It's a Vivas Thing!

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It just HAS to be a Vivas Thing!

Wednesday evening we were hanging out with the family for my brother-in-law's birthday. Now, when we get together, there is usually something bound to happen. Honestly, we have well grounded, well behaved children….until they come together. (I personally am thinking that is really does come from the Vivas side of the family, because the genetic link is my hubby and his sister. Don't you think that makes sense? My brother-in-law thought it did!) The thing is, these cousins BEG to be together. I'm not exaggerating, they will BEG us, please, please, please???

Anyway, you can kind of see where this is leading up to, just by looking a t a few pictures from the other night. Notice how these two think they have everything under control. (BTW..that was an amazing fruit by made by none other than one of our favorite non-Vivas family members.)

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You can see where things start to turn around. These two have a lot in common…I'll explain later.

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Ok, I had to put this one in, because, well, they're my boys….and also, to show how calm they look. They try to avoid trouble now that their all grown up. Please note that I said, try. (And notice how the Good Looking One is smiling..that's because he knows I will continue to take pictures if he doesn't, so he tries to get it right the first time. Obviously, hubby and the Talented One don't have it quite down yet, the smiling thing.)

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So anyway, we had a nice little time of chatting while eating cake and fruit pie. We even had time to take family pictures, but I was in the pictures so didn't get them on my camera. That probably should have been the first warning signal. Trying to force our tweens to take family pictures. Of course, as soon as they were done, they ran to escape any more torture upstairs.

Warning to all parents: If you torture your children, they will find a way to torture you back.

We remained downstairs trying to have a nice, relaxing chat.

By the way, screaming from upstairs when you are relaxing downstairs is usually not a good sign. You probably should check on things. We did.

I'll admit it, I didn't literally expect a tornado. In the brief moments that they were upstairs alone together, all of the mattresses on the two beds managed to come off, have their sheets torn off, and the room looked like a tornado had come through just the boys room. There was obvious jumping going on, only the response was,

"It wasn't me!"

"I wasn't jumping, I was just watching."

"I didn't want to."

Um, all of your faces are red and you are dripping sweat. Children also apparently have this gift of not realizing that WE KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING!

Because see, when my hubby was younger, he had this thing for mattresses. He liked to put his sister (the one with the knife) under them and jump on her. I never did that.

I did lame things like stick my older brother's finger in warm water to see if it really made you wet your pants. (It didn't. I tried his toes, too, but that didn't work.)

After the yelling to put the room back together NOW began, my oldest son quickly gathered my two teens and they rushed out the door. See, they've been on that side and know the wrath of mom….and Tia. They know when the party has come to an end.

Hubby was next to leave, taking the Princess (not tonight) and Chicken Noodle Butt with him.This is after he found his sock and shoes even though he didn't want to do any of it.

My non-Vivas family member then volunteered to take the Drama Queen and I home. We got her together and left after explaining to her that no indeed, they would not be doing any overnights tonight!

This is the part I was going to explain, remember? Tia was the one that was left behind as a child. We usually hear this story at family gatherings; how the whole family (HUGE family) left the park and each thought the other had her and well, 2 hours later, they found her at the park with a nice lady sitting with her, while she waited for someone to come back and pick her up. That's Tia, the one hold the knife in the picture above. She's also the one who was smashed under mattresses by my hubby.

So, as we are driving down the road, headed home, my phone rings. It's Tia.

"Hello?"

"Um, hello. Your forgot a child?" followed by laughter.

"Oh, which one did we forget?"

That would be the Smart One…whom, I will admit, has been forgotten left behind, on more than one occasion. (Please note that he's always been left in an air conditioned home, not at a park with strangers.) Apparently moments after we left, he came sauntering down the stairs. He was informed that we'd left without him. He said he was used to it and that he'd walk home. (Seriously, we live close by each other.) Tia said she knew how he felt (they have that special left-behind-bond), and had her birthday boy husband give him a ride home.

129 Days

Actually, it's been 154 days. (I'll warn you now this is going to be a long post. But probably the most important one I write this year.)

154 days ago, I went in for a simple mammogram. 8 days later, my niece went into the hospital. 2 days later, I went in for a second mammogram. 3 days later, I was told by a not very smart concerned nurse, that I was being scheduled for breast surgery. 3 days later, I had a biopsy instead. And all during this time, I'd had a different medical issue I was having tests for and preparing for a simple, routine surgery. That had to be postponed while we awaited the news of did I, or didn't I, have cancer.

The past year had been pretty tough for us. We'd taken on two children with a lot of issues. No problem. We have to deal with the state. No problem. My husband lost his job. No problem. But then…I started with that feeling…you know, the kind that just doesn't go away? Maybe it was the kids. Maybe it was the hospitals. Maybe it was that I had cancer. I didn't know, but I do remember finally talking to my hubby and telling him, "I know that something big is about to happen that is going to change our lives. I don't know what it is, but I know God has been preparing us this past year for what is about to happen."

A week later, I found out I did NOT have cancer! My surgery was re-scheduled and the *something*  had not happened.

129 days ago, I went in for a simple surgery that would take 6 weeks recovery. Not as simple as we thought; it took 2 1/2 hours instead of the routine 45 minutes. One procedure had to be done the *old fashioned way* instead of the new way, but it was done and I looked forward to recovering and having a bladder and bowel that worked the way it was supposed to!

24 hours after my surgery, I came down with an infection. It was just a little white blood count, the insurance said, give her a antibiotics and send her home. So they did.

36 hours after my surgery, I woke up feeling funny. I had two of my children in the room with me, just being with me while I dozed off and on. And then, my head started to really hurt. The lights were really bothering me and the window had to be shut. Soon, I could barely open my eyes. I started to care less about even trying to get up or the fact that I couldn't seem to function. I started to shake and become slightly alarmed. Something was wrong; I had enough sense to know that whether I wanted to move or not, my kids could not see me like this. Alarmed, I called the doctor. An hour later, I received a call back. Was I running a fever? Yes. I was told to get to the ER immediately. Only, by now, I couldn't move. I was shaking so badly, I could not hold myself up. My brain seemed to stop functioning and I felt really sick.

Hubby and B-boo managed to get me in a robe and down the stairs. I vaguely remember our neighbor helping to get me in the van. I remember being in excruciating pain as hubby rushed me to ER. I remember sobbing, because I was so miserable, and then vomiting continuously all over the van, hubby and myself.

And that is how we landed in the ER that Monday afternoon. One look at us, and they knew it was serious. The next 24 hours were a rush of tests, IV's, and medication. I was admitted because I had an abscess at the surgery site. In the wee hours of the morning, I remember having to change gowns because I was a higher level patient. An Infectious Disease doctor was called in. I was told I was septic. I remember not caring, but called hubby to let him know what I'd been told. All I wanted was sleep, no pain, and complete darkness.

The next few days were a blur of visitors, sleep, medication, and more tests. I was lucky to be alive, I was told. But I hurt so bad. Sometimes I'd shake so bad, I thought I'd shake myself right off the table. But there was always someone there to take care of me. I don't think I was ever left alone.

Meanwhile, at the home front, meals were being brought in, kids were being taken where they needed to be and God made sure that everything was taken care of.

I made it home and cried. I'd never hurt so bad and I had such a hard time sleeping. I could barely move. The home health nurse came out and explained to us how to give me medication through the picc line. Hubby and B-boo became my nurses. I cried when my dear friend who'd flown out to help had to leave. God has seen us through some tough times, but He's always seen fit to bring us together when it is needed.

20 days after my surgery, I discovered why I continued to hurt so bad. By then, my parents had come out to help. Mom was so worried for not having been out sooner, but again, in God's perfect timing, they came out when I needed them. My niece went back into the hospital, and Dad spent time running me around to the several different doctors I had to see.  I had a pretty nasty wound that wasn't going to heal anytime soon. After a fight with the insurance, I was finally approved to start seeing a wound doctor. (Who knew of such a thing?) I cried that first day, miserable, shaky, and in so much pain. He said the average wound took 14 to 16 weeks to heal, but I was young and healthy, so he was hoping for 8 weeks.

Week after week, I continued to go in, and he'd encourage me and tell me he hoped the next time he saw me it would be better.

And I did, slowly, but surely. I finally was able to shower by myself. I was able to attend church by Easter. I was able to drive after a few more weeks. It was long, and slow, but steadfast.

Week after week, month after month. Some days were good, some were bad, but…

Today,18 weeks and 3 days after my surgery, I was finally told my wound has healed. There is still pain, and I have a long way to go to get my energy back. But, the wound is healed. I don't know what I expected. I think maybe to jump for joy. Instead, I cried. I just cried and cried. More from relief, probably. The tears just came and wouldn't stop. And that was before I got home, and told hubby, and started crying again.

So, what I have learned from all of this?

I've learned to appreciate my family a whole lot more. We are definitely closer these days. 

I've learned just how amazing our friends are; and how much our church family loves us. When mom would worry, I could tell her, "It's ok, we are being taken care of; just take care of yourself."

I've learned that sometimes, you just have to stop. And that is ok. I don't have to be supermom; really.

I've been to the lion's den while God was there with me. He has His hand on everything.

At one of the visits with my surgeon, he told me that had he done the surgery the way he planned instead of the *old fashioned way,* it would have killed me.

God is good. He knew. He knows. And He has a plan for me.

I was once asked, how do you get through it all? By faith, I replied. I have to have faith. And hope.

Hebrews 11:1

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 12: 1b-2

Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus,

the author and finisher of our faith

Romans 5:1-5

Therefore, since we have
been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord
Jesus Christ, through
whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now
stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and
character, hope. And hope
does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our
hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Rejoice in the hope of the glory of
God.

I hope that you all will rejoice with me today, and offer up prayers of thanks, because God is good, and He never fails us. We could not have made it through the past several months without each and every one of you. Thank you so much!

Hope

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

This weekend B-boo and I were working on her school. While sitting there with her, I started going through some old pictures I'd found, when I came across the following. These pictures were taken 6 years ago, the first time my niece came to live with us. I hadn't realized that the photographer was snapping while we were getting ready.

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Note that the Talented One is starting to look like he is in trouble…and mom is looking rather annoyed.

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I don't remember what he was doing, but it is obvious my look said enough.

No words needed.

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The look must have worked, because he was standing straight and paid attention. As a matter of fact, for the next 27 pictures, his face stayed pretty much the same. Maybe it has something to do with the prayer his sister seemed to have been doing?

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The end result was the following family picture. This was done with swapping of heads and lightening up of the Good-Looking One's major sunburn. The main thing I remember is that it took FOREVER to get this family portrait!

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It was the last professional portrait we ever took as a family. That was six years ago. Last year, we had to have a family photo for licensing. There were a lot of groans and complaints, but we got it done in one…count it…one shot!

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And then, the Talented One fixed it for me in Photoshop. You know, as I was writing this blog, it dawned on me, how *talented* the Talented One has become with photoshop. The pic below was done in a matter of minutes. He's actually really good at it now. I wonder if it has something to do with that family pic of oh so long ago that he was in so much trouble with. I wonder if he vowed then and there he'd never have to go through that again. Probably not, but it does make one wonder……………

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I'd love to have a new, professional family portrait. I really would. But I don't think I'd ever be able to get my kids to do it again….it would be a nice gift though…hint, hint.

This post is linked to Wordless Wednesday on 5 Minutes for Mom.

My Honey

Today is our anniversary, so I thought I'd write about our love story.

Ours was a whirlwind romance………….

No, seriously, it was! We met at church. I'll never forget the first time I met hubby. He was wearing a dark purple shirt (my favorite color). Months later, he asked me to go to the church with him while he worked on some sound stuff, and instead he kidnapped snuck me up to the mountains for a romantic dinner. Two days later, he told me he loved me, and nine days after that, he proposed. We were married six months later and have been together ever since!

These days, we are raising five beautiful children together, along with my niece and nephew. We have been through thick and thin, joy and sorrow, good times and bad times together. And that is what makes our relationship so special. We are willing to continue to build our relationship through each and every hour of our lives!

We laugh, cry, laugh, love, laugh, sleep, laugh…but mostly, we love.

There is not a day that goes by that he doesn't tell me he loves me. Sometimes several times. And I, him.

We still hold hands.

We still kiss.

We still flirt.

We still love.

Most of all, we seek to serve and love one another as Christ has done for us.

I'm so glad God brought us together all those years ago, and I look forward to many more to come!

This is my favorite pic of hubby and I. I just love it!

 
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See…It IS a Vivas Thing!

After a longggg day yesterday, I picked up the teens from spending some time at a local refugee *camp.* I don't think that is what it is really called, but they had gone to play games with the refugees. And they had fun, too! So afterward, our youth pastor takes them to Sonic. They go in to order and the next thing they know, they're being told to get back in the vans. The Talented One states he never saw our youth pastor move so fast, so he knew it was serious! All they saw outside was a tour bus and lots of police with rifles.

Fast forward to this morning. I'm sound asleep. I hear a voice calling, "Mom! Mom! Wake Up!"

I roll over in my bed in time to watch B-boo crumple to the floor. Swoosh! Just-like-that! (It was like she had turned into a rubberband…swoosh.)

(May I just state right now, that that is NOT the way a mom should have to get up in the morning! It is just plain rude!)

I yelled at hubby to wake up…WAKE UP! Something's wrong with B-boo!

She was mumbling and he was yelling at me to take her to ER while trying to figure out if she was ok or not. I ran downstairs to grab some pants. (Ok, the ONE TIME I run out of pj pants and regular pants is the one time I need them?!) As I ran downstairs, the Talented One comes running in asking me what is wrong. I tell him that his sister is upstairs on the floor and to go help dad. I grab the first set of pants that I see and meet them at the bottom of the stair case and off we go.

Didn't get to brush my teeth.

Didn't get to comb my hair.

I'm in my pj's.

She's fine, btw. She's been fighting a virus for a week and a half now and isn't resting properly. She's stubborn like that. She needs to drink more fluids and take care of herself.

Back to last night.

While we're in the ER, we talk to Punky about last night. We found out that an attempted robbery had happened and the guy with the gun had crashed into the bus that was in front of the Sonic that they kids were about to eat at. I am SO glad pastor got the kids out safe with his quick thinking.

Back to this morning.

B-boo has had a cough, too. So last night I gave her Nyquil. She took the CORRECT dose and almost 10 hours had passed before her little episode. But the Good-Looking one…he wonders if it was the Nyquil, just because one little time he took a little too much and ended up asleep in the bathroom. He just won't let it go! You'd think after over a decade he'd move past it, right? No, son, I did NOT overdose your sister!

See, it's times like this why we say, "It's a Vivas Thing!"