If you're happy and you know it

Today when I went to wake up Emma, I was legitimately excited. Just a couple weeks shy of two years old, she has been an explosion of personality lately, and I couldn't wait to spend the remainder of my morning with her .... even if I was running late ... again.


When I went into her bedroom, she was in her traditional sleeping position: on her belly, her legs tucked up beneath her, her little butt was sticking up in the air. I wonder if she will still be sleeping like this when she's 16, or if this little joy of mine is reserved for her toddler years.



Like her mommy, Emma takes a few minutes to orient herself once awakened, and so I scooped her up in my arms. That's when I saw it. What started out last night as a slightly red bug bite by her right eye was this morning a monstrosity. It looked like she'd been slugged, and the flesh around her eyeball was so pink and swollen that her big, brown eye was barely visible.



After putting her in a clean Pull Up, and setting her in her high chair for breakfast, I started running down my list of obligatory calls. I called dad to make sure I wasn't overreacting. I called to page the doctor. I called Olivet and then the baby-sitter to let them know I'd be late. And then I called Robert. (I'm sure when he reads this, he will wonder why he was last. My theory was that his panic would be significanly diminished if I called him once a plan of action was already underway.)



Then we waited. I finished getting ready, while Emma happily ate a generic version of Apple Jacks in her high chair. I often worry this is not nutritionally sound, but I'm appeased by the box which assures me she's getting 9 essential vitamins and minerals.


When the doctor still hadn't called me back, I joined Emma in watching Wonder Pets. I was amazed that she laughed at the appropriate moment after Ming Ming made a bad pun.



After the credits rolled, she announced she wanted to play cards, and so I went and retrieved the Bible memory card game that I bought for a buck at the Dollar General a couple weeks ago. Again, she amazed me as she recognized and called out the names of most of the characters as I showed them to her one at a time. Jesus. David. Josiah. Mary and Joseph. Jonah and the Whale. Peter. Hannah. Lazarus. I made a mental note to look up Josiah and Hannah later since I couldn't immediately recall who they are.



When the doctor still hadn't called me, an hour-and-a-half after the answering service paged her, I called her office again. "Yes," I told them. "I can be there by 9:30" (fully aware there's no way I could be there in 25 minutes since I live a half hour away.)



On the way to the doctor, we sang our ABCs and we talked about going to Mary's house later. Then as we sat for another half hour in the waiting room, we flipped through the pages of a magazine, and Emma made the sounds of the animals we saw.



After we were called into the examination room, Emma pranced around in her Pull Up and socks identifying the objects and creatures pictured on the wall. Then, she started throwing her fist up in the air, and declaring "Amen" at the top of her lungs over and over again. Yes, that's right: she's was happy, she knew it, and so she was shouting "amen." I tried to persuade her to focus on the clapping or stomping verses, but of course, the yelling won out since that was much more fun.



So finally the doctor walked in, and of course, Emma instantly transformed into a mute. The doctor knows a nervous baby when she sees one, and so proceeded to calm her fears by checking out the ears and nose of Emma's Care Bear first. It worked. Despite a few wimpers that she wanted her mommy (which of course melted my heart) she stayed perfectly still while Dr. Batish examined her eyes, nose, throat, and ears.



The diagnosis? It's a bug bite. Not even a spider bite, just some random bug. She prescribed an antibiotic to avoid infection in the eye and said to pair it up with Benadryl.



If I thought Emma was in pain, I would wish the bug never bit her. But she seems oblivious to the whole ordeal. She just knows she had a really fun and happy morning.



And I did too.



So I'm thankful that little critter, wherever he might be. He changed what could have been a run-of-the-mill Monday morning. Because of him, I was blessed with a fun, happy, bonus day with the coolest almost-two-year-old in the world.



(P.S. The picture is from tonight -- the swelling has gone done significantly, but it still looks like she's got a shiner.)

Two reasons it still matters to me

So I was reading this article the other day, featuring the political viewpoints of four different Christian women. It was an interesting interview, and there was one particular quote that stood out to me.

The young woman said that she just didn't want to one of those "narrow minded" Christians who based their whole election day decision on one or two issues.

I get where she's coming from, and to a certain extent, I agree.

Should Christians protect the environment? Absolutely. Should we be concerned with the economy? No doubt. Should we be actively seeking solutions for the energy crisis, corruption on Wall Street, access to health care and even the war in Iraq? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

But as narrow-minded as it makes me, there will always be one political issue that trumps all the others. Yes, you guessed it... protecting the unborn.

Some might be tempted to ask, "Does it even still matter?" Truth be told, I've asked myself the same thing. Short of a miracle, I don't see Roe vs. Wade being overturned any time in the foreseeable future.

But there ARE very important discussions taking place in the political arena related to abortion, and I, for one, think it's critical that we elect leaders who will champion the cause of the unborn.

So here's what that means to me in this election...

I'm not among those who think that McCain is the perfect candidate for our next president. I like him a lot, and he's got some really great traits. He's also got some real hang ups. Most importantly to me, he is pro-life.

Obama, on the other hand, has said that defining where life begins is above his pay grade. As a senator in Illinois, he has voted against the "Born Alive Infant Protection Act" which would providing basic health care to babies who survive abortion -- four times. Then there's the speech he made at a Planned Parenthood event where he said "The first thing I'd do as president is sign the Freedom of Choice Act." The Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) is legislation Obama has co-sponsored along with 18 other senators that would annihilate every single state law limiting or regulating abortion, including the federal ban on partial birth abortion.

Again ... call me simple, or close-minded, but those facts alone make the choice a pretty easy one. I can't, in good conscience, vote for anyone who would introduce legislation --- or appoint Supreme Court justices -- ultimately leading to more innocent lives lost.

But I guess since I titled this "My top two reasons it still matters to me" I should tell you my top two reasons why I'm so unashamedly pro-life: Katie and Caleb.

Katie, who will be seven in November, is evidence that God can make something beautiful out of a very ugly situation.

Deanna considered aborting her after finding out that she was pregnant at 17 by someone who had forced himself on her. Then Deanna felt God reassure her that He was still in control and had a plan for her life.

Katie is spunky, creative, and has an incredibly tender heart.

Caleb, who will be three in October, is evidence that God knows better.

Doctors wanted to talk to Stephanie and Ben about their "options" when his tests came back positive for a serious birth disorder. He arrived a little early -- 10 weeks to be exact, but otherwise perfectly healthy.

Caleb is sweet and funny, and quite possibly, the smartest little kid I've ever met.

Looking at my niece and nephew, I have to wonder ... how many Katies and Calebs has this world been deprived of simply because they were never given a chance at life?

My knight in rain-drenched armor

Tonight, on my way home from work, I called Robert to see if he'd get something thawing for dinner. One step ahead of me, he said it was already under control, and that he was going to lay down for a quick nap until Emma and I got home. (He was up late last night fixing something around the house and then had to leave at 6 a.m. for work).

Not even 5 minutes after I hung up the phone, I suddenly felt the truck sputtering. "Uh oh," I thought and then slapped my forehead in punishment as I looked at the fuel gauge. Sure enough, I was out of gas. And of course this was happening in a torrential downpour. Really, how dumb am I?

So I called Robert, who of course was already asleep. "You're not going to believe what I did," I said and then explained my predicament. With not even a hint of grumbling, he reminded me to put on my hazard lights, make sure we were out of the way of traffic, and to stay safe until he got there.

Emma and I passed the time by reading "The boy who cried wolf." Kinda ironic, I thought.

Up rode my knight in a black Hyundai Elantra.

Robert covered his head with a t-shirt, doing his best to stay dry while he poured gasoline into my tank. Then, knowing the truck has a leak, he dug through the cab to find a quart of oil and topped me off. Finally, he insisted on following me to the nearest Shell station and on pumping the gas for me. Each time I tried to apologize for my stupidity, he just said, in the sweetest tone imaginable, "Don't worry about it."

Yeah, that's my guy. Always there to rescue me.

As if I weren't smitten enough already, Emma gave me another reminder of Robert's endearing qualities later this evening.

Somewhere along the line, we each developed our "specialty" chores we take ownership of. It's not like it was a negotiated thing, he just started taking care of some things while I took over others. For example, one of Robert's chores is keeping up with the vacuuming -- no small task with two big, black dogs notorious for shedding.

Anyway, tonight Emma was pushing around her popper toy, and it kinda looked like she was vacuuming. She turned to Robert and said, "Look! I play daddy."

Ha! I'm not sure Robert was thrilled with this being his legacy, but I thought it was funny how even she notices all the small (and big) things he's always doing for us. I feel sorry for the guys who will try to date her someday -- he's set the bar and her expectations pretty high.

Sometimes, after ten years of being together (3 dating, 7 married), it's easy to take Robert for granted. I just wanted to put it on the record how incredibly blessed I feel to have him in my life.

He is a caring husband, and an incredible father, and I love him with all of my heart.

Burning political questions

Phew! I am SO glad the Democratic and Republican national conventions have finally come to an end.

Don't get me wrong ... it's not because they've bothered me. No, it's because I've formed an unhealthy addiction to the coverage of them. Election 2008 is like the world's greatest reality show, and I am hooked!

Except unlike marathons of America's Next Top Model or Project Runway, it's not just the occasional Saturday wasted on couch potatoitis. The house is an absolute wreck, we've had far too many frozen pizzas for dinner, and it's only through massive amounts of caffeine that I'm able to stay coherent at work after flipping between CNN and Fox into the wee hours of the morning.

Reflecting on the DNC and RNC, I'm still left with a few burning political questions:

1. What's with all the hats? Does wearing a a Stetson, a Dr. Seuss top hat, or a stuffed elephant on your head REALLY indicate more support for your candidate?

2. Is the credibility of delegates defined by how many pieces of flair they are wearing? And wear can I buy one of those snazzy, sequin star vests?

3. Does Kool and the Gang get paid residuals every time "Celebration" is played during a rally, or somewhere along the line, did they donate the unlimited use of this classic for the betterment of their country?

4. Can someone please get Donna Brazile some coffee? She's pretty grumpy, and I'm pretty sure it's because someone wakes her up right before the end of the speech so that she can give her obligatory "it was terrible" review.

5. Is it really that hard to make sure your political sign is right side up?

6. What can we do to get these delegates to stop dancing? I admire their enthusiasm, but the arm flailing and booty shaking is somehow lacking. Seriously.... it's embarrassing.

7. Balloons are cool and all, but why don't we try dropping something different from the ceiling just to shake things up? How about 10 percent off coupons to Jewel Osco, or what about Jello Snack Packs? Those always make people happy.

Top 10 ways to avoid going insane

I have the pleasure of spending 40-plus hours a week with an incredible team of co-workers. The men and women who make up the ONU marketing communications team are extremely talented and caring.

But even the best of the best could go crazy under the right circumstances. And believe me, with the deadlines and absurd requests we face every day, it’s not outside the realm of possibility.

Rather than succumbing to the stress, we have found multiple ways to keep ourselves sane, relatively speaking. So as a shout out to my marketing-homies, here are some of my favorite de-stressing memories and ongoing “initiatives.”

1. Rocking out as an air band. We were heading back from an outing to Olivet’s Chicago Regional Center near Schaumberg, when suddenly it was 80’s at 8 on the radio. I can’t remember whether it was Journey or VanHalen or some other wicked awesome hair band, but suddenly magic transpired in that 15-passenger mini-bus. We each picked up our respective air instruments and rocked out like no other air band has ever dreamed. From that moment forward, I’m proud to say, I have served as the marketing band’s official air keyboardist.

2. Perfecting our not-so-perfect impressions. We may not be the best impressionists, but we sure make each other laugh with our attempts. Whether it’s my Yoda, Monique’s Ron Burgundy, or Kate’s Bernie Mac (may he rest in peace), impressions are a staple of everyday marketing interactions.

3. Employee of the month program. Everyone deserves to be an employee of the month at least once in their lifetime, and so that’s why we instituted the Office of Marketing Communication EOM program — awarded alphabetically. Casey was our first recipient, since she dreamed up the concept. The award is so prestigious that a member of the A-Team, Vice President Brian Allen, has campaigned to be included. We humored him and gave him runner-up one month. 1st place, of course, went to our student worker, Liz.

4. Kudos! It’s our take on the whole “caught ya being good” concept. If you notice someone doing above and beyond, write it down and put it on the board. The notes range from the impressive (e-mails from alumni about articles that moved them) to the humorous (“Kudos to Jason for surviving the sewage leak above his desk”). At our weekly meeting, everyone who received a kudos note is entered into a drawing for a kudos granola bar. At approximately $2 for a box that provides 10 week’s worth of prizes, it’s quite possibly the most economical incentive program ever. (Although in this soft economy we’re exploring generic brands as an alternative.)

5. The best of hip hop. I brought in my “Best of Hip Hop” CD as a joke one day, and occasionally a song or two from it cuts through the quietness of the office to grab everyone’s attention. One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen was when I was meeting with Donnie, our director of graphic design, in my office. Our conversation went past the starting time of the marketing team meeting, and so one of them pressed play on the CD player, launching “Bust a Move” into the air waves. They then took turns individually interpreting the song as they danced by my doorway.

6. Lock-in/Lock-out. Sometimes we reach our limit. In those moments, we strategically plan a team “lock in” to “brainstorm marketing concepts.” In reality, we’re just locking everyone else out to regroup.

7. Gluttony. And of course at every marketing “lock in,” meeting or field trip, we eat until we’re ready to explode. As Casey would put it, that’s just “how we roll.”

8. Guard dogs. We politely asked for people to give us advance notice for meetings. People kept dropping by. We tried instituting “quiet hours.” People kept dropping by. We put in headphones and pretended we couldn’t see or hear them. People kept dropping by. So I drew a “guard dog” on our white board, and not having much artistic ability, he looked more like a cross-eyed Chihuahua than a Rottweiler. Needless to say, people keep dropping by.

9. Musical parodies. It all started with Matt’s updated rendition of a Diana Ross classic. He was fed up with a demanding co-worker and started singing “(Name)’s freaking out” in his best falsetto. That launched an ongoing contest to outdo each other with our lyricism to tunes made famous by artists like James Taylor, Michael Jackson, and even Eminem.

10. Tangents. We haven’t encountered a meeting that we can’t turn off-topic. I’ll never forget the confusion on a visitor’s face when we spontaneously began spouting truths from D.C. Talk in the midst of a brainstorming session. Nobody really understands us – and I think we like it that way.

Yeah, my co-workers are a tad nutty … but that’s why I fit in so well.

So thank you Donnie, Matt, Monique, Kate, Casey, Jason, Derek and Liz! You help keep life interesting, and make it fun for me to come to “work” every day.

In my distress, I called to the LORD

Today had all the ingredients to be a very bad day.

After tossing and turning with a cough all night, I slept through my alarm. Emma was uncooperative from the get-go. I was buried in e-mails, and my phone just wouldn't stop ringing. One of those calls was from my boss, with whom I had an impossibly frustrating conversation. Then to top it all off, I couldn't (and still can't) seem to kick this ridicules cold. Argh!

Yes, it was a rotten day, but it did not consume me. Then again, I'm not the same woman I was just a few short months ago.

I'm not completely sure why I'm sharing this, except that over the past few days and weeks I've felt compelled to make sure other women (or men, for that matter) in similar circumstances know they are not alone. Perhaps the biggest lie the devil tells people in the midst of depression is that no one will understand, that no one could possibly look at you the same if they only knew the truth.

That's how I felt. That's why it took me months before I could even tell my husband. And that's why when I finally worked up the courage to see a doctor, I silently handed him a typed up list of symptoms because I was too ashamed and emotional to even voice them out loud.

It's not that I really had the much to be sad about. But that's the thing with depression; even the small things appear to be insurmountable at the time.

Most people would have never guessed I struggled with depression, because it wasn't that bad during the day. But by the time I got home, I was sapped. All I wanted to do was sleep, and I would zonk out on the couch at the drop of a hat. However, if I actually went to bed, I'd lay awake all night worrying about nonsense. It was a vicious cycle.

The things that kept me up at night were trivial and mostly out of my control. I'd find myself replaying conversations from as far back as my teennage years, and I obsessed about the situations of other people that had little or nothing to do with me.

It was my daydreams that ultimately led me to ask for help. It's hard to describe, but I felt like I was enveloped in darkness. Sometimes I'd picture myself going into a bar and drinking until I was left feeling nothing. (Honestly, I never followed through with so much as a drop of alcohol for fear of being "caught".) In the worst moments, I'd curl up in bed and visualize going to sleep and never waking up. Or I'd think about laying in the bathtup and simply slipping under the water without coming up for air. That's when I knew I had a problem.

All this to say, I asked for help, and I got it. It took me months to come to grips with the fact that it was a medical issue and there was no shame in letting a doctor help me come up with a plan for getting better. In my case, it was probably lingering post-partum, amplified by several life changes that happened all at once. My doctor was able to put me on a low dose medication for a few months and then slowly took me off them to live a "normal," happy life.

The funny thing is, once I finally got the courage to tell a few close friends what was going on, three of them told me they had recently been through the exact same thing. Guess I wasn't alone afterall.

In some ways, it's hard to write about what it was like to deal with depression. Is it still a little embarrassing? Maybe that's a small part of it. But more so, it's hard to remember what it was like because I feel like that was a completely different person. Things just don't get to me like they did before.

My pastor recently preached from the Book of Jonah, and a verse jumped out from the page like never before. It said, "In my distress, I cried to the LORD and he heard my cry." What a perfect synopsis of my testimony!

I thought the verse sounded familiar, and sure enough, that same phrase (or very similar) appears in the Bible three other times ... in Psalms 18, Psalm 120, and 2 Samuel 22.

If you feel like you might be struggling with depression, don't be ashamed to talk to someone about it. You are not alone, and don't let the devil fool you into believing that you are.

It's comforting for me to know that in our times of distress, we can be confident that the Lord will always hear -- and answer -- our cries for help.

Success is a relative thing

For those of you who have been reading my blog (have I hit 10 readers yet???), you may recall my original posting which proclaimed my intentions to go from couch to 5K runner in 9 weeks.

I'm one week shy of the 9 week mark, and at this point in the "game" (as if running could EVER be considered a game), I should be running a cool 2.75 miles in just under 30 minutes -- all while sporting a florescent pink sports bra, matching track pants, and sparkly white tennis shoes. (That's how I picture the accomplished runner.)

Alas, I find myself coming up a bit short.

I was keeping up until about week 5, when suddenly my years of inactivity caught up with me. My knees were killing me, my legs burned like they were on fire, and I think I bordered on hyperventilating on more than one occasion.

I blamed it on my crappy $50 treadmill. I blamed it on running in a stinky garage filled with lawn mower fumes. I blamed it on the summer heat. Then when I ran ... er .. shuffled, out of excuses, I realized I had nothing left to blame but myself.

In an embarrassing display of being a girl, I walked inside from my jog, sobbing at my inadequacies.

Robert, in an embarrassing display of being a guy, asked me, "what's your problem?"

I explained I was a failure, and he asked how I had possibly come to that conclusion. I retorted I couldn't keep up with the 5K plan. He asked me, "who cares?"

I reminded him I'd told everyone in the world about my plan, and it was embarrassing to go back on that.

Then in one of those shining husband moments, Robert hugged me, sweat and all, and explained that he was proud of me for working my butt off -- regardless of what "that stupid plan" says.

That was a few weeks ago. With Robert's encouragement and a 12-step program, I threw the 5K plan out the window. Instead, I'm jogging/walking for 30 minutes, 3 times a week, trying to outdo myself in distance each time.

I won't reveal my latest record, because by the world's standards, it's ridiculously slow.

Then again, I'm still jogging after 8 weeks. And tonight, when Emma didn't go to bed until after 9:30, and all I wanted to do was crash, I dragged my butt out to the garage and outdid my personal best.

For that, I'm pretty darn proud of myself.