I have not been able to keep up with posting on two separate blogs. I just can't keep it together. And that knowledge has made me an apathetic blogger pretty much all summer long.
Plus, my mom has had issues with logging onto my first blog when I made it private.
So, after piddling around on Blogger for the last hour, I exported everything from Tanja Lasagna back to my previous blog. I reset the original blog from being private back to being open to the public. And I deleted some posts that were common to both blogs. And then I re-named the first blog Tanja Lasagna and made it look pretty much exactly like this one.
So ends my experiment that started back in early April.
I'll keep this blog open for awhile, but I'll only post back on my previous blog. You can get there by clicking here.
Hey, I've always known I'm indecisive. If this is news to you, then kudos, you just learned something new today. I'm happy to help further your education. No tuition payment necessary.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Back for a Bit
I've been on a technology hiatus. No real reason. I didn't make the conscious decision to take a break, but every time I sat down in front of the computer, I just didn't feel like taking the time to post on the blog. And I haven't been chained to Facebook lately either.
I have a bunch of pictures from the summer to post, but no time right now.
First, an update off of my last post. My medical tests came back normal. So, for now, I'm still off the medication I mentioned. I'll go back for blood work in a few months and see if everything continues as it should be instead of all whacked.
Second, Clay has started playing football, but I'm not sure if it's a going to be a lasting thing. He loved all the equipment once he brought it home. He had Spencer and Allison smacking all over him. "Go ahead. It won't hurt me a bit."
I think he enjoys the practices, too, with all the other guys. But I don't see his heart in this sport.
We don't typically let him quit something once he starts, but we'll probably make an exception this time. Especially since the team is practicing for another month before the first game. That and the fact that I resent the intrusion into our family life... practices four nights a week, for two hours, right when we normally sit down to supper.
I know some families are big time sports nuts. And for them, it works somehow. But we are not, and it doesn't.
I want my kids to play sports for fun and fitness and to learn a sense of sportsmanship. Beyond that, family time is more crucial. And I'm a huge proponent for family dinners together. Even if dinner is just sandwiches.
Stuff came to a head last night with Clay and we had to have a talk with him. He's giving it until the end of this week and then he has to make up his mind. Keep playing or quit. But if he quits, he has to tell the coach. We won't do it for him.
We'll see how it all plays out.
But for now it's time for an early dinner, without my husband, so that I can rush Clay out the door for practice. For two hours. In an area with no playground for the younger two to play at.
It'll be fun.
Sure it will.
I have a bunch of pictures from the summer to post, but no time right now.
First, an update off of my last post. My medical tests came back normal. So, for now, I'm still off the medication I mentioned. I'll go back for blood work in a few months and see if everything continues as it should be instead of all whacked.
Second, Clay has started playing football, but I'm not sure if it's a going to be a lasting thing. He loved all the equipment once he brought it home. He had Spencer and Allison smacking all over him. "Go ahead. It won't hurt me a bit."
I think he enjoys the practices, too, with all the other guys. But I don't see his heart in this sport.
We don't typically let him quit something once he starts, but we'll probably make an exception this time. Especially since the team is practicing for another month before the first game. That and the fact that I resent the intrusion into our family life... practices four nights a week, for two hours, right when we normally sit down to supper.
I know some families are big time sports nuts. And for them, it works somehow. But we are not, and it doesn't.
I want my kids to play sports for fun and fitness and to learn a sense of sportsmanship. Beyond that, family time is more crucial. And I'm a huge proponent for family dinners together. Even if dinner is just sandwiches.
Stuff came to a head last night with Clay and we had to have a talk with him. He's giving it until the end of this week and then he has to make up his mind. Keep playing or quit. But if he quits, he has to tell the coach. We won't do it for him.
We'll see how it all plays out.
But for now it's time for an early dinner, without my husband, so that I can rush Clay out the door for practice. For two hours. In an area with no playground for the younger two to play at.
It'll be fun.
Sure it will.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Downer Doctor
I just got back from an annual doctor's appointment that I've been dreading. I'm not typically nervous about my appointments with my endocrinologist.
In fact, I know exactly what the doctor will do each time I go: check my peripheral vision, listen to my heart, prod around the area near my neck and collar bone, push at my ankles to check for swelling, ask me some personal questions and write an order for blood to be drawn. Every few years, I get an MRI as well.
I don't want to air my whole medical history. I only bring all this up because I'm irritated.
I take a medication for this particular ailment and have for more than a decade. Earlier this year, for the first time in a very long time, I read the pamphlet included with the drug. The one that lists every conceivable side effect. A few statements concerned me, so I called the doctor.
I didn't actually talk to the doctor. No. Because that would be too much like trying to reach The President directly. I wrote a note and faxed it to the office for the doctor to read.
Basically, I wanted to get off the medication.
I'm very hands-on about my health. I don't rely on insurance companies, hospital staff, doctors or nurses to know everything about what's going on with my body.
If there's anything that being a mom has taught me about doctors, it's that they don't know everything. They're just people. Highly educated, but often very rushed, people.
To ask to get off this medicine wasn't some flighty decision. I prayed hard about it before I made the request and quite often ever since I quit taking it. (The doctor gave his okay grudgingly. After thinking I was nuts.)
Based on results from my medical tests in past years, I have been praying that this particular issue is no longer an issue. I would like just a little miracle for me, please, Jesus.
Today's appointment, with its blood test and possible follow-up MRI, was only causing me some stress because I would find out if I get my miracle or not. Either way, I'm going to be A-Okay, because I know God's got my back. I'd just like to stop taking this medicine because I'm not a pill popper in general. And this particular medicine is stinkin' expensive!
Plus, I want to quit seeing this doctor altogether. He's okay. But I only see him once every two years - every other year I see his nurse practitioner. It's very hard to get an appointment with him.
I'd like to just have my family doctor oversee my care. I can get an appointment with him usually the day I call... worst case, within the same week.
All that background to frame today's appointment.
The doctor told me that I didn't need to be concerned about my previous medication causing the problems I'd read about since those things were only listed on the pamphlet because the drug is in a class of drugs that causes those problems. My particular drug did not.
Fine. Whatever. I still don't want to take something if I don't need it anymore. And unless my blood shows something that my body isn't making clear to me with other symptoms, then I'd like to hold out hope for my miracle, thank you very much.
Then he said, "Well, we'll check your levels and see if you need to get back on your medicine. Which I expect you will."
How rude would it be to stick out your tongue and shoot a raspberry at a medical professional?
I might have considered that response more thoroughly had I not been wearing my Third Day t-shirt. I think the Lord smiled down on me for my restraint.
I just hate it when someone rains on my parade! I'm still waiting for my miracle.
God can tell me "no" if He wants to.
A doctor cannot.
"For I am the LORD who heals you."
Exodus 15:26
In fact, I know exactly what the doctor will do each time I go: check my peripheral vision, listen to my heart, prod around the area near my neck and collar bone, push at my ankles to check for swelling, ask me some personal questions and write an order for blood to be drawn. Every few years, I get an MRI as well.
I don't want to air my whole medical history. I only bring all this up because I'm irritated.
I take a medication for this particular ailment and have for more than a decade. Earlier this year, for the first time in a very long time, I read the pamphlet included with the drug. The one that lists every conceivable side effect. A few statements concerned me, so I called the doctor.
I didn't actually talk to the doctor. No. Because that would be too much like trying to reach The President directly. I wrote a note and faxed it to the office for the doctor to read.
Basically, I wanted to get off the medication.
I'm very hands-on about my health. I don't rely on insurance companies, hospital staff, doctors or nurses to know everything about what's going on with my body.
If there's anything that being a mom has taught me about doctors, it's that they don't know everything. They're just people. Highly educated, but often very rushed, people.
To ask to get off this medicine wasn't some flighty decision. I prayed hard about it before I made the request and quite often ever since I quit taking it. (The doctor gave his okay grudgingly. After thinking I was nuts.)
Based on results from my medical tests in past years, I have been praying that this particular issue is no longer an issue. I would like just a little miracle for me, please, Jesus.
Today's appointment, with its blood test and possible follow-up MRI, was only causing me some stress because I would find out if I get my miracle or not. Either way, I'm going to be A-Okay, because I know God's got my back. I'd just like to stop taking this medicine because I'm not a pill popper in general. And this particular medicine is stinkin' expensive!
Plus, I want to quit seeing this doctor altogether. He's okay. But I only see him once every two years - every other year I see his nurse practitioner. It's very hard to get an appointment with him.
I'd like to just have my family doctor oversee my care. I can get an appointment with him usually the day I call... worst case, within the same week.
All that background to frame today's appointment.
The doctor told me that I didn't need to be concerned about my previous medication causing the problems I'd read about since those things were only listed on the pamphlet because the drug is in a class of drugs that causes those problems. My particular drug did not.
Fine. Whatever. I still don't want to take something if I don't need it anymore. And unless my blood shows something that my body isn't making clear to me with other symptoms, then I'd like to hold out hope for my miracle, thank you very much.
Then he said, "Well, we'll check your levels and see if you need to get back on your medicine. Which I expect you will."
How rude would it be to stick out your tongue and shoot a raspberry at a medical professional?
I might have considered that response more thoroughly had I not been wearing my Third Day t-shirt. I think the Lord smiled down on me for my restraint.
I just hate it when someone rains on my parade! I'm still waiting for my miracle.
God can tell me "no" if He wants to.
A doctor cannot.
"For I am the LORD who heals you."
Exodus 15:26
Monday, June 22, 2009
Old Becomes New
A college friend posted a link on his Facebook status the other day to the following video. It's a group from Slovenia singing Toto's "Africa" completely a capella. It starts with a "thunderstorm".
I thought it was so cool that I had Bruce listen, and then all three kids, too. Seriously, I got tears in my eyes. I can't tell you how many times I listened to that song so many years ago. Good times!
I was pretty sure I had an old Toto cassette with that song on it. Yes, cassette.
When I told Clay about it, he actually said, "What's a cassette?"
I moved my imaginary walker over to the entertainment center and worried about my bad hip as I got down to search through several old cassettes.
Ah-ha! There it was. My Toto cassette. Along with cassettes from Chicago, Journey, INXS, Howard Jones, The Cars, Spandau Ballet and Paula Abdul (before AI fame).
And then I found my old Walkman. Good night, that thing has to be 20 years old. At least.
Clay was fascinated. Even more so after getting me some new AA batteries and discovering the thing still worked.
I put in the Toto cassette and let him hear the original "Africa". Then I let him hear Chicago's "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" but fast forwarded through its "Stay the Night".
We moved from the 80s music to the 90s with M.C. Hammer's "Can't Touch This".
Bruce pulled up the video on YouTube so Clay could see that crazy dance thing M.C. Hammer did that looks like a woman freaking out after she sees a mouse or roach on the floor. Bruce called it The Typewriter. Works for me.
I was struck that even though the dancers' clothing was tight and some of the moves were questionable, it's nothing like the junk that's in videos these days. For that matter, it was tame compared to some of today's commercials during daytime viewing.
After tuning ye olde Walkman to the local Christian radio station, I gave it to Clay.
If he treats it like gold, he MIGHT get an MP3 player. Someday.
We tucked the kids in bed and went back downstairs. When we go up to bed, we always peep in at the kids again.
Clay fell asleep like this:
Just like his mom. A long time ago. Before I got bifocals and dentures.
I thought it was so cool that I had Bruce listen, and then all three kids, too. Seriously, I got tears in my eyes. I can't tell you how many times I listened to that song so many years ago. Good times!
I was pretty sure I had an old Toto cassette with that song on it. Yes, cassette.
When I told Clay about it, he actually said, "What's a cassette?"
I moved my imaginary walker over to the entertainment center and worried about my bad hip as I got down to search through several old cassettes.
Ah-ha! There it was. My Toto cassette. Along with cassettes from Chicago, Journey, INXS, Howard Jones, The Cars, Spandau Ballet and Paula Abdul (before AI fame).
And then I found my old Walkman. Good night, that thing has to be 20 years old. At least.
Clay was fascinated. Even more so after getting me some new AA batteries and discovering the thing still worked.
I put in the Toto cassette and let him hear the original "Africa". Then I let him hear Chicago's "Hard to Say I'm Sorry" but fast forwarded through its "Stay the Night".
We moved from the 80s music to the 90s with M.C. Hammer's "Can't Touch This".
Bruce pulled up the video on YouTube so Clay could see that crazy dance thing M.C. Hammer did that looks like a woman freaking out after she sees a mouse or roach on the floor. Bruce called it The Typewriter. Works for me.
I was struck that even though the dancers' clothing was tight and some of the moves were questionable, it's nothing like the junk that's in videos these days. For that matter, it was tame compared to some of today's commercials during daytime viewing.
After tuning ye olde Walkman to the local Christian radio station, I gave it to Clay.
If he treats it like gold, he MIGHT get an MP3 player. Someday.
We tucked the kids in bed and went back downstairs. When we go up to bed, we always peep in at the kids again.
Clay fell asleep like this:
Just like his mom. A long time ago. Before I got bifocals and dentures.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Our Goofy Trio
By some crazy, unexplainable miracle, we were all ready for church this morning early. One of the kids made a comment about me taking their picture.
It's been awhile since I've taken their picture on our front porch, which seems to be the place I herd them when I want a picture of them together while they are looking clean and normal.
I figured since one of them suggested the picture that I'd have great success in catching them all at their best.
Sometimes I'm just stupid.
Here's the best one.
I do not like Clay's hair like this. I try hard to not say much. I'm not perfect though, so it eeks out on occasion. I want it kept neat over his ears and in the back. He wants it longer. Last night, he came down from his shower saying he wanted it to look like Elvis' hair. I'm thinking he picked this up from someone at camp, because we are not Elvis fans in our house.
Anyway, he had it completely slicked back. And I liked it, which shocked me. Probably because I could see his gorgeous blue eyes more.
But for church this morning, he combed it flat over his forehead again.
UGH!
It's been awhile since I've taken their picture on our front porch, which seems to be the place I herd them when I want a picture of them together while they are looking clean and normal.
I figured since one of them suggested the picture that I'd have great success in catching them all at their best.
Sometimes I'm just stupid.
Here's the best one.
I do not like Clay's hair like this. I try hard to not say much. I'm not perfect though, so it eeks out on occasion. I want it kept neat over his ears and in the back. He wants it longer. Last night, he came down from his shower saying he wanted it to look like Elvis' hair. I'm thinking he picked this up from someone at camp, because we are not Elvis fans in our house.
Anyway, he had it completely slicked back. And I liked it, which shocked me. Probably because I could see his gorgeous blue eyes more.
But for church this morning, he combed it flat over his forehead again.
UGH!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Too Quiet
While Clay has been at camp, I've noticed that Spencer and Allison have played very nicely together. Quietly.
Sometimes too quietly.
I had laundry, lots of laundry, to do. Way upstairs. While they played way downstairs in the basement playroom.
When I went to investigate, I caught them red-handed with my camera. Which they aren't supposed to touch.
Evidently, they have seen Bruce experimenting with his big camera and they wanted to try their hands at photography.
And the whole playroom became one giant prop (one giant mess!).
After shooting 142 pictures and draining the batteries completely, here are their highlights.
Sometimes too quietly.
I had laundry, lots of laundry, to do. Way upstairs. While they played way downstairs in the basement playroom.
When I went to investigate, I caught them red-handed with my camera. Which they aren't supposed to touch.
Evidently, they have seen Bruce experimenting with his big camera and they wanted to try their hands at photography.
And the whole playroom became one giant prop (one giant mess!).
After shooting 142 pictures and draining the batteries completely, here are their highlights.
A little bit of practice with lighting. Notice the flashlight behind the stacked Tinker Toys, placed "just so" for proper back lighting.
A background setting. With most of their stuffed animals and Beanie Babies.
The accidental "butt" shot. Oops! Oh well. Great photographers always have their share of out takes.
Better clean up before mom finds out what we're up to. Uh-oh! How did that fall down?
Well, they got busted. And had to spend some time restoring order... but I let them keep it messy for a bit, because they were having so much fun.
But they did a good job cleaning up, too.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Clay at Camp
Kid's camp is about to kill me.
Dropping Clay off on Monday morning was hard. Up to the last minute he was saying he didn't want to go.
Once he was on the bus, he was horsing around just like everyone else, so I heaved a big sigh of relief.
Way too prematurely.
As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, he wouldn't even look at me. He was too busy pinching his eyes to keep from crying. He finally held up one hand to the window.
Then Allison started crying, because Clay was crying. And my sweet friend Kim started crying with me, too.
I think if I'd taken my high school gym teacher's advice and taken track back in the day, I might have chased that bus down, yanked my boy off and gone home with our tails tucked between our legs.
But I put my thinking cap on and thought that would only embarrass Clay. So I stifled.
Several friends who are helping at the camp all week updated me by cell phone calls throughout the day. And Clay was good.
So Momma was good.
One friend even let Clay hijack his cell to post a message to me via Facebook. It's times like those that make me love technology!
And then I got a call yesterday evening from the teenage girl I'd most like to kidnap and adopt as my own (she knows who she is... and so does her mom... love you both!). My Clay was not happy. And had not been for several hours by then. He had isolated himself from the group at craft time and again at supper time.
By then, it was nearing bed time. I figured bed times would be hard.
My teenage bud handed Clay her cell and I talked with him. I got a whimpering earful.
Nobody was playing with him. They were all playing poker (and at church camp! Horrors!!). No, he couldn't learn how to play. He wanted to come home. The quicker the better.
Yes, he ate well at supper. Yes, he was showering. And brushing his teeth.
It was cold. It had rained on them the whole time.
He was sleeping good, but waking up at 6 a.m., while everyone else was still asleep. (Not sure why that bothered him... that's exactly what happens at home most days!)
Then he started crying.
Oww! Knife into chest!
Why, oh why, did I make that kid go to camp?
Oh, yeah. Independence. He needs to learn to handle awkward situations. And because comfort is not always the best thing for growth. And what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Yeah. All that.
Highly overrated stuff!
But my one big question was answered: should I go visit him while he's at camp?
Uh... NO!
I got off the phone with him once he'd gotten a grip and stopped crying.
I had a hard time going to sleep last night. I fell asleep praying for Clay.
And woke up to a loud clap of thunder and lightning a little after 2 a.m.
I thought, "C'mon, Lord, cut that kid a break! Please don't let this storm be up there. Please let him sleep soundly through it if it is."
More praying for my boy.
I haven't heard from him today. Or anyone else at camp.
But I have some tips I'm going to share with him when he comes home.
These thoughts get me through unpleasant situations: This is temporary. In (fill-in-the-blank) hours, this will be history. I just have to hang on for a bit longer.
I can make it through a whole lot of yucky stuff by remembering all that. Stuff like doctor's visits. Medical tests. Children vomiting in tandem throughout the night. A horrible lecture. Airplane rides.
Having my homesick boy at camp.
For the record, in about 29 hours, this will all be over. It will be history. I just have to hang on for a bit longer.
Dropping Clay off on Monday morning was hard. Up to the last minute he was saying he didn't want to go.
Once he was on the bus, he was horsing around just like everyone else, so I heaved a big sigh of relief.
Way too prematurely.
As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, he wouldn't even look at me. He was too busy pinching his eyes to keep from crying. He finally held up one hand to the window.
Then Allison started crying, because Clay was crying. And my sweet friend Kim started crying with me, too.
I think if I'd taken my high school gym teacher's advice and taken track back in the day, I might have chased that bus down, yanked my boy off and gone home with our tails tucked between our legs.
But I put my thinking cap on and thought that would only embarrass Clay. So I stifled.
Several friends who are helping at the camp all week updated me by cell phone calls throughout the day. And Clay was good.
So Momma was good.
One friend even let Clay hijack his cell to post a message to me via Facebook. It's times like those that make me love technology!
And then I got a call yesterday evening from the teenage girl I'd most like to kidnap and adopt as my own (she knows who she is... and so does her mom... love you both!). My Clay was not happy. And had not been for several hours by then. He had isolated himself from the group at craft time and again at supper time.
By then, it was nearing bed time. I figured bed times would be hard.
My teenage bud handed Clay her cell and I talked with him. I got a whimpering earful.
Nobody was playing with him. They were all playing poker (and at church camp! Horrors!!). No, he couldn't learn how to play. He wanted to come home. The quicker the better.
Yes, he ate well at supper. Yes, he was showering. And brushing his teeth.
It was cold. It had rained on them the whole time.
He was sleeping good, but waking up at 6 a.m., while everyone else was still asleep. (Not sure why that bothered him... that's exactly what happens at home most days!)
Then he started crying.
Oww! Knife into chest!
Why, oh why, did I make that kid go to camp?
Oh, yeah. Independence. He needs to learn to handle awkward situations. And because comfort is not always the best thing for growth. And what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Yeah. All that.
Highly overrated stuff!
But my one big question was answered: should I go visit him while he's at camp?
Uh... NO!
I got off the phone with him once he'd gotten a grip and stopped crying.
I had a hard time going to sleep last night. I fell asleep praying for Clay.
And woke up to a loud clap of thunder and lightning a little after 2 a.m.
I thought, "C'mon, Lord, cut that kid a break! Please don't let this storm be up there. Please let him sleep soundly through it if it is."
More praying for my boy.
I haven't heard from him today. Or anyone else at camp.
But I have some tips I'm going to share with him when he comes home.
These thoughts get me through unpleasant situations: This is temporary. In (fill-in-the-blank) hours, this will be history. I just have to hang on for a bit longer.
I can make it through a whole lot of yucky stuff by remembering all that. Stuff like doctor's visits. Medical tests. Children vomiting in tandem throughout the night. A horrible lecture. Airplane rides.
Having my homesick boy at camp.
For the record, in about 29 hours, this will all be over. It will be history. I just have to hang on for a bit longer.
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