Life Hurts

It's been more than five years since Aaron and I became parents, and I've been thankful to declare that as rambunctious as Katie and Adam are we've never made a trip to the emergency room. Our streak ended last night. One in five years isn't too bad, but two aspects surprised me: 1) Adam, my daredevil, wasn't our first patient and 2) the injury wasn't a result of kids being kids, but of Mommy being a klutz.

We'd just finished dinner and, as usual for a Tuesday, I was speedily washing dishes in the five minutes before I needed to leave for a group I co-lead at church. Life with my family is wonderful - so much more than I could have imagined - but it's been stressful to say the least, surprisingly more so than working in a newsroom. I've greatly benefited from taking a medication that helps me manage that stress. I've been taking it for a couple of years, and it works well without making me feel like a different person. In fact, the only side effect I've noted is a near-inability to cry. Not a bad side effect since I don't have time for that anymore.

At the sink, my mind went through a short list of things I had to accomplish in those precious few minutes: slather on a layer of BB cream in lieu of full-on makeup and a quick trip to the lil' girl's room before scooping up Nora and my books and heading out the door. Nora, who at 9 months old will scarcely let me out of her sight, was playing at my feet as I rinsed off the last item - my Santoku knife.

My Santoku knife holds the most-favored tool status in my kitchen. Given my cooking obsession, I'd say it's the equivalent of the candy apple red Corvette my dad keeps in his garage and rubs with a diaper, except I use my knife way more often than that car gets driven. In fact, my knife almost never makes it back into its slot in our child-proof knife drawer, and I insist on hand washing it.

So I rinsed its silver blade and was about to place it in the drying rack when it slipped out of my hand, falling straight at my daughter's beautiful upturned face. If I live to be 1,000 years old, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that seemingly endless moment. My sweet baby's blue eyes fixed on me as that blade turned over and over on its way down, finally coming to rest on her forehead. At first I thought it landed on its broad side but discovered otherwise when I lifted it off her - a gash about an inch and a half in length positioned vertically over her left eye.

Oh my sweet Lord, thank you for protecting my baby's eyes!

I yelled for Aaron, who darted upstairs with Katie and Adam right behind him. Grabbing car keys and shoeless kids (Adam, who had been playing dress-up, was wearing a dinosaur costume from three Halloweens ago.), we were in the car and on our way to Kosair Children's Hospital in 60 seconds flat. In the mean time, I called my co-leader Mary to let her know why I wasn't going to be at our study that night, at which point tears started flowing. And in the back seat of our car, sitting in the floor between Nora and Adam, I just couldn't keep it together.

Every guilty thought the enemy could hit me with rocketed through my cloudy mind as I bawled. I knew Nora would be fine and only required a few stitches, but that knowledge just wouldn't stop the emotional flood. How could I let this happen? I've marred my daughter's beautiful face! And then the worst - I could have killed her. How could I go on living if that had happened?

The baby had stopped crying by then and looked at me in wonder, but my wailing had scared our son. From the driver's seat, Aaron wisely asked Adam to pray for Nora and Mommy, and that sweet little dinosaur complied, holding my hand.

Thank the Lord for children's hospitals, whose staff know to not even ask frantic parents to sign documents when they come through the door. God bless you wise, compassionate people! They took me and Nora back almost immediately, while poor Aaron was left in charge of two very hyper preschoolers in the waiting room.

By then Nora was her calm, happy self, charming hospital staff with smiles and babbles, but I was still pretty shaken. With each doctor and nurse who came into the room, I recounted the ugly story, half expecting the next person to walk in to be from Child Protective Services. A nurse gave Nora medicine to make her just this side of sleeping. Strapped into a papoose, Nora babbled as a doctor sewed seven stitches into her head. Scarring should be minimal, she said, and by the time Nora is full grown, it will likely have migrated northward into her hairline.

Thank you, Great Physician, for news that my girl's beautiful face won't be noticeably damaged!

When I toted Nora in her car seat back out to the lobby, I found Katie and Adam happily trotting around the open room, closely followed by John, a friend of ours who was helping Aaron keep the kids occupied. Once we got home, as I prepared Nora for bed, there was a knock at the nursery door. My best friend poked her head in to see how we were. What a sight for bloodshot eyes! She hugged me, reassured me that I'm a good mother and prayed with me before heading back out. And today I received emails, voice mails and texts from concerned friends who did the same.

The Lord has graciously surrounded me with family and friends who hold me up and encourage me when I'm at my lowest.

Sleep did not come easy last night, but this morning I found new mercy, along with a happy baby and a grateful heart. Life is hard - painful at times - just like Jesus said it would be. But I have the assurance that I'll never have to go through it alone, and yesterday was no exception.

Life as a Party of Five

The bags are unpacked and laundry washed (although who knows when it will be folded and put away), so I suppose you could say we're officially settling back in at home from a week at Myrtle Beach with the Holbrook side of the family.

In the nearly nine months since Nora was born the changes in our lives and household have been significant. First, the house. Oh my, this is a source of physical distress for one as OCD as myself. Yes, the aforementioned laundry is clean and dry, but were it not for the advent of machinery to accomplish said tasks we'd be wearing dirty clothes indefinitely. The house is cluttered with brightly-colored plastic whatnot as far as the eye can see. And, unfortunately, most of it is broken. Dust bunnies roll like tumbleweed across the hardwood floor, which may or may not get its monthly mopping next week. The breakfast dishes are still in the sink. I know that's not a big deal to most of you, but again, I have a visceral reaction to disarray in my home - I literally have trouble functioning in clutter. I finally got around to hemming a pair of pants for my husband just before we left for vacation - a request he had put in some three months earlier. And when I say "hem" I'm not talking about actual needle and thread. I'm talking about the bonding strips you pass over with an iron to essentially glue the fabric together. Whatever. If a lack of parity makes him feel any better, a button to a pair of my own pants has been sitting on our bathroom counter just as long, and I wear the pants regardless. Don't care. Maybe if the bonding strips worked on buttons I'd get that done, too. Hmm. Crazy Glue?

Physically, I must be a completely different lady. I've always been a morning person, not so much in demeanor but certainly in productivity. Even after my second child was born, I would bound out of bed at 6 a.m., and by the time my crew came down the steps to start their days I would have done my Bible study, eaten breakfast, exercised and showered. Maybe even a chore accomplished, thanks to at least a couple of cups of coffee. Nora's arrival ushered in a new day, one that still may begin before the sun rises, but consider it a false start because as soon as Adam is served his toaster waffle you can count on this momma going back to bed. My eyes pop open to the shock of the clock claiming it's already 8:30 a.m., as my husband manages two fighting preschoolers and crying baby who wants her second breakfast, thank you very much. We still enforce a daily room time, not so much because my preschoolers need a nap but because I do. In fact, I cannot remember going through a day without needing to at least be horizontal for an hour. If being perpetually tired isn't enough, get this - I've had a back ache for the last eight months. And I think the beach trip may have been the nail in my lumbar's coffin. My lower back was sore from the physical awkwardness of lifting a 16-pound baby in and out of a playpen, but 10 or 12 hours in the car on the way home elevated soreness to pain. All this to say I'm getting old, folks.

Couple the number of little people in our house with the broke down lady running it, it's no wonder I can't get everything done - and no wonder this is the first action this blog has seen since Christmas.

But that's not to say there isn't a whole lot of wonderful that has come with increasing our family size. In fact, wonderful is the bulk of it. Katie and Adam are learning new things seemingly every day, and Nora is just so cute I can't stand it. Being at the beach with them may mean a working vacation, but it's so worth it to watch them enjoy themselves and experience new things. Incidentally, I got a big chuckle out of Adam when we got home. Katie was recounting all the things she had done at the beach to her babysitter, and when she mentioned playing in a hot tub, Adam grinned, looked up at me and chanted a la Eddie Murphy/James Brown, "Hot tub! Rub-a-dub!" That's right, of all the knowledge Aaron and I could be passing down to our children, what they parrot back is our collective Saturday Night Live memories.



While the rest of the family enjoys what's prepared on the hibachi table, Adam uses his chopsticks to eat peanut butter crackers.

The first time Nora's feet were in sand. Meh. She was on the beach for maybe 20 minutes before falling asleep in Pappy's arms. Still, Momma's happy we documented the occasion.



Aaron thought it would be great fun to treat the kids to Pirate Voyage, a dinner show similar to Medieval Times or Dixie Stampede. My parents, grandmother and uncle came as well, while my aunt stayed behind with Nora. We figured there would be loud noises from firing cannons, so Nora wouldn't do well. Little did we know that it was our eldest child who would revolt. The minute we walked into the building, Katie spied someone in pirate garb, frowned and seemed determined to spend the next 90 minutes in misery. The fire-breathing man, sea lions, mermaids - all left her nonplussed and her roughly $30 meal untouched. Katie didn't see a good deal of the show, being that her head was in my lap. Oh well, 75 percent of the Johnson clan enjoyed it!

We split the trip home into two days, driving as far as my aching back and Aaron's aching ears could stand being in the car with three little kids. We stopped for the night in Caryville, Tenn. and checked into a Hampton Inn overlooking Cove Lake, an unexpected bonus. It really was a beautiful view. By then, of course, our kids were half crazy with energy stored up from the car ride, which made it a little difficult to fully appreciate the orange glow of the sun sinking behind the mountains. But at least we have pictures. Sort of.



Not your best smile, pal.

Katie couldn't get her sillies out.

I'm learning in more real ways than ever that life is messy. We can scramble around trying to make it look like a Norman Rockwell painting all we want, but at the end of the day we're just frustrated and may have missed out on the beauty. I know this in my head, but it's going to be quite a process for me to slip into full whatever mode. I'll get there.