hannah was about 5 months old and she became cute. Actually very very cute. She got a couple teeth and lost the little old lady look.
Unfortunately I was exhausted from having two babies. And it sure didn't help that one of them was Rachael. Exhaustion, hormones, - call it what you wish - wiped me out. Depression came on and my memories of Hannah's babyhood are cloudy and murky. I simply don't remember a whole lot.
When she was just a couple weeks old Gordon told me that there was a surprise baby shower for us two doors down. I sat and wept. I cried hysterically, "I'm too tired to go out." But I pulled myself together and we made it. Those sort of emotions marked those days. Fortunately I have pictures and when I look at the pictures I remember things. She's smiling in the pictures so I think she fared okay through it all.
From the get go in her little life, Hannah had a big sister that was a baby herself. Rachael colored all over Hannah, sat on her, man-handled her like a sack of potatoes. Hannah smiled through most of it.
She learned fairly early how to stand her ground with Rachael. We realized in her young life that she had her own methods of handling her overbearing big sister. Some of those things we still quote. Once as we drove Rachael protested that Hannah was touching her. They were both in car seats and Rachael said, "Hannah's bothering me."
Hannah made a pointy with her index finger and began a little sing-song as she poked Rachael over and over saying, "Bovering, bovering, bovering." We knew then that life was going to balance things out fine. And occasionally we all say, "Bovering, bovering, bovering," as a way of saying I'm trying to get on your nerves.
Hannah grew and became sensitive. She cared about the feelings of others including animals. She became very articulate, loving to learn new words. Her musings in the backseat often were word games. She played it alone and with no guidance whatsoever. "Re-spect-ful. Re-spect-ful." "Dis-cip-line." She spoke slowly and crisply. We could tell she was saying the words just to enjoy rolling them off her tongue. She played this game for years actually. Once after watching the Tigger Movie, she sat in her carseat quoting Tigger. "Splen-dif-er-rous. Splen-dif-er-rous." We loved to drive along just listening to Hannah practice saying big words.
Twice Hannah did weird little falls that knocked her out cold. The first time I was vacuuming when she fell off the sofa. It scared me silly. I phoned Gordon and he did the typical man thing. He rebuked me for worrying too much. Months and months later I felt rightly vindicated. He had taken the kids to Burger King. Hannah did one of her weird falls and went out cold. He absolutely panicked. Someone phoned 911, a lady came over to help out. She told Gordon that Hannah was breathing and would probably be fine. Gordon sat holding her, crying like a baby, waiting for the ambulance.
By the time I got to the emergency room, she was in a tiny green hospital gown soaking up the attention. She was fine. I've often wished I'd stolen that little gown. She looked so cute.
Hannah has always marched to the beat of her own drummer, more than once taking abuse for doing so. When she was in grade 1 she loved to look for and collect bird feathers. At the park some boys teased, "Ooh, it's the feather girl. She's always got feathers." Hannah was hurt, but undeterred.
Her grade one teacher told me that Hannah was a strong little girl who was willing to be different. And she was a bit different.
Hannah is my easiest child to buy for and treat special. She has so many likes, interests, and passions. Dogs, horses, art, music, piano, stationery, pretty things, porcelain dolls, - she has many interests. It's an endearing quality.
She's thoughtful, considerate, compassionate. She's kind, funny, artistic, and clever. She's typically an absolute doll to be around.
Yesterday she and I went to the Humane Society for a date. I was struck again by how easy she is to please.
This morning she smiled broadly as she was served breakfast in bed.
Tomorrow she is going to Beppe's for two nights. I guess they'll do the usual birthday shopping trip. She's excited. Then on Saturday we'll celebrate. She's chosen horseback riding and a picnic. She's so happy with her plans.
Hannah is delightful. I love her so much and marvel at her many talents. Truly to know her is to love her. I'm thankful for her.
Happy Birthday my sweet Hannah. You are beautiful (but I'd love you no less if you still looked like a poached egg). You bring delight to our lives and to our home. May you grow to be all God created you to be. And may you always point others to Him.
I love you.
This morning, breakfast in bed for an 11 year old.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 8/21/2007 10:59:00 PM
8 Comments
Friday, July 20, 2007
Happy Birthday Rachael
Pardon these blurry pictures. I've actually taken pictures of pictures so I could share some sweet photos from years gone by. This is Rachael on her first birthday.Last night when I tucked Rachael in, I took her face between my hands and we looked into each other's eyes. "Thirteen years ago tonight I was in the worst pain of my entire life," I told her. She smiled approvingly as though she was very pleased to hold that distinction.
Today my lovely Rachael is 12. What delight she's brought to my life and to our home. I'd be lying to say Rachael's childhood was a breeze. She was a perfect baby. She slept well, ate well, cooed contentedly, smiled and laughed abundantly. But toddler years were full of assertion, demandingness, breaking things, and plenty of other reasons for people not to appreciate her. Other children may have said, "NO" more, but Rachael lived "NO." She didn't respect people enough to grace them with the word no, she simply did what she darn well pleased. Daily she'd go to the book shelf in the living room and pull all the books off. When she was finished, she'd fetch a parent to show her work. Matter of factly she'd declare, "no no Racho."
More than a few times I toyed with throwing in the towel of discipline. It seemed nothing curbed her independence, strong will, and steely resolve. Secretly I harbored animosity toward Gordon thinking his genes surely created this cute monster that I loved so much.
Her reputation went before and behind her. Overhearing people talk about her was all too familiar to me. All others seemed to notice were her negative traits. It seemed no one appreciated the traits that were positively wonderful.
She had more energy and strength than is fitting a toddler. She learned to climb out of her crib, to my horror, ridiculously early. Her destructive imagination knew no bounds. When she was a mere 13 months old, she became a big sister. Obviously that meant I didn't have all the time in the world to sit on Rachael to prevent her destructive ways.
When Hannah was beginning to crawl well, Rachael opened the oven door which Hannah promptly pulled up on. Rachael shoved her in the oven and shut the door. Things of this nature were so common-place in our home. She was clever, creative, curious, and energetic. She was full of life, zest, and energy.
Once a neighbor down the street phoned to tell me diapers were flying out an upstairs window. I ran upstairs, where Rachael was supposed to be in her crib sleeping, and found her at the window dropping one diaper out at a time. Yes there was a screen on the window, but she had managed to break it off. The thought that she could have just as easily fallen out the window tormented me for days. Because she looked so cute, I stood quietly in her door as she deposited diapers one at a time out the window. "Bye bye diaper" or "Uh oh" accompanied each flying diaper.
Her toddler years tested every thing I believed as a parent. The hardships began at 1 and grew steadily worse for 3 years. The "terrible twos" were a cake walk compared to the totalitarian threes. Praise be to God, at 4 years old, we rounded a corner. Hard work, which seemed to be producing nothing for a few years, started to bear fruit.
Many years and much delight and joy later, Rachael is the light of my life. She still has that zest and zeal for living. It demonstrates itself in two jobs that she's very good at, a voracious love for reading, an insatiable desire to know more about Egypt and Ancient Greece, a love for family and family time. She still needs less sleep than the rest of us but now I don't worry that she'll burn the house down, flush towels down the toilet, or climb out a window to go exploring.
The traits that made her a difficult toddler are now making her a strong, trust-worthy, wise young lady.
Today we had a most delightful day at the mall. She was loaded with cash and our birthday girl was quick to buy things for her sisters. She is truly delightful. Those hours of excruciating pain 13 years ago were really quite a small price to pay. I am forever thankful for my sweet Rachael.
Rachael, may you continue to grow to be all God created you to be. May you love Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. May you grow wiser with each passing year and may you bring others at least a fraction of the joy you bring me. I love you Darling.
Rachael, 12 years old today. Isn't she a precious one? This photo was taken today.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/20/2007 10:38:00 PM
1 Comments
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Monday, July 02, 2007
Deborah is 8
Her very first picture and one of my very favorites. To view any of these closer, just click on the picture.
Calgary Zoo. 2004. 5 years old.
Deborah and Hannah at one of our favorite summer spots. 2004.
A few months ago, just before leaving for Brownie camp.
Kindergarten graduation. She wasn't sure if it was proper to smile or not, so she remained very somber throughout the ceremony. Can you see her lip gloss? She snuck that to school that day.Today is my baby daughter's 8th birthday. It feels unreal that once upon a time Deborah was not a part of our lives. Nor does it seem that 8 years ago today she lay on my chest for the first time. That day was filled with so many wonderful memories. It seems almost poetic that my 14-year-old Stephanie was the first of us to see Deborah draw her first sweet breath of life. Still behind the blue sheet that separated Deborah from us, Gordon and I missed that virgin intake of breath, but Stephanie took it all in with sacred joy and awe.
Now Stephanie is going to deliver her little Roman any day. I wish I could be there to see his first moments. Some day she'll be the mother writing his birthday story. So as I write this, my mind is divided among 3 precious lives: Deborah who is 8 today; Stephanie about to push a new life into our world and feel the mammoth changes in the way she perceives life; and little Roman who will soon draw his first breath. Thinking of those things, I feel sort of like I'm penning holy thoughts.
I remember so well seeing Stephanie standing behind the glass watching the c-section. Her eyes were wide, her face radiant, and wearing nursing scrubs for the first time. Another precious memory of that summer morning of 8 years ago.
Over the past few days, I've recalled many sweet memories in Deborah's 8 years. When she was barely one, we drove to Colorado to visit my sister's family. Deborah was a phenomenal baby traveller. I'd heard nightmarish stories of families taking trips with their children and how they screamed for hours and hours. Well we basked in pride over our parenting skills and how we had produced a baby who travelled so well. Surely, we thought, this good fortune had something to do with our terrific wisdom and advanced parenting abilities.
Our Deborah made it to Colorado with patience and long suffering. On the return trip she sat in her car seat seemingly content as we toured Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons. We got in and out of the van, took pictures and enjoyed a couple tourist spots. Then suddenly, as we walked toward the van, it was as though someone flipped a switch on our sweet baby's back. When she saw our van that we were walking toward, she started flailing, screaming, kicking, and slamming her head on my chest. The hazel-eyed baby that had given me many reasons for parental pride, had morphed into a red-eyed, rage filled, screaming demon-ette.
Her cheery mood quickly spread to Rachael and Hannah and soon we had three little girls trying to break up their parents' marriage. Gordon and I had never experienced such outbursts among one child, much less three at the same time. We started screaming at each other trying to navigate this new dynamic of family life. Stephanie and Christopher looked on in shock at the way our family was falling apart with little warning. (After recovery, Stephanie said, "Wow, I'd never seen ya'll talk to each other like that").
Later when someone asked Christopher what the highlight of his trip was, he quickly responded, "When Mama give the girls Gravol in Yellowstone." Yes, I ended up doping my little angels.
When we finally unloaded our human/demon-ette occupants in our driveway, my girls returned to their previous disposition.
Roughly six months later, the girls and I flew back down to Colorado where we met all my family for Thanksgiving. Deborah won hearts as she'd go to the kitchen and look up at the strangers that were her aunts, uncles, and cousins and say "dink peez." So politely she used the few words she knew when asking for a drink of water. "Dink peez," she'd say softly. If no one responded, she'd say it a little louder. If still no one responded, she raised her eyebrows, stood on her tippy toes and more assertively said, "DINK PEEZ." In the end, she always got her water.
Deborah loved to be rocked, sang to, and cuddled. Once she asked me to sing "Amazing Grapes" as we rocked.
When she was 2, I started discouraging her nursing. She didn't nurse but a couple times a day, but she was pretty serious about it. Being two though, we did get to talk about it. I told her that we were going to rock and sing, but we were going to quit doing "breasties." She was thoroughly confused. They were all one and the same thing to her. But she soon comprehended the new way. She did well. However on about the third day, she asked if she could have "breasties." When I told her we were not doing that again, she put her index finger and thumb about 1/2 inch apart and asked, "Just a little bit peez?" My heart ached, but we stood firm.
Of the girls, she's the most girly. She loves to dress-up, play with little girl make-up, have make-overs, wear high heels. More than once we've arrived at church to find her in her little play high heels instead of real shoes. When she was four, she was in the washroom when church started. We were near the front when she entered. The pastor ceased the opening call to worship, went silent as he smiled at our little Deborah entering the sanctuary. All eyes fell on her as she walked determinedly down the aisle with her Fisher Price high heels on, a purse strapped over her shoulders, and a fresh application of lip gloss. When I realized things were silent because of Deborah's entrance, I was thoroughly pleased to see the sea of smiling faces as they watched her. She was oblivious to the attention she was commanding.
Deborah is a very kind person. She's gentle, considerate, and polite. She is a social butterfly, always ready for personal interaction. Right now she and her Daddy are out of a birthday date, having lunch together. In a few hours, Beppe will come over and we'll have yet another birthday meal. At her request, quiche is the main dish.
Dear God, I'm so very thankful that you let me be Deborah's mother. I'm thankful for the life you've given her, for the safety and health you've blessed her with. She has given us so much joy and I'm thankful. Thank you for loving her more than I am capable of. Thank you for loving her enough to give your Son for her. More than anything, I ask You to continue to draw Deborah to You. Give her a tender heart that always follows hard after You. Draw her into a life of being a student of Your word and a pray-er. Give her a hunger and thirst for righteousness. Equip her with all she needs to be a leader in doing what is right and standing against what is wrong. Help her to be a lover of the things You love. Thank You. Amen.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/02/2007 10:17:00 AM
2 Comments
Sunday, July 01, 2007
quiche
Hannah had a dentist appointment one day last week and we didn't leave it until 5:30. I stopped at Safeway to pick up something easy for supper, settling on a quiche from the deli. Later as we ate, I asked if anyone could remember why I quit making quiche. A few years ago I made it regularly, but I stopped and no one can remember why.
Deborah will be 8 tomorrow. Yesterday we celebrated nearly all day. Kalyna slept over, we went swimming and to Chuck E Cheese. It was wonderful.
I told Deborah on Thursday night that I wanted to have a special birthday dinner on Monday and invite Beppe'. She was happy about having 2 birthday celebrations. When I told her she got to choose the menu, her eyes got big and she said after only a second's hesitation that she wanted my quiche.
So tomorrow evening I'll be making quiche again and we'll sit around telling Deborah tales. It's going to be delightful, I know.
Deborah will be 8 tomorrow. Yesterday we celebrated nearly all day. Kalyna slept over, we went swimming and to Chuck E Cheese. It was wonderful.
I told Deborah on Thursday night that I wanted to have a special birthday dinner on Monday and invite Beppe'. She was happy about having 2 birthday celebrations. When I told her she got to choose the menu, her eyes got big and she said after only a second's hesitation that she wanted my quiche.
So tomorrow evening I'll be making quiche again and we'll sit around telling Deborah tales. It's going to be delightful, I know.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/01/2007 04:39:00 PM
1 Comments
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Happy Birthday to May
Today, May 12, is my mother-in-law's birthday. We don't get to celebrate it with her, as she's in the Netherlands visiting her siblings and other family. I miss her and am thankful to have arrived at this place. When Gordon and I married, and even years into our marriage, I felt little affinity with May. She was my polar opposite and all the qualities I was struggling so hard to accept in my new husband, May seemed to possess in even more concentrated doses.
I wasn't a nice daughter-in-law. I was moody, impatient, petulant, and angry. I was guarded, self-protective, and secretive. May had more reason than anyone to retaliate, poison others against me, "get in her son's ear" against me. She didn't do any of those things. She loved me in spite of me. She gave kindness to me when I was terribly undeserving of it. She overlooked dozens and dozens of offenses and kept sowing love into my life.
I am thankful for the work of the Holy Spirit in her life, as I have been a primary beneficiary. May is forgiving and has consistently shown love and nothing less to this girl who brought so much baggage into the family.
When my father-in-law died in 2002, I felt I'd lost the only Dykstra family member I could identify with. He was the only one I was comfortable with and frankly, I couldn't imagine my life in the family without him to neutralize and mellow things for me. But through that loss, God opened my eyes to see May for who she is rather than who I thought she was. I've enjoyed the journey. One of the great ironies of it all is seeing similarities in us. Who I thought was a polar opposite wasn't that different from me after all.
I respect May for many things. I respect her for the grace she showed me and continues to show me on a regular basis.
Her walk with God is intimate, personal, and powerful. She prays, reads her Bible, and consistently seeks hard after God. I hope when I'm her age, I'll be like her, still seeking God with all I am.
I respect and love May for being the mother of the most wonderful man I know. Gordon is a man of character and integrity and I know May is largely responsible for that.
Maybe, way over in Holland, May will read this. May, happy birthday. I love you very much and we miss you enormously - especially on Saturday evenings.
Happy happy Birthday.
I wasn't a nice daughter-in-law. I was moody, impatient, petulant, and angry. I was guarded, self-protective, and secretive. May had more reason than anyone to retaliate, poison others against me, "get in her son's ear" against me. She didn't do any of those things. She loved me in spite of me. She gave kindness to me when I was terribly undeserving of it. She overlooked dozens and dozens of offenses and kept sowing love into my life.
I am thankful for the work of the Holy Spirit in her life, as I have been a primary beneficiary. May is forgiving and has consistently shown love and nothing less to this girl who brought so much baggage into the family.
When my father-in-law died in 2002, I felt I'd lost the only Dykstra family member I could identify with. He was the only one I was comfortable with and frankly, I couldn't imagine my life in the family without him to neutralize and mellow things for me. But through that loss, God opened my eyes to see May for who she is rather than who I thought she was. I've enjoyed the journey. One of the great ironies of it all is seeing similarities in us. Who I thought was a polar opposite wasn't that different from me after all.
I respect May for many things. I respect her for the grace she showed me and continues to show me on a regular basis.
Her walk with God is intimate, personal, and powerful. She prays, reads her Bible, and consistently seeks hard after God. I hope when I'm her age, I'll be like her, still seeking God with all I am.
I respect and love May for being the mother of the most wonderful man I know. Gordon is a man of character and integrity and I know May is largely responsible for that.
Maybe, way over in Holland, May will read this. May, happy birthday. I love you very much and we miss you enormously - especially on Saturday evenings.
Happy happy Birthday.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 5/12/2007 01:34:00 PM
1 Comments
Monday, March 26, 2007
Happy Birthday Stephanie
22 years ago today, Stephanie Elise bounded into our world making me and many others much richer. I'm thankful. She was my world, my life.
She's no longer a precocious child, but rather a woman who will experience the joys of motherhood for her herself this year.
We are a million miles apart, but a day doesn't pass when I don't think of her and pray for her.
Stephanie, I hope this year is your best ever. Be blessed. Happy Birthday.
She's no longer a precocious child, but rather a woman who will experience the joys of motherhood for her herself this year.
We are a million miles apart, but a day doesn't pass when I don't think of her and pray for her.
Stephanie, I hope this year is your best ever. Be blessed. Happy Birthday.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 3/26/2007 03:17:00 PM
1 Comments
Monday, February 19, 2007
18 years ago today.
February 20, 1989
I have humbly observed that every mother thinks her pregnancy, labor and delivery is the only one the world has ever known. Logically, women know otherwise, but when it comes down to the bare bones, yes, she alone has experienced true labor and delivery.
I have tried my darndest not to be that kind of person. Not that I'm not that kind of person, I actually am. I clearly believe that MY pregnancies, labors and deliveries are really much more significant and colorful, than anyone else's. However I have tried not to act like that is what I believe. When women sit around and talk about dilation, mucous membranes, episiotomies, stitches, ripping and tearing, I have, for the most part, let them have their moment of fame, pretending that I actually believe that their's, not mine, was the more interesting. Today all of that changes. This is my blog.
18 years ago today, I had a baby. We named him Christopher Michael. (Stephanie wanted to name him Christopher Robin after the boy in Winnie the Pooh).
It was one of those dreadfully long pregnancies -- 14 or 15 months, depending on my mood. He was due on February 12. On the 13th I cooked up a plan to make him come on my birthday (14th). I went to WalMart and bought a bottle of castor oil. That choice was one of my many poor choices in life. All evening and into the next day I heaved and poohed, heaved and poohed. I vowed if anyone suggested castor oil ever again that I'd slug 'em.
I threw up enough to recycle the castor oil 17 times. The slime that I projected out of my being was, as you may have guessed, very oily. I threw up in the living room, several times, hence the stain right in the middle of the living room carpet. We never got it out. Oil does not extract nicely from carpet.
I was committed to Bible memorization throughout my pregnancy. I laid in the bathtub every night reciting and/or practicing long passages of Scripture. I worked on Deuteronomy 28, but never mastered it. I mastered Psalm 23 and Psalm 121.
Stephanie's labor had been long, laborious, and unpleasant. Being the wise woman of 23 that I was, I contrived a plan to outwit the system. I planned to stay home until it was time for him to come. I had not enjoyed the prolonged naked exposure the first time around and thought I'd circumvent a lot of that this time.
I went to great lengths to make sure things went just right. I pre-admitted myself. (Does that hospital still have that idiotic system of making a woman in labor sit there in admitting filling out insurance documents?) Well, they were only going to abuse me like that once. Second time around, I was wiser. I was totally prepared.
It was a Monday morning and I was scheduled to be induced at 7:00. At 5:00 I woke with a bang -- a big contraction. Being a reasonable woman, I went and showered, rolled my hair, put on makeup, barely able to stand for the pain.
Since I was supposed to be induced at 7:00, my mom phoned to check on me. When she learned I was in labor she came over. The contractions were very powerful and about a nano-second apart, yet I was committed to not be at the hospital before 7:00. Humbly, Mama suggested several times that I re-think my plan and head to the hospital.
Kent showed up at 6:50 and I laid down in the backseat of my little station wagon and away we sped. The pain seemed unbearable. I began quoting my Bible passages for comfort, getting louder and louder during contractions. "I look up to the mountains--does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth? He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never tires and never sleeps...."
When we got to the hospital I told Kent to go in and tell them I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in till my bed was ready. (Yes, I really said that.) Kent knew enough not to argue with a woman growling Bible verses. He left me there in the car screaming Psalms 23. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.Yeah, though I walk through the valley, thank you Jesus..."
Inside the hospital, Kent told them what I'd told him to: I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in until there was a bed ready for me. The nurse said to Kent, "Mr Rose, that's not how we do things."
Wisely, Kent said, "then you go tell her." The nurse came to the car with a wheelchair and away we sped again. Within 7 minutes I had a boy.
Without contest that delivery was my fastest. It was intense, but there's a lot to be said for brevity.
When Christopher was placed in my arms in the delivery room, all I could say was,"oh my son, my son." I was so happy. My thoughts weren't coherent though. I said the same thing over and over. I felt silly saying it, but it was all that would come out. When I opened my mouth, it would pour out again, "my son, oh my son."
Christopher was a picture of contentedness. I loved showing him off; he made a good impression every where he went. He smiled, cooed, laughed and delighted people wherever he was.
He had the chunkiest, roundest little body making him heavenly to hold. Oh how I loved him.
Oh how I still love him. He's 18 today. Soon he'll finish high school and be moving on to college. He's a good worker, a kind person, still gentle just like he's always been. A perfect gentleman. Now instead of a chunky round baby, he's a long and lean man.
My verse for him is Proverbs 22:23,24 "He who has a wise son delights in him. May you father and mother be glad. May she who gave you birth rejoice." I'm still praying that he'll always be wise and I know that the one who gave him birth does rejoice in who he is.
I have humbly observed that every mother thinks her pregnancy, labor and delivery is the only one the world has ever known. Logically, women know otherwise, but when it comes down to the bare bones, yes, she alone has experienced true labor and delivery.
I have tried my darndest not to be that kind of person. Not that I'm not that kind of person, I actually am. I clearly believe that MY pregnancies, labors and deliveries are really much more significant and colorful, than anyone else's. However I have tried not to act like that is what I believe. When women sit around and talk about dilation, mucous membranes, episiotomies, stitches, ripping and tearing, I have, for the most part, let them have their moment of fame, pretending that I actually believe that their's, not mine, was the more interesting. Today all of that changes. This is my blog.
18 years ago today, I had a baby. We named him Christopher Michael. (Stephanie wanted to name him Christopher Robin after the boy in Winnie the Pooh).
It was one of those dreadfully long pregnancies -- 14 or 15 months, depending on my mood. He was due on February 12. On the 13th I cooked up a plan to make him come on my birthday (14th). I went to WalMart and bought a bottle of castor oil. That choice was one of my many poor choices in life. All evening and into the next day I heaved and poohed, heaved and poohed. I vowed if anyone suggested castor oil ever again that I'd slug 'em.
I threw up enough to recycle the castor oil 17 times. The slime that I projected out of my being was, as you may have guessed, very oily. I threw up in the living room, several times, hence the stain right in the middle of the living room carpet. We never got it out. Oil does not extract nicely from carpet.
I was committed to Bible memorization throughout my pregnancy. I laid in the bathtub every night reciting and/or practicing long passages of Scripture. I worked on Deuteronomy 28, but never mastered it. I mastered Psalm 23 and Psalm 121.
Stephanie's labor had been long, laborious, and unpleasant. Being the wise woman of 23 that I was, I contrived a plan to outwit the system. I planned to stay home until it was time for him to come. I had not enjoyed the prolonged naked exposure the first time around and thought I'd circumvent a lot of that this time.
I went to great lengths to make sure things went just right. I pre-admitted myself. (Does that hospital still have that idiotic system of making a woman in labor sit there in admitting filling out insurance documents?) Well, they were only going to abuse me like that once. Second time around, I was wiser. I was totally prepared.
It was a Monday morning and I was scheduled to be induced at 7:00. At 5:00 I woke with a bang -- a big contraction. Being a reasonable woman, I went and showered, rolled my hair, put on makeup, barely able to stand for the pain.
Since I was supposed to be induced at 7:00, my mom phoned to check on me. When she learned I was in labor she came over. The contractions were very powerful and about a nano-second apart, yet I was committed to not be at the hospital before 7:00. Humbly, Mama suggested several times that I re-think my plan and head to the hospital.
Kent showed up at 6:50 and I laid down in the backseat of my little station wagon and away we sped. The pain seemed unbearable. I began quoting my Bible passages for comfort, getting louder and louder during contractions. "I look up to the mountains--does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth? He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never tires and never sleeps...."
When we got to the hospital I told Kent to go in and tell them I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in till my bed was ready. (Yes, I really said that.) Kent knew enough not to argue with a woman growling Bible verses. He left me there in the car screaming Psalms 23. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.Yeah, though I walk through the valley, thank you Jesus..."
Inside the hospital, Kent told them what I'd told him to: I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in until there was a bed ready for me. The nurse said to Kent, "Mr Rose, that's not how we do things."
Wisely, Kent said, "then you go tell her." The nurse came to the car with a wheelchair and away we sped again. Within 7 minutes I had a boy.
Without contest that delivery was my fastest. It was intense, but there's a lot to be said for brevity.
When Christopher was placed in my arms in the delivery room, all I could say was,"oh my son, my son." I was so happy. My thoughts weren't coherent though. I said the same thing over and over. I felt silly saying it, but it was all that would come out. When I opened my mouth, it would pour out again, "my son, oh my son."
Christopher was a picture of contentedness. I loved showing him off; he made a good impression every where he went. He smiled, cooed, laughed and delighted people wherever he was.
He had the chunkiest, roundest little body making him heavenly to hold. Oh how I loved him.
Oh how I still love him. He's 18 today. Soon he'll finish high school and be moving on to college. He's a good worker, a kind person, still gentle just like he's always been. A perfect gentleman. Now instead of a chunky round baby, he's a long and lean man.
My verse for him is Proverbs 22:23,24 "He who has a wise son delights in him. May you father and mother be glad. May she who gave you birth rejoice." I'm still praying that he'll always be wise and I know that the one who gave him birth does rejoice in who he is.
Labels: birthdays, Christopher
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 2/19/2007 09:14:00 PM
2 Comments
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy Birthday to Me
With much second guessing and trepidation, I am posting my favorite birthday greeting of the day. If you want to say something nice and send me your greeting, please know you have my blessing in the comment section. If you wish to be mean to me, go to www.bemeantovalerie.com. There you can leave all the rude stuff. This birthday wish is from my sister Stacie.
Happy Birthday, Valerie.
You always write such eloquent birthday tributes to those you love and this simple greeting seems so pale in comparison.
What do I love about you: You have the most wonderful humor. You can make me laugh like no other and you laugh with me so whole heartedly. You writing is so fun to read because it can make me laugh though you are so subtle in the effort. I'm so impressed.
You are a great listener. Truly. You don't interrupt (like me) and I always feel like you really hear. Poor souls that have no one to listen. You listen to me blab on about what I made for dinner, what I wore to work, all the places I went, blah, blah, blah. Wonderful.
You are a willing learner. I mean, you've learned to sew, candle make, quilt make, cake decorate, geneology sleuth, write, etc? You do it with gusto and competently. I stop before I start because I know I can't be an "expert".....
You are humble. Yes, you are and no, you haven't always been.
You share freely and graciously your mistakes, misjudgements, hurts, pain, embarrassments, social errors, mis-steps, etc. There is something "freeing" about it when you share your confessions so honestly. God bless this trait.
I think I may be out of room, but you are a wonderful sister. I love you so much and I am so blessed to have such a dear dear friend and confidant. You are important to me and I miss you ever so much. Post this if you like and maybe others will add their love. If they don't, I know you will humbly learn from it :)!
Happy birthday, stacie
Happy Birthday, Valerie.
You always write such eloquent birthday tributes to those you love and this simple greeting seems so pale in comparison.
What do I love about you: You have the most wonderful humor. You can make me laugh like no other and you laugh with me so whole heartedly. You writing is so fun to read because it can make me laugh though you are so subtle in the effort. I'm so impressed.
You are a great listener. Truly. You don't interrupt (like me) and I always feel like you really hear. Poor souls that have no one to listen. You listen to me blab on about what I made for dinner, what I wore to work, all the places I went, blah, blah, blah. Wonderful.
You are a willing learner. I mean, you've learned to sew, candle make, quilt make, cake decorate, geneology sleuth, write, etc? You do it with gusto and competently. I stop before I start because I know I can't be an "expert".....
You are humble. Yes, you are and no, you haven't always been.
You share freely and graciously your mistakes, misjudgements, hurts, pain, embarrassments, social errors, mis-steps, etc. There is something "freeing" about it when you share your confessions so honestly. God bless this trait.
I think I may be out of room, but you are a wonderful sister. I love you so much and I am so blessed to have such a dear dear friend and confidant. You are important to me and I miss you ever so much. Post this if you like and maybe others will add their love. If they don't, I know you will humbly learn from it :)!
Happy birthday, stacie
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 2/14/2007 03:56:00 PM
9 Comments
Friday, December 01, 2006
Happy Birthday Diane
Today is my sister Diane's birthday. She is the oldest of my siblings, 8 years older than me. Diane married Herbie right out of high school, the summer before I started 4th grade. They moved away shortly thereafter. Fortunately for me, they moved back when I was in high school. After I married, she and I became best friends. As the years rolled by, we got closer and closer. Finally we were so close and so similar that I wondered if it were possible to be any closer. We thought so much alike that when she phoned me from Canada in the summer of 1992 and said, "Guess what? I met your husband last night," I took her seriously. Sure enough, 4 months later Gordon came to Arkansas and we hit it off. Diane got that ball rolling on her very own.
My best memories from living in Arkansas as an adult have Diane in them. We talked about almost every thing and laughed at nearly anything.
While I was in Arkansas recently, Diane got a hotel room with one king size bed. She, Stacie, and I stayed up talking into the early morning hours. As you may know, Diane is the only sibling that is of normal body proportions. Stacie and I quickly carved out our niche on both edges of the bed. When Diane came out of the washroom, she found Stacie and me sprawled out greedily. Diane stood at the foot of the bed, stretched out her arms about 4 inches apart. As she motioned down the center of the bed, she asked, "Is this my crevice?"
A good sport, Diane accepted her fate af sleeping between her rotund sisters. Up at the crack of dawn - she said we both snored - Diane got dressed and ready for the day. When she came out of the bathroom, she again positioned herself at the foot of the bed. The time she clapped her hands lightly and said, "Time to wake up Little Cherubs."
Diane has always been quick to laugh and see the funny side of things. This of course is one of my favorite things about her. I have a fine repertoire of Dianisms that only a person who knows her could appreciate. "By crackies," "them selfish giraffes," and many other Barney Fife expressions. (She mourned and phoned all her kids when Don Knotts died.)
Diane is smart, an inquisitive researcher, a knowledgeable Bible teacher, a loving, devoted wife and mother. She loves a challenge and doesn't shy away from hard work. She did the tile work in their new home. It is beautiful and impressive and one would never guess it wasn't done by a professional. Diane takes pride in whatever she does, always doing her best.
She has many gifts and talents, but her ability to laugh and make others laugh are my favorites. Her wisdom, gained from years and years of being a student of the Bible, is what I most respect about her. I love and respect her very much.
Diane, I hope this birthday and this year are wonderful. You bless my life in so many ways. I'm thankful to God that you're my sister. I love you. Happy Birthday.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 12/01/2006 12:43:00 PM
1 Comments
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Gordon's Birthday
Tomorrow is my Gordo's birthday. We had our birthday celebration tonight, as he is in a course all weekend. Gordon is so sweet to make every birthday for me very special. Birthdays weren't all that special in my family of origin and I feel a little guilty for my inclination to make them no big deal. But I try.
We had his mother over for birthday supper. He chose taco salad for the menu and I made an apple desert.
I wrote a poem for the girls to read to him. I am no poet, and I know it. Therefore, I felt like quite the acheiver getting this to rhyme. It won't win any awards, but it goes like this:
On this your 44th Birthday
To honor you in a special way,
We’d love to tell you o’er and o’er
Of your many traits that we adore.
We can’t list them completely,
Because we’d all get sleepy.
But let us name a few,
To thank you for all you do.
Do not be disappointed
With our gifts so disjointed.
Our gifts may be small,
But our love is very tall.
Do you think that's corny? Well, your Mamma wears combat boots!!
His big gift was a Space Pen. Does that sound like a lame gift? Let me assure you it's not lame. It happens to be an expensive writing devise designed for astronaunts. Now when Gordon is investigating accidents in 30 degrees below zero, his pen will not "freeze up." Matter of fact, he could go to the moon and his pen would write. He could boil and write me a love note. He could go to the depths of the sea, and his pen would still write. This pen is no small potato.
We also got him a gift card to see "Fighter Pilot" at the IMAX. That is right up his alley.
Now about those small disjointed gifts. They were little things with notes attached to them.
A bag of mints - "Thank you for your commitMINT"
A package of bacon - "Thank you for the work you do to bring home the BACON"
A SKOR bar - "No matter how you slice it, you SKOR big with us."
A box of SMARTIES - "You're the SMARTest daddy we know."
A package of EXCEL gum - "You are an EXCELlent daddy and husband."
Happy Birthday Noogie Boy. I love you.
(When I call Gordon Noogie Boy, he returns the favor by calling me Pudgy Girl. Gosh, I love this guy.)
We had his mother over for birthday supper. He chose taco salad for the menu and I made an apple desert.
I wrote a poem for the girls to read to him. I am no poet, and I know it. Therefore, I felt like quite the acheiver getting this to rhyme. It won't win any awards, but it goes like this:
On this your 44th Birthday
To honor you in a special way,
We’d love to tell you o’er and o’er
Of your many traits that we adore.
We can’t list them completely,
Because we’d all get sleepy.
But let us name a few,
To thank you for all you do.
Do not be disappointed
With our gifts so disjointed.
Our gifts may be small,
But our love is very tall.
Do you think that's corny? Well, your Mamma wears combat boots!!
His big gift was a Space Pen. Does that sound like a lame gift? Let me assure you it's not lame. It happens to be an expensive writing devise designed for astronaunts. Now when Gordon is investigating accidents in 30 degrees below zero, his pen will not "freeze up." Matter of fact, he could go to the moon and his pen would write. He could boil and write me a love note. He could go to the depths of the sea, and his pen would still write. This pen is no small potato.
We also got him a gift card to see "Fighter Pilot" at the IMAX. That is right up his alley.
Now about those small disjointed gifts. They were little things with notes attached to them.
A bag of mints - "Thank you for your commitMINT"
A package of bacon - "Thank you for the work you do to bring home the BACON"
A SKOR bar - "No matter how you slice it, you SKOR big with us."
A box of SMARTIES - "You're the SMARTest daddy we know."
A package of EXCEL gum - "You are an EXCELlent daddy and husband."
Happy Birthday Noogie Boy. I love you.
(When I call Gordon Noogie Boy, he returns the favor by calling me Pudgy Girl. Gosh, I love this guy.)
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 10/26/2006 08:58:00 PM
3 Comments
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Deborah's Party
Deborah's birthday party didn't turn out quite like we'd hoped. Several friends and cousins came, but no friends from school came. I worried that her feelings would be hurt.
She dressed in her prettiest dress and waited expectantly for her guests. I sat back nervously praying she'd have a great time even with fewer kids than expected. Her 4 guests arrived and soon she was absorbed in play and fun. She ate lunch, played games, had a candy treasure hunt, had water balloon "fights," opened gifts and ate a lovely cake that I made. (Unfortunately in my anal efforts to get the cake "just right" spelled her name wrong. Debororah.)
Evening came and everyone went home. Deborah came and sat with me when she was dressed for bed. I asked if she'd had a good day, and without a moment's hesitation she said, "Mama, I had a GREAT day." I was blessed.
Last night Gordon worked so Deborah slept with me. She was asleep when I went to bed. I studied my sleeping baby who's growing up very quickly. Although she's a physically fit little girl, she still carries lots of baby fat in her cheeks. He face is darker than usual -- kissed by the sun. At 7-years-old, a very big 7, she still sucks her thumb when she sleeps. I gently pulled her thumb from her mouth. Her calloused--from the monkey bars--hand was quick to wrap around my fingers, just like a baby.
Struck like so many other times how quickly the kids are growing up, I prayed the prayer I've prayed many times: "Teach me to number my days so I can gain a heart of wisdom." (From the Psalms)
She dressed in her prettiest dress and waited expectantly for her guests. I sat back nervously praying she'd have a great time even with fewer kids than expected. Her 4 guests arrived and soon she was absorbed in play and fun. She ate lunch, played games, had a candy treasure hunt, had water balloon "fights," opened gifts and ate a lovely cake that I made. (Unfortunately in my anal efforts to get the cake "just right" spelled her name wrong. Debororah.)
Evening came and everyone went home. Deborah came and sat with me when she was dressed for bed. I asked if she'd had a good day, and without a moment's hesitation she said, "Mama, I had a GREAT day." I was blessed.
Last night Gordon worked so Deborah slept with me. She was asleep when I went to bed. I studied my sleeping baby who's growing up very quickly. Although she's a physically fit little girl, she still carries lots of baby fat in her cheeks. He face is darker than usual -- kissed by the sun. At 7-years-old, a very big 7, she still sucks her thumb when she sleeps. I gently pulled her thumb from her mouth. Her calloused--from the monkey bars--hand was quick to wrap around my fingers, just like a baby.
Struck like so many other times how quickly the kids are growing up, I prayed the prayer I've prayed many times: "Teach me to number my days so I can gain a heart of wisdom." (From the Psalms)
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/22/2006 12:14:00 PM
2 Comments
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Rachael is 11
Breakfast in Bed for an 11 year old.
Rachael’s 11th Birthday
Today is Rachael’s 11th birthday. We are at the World Waterpark in West Edmonton Mall enjoying a day of paradise.
Eleven years ago today in Calgary Alberta we welcomed little Rachael into our world. After hours and hours of traveling a painful few inches, she graced us. What glory it was to hold those 9.12 pounds of pink soft warm flesh of my flesh. I studied her for hours. My fingers kept returning to the cowlick on her forehead. I rubbed that smooth-as-silk spot over and over and over. (Rachael dubbed it “pocket” when she was 3). Without taking my eyes off Rachael, I asked Dr Savoia if she noticed Rachael’s cowlick and she responded graciously, “She’s so stylish.” (Remember women gelled their hair in 1995 to create that look Rachael was born with.) It was a marvelous experience welcoming Rachael in this world. My life was more colorful and full thereafter.
Gordon came to the hospital with a white lace dress with pink ribbons. When I opened it, I was taken aback by its size; 18 months. When I pointed that out he said, “but it’s so small.” She couldn’t wear it until she was 1. I have it hanging in our guest room on the wall with an outfit from all my newborns. Her’s is the biggest, but that memory of a proud first-time Daddy buying her a dress was too sweet to forget.
Rachael was a wonderfully content baby. She cooed and smiled and was too beautiful to describe. After she was born, I missed my Arkansas family so much. They know how to properly dote on babies - a skill that, generally speaking, Canadians are moronic in. I wanted someone to meet my precious baby who knew how to ooh and awh appropriately.
I remember the first time Rachael laughed like it was yesterday. I had her sitting in a carrier on the kitchen table. I was beside her paying bills and sipping iced tea. I took a drink and when the ice hit my lips, I inadvertently made a big “slurp” sound. Rachael cackled. I did it again and again and each time she burst out in a raucous laughter. She did it so long and so hard I had time to phone Gordon, Mama and Stacie. I would slurp my tea and Rachael would cackle heartily as I and the person on the other end of the phone line laughed too.
Not long after that experience we had a similar one. This time it was me eating an apple. The crunch of me biting into it sent her into another laughing spell.
When Rachael was 3 months old, I stepped over Gordon’s pants that were on the floor and bang, I was pregnant again. So at 13 months she became a big sister. She was and is a great big sister and has always had a big space in her heart for Hannah. They were inseparable and practically still are.
When Hannah was 3 she did something at the dinner table and Gordon rebuked her. Rachael quickly spun her head to her daddy and with no timidity whatsoever in her voice pronounced, “I don’t appreciate you talking to my sister like that.” To say that Gordon and I were shocked is an understatement. Gordon rebounded from the shock quickly and told Rachael he was Hannah’s daddy and it was his responsibility to train her. As adamantly as her first statement, she declared, “Fine! I’ll break your bus!” (Gordon works for the transit system). It was terribly funny, but we held our laughter in check till we were alone, then Gordon said, “Imagine that at 11.”
Today she is 11. I’m thankful to say she’s wonderfully sweet, innocent, helpful, and responsible. She is a pure delight.
Tonight I’ll lie beside her for a few minutes when I tuck her in. We’ll talk about her day at the waterpark and as she talks, I’ll be rubbing that still smooth-as-silk pocket on her forehead.
I love my sweet Rachael way more than I have words to articulate. She brings a little touch of heaven to my world.
Happy 11th Birthday Rachael. I love you.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/20/2006 10:52:00 AM
2 Comments
Little Eric
Sunday at Deborah's birthday party, our 2 year old nephew Eric had no desire to keep his clothes on. He spent a good amount of time running around the backyard naked.
At one point he made his way into the house unnoticed. When he came back, he carried next to his naked little body a book that Gordon had bought just the day before.
He lovingly brought the book to his mommy and cracked it open to reveal a green piece of art (scribble) he'd created. Having opened the book to his artwork, he proudly proclaimed, "TA-DA."
It was a sweet moment of pure innocence.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 7/20/2006 10:49:00 AM
1 Comments
Monday, July 03, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Happy Birthday Debbie
This week my best friend--also the friend I've had the longest-- turns 44. I can hardly believe how old she's gotten. :-)
Debbie and I became friends years ago through our husbands. Steve and Kent were best friends, so after Kent and I married, she and I were sort of forced into friendship. Truthfully, I tolerated her at first. She was too forceful for my taste. On occasion I called her a Yankee and I didn't mean it nicely. (She's from Iowa, and Iowa is north of the Mason Dixon, you know.)
Being forceful, she forced her way into my life. I was aloof and snotty and she was jovial and gregarious. When we ended up on the same block--simply a few houses from each other-- I began to love her and appreciate her. She accepted me for who I was, only occasionally calling me a snot. I eventually came to find her forceful, bossy way refreshing.
We've said over the years that we had "community" before it became a popular subject. Unfortunately neither of us knew back then just how good we had it. How many people can walk to their best friend's house in 2 minutes? How many people can feel comfortable chatting in the living room while the other irons? How convenient is it when you can make a phone call and say, "we're ordering Sonic. Ya want anything?" I'd give nearly anything to have that kind of "community" now. But she's in Florida and I'm in Canada.
Debbie is hilarious, laughs easily, doesn't take herself too seriously. She's commited, good, and kind. She's also quirky. I've never been big into the ironing scene, but Debbie use to iron everything. To me that requires a lot of attention to detail. So how could someone who is so detailed in ironing totally miss obvious details in other areas? One time I recall 4 jugs of milk sitting on her table, all of them sour and curdled. That night as Kent and I walked home, he said, "there was another jug of sour milk on the table tonight." (There had been only 3 the previous visit.) He sighed, "I've been thinking, maybe we shouldn't eat her cooking anymore." Debbie and I still laugh at that one.
Once she and I got it in our heads that we could make a killin' by having a booth at a craft sale. We rented a space for Lum and Abner's craft sale in the park. Over the next weeks (months?), we sanded, stained, and painted a bajillion geese that said, "I Love Country," cutting boards with roosters on them, and dozens of colorful wooden tulips. We were proud of our acomplishments. The night before the craft sale started, we loaded our boxes with care. As we knelt on the floor wrapping our hand-crafted valuables, Debbie informed, "I figured it up. If I sale everything I've made, I'll make $435."
The next 2 days held nothing but humiliation for us. Hundreds of folks looked at our crafts, and moved on. We sold nothing all weekend but one cutting board, and it was to my sympathizing kind mother-in-law. We were so embarrassed and quickly gave up the craft business.
Debbie and I were always scheming to find ways to make money. We had a couple garage sales, and we did well on them. The last one we had I wore a new underwire bra that felt like it was cutting me. I went inside to take it off for a spell to get some relief. I had no more gotten the bra off when Debbie bolted through the backdoor like a maniac screaming indiscernable craziness. "GET OUT THERE! Oh Dear Jesus, help me! GET OUT THERE! Jesus, help me. GET OUT THERE! John, Dora, and Cora are out there. GO, GET OUT THERE!"
I was clearly "in the dark" why she couldn't face these older folks from church, but I was not about to go outside without a bra on. She screamed again, "GET OUT THERE!" and I screamed back, "I DON'T HAVE A BRA ON. I CAN'T GO OUT THERE." We screamed at each other like crazy women; I'm sure our 3 shoppers could hear us. Debbie calmed down enough to beg instead of yell. "Please, you've got to go out there. All the wedding gifts they gave us are out there."
I don't recall how it came to be, but we both ended up out there. John, Dora, and Cora bought all the gifts they'd given Debbie as wedding presents and they went to Debbie to pay for them. When they drove off, we nearly died laughing.
Debbie was like a second mom to Stephanie. Stephanie called Steve and Debbie, "Uncle Stoobie" and "Aunt Doobie." Debbie would have gladly taken Stephanie off my hands. They loved each other very much.
Now Debbie is a mom. Katie, Caleb, and Carly are very blessed to have a mom just like Debbie. And it goes without saying that Steve is amazingly blessed to have Debbie for a wife.
I wish we still lived down the street from each other. I'd love for our kids to grow up together. I'd love to watch her iron again. I'd love to go get Sonic burgers together again. What I wouldn't give to have that "community" again. She was a great friend to me--the best I've ever had. I'm so glad to have her in my life although it's a lot different now that we have thousands of miles between us.
Debbie I hope you have a GREAT birthday. I want to be just like you when I'm your age. :-)))) I love you.
Debbie and I became friends years ago through our husbands. Steve and Kent were best friends, so after Kent and I married, she and I were sort of forced into friendship. Truthfully, I tolerated her at first. She was too forceful for my taste. On occasion I called her a Yankee and I didn't mean it nicely. (She's from Iowa, and Iowa is north of the Mason Dixon, you know.)
Being forceful, she forced her way into my life. I was aloof and snotty and she was jovial and gregarious. When we ended up on the same block--simply a few houses from each other-- I began to love her and appreciate her. She accepted me for who I was, only occasionally calling me a snot. I eventually came to find her forceful, bossy way refreshing.
We've said over the years that we had "community" before it became a popular subject. Unfortunately neither of us knew back then just how good we had it. How many people can walk to their best friend's house in 2 minutes? How many people can feel comfortable chatting in the living room while the other irons? How convenient is it when you can make a phone call and say, "we're ordering Sonic. Ya want anything?" I'd give nearly anything to have that kind of "community" now. But she's in Florida and I'm in Canada.
Debbie is hilarious, laughs easily, doesn't take herself too seriously. She's commited, good, and kind. She's also quirky. I've never been big into the ironing scene, but Debbie use to iron everything. To me that requires a lot of attention to detail. So how could someone who is so detailed in ironing totally miss obvious details in other areas? One time I recall 4 jugs of milk sitting on her table, all of them sour and curdled. That night as Kent and I walked home, he said, "there was another jug of sour milk on the table tonight." (There had been only 3 the previous visit.) He sighed, "I've been thinking, maybe we shouldn't eat her cooking anymore." Debbie and I still laugh at that one.
Once she and I got it in our heads that we could make a killin' by having a booth at a craft sale. We rented a space for Lum and Abner's craft sale in the park. Over the next weeks (months?), we sanded, stained, and painted a bajillion geese that said, "I Love Country," cutting boards with roosters on them, and dozens of colorful wooden tulips. We were proud of our acomplishments. The night before the craft sale started, we loaded our boxes with care. As we knelt on the floor wrapping our hand-crafted valuables, Debbie informed, "I figured it up. If I sale everything I've made, I'll make $435."
The next 2 days held nothing but humiliation for us. Hundreds of folks looked at our crafts, and moved on. We sold nothing all weekend but one cutting board, and it was to my sympathizing kind mother-in-law. We were so embarrassed and quickly gave up the craft business.
Debbie and I were always scheming to find ways to make money. We had a couple garage sales, and we did well on them. The last one we had I wore a new underwire bra that felt like it was cutting me. I went inside to take it off for a spell to get some relief. I had no more gotten the bra off when Debbie bolted through the backdoor like a maniac screaming indiscernable craziness. "GET OUT THERE! Oh Dear Jesus, help me! GET OUT THERE! Jesus, help me. GET OUT THERE! John, Dora, and Cora are out there. GO, GET OUT THERE!"
I was clearly "in the dark" why she couldn't face these older folks from church, but I was not about to go outside without a bra on. She screamed again, "GET OUT THERE!" and I screamed back, "I DON'T HAVE A BRA ON. I CAN'T GO OUT THERE." We screamed at each other like crazy women; I'm sure our 3 shoppers could hear us. Debbie calmed down enough to beg instead of yell. "Please, you've got to go out there. All the wedding gifts they gave us are out there."
I don't recall how it came to be, but we both ended up out there. John, Dora, and Cora bought all the gifts they'd given Debbie as wedding presents and they went to Debbie to pay for them. When they drove off, we nearly died laughing.
Debbie was like a second mom to Stephanie. Stephanie called Steve and Debbie, "Uncle Stoobie" and "Aunt Doobie." Debbie would have gladly taken Stephanie off my hands. They loved each other very much.
Now Debbie is a mom. Katie, Caleb, and Carly are very blessed to have a mom just like Debbie. And it goes without saying that Steve is amazingly blessed to have Debbie for a wife.
I wish we still lived down the street from each other. I'd love for our kids to grow up together. I'd love to watch her iron again. I'd love to go get Sonic burgers together again. What I wouldn't give to have that "community" again. She was a great friend to me--the best I've ever had. I'm so glad to have her in my life although it's a lot different now that we have thousands of miles between us.
Debbie I hope you have a GREAT birthday. I want to be just like you when I'm your age. :-)))) I love you.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 4/11/2006 09:13:00 PM
2 Comments
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Happy Birthday Stephanie
When you were born, everybody was smiling and you were crying. Live your life so that when you die, you're smiling and everyone around you is crying.- Old Indian Saying
21 years ago today our world was made much richer. Stephanie Elise gushed painfully into our world at 7:05 in the morning. She weighed 8 pounds 12 ounces and had dark black hair. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my whole life. I loved her with all my heart from the first moment I laid eyes on her. Soon after her birth I cross-stitched a poem entitled, Daughter. It read: "God never loved me in so sweet a way as when he brought you to me and said, Behold your Daughter." All the emotions that swelled in me were profoundly powerful. God's love for me suddenly became more real. My mother's love for me became more tangible. My love for Stephanie, I had no words for. It was the most full, satisfying, self-sacrificing, sweet thing I ever knew.
When she was 5 nights old, a crack of thunder woke her. Her lips quivered as she cried. It was my first bittersweet moment of motherhood. I was sad that she was startled so rudely by nature, but glad to know for sure she wasn't deaf. A 19-year-old mom isn't the brightest star in the sky and I had wondered if she could hear me when I talked and sang to her. After that evening, I had one less burden to bear. I knew she could hear.
When she was just starting to walk, she fell on the sidewalk in front of Union Mission Church. It was her first injury. Her lip bled and swelled up and once her crying subsided, she kept sticking her tongue out to feel her swollen lip. I cradled her for a long time as she recuperated from her trauma and I cried longer than she did. Once she regained her equilibrium - she had just discovered that life wasn't always perfect - her swollen lip was her badge of honor. She cranked her neck outward to make her swollen lip obvious as she showed everyone her battle scar.
She started singing hymns as soon as she could talk, as I always sang hymns to her when I rocked her. Once while visiting her Papaw Jack, he was tickled when she picked up a cloth and started rubbing his coffee table singing, "Dust and Obey, for there's no other way to be happy in Jesus than to dust and obey."
There was a very very old lady in our lives named Grace. Once as I rocked her she asked me to sing "Amazing Stoobie." Stoobie was what she called Steve Tannehill. I was puzzled but she cleared up my confusion by saying, "that song you sing about Miss Grace, sing it about Stoobie." Are you smiling? She had a gift for making others smile. She still does.
When Stephanie had her first nightmare I wentinto charismatic rant rebuking Satan and telling him he couldn't do that to my baby. My theology was cloudy, but my mothering instinct was clear as a bell. She came running down the hall toward our bedroom looking over her shoulder as she ran, screaming about a bumble-bee chasing her.
Stephanie had her own quirky words and to this day I still use some of them. She called gloves, glubs. She combined slick and slippery to form the word slickery. When she saw something cute she said, "Isn't that adorablish?"
Once after her cousin CJ slept over I found a pair of his Superman underwear. I washed them and put them in her drawer, as that seemed logical to me, assuming CJ would sleep over again and need them. Well, once she discovered them in her drawer, she came into our bedroom like a girl on a mission. She went straight to Kent's underwear drawer and as she stuffed CJ's undies into it, she dramatically said, "That Daddy, he is such a silly boy putting his panties in my drawer."
Stephanie, dear dear Stephanie, of all my children, definitely takes the cake on having embarrassed me the most times. Stephanie used to think it and say it at the same moment. If it entered her mind, it came out her mouth. With her nose wrinkled in disgust, she asked a young man with a serious acne condition, "Why do you have all those bumps on your face?" Another time she asked a friend with crooked teeth, "How come your teeth are so bended?" At a restaurant in Hot Springs, as our black waiter poured our tea she very seriously asked, "Mama is that a black man?" Then she topped that by saying, "Mama, why are you pinching me?"
At a ladies' meeting one evening, she went up to a legless lady in a wheelchair, propped her hands on her hips and demanded, "Where are your shoes?" The room hushed and grew hot within a couple seconds. Finally someone spoke, "Valerie, isn't that your daughter?" At that moment everyone wanted it to be clear Stephanie that was not their daughter.
That night no one was trying to claim her, but if they could see her and know her now, they would know they made a bad choice. She is a young lady of upstanding character and goodness. She is beautiful, truly beautiful from the inside out. Everyone who knows her surely must love her. She has sown much love and joy into her family.
May God keep my sweet Stephanie in His great big loving hands. Happy Birthday Stephanie. I love you.
21 years ago today our world was made much richer. Stephanie Elise gushed painfully into our world at 7:05 in the morning. She weighed 8 pounds 12 ounces and had dark black hair. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my whole life. I loved her with all my heart from the first moment I laid eyes on her. Soon after her birth I cross-stitched a poem entitled, Daughter. It read: "God never loved me in so sweet a way as when he brought you to me and said, Behold your Daughter." All the emotions that swelled in me were profoundly powerful. God's love for me suddenly became more real. My mother's love for me became more tangible. My love for Stephanie, I had no words for. It was the most full, satisfying, self-sacrificing, sweet thing I ever knew.
When she was 5 nights old, a crack of thunder woke her. Her lips quivered as she cried. It was my first bittersweet moment of motherhood. I was sad that she was startled so rudely by nature, but glad to know for sure she wasn't deaf. A 19-year-old mom isn't the brightest star in the sky and I had wondered if she could hear me when I talked and sang to her. After that evening, I had one less burden to bear. I knew she could hear.
When she was just starting to walk, she fell on the sidewalk in front of Union Mission Church. It was her first injury. Her lip bled and swelled up and once her crying subsided, she kept sticking her tongue out to feel her swollen lip. I cradled her for a long time as she recuperated from her trauma and I cried longer than she did. Once she regained her equilibrium - she had just discovered that life wasn't always perfect - her swollen lip was her badge of honor. She cranked her neck outward to make her swollen lip obvious as she showed everyone her battle scar.
She started singing hymns as soon as she could talk, as I always sang hymns to her when I rocked her. Once while visiting her Papaw Jack, he was tickled when she picked up a cloth and started rubbing his coffee table singing, "Dust and Obey, for there's no other way to be happy in Jesus than to dust and obey."
There was a very very old lady in our lives named Grace. Once as I rocked her she asked me to sing "Amazing Stoobie." Stoobie was what she called Steve Tannehill. I was puzzled but she cleared up my confusion by saying, "that song you sing about Miss Grace, sing it about Stoobie." Are you smiling? She had a gift for making others smile. She still does.
When Stephanie had her first nightmare I wentinto charismatic rant rebuking Satan and telling him he couldn't do that to my baby. My theology was cloudy, but my mothering instinct was clear as a bell. She came running down the hall toward our bedroom looking over her shoulder as she ran, screaming about a bumble-bee chasing her.
Stephanie had her own quirky words and to this day I still use some of them. She called gloves, glubs. She combined slick and slippery to form the word slickery. When she saw something cute she said, "Isn't that adorablish?"
Once after her cousin CJ slept over I found a pair of his Superman underwear. I washed them and put them in her drawer, as that seemed logical to me, assuming CJ would sleep over again and need them. Well, once she discovered them in her drawer, she came into our bedroom like a girl on a mission. She went straight to Kent's underwear drawer and as she stuffed CJ's undies into it, she dramatically said, "That Daddy, he is such a silly boy putting his panties in my drawer."
Stephanie, dear dear Stephanie, of all my children, definitely takes the cake on having embarrassed me the most times. Stephanie used to think it and say it at the same moment. If it entered her mind, it came out her mouth. With her nose wrinkled in disgust, she asked a young man with a serious acne condition, "Why do you have all those bumps on your face?" Another time she asked a friend with crooked teeth, "How come your teeth are so bended?" At a restaurant in Hot Springs, as our black waiter poured our tea she very seriously asked, "Mama is that a black man?" Then she topped that by saying, "Mama, why are you pinching me?"
At a ladies' meeting one evening, she went up to a legless lady in a wheelchair, propped her hands on her hips and demanded, "Where are your shoes?" The room hushed and grew hot within a couple seconds. Finally someone spoke, "Valerie, isn't that your daughter?" At that moment everyone wanted it to be clear Stephanie that was not their daughter.
That night no one was trying to claim her, but if they could see her and know her now, they would know they made a bad choice. She is a young lady of upstanding character and goodness. She is beautiful, truly beautiful from the inside out. Everyone who knows her surely must love her. She has sown much love and joy into her family.
May God keep my sweet Stephanie in His great big loving hands. Happy Birthday Stephanie. I love you.
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 3/26/2006 12:53:00 AM
5 Comments
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Birthday Books
Gordon got me 2 books for my birthday. They didn't arrive for my birthday, so I got them today. Doesn't "Swinging By the Garden Gate, A Spiritual Memoir" sound like a good book? Well I personally love the title.
I opened the box and immediately read the back cover. "Uh, Gordon, this book is about the spiritual journey of a lesbian. It's about accepting your orientation."
"Humph, I guess that's not what we were expecting," he grunted.
We laughed. I skimmed the book to see if there were any dirty parts. There weren't. My birthday presents are being shipped back to Amazon tomorrow. He didn't ask what books I wanted in their place.
I opened the box and immediately read the back cover. "Uh, Gordon, this book is about the spiritual journey of a lesbian. It's about accepting your orientation."
"Humph, I guess that's not what we were expecting," he grunted.
We laughed. I skimmed the book to see if there were any dirty parts. There weren't. My birthday presents are being shipped back to Amazon tomorrow. He didn't ask what books I wanted in their place.
Labels: birthdays
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 2/21/2006 09:00:00 PM
3 Comments
Monday, February 20, 2006
Christopher is 17
Today is my only son's 17th birthday. Everyone should have someone in their life like Christopher. He brings delight and joy wherever he is. He weighed 9.3 when he was born; a chunky, beautiful, fair-skinned bundle of love. For the first few hours he was naked because the nurses couldn't find a "hospital issue" sleeper big enough for him. Dr Mesko gave the babies he delivered a t-shirt that read "Delivered with Love by Dr. Mesko." From Christopher's first breath, he was too big for that t-shirt. (But I still have it.)
He was a very contented baby who slept lots, was pleasant when he was awake, was easily entertained, and who smiled lots and lots. Everyone loved Christopher. At church, people gravitated to him so they could enjoy he gummy smiles. Mike Holder use to get in Christopher's face and say, "Christopher, get a job," and Christopher would kick and cackle excitedly.
When he was 3 he began developing a fine sense of humor. I'm sure he had heard these expressions somewhere, but one winter day he, Stephanie, and I went for a drive in the country. Christopher said, "Mom, I need to water my horse." Puzzled, I asked what he meant. "You know Mom, I need to make some mud." I quickly figured out he needed to pee.
Around the same time he entered a very pronounced cowboy phase. He took it very seriously, wearing western clothes and boots everywhere. What I wouldn't give to have those little gray boots now. Gordon sent him a lariat and Christopher took it wherever he went. He rode his tricycle down the sidewalk hollering "giddy-up" or "Eeeeeaww" playing like he was roping calves with his new rope.
After Gordon and I got engaged, we came to Canada for a visit. We went to Ft Steele to enjoy the western frontier life for a day. Gordon had a "connection" there so Christopher got to sit on one of the gigantic Belgian horses that even I would have been scared to sit on. The horse took one step and Christopher's eyes grew wide and he declared, "Wooooe, this one's a wiiiild one."
When we moved to Canada, he quickly adopted Gordon's fuzzy blanket with a horse on it as his own. To this day, we call that blanket the horsie blanket. At nap time he would curl up in his horsie blanket and when I left his room I'd say "Nappy Noon Christopher." He would counter with, "Mom, cowboys don't say Nappy Noon."
The next summer when he came to visit, I rented some videos about real cowboys. We watched boy cows being made steers (being neutered) and Christopher watched with sympathetic eyes. I explained the process and the reason behind it as best I knew. He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, "When I get my farm, I'm not gonna do that to my cows."
The cowboy obsession is far behind Christopher. Now he drives a hippy van, plays football, leads worship some, plays guitar, and takes kindness and joy everywhere he goes.
I'm thankful for Christopher. I'm thankful I was chosen to give him birth. I'm thankful for the innumerable precious memories I have. I'm thankful Christopher walks with God and desires to honor and glorify him with his life.
Happy Birthday Christopher. I pray it will be a GREAT year for you. I love you.
Labels: birthdays, Christopher, photos
posted by Valerie Dykstra @ 2/20/2006 05:02:00 PM
5 Comments
