An Ecstatic Cowgirl

Last night was Allyson's long-awaited Daddy Daughter Date, a western themed night of food, fun, and... line dancing! I have to admit that I'm pretty impressed Bill agreed to go. To my knowledge it was his first time to wear a cowboy hat even after12 years living in Texas. Although line dancing probably ranks right up there with root canals, he just couldn't resist Allyson's enthusiasm.

The western wear was optional, but Allyson insisted they both needed hats and boots. Last Sunday she got so worked up about it that I finally said, "Let's not stress about it. I'm sure you will have fun no matter what you're wearing. The most important thing is that Daddy will be there."

When I mentioned the event a day or two later, Allyson protested, "I thought you said we couldn't talk about the Daddy Daughter Date."

"Huh?"

"You said we couldn't stress about it any more."

I laughed. "Well, that doesn't mean we can't talk about it."

Allyson needn't have worried. Bill borrowed a hat and boots from his best friend Troy, and then he took Allyson shopping at Target, where they found the cutest hat and boots, plus a checkered shirt from the boy's section.

Although we both assured her no one would be able to tell it was a boy's shirt, she decided on a jean skirt over jeans, just in case. Isn't she the cutest cowgirl you've ever seen?

And the happiest, too.

 



 

 

I was surprised to see that Bill looked great in a cowboy hat. I made sure to get a good look as it's probably the first and last time he'll ever wear one.

 

In her ecstatic summary this morning, Allyson told me that he actually did some line dancing with her. "And we got to do a slow dance, too," she said, grinning wide. How wonderful that her very first slow dance was with her father.

 

 

The Best Chapter

In honor of Valentine's Day, I thought I would share the next chapter in my (now finished?) love story with Bill. This is the one I've been looking forward to telling you ever since I started that very sporadic series of blog entries. 

Excerpts from Allyson's Journal
4/18/06
Daddy wrote this in my birthday card:
Happy 36th birthday! I do think dreams come true.... Most nights as I lay in bed (in our house), next to you (my beautiful, caring and loving wife), with my hand on your belly feeling our daughter, I think my dreams have come true....

About 8 months along.
Funny, I had no idea Allyson was going to be huge. 

Ethan and His Cousin Savannah

5/14/06
I've been so frustrated with all this false labor. How will I know when to go to the hospital? What if I wait too long? You're not due for three more weeks, but the doctor says it could be any day.

I've decided to take that with a grain of salt. Yes, you could be born tomorrow (or tonight), but you could also be born in two or three weeks. I'm going to try to relax and live my normal life. You'll come when you come and I'll have to trust God to let me know when we should go to the hospital.

5/16/06
Well, I guess I wasn't listening closely enough. I doubt that God told us to go to the hospital today, but we went....

At six in the morning, I had several hard contractions about three minutes apart. I told Daddy I thought it was time...

Daddy woke Ethan up, and he was amazingly cooperative. He got his clothes and shoes right on and went downstairs. Too excited to eat breakfast, he helped Daddy pack his school lunch, then helped him gather last-minute items for the hospital.

When I came down, Ethan said, "So this is what it's like to get ready for a baby!" I thought that was so cute! When we dropped him off at before-school care, he gave me a big hug before Daddy took him in.

We weren't far into our drive when I realized the contractions were slowing down. By the time we reached the hospital, they were 10 minutes apart. Given my odd labor pattern with my first baby [more on that in another entry], I decided it wouldn't hurt to get checked....

The labor and delivery nurse hooked me up to a monitor for an hour, watching my contractions and your heartbeat. Naturally, the contractions slacked off severely. I had only four in an hour, and felt so silly....

I cried a little during the monitoring. Daddy was very supportive. He stroked my hand and sat quietly by my side. He made me laugh a couple of times.

When the nurse sent me home, she seemed rather patronizing in her instructions. "Don't come back until the contractions are consistently five minutes apart," she said. "I know you said your contractions were not regular with your first baby, but...."

I reiterated that the contractions had never been close to five minutes apart with Ethan, and that I'd been 8 centimeters dilated (out of 10) when I reached the hospital. I explained that with such a long drive, I was concerned about possibly delivering the baby in the car.

She replied that the most important thing was that the contractions would be very painful. When I informed her that mine weren't very painful with Ethan, she raised an eyebrow. I could tell she thought I was stupid, or that I was lying. I felt so defensive, so foolish. I cried in the parking lot, though I couldn't explain why.

Monday 5/29/06
Well, I wish I could say there were no more pre-birth labor dramas, but that was not the case. Last Sunday I thought my water had broken.... Of course, the leaking had stopped by the time I got to the hospital. Either I'd been peeing myself repeatedly, or there had been a small hole that sealed itself....

Sunday 6/4/06 
Another week has passed, and still no baby.... I felt down yesterday, but today I feel better. At church we sang a new song called "Hallelujah" [the one from the Shrek soundtrack]. It really moved me as I realized how many reasons I have to sing hallelujah. Why have I been frustrated and upset? I have a baby coming in the next week. I have a husband who loves and supports me. I have a strong, active baby inside me, for almost certainly the last time. I have a God who cares for me and my baby, who knows what's best for us. I let the tears fall and just let go of the worry. And although nothing has changed, and I'm still confused about the contractions, it doesn't seem to matter today. I feel content.

Tuesday 6/6/06
I wish my contentment could have lasted longer than two days. Yesterday I had contractions all day at work, and it was easy to see they were getting more frequent. By bedtime, they were about five minutes apart. I agonized over whether to go to the hospital but finally decided to go to bed and see what would happen. I was up almost all night. I managed to doze, but the contractions woke me over and over.

This morning the contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, so we headed to the hospital. But the moment we got in the car, they slowed down, about 6-9 minutes apart. So instead of going to triage, we went to the doctor's office. My doctor's associate examined me, and she strongly recommended induced labor--tomorrow!

Being presented with this choice was overwhelming, especially after getting so little sleep. I sobbed all the way to my mom's house, where I spent the day relaxing....

Wednesday 6/7/06 4:30 A.M.
Today is your birthday! My water broke at 4:00, and we are at the hospital. The pains are about three minutes apart, and pretty sharp. I am nervous and excited. Ethan is with us, and Grandpa is on the way to pick him up.... I'm so excited to meet you, sweet Allyson!

Wednesday 6/7/06 8:15 P.M.
You are a beautiful baby. I can't believe how smoothly the whole labor went. I know God was with me throughout....

After two hours, I was at 6 centimeters, making good progress....

Around 8:00, the doctor came and broke my water. I was 7 centimeters dilated. The pain was still quite manageable. I was able to laugh and talk through the contractions. I wished that snippy labor nurse who'd made me feel so stupid on that first trip could see me now, but I never saw her.

Hard Labor??

But when I hit 8 centimeters, the pain ratcheted up abruptly, like a knife stabbing me in my lower back. Previously, I'd been praying through the contractions, asking for peace and strength, asking God to open my cervix. Now, I could only moan and breathe, "Jesus, Jesus."

The nurse, Candace, said she'd check me again in an hour, and if I hadn't progressed she'd give me a little Pitocin to make the contractions stronger. Make them stronger?? After an hour? I suddenly decided I wanted an epidural after all. She said it wasn't too late.

An anesthesiologist came in a minute or two later, almost as if he'd been waiting in the hall. Was I glad to see him! He asked a few questions, but I could barely answer him. I literally had trouble telling him my name, and also gave him my pre-pregnancy weight by mistake. He finally told me to roll onto my right side, and started to swab my back for the injection.

After I'd lurched over like a beached whale, I cried, "She's coming now. Now!"

I'd been checked only five minutes before, but Candace checked again. Verifying that I was at 10 centimeters, she dismissed the anesthesiologist and paged the doctor. "Oh no!" I thought. There was no turning back. This was going to be an all natural birth.

Candace lifted my legs into the stirrups for some practice pushes. She told me to hold my breath and push, but I kept breathing really fast. "I'm scared!" I told Daddy.

Candace told me to look in her eyes. "Remember not to breathe. Don't make a sound. Just push." Finally I got the hang of it. The pain was almost gone, leaving a tremendous pressure in its wake.

After one contraction, she said, "No more pushing!" Pressing my knees together, she told me to blow. I repeated, "She's coming NOW!"

My doctor, Karan, must have run across from her office. When I saw her, I wanted to push again, but Candace told me to keep blowing while she got ready. I replied, "She's coming! I can't stop it."

At last they put my feet in the stirrups and let me push. After just one contraction, your head and elbow were out. I could hear your gurgling cry, but I couldn't see you. And then the rest of you slipped gently into the world. Luckily, Candace urged me to open my eyes, just in time to see you emerge.

I looked at Daddy and started to laugh. I couldn't believe I had done it! You were here! I thought I would cry, but I just laughed. Your daddy cried, though. He said he'd been crying a lot because I was so brave. But I hadn't felt brave.

As she caught you, Karan had said, "Wow! This is a big baby." The pediatric nurse weighed you right away and announced that you were 9 pounds and 0 ounces. I couldn't believe how easily you'd come. Nine pounds!

Thursday 6/8/06
Your first day passed in a blur. You were in a quiet, alert state for much of the day, but by evening you were exhausted. You slept and slept, through quite a few visitors--many of whom held you and remarked how pretty you were. Grandpa and Grandma visited, bringing along your big brother, Aunt Emily, Hillary, Savannah, and Sammy.

Proud, Proud Daddy

Ethan was too nervous to hold you at first, but then he changed his mind. He was so proud!

The next visitors were Uncle Rick, Aunt Diane, and Mindy....

Grandma and Cousin Mindy

Through all of this, you slept. But after a nurse came to weigh you at 11:30 that night, you were wide awake. Daddy was wonderful with you! He held you, talked softly to you, rocked you, and walked the floor. He told you he understood how tired and overwhelmed you must be--such a journey you had made! I was very moved by his compassion and the joy with which he cared for you.

When you awoke again and hour or so later, I looked down at you as you nursed. In that moment, I fell in love with you. It had been such an exciting, hectic day that I really hadn't had time to bond with you. But now it was only you and I in the world; Daddy was asleep in the uncomfortable futon chair. After you ate, I held you against my body, skin to skin, with your blanket covering us. You slept blissfully, lulled by my heartbeat. I whispered that I missed carrying you inside me, but I was so glad to hold you in my arms at last.

Monday 6/12/06
You've been home several days now, and you're settling into a routine. It's been very difficult because you sleep all day and then stay up all night. Again, I've been amazed at the grace Daddy shows despite his lack of sleep. He talks tenderly to you and gazes lovingly at you even in the middle of the night.

One of Those Exhausting Nights

It's been harder on me. I'm tired from the delivery and from making milk. My hormones are changing, and that makes me weepy when I don't get enough sleep. Daddy is tender with me also. He rubs my back while I cry, and he snuggles me close when I'm too anxious to sleep. I'm falling in love with him all over again....

Nana and Grandpa arrived on the 8th, the day after your birth. They were a lot of help, doing all the cooking and helping to comfort you when you thought you wanted to eat all the time. Nana watched over me to make sure I was eating and drinking lots of water.

Nana and Her Angel

Of course, they fell in love with you instantly. Nana called you an angel. She and Auntie Lisa--who saw you on the hospital website--think you look just like your father. But my family thinks you look just like me when I was a baby. I can see Ethan in you, too. Your cheeks are chubby like his were.

The Hospital Picture

You are such a miracle. I love to see your wide eyes when you are awake. I love to see you totally relaxed in sleep, with so many expressions playing across your face. I can see Daddy, Ethan, and even myself in you....

Ethan loves you, too. He's so helpful and cooperative, which shows he's growing up. He cheerfully washes his hands so he can hold you.... I'm very, very proud of the way he's welcomed you into the family.

After reading through all these journal entries and reliving the happy memories, I'm surprised that I don't feel a bit sad. Those were good times, and I'm glad we had them. I'm sure God has many more happy memories in store for me. Perhaps the best is yet to come! 

Happy Valentine's Day to you and yours. 

It's a Girl!

Here, after six months, is the next chapter of my love story with Bill. Please note that these events occurred in 2006, when I was pregnant with Allyson.

Excerpts from Allyson's Journal
Friday 1/6/06
Last night, Bill was lying beside me, and I was propped on pillows. He was cupping my belly, and he said he felt something. But his hand was too high, and he was feeling gas bubbles. We laughed. He left his hand in the same spot, feeling the movements of my digestion. I felt very loved.

When I rolled to my side, Bill wrapped his arm around me. I suddenly asked, "Was this what you imagined when you thought about marriage?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I guess it was."

I said it was much better than I ever imagined.

Saturday 1/6/06
I forgot one of the best moments of the Vancouver trip: When Bill was throwing snowballs at Minday and Brandy, he said, "Don't think I won't hit you just because you're sitting next to my pregnant wife!" There was a little pride in his tone when he called me that, and I felt proud, too.

Monday 1/16/06
We went to church, and I was enjoying the worship service. I whispered to Bill that the baby must be enjoying my singing; I'd read that babies at this stage can hear internal sounds such as their mother's voice.

When we were singing "Face Down," I was very moved and began to cry. The song says, "I'll fall, face down, as your glory shines around." I suddenly thought of what the baby might be experiencing. When I feel God's presence, I feel it throughout my body, as if I am bathed in a peaceful glow. I imagined that peace settling over our baby, imagined it shining with God's glory, and I was overwhelmed and almost wept.

Sunday 1/22/06
I'm struggling today with worry. Ironically, I worry about worrying, over the effect it could have on my baby. I've read that babies' personalities might be shaped by their mothers' emotional state during pregnancy and in the infant days.

I worry when the baby has quiet days.... Yesterday I didn't feel a lot of movement, though I did feel some. I was very busy cleaning, and I think all that activity could have lulled Tator Tot to sleep. Today, though, I haven't been overly active, yet I've felt even less movement. That's not to say I've felt nothing, but the movements have been sparse and seemingly less vigorous.... I know with the rational part of my mind that worrying won't help, and that the feelings are normal. (There's a section in my pregnancy book on these fears.)

My heart tells me I can trust God to take care of me and my baby no matter what happens. I know I don't have to be anxious, that I can present my requests to God with thanksgiving, and the peace of God will guard my heart and mind (Phillipians 4:4-9). I also know he has a plan for me, that He ordained all of my days before one of them came to be (Psalm 139). I know that He works in all things for my good, and that absolutely nothing can separate me from the love of Christ (Romans 8).

I'm thankful that God led me to memorize these passages that I need now. But so far, I've been unable to shake this nagging anxiety despite going over my scriptures and praying. I feel frustrated that I can fall so easily into this old trap of worry, the same worry as before, but with different surrounding circumstances.

Lord, I know you carried me through my struggles with fear and worry in the past, and I know you can do that now. Teach me the lesson again, Lord.... Be with me tonight when I share this with Bill. Draw us together, and please encourage me through him.

Wednesday 1/25/06
I had a good talk with Bill after Ethan went to bed. We sat on the couch in the loft, and Bill held my hand as I cried. He said he knew nothing he could say could take away my worry, but he was very supportive. I asked him to pray for me, though I knew that he prefers for me to do the praying. He said a very nice prayer that made me feel comforted and loved. He prayed for me first, then the baby. He asked God to help me feel secure and very loved, that I would know I would be okay no matter what happens with the baby. He asked God to cover the baby and make it grow strong and healthy. And he asked God to make the baby kick now and again to ease my worries.

It was the longest and most heartfelt prayer I'd ever heard from Bill, and I was touched. I realized that a very good effect had come out of my struggle, and I was thankful.

Tuesday 1/31/06
We had a sonogram today. We're having a girl! I can't believe I'm going to be a mother to a girl, then a young woman! I sort of had a feeling it was a girl, but of course I didn't really know....

In the car, I didn't make it out of the parking lot before I started sobbing. I started imagining a little girl in a ruffled dress, a preteen getting her first bra, her first period, her first date as a teenager. I just let the tears fall as I contemplated the wonder of watching our girl grow into a woman.

I must have been crying pretty hard because my cell phone rang, and it was Bill checking on me. He was in his truck, taking Ethan back to school while I headed to the airport for my flight to Chicago. He said, "What are you doing back there?"

I laughed and admitted, "I'm crying." I assured him they were happy tears, and I asked if he was happy. He said very. I asked if he was afraid about raising a girl, and he said, "Of course." He told me to take it easy and not get into a wreck.

I had to call him back a couple minutes later to report that she had woken up and was kicking. During the sonogram, she'd been sleeping, and no amount of jiggling and poking would rouse her.

But she was beautiful! We could see her head, her arms and legs, her fingers and toes, her spine and ribs, and... her face! We had a clear view of her profile, and we could make out her features. She was sleeping with her arms crossed over her face....

Ethan didn't say too much during the exam, but he told Bill later that he'd gotten his wish--he really wanted a baby sister. And when he got back to school, he showed his sono picture to the receptionist.

January 2006

It strikes me as I read my thoughts from six years ago that I am learning the same lessons about worry and trust yet again! And just as I said then, I'm finding that God continues to carry me through my struggles. And that something good can come out of them. Thank you, Jesus!

We're Gonna Need an Equation

The first thing Ethan said when he got home today was, "When can you take me to Walmart?"
"Walmart?"

"I need to buy some cloth to make a flag."

When I raised my eyebrows, he explained that it was for a Social Studies project. "When's it due?" I asked.

"Tomorrow."

My eyebrows rose another half inch.

"Well, it's actually not due yet, but if I turn it in tomorrow I get an extra 10 points."

Those were the magic words. "We can go during Allyson's soccer practice."

Ethan said he'd rather go after dinner. "Don't worry," he assured me. "Some other kids said it only took about 20 minutes. You can buy some kind of sticky tape at Walmart and just iron the whole thing together."

"Good thing because you know I can't sew," I said. "But I wouldn't be too sure about the 20 minutes. Things have a way of taking a lot longer than you think."

In the Walmart fabric section, the clerk took one look at Ethan and said, "Making a flag?"

He nodded.

"What colors do you need?"

"Red, green, and white."

She informed us that they were out of kelly green, which apparently is a popular flag color all over the world. (Either that, or it's on the simplest flags; Ethan says most kids picked their countries based on the perceived difficulty of this flag project.)

Ethan pointed at a bolt of olive green fabric. "I think that will work."

She measured out 11 inches of each color. "That way you only have to measure the 14 inches," she said. "And you've got lots of extra fabric in case you make an error." (God bless that woman!)

She then led us to the iron-on tape, called Stitchery Witchery. She had clearly learned all the details of the project from the throngs of kids coming in over the last few days, which goes to show that procrastinating sometimes has its perks.

It all came up to less than $5. This was one of those days when I love Walmart.

Back home, we laid it all out on the kitchen table while Ethan looked up the Madagascar flag online. "It's three rectangles, all the same length," he read. "But they aren't the same width."

"We'll need an equation," I said with a big grin. (I'm always looking for chances to prove that you really do need math in real life.) I grabbed a tablet and drew a rectangle with three rectangles inside it. I labeled the big rectangle's sides: 14, 11. On the inside vertical rectangle, I marked an x.

"Mom, that side's 11," Ethan said.

"Oh, of course it is," I said, flushing a little. If we couldn't use algebra, at least we could use a little geometry. "Okay, if all these sides are 11, then the little rectangle must be 3 inches wide. And the other two must be 5.5 inches, right?"

I fetched the tape measure that Allyson gave Bill for his birthday last month. We marked out 3 inches on the white fabric and then stared at each other. "How are we going to cut a straight line?" I whined. "And what will we use to cut it? I don't have sewing shears."

"What about your scrapbooking stuff?" Ethan suggested.

I grinned as I trotted up the stairs. (I'm always looking for opportunities to show that my scrapbooking supplies can be used in real life.)

We used the rotary cutting tool, which served as a ruler, straight edge, and cutter all in one. But we soon learned that the fabric was crooked all around; that's how it came off the bolt.

"I don't know how we're going to make all this line up," I said. "And look at all those strings hanging off the edges. I wish I knew how to sew. What we need is a finished edge. Do you know what that means?"

Ethan nodded halfheartedly.

I tried to show him how you can sew an edge and then turn it inside out and iron it to make a sharp edge. "What if we cut the pieces longer and then fold over the edges?"

"But we've already cut the pieces. I don't want to cut them again," Ethan complained.

I sighed. "And how would we know how long to make them?"

He voiced my thoughts. "We need Bill."

"We're on our own tonight," I said. "Bill's watching hockey. Canucks hockey."

I cut out an 11 X 14 white rectangle to use as a base and then laboriously outlined the perimeter of each smaller rectangle with Stitchery Witchery tape. Next, I carefully laid each small rectangle in place and then covered the whole thing with a damp tea towel.

Ethan, Allyson, and I counted to ten in unison as I held the iron over each section. This was fun! But when I pulled the now dry towel off the flag, we groaned. Toward the right side of the flag, there was a thin line of white between the red and green rectangles.

"It looks horrible," I said.

"It's good enough," Ethan said. "With my extra 10 points, I might get an 80."

"You can't turn it in like this. It's pathetic." I sighed heavily. Time to call for reinforcements. "Bill!" I bellowed. "We need you."

He trudged downstairs and surveyed our (my) work.

"I can't do this-it's too hard-I can't cut straight-the fabric was all crooked and look at these strings," I wailed.

"Why are you getting so worked up?" Bill asked.

"Because I really tried my hardest, but look at this piece of... dog dung. It's horrible."

"Why did you put this little white piece on top?" he asked. "Why didn't you just use a big white piece and put the other rectangles on top? And why didn't you put the green on top of the red instead of trying to make two straight edges? And why didn't you cut some extra fabric and fold over the edges all around?"

I bit back my angry retort and did my best to mimic Lola's puppy dog eyes when she wants to come in out of the rain. "Could you please... I don't understand what you... Please?"

He sighed heavily. "I guess if you tuck Allyson in. And pause the hockey game."

"Thank you!" I called, already halfway up the stairs.

As soon as Allyson was settled, I started on this blog entry, listening to Bill and Ethan with half an ear. Every now and then I snickered; clearly it wasn't quite as easy as Bill had made it sound. "What the heck happened to our straight line?" Bill grumbled at one point. I looked down over the banister and exchanged a sly grin with Ethan, who was watching Bill iron.

Well, I don't know how he did it, but look how awesome the finished product looks:

Front

Back

And that's how both Bill and I ended up spending an hour apiece doing Ethan's homework. I can't complain, though. My sixth-grade Me-Doll comes to mind at times like these. On the night before it was due, the entire family slaved over that doll all evening while I just wrung my hands. Mom cut out the pattern and sewed it together while Amy and Dad made the clothes. As I recall, even little Emily helped. I think she drew the face. Even at age 8 she was quite the artist.

But I digress. Isn't Bill amazing? There really isn't anything that man can't do.

Even Luckier Than I Thought

To my relatives, some of whom have already heard this story in person three or four times, I'm sorry. I just have to repeat it for my other six blog readers. I don't know why, but this story is just so funny even though it wasn't at all funny at the time...

On the evening of Thursday, July 14, I remarked to Bill, "Did you turn off the upstairs A/C?"

"No, why?"

"Did you know it's 88 degrees up there?" [That's 31 Celsius to my Canadian and British friends.]

"Uh oh."

Bill immediately called a repairman, but he couldn't come until Friday evening. I normally work upstairs, but I had to move downstairs when the inside temperature rose into the high 90s. (It was about 103 outside--39 Celcius.) I was frantically working on a project that was due that day, and I needed to record some audio. But Bill was working at the downstairs table, so I needed to isolate myself in the downstairs half bath, which is very echoey.

After a brainstorm--or an attack of insanity, in Bill's view--I dragged Allyson's tiny dome tent down the stairs and into the bathroom. It took up the entire floor and had to flex around the toilet, but I was determined to make it work. I zipped myself in with my laptop, headset, and a foam reflux wedge pillow (to muffle echoes) and recorded away.

About 30 minutes later, our coworker Craig arrived with an old window unit to use until his brother could fix our air conditioning. I offered to help Bill carry it up the stairs and install it in the window.

"No, I've got it," he assured me. I would have argued with him, but I was really behind on my project, so I zipped myself back into the tent.

About five minutes later, I heard an ominous sound just outside the bathroom door leading to the porch: Clunk-clunk...ka-BLAM! 

"I just about killed the dog!" Bill hollered from upstairs.

By the time I unzipped the tent and flung open the door, Bill was standing on the porch with clenched fists, cussing like a sailor. "What did I do to deserve this?" he demanded.

Lola stood next to him, glancing nervously up at the open second-story window and then at the mangled hunk of metal and plastic on the slate tiles. Bill pointed out the two dents in our barbecue grill (explaining the clunk-clunk I'd heard); he surmised that Lola had probably been sleeping in her customary spot under its shade. "She was just looking up at me in the window, as if to say, 'Why are you trying to kill me? What did I do to you?'" he said.

The A/C Landed Just In Front of the Grill, Which Lola Sleeps Under

I supressed my laughter since Bill was all but stomping his feet he was so mad. "Well, I guess that's beyond repair," I sighed. I wanted to commiserate with him, but I had more audio to record, so I climbed back into the tent.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Bill rustling around upstairs again. Surely he couldn't have... no, no way. Must be doing something else, I thought. But then I heard a click and a low humming noise overhead. I unzipped the tent and thundered up the stairs.

There was Bill, basking in front of the icy breeze of that window unit, which he'd pieced together with Duck tape.

"You're amazing!" I gushed. "You're just... amazing."

Bill laughed sheepishly. He explained how he'd taken the machine apart, pounded out the bent metal, and taped it back together.

Can You See All the Tape?

The plastic accordion pieces that fill in the window space were shattered, so he'd cut cardboard panels and taped them on either side of the unit, using blue painter's tape.

I planted a kiss on his sweaty mouth and went back down to my tent.

Some Good News At Last
When the repairman arrived, he quickly determined that our capacitor had blown up, and he was able to replace it for only $110. We had figured we'd have to replace the upstairs unit since this was the third breakdown, but he advised us to keep it as a new unit would be anywhere from $4000 and $6000!

"Man, we were lucky," I told Bill later that evening when I finally shut down the laptop for the night (without finishing the project, after all that sweating in the tent).

I ribbed him a bit more about having it in for the dog, and then I asked him exactly how it happened.

He explained that he'd initially gotten the unit into the window without a problem, but then he noticed that it was dripping on the carpet because Craig had hosed the coils down before he brought it over.

"I lifted up the window just a smidge to slide a towel under it," he said, "and it was so back heavy that it started to go. In that instant, I thought, 'This A/C is going out the window... I've got to catch it.' But immediately I had another thought: 'If I try to grab this, I'm going out the window with it.'" He lifted his hands out to his side, palms up. "So I watched it fall."

My entire body convulsed in a shudder as I pictured my husband's broken body next to the crumpled metal A/C. "I think God told you that," I said in a trembly voice. "It would have been instinct to grab it, and you didn't even have time to think."

I closed my eyes then and thanked God. Our dog was spared, we saved about $3900, and my husband was still with me. Not a bad day.

Oh, and one more thing. When Bill sent Craig a message breaking the news about destroying his window unit, he said, "Don't worry about it. I picked it up off my neighbor's curb!" Whew!

So what happened to that portable unit? It's still sitting in the window almost two weeks later. I think Bill's gotten attached to it; there's just something about standing in front of that frigid wind that you just don't get with central air.

See the Yellow Towel That Caused the Debacle?

"People like us are the reason the homeowners' associations forbid window units," I said. "It looks so tacky!" (Fortunately, we don't belong to an association.)

"I think we should get one in every room," Bill said. With this heat, maybe we will.

Love in the Air... And Poop on the Deck

When I drug myself to the breakfast table at 7:05 yesterday morning, Bill was already grumbling. "I think a bunch of birds have been hanging out by the pool," he said.

I smiled, picturing birds sprawled on lawn chairs, drinking lemonade out of tiny cups with teeny umbrellas.

"And they're pooping all over the deck," he continued. My smile fizzled.

He peered through the screen door. "Hey, guys! Looks like two birds are mating out there now." He stepped onto the porch.

Ethan didn't budge, just continued staring at his plate, but I jumped up and raced out the door behind Bill. I'd never seen birds mating--or any other animals, for that matter--and I was curious.

By the time I caught up to him, he had pushed through the iron gate and was trying shoo two birds that resembled doves. They now sat about an inch apart on the trellis next to the jasmine vine.

"How'd you know they were mating?" I asked.

He cast a sideways glance at me, raising his brows. "Because one of them was on top of the other?"

"Oh," I said, crestfallen to have missed the show.

Bill turned his attention back to breaking up the lovers. "Get!" he yelled. One bird fluttered to the back wall of the pool, the other just behind it. Bill walked out on the ledge, waving his arms. "Go on, get out!"

Reluctant to end their tryst, the couple flew just a few feet farther and perched side by side on the fence.

"Get out!" Bill repeated, advancing along the ledge. "All the way out."

The Love Nest

"Aw, you interrupted their romantic moment," I said.

"I don't care. Not in our backyard. They need to get a room," he said. I snickered.

Lola, who had followed us into the enclosure, danced around Bill's feet. "And you!" Bill scolded, shaking a finger at her. "You need to do your job and take care of all these birds." Lola gazed up at him with adoring eyes and wagged her tail.

Lola, the Lackadaisical Watchdog

I puckered my lips for a good morning smooch, and Bill cracked his first smile of the day.

Over The Hill? Not This Tuba Player

Well, it's official. As of yesterday, my better half is in his 40s, just like me. The celebration began last Thursday, when his family flew in from Vancouver. At first it was all supposed to be a surprise, but I decided it would be better to tell him about his parents coming so he could schedule some time off work. But he had no idea his brother Trevor was coming. It was so hard keeping such a big secret for weeks and weeks!

For one thing, I had to come up with a plausible explanation as to why we needed to take two vehicles to the airport. "There's no way we're all fitting in the Sentra," I warned.

"That's why I'm going by myself," he said. What he didn't realize is that even if he went alone, it would still be a tight squeeze due to Allyson's car seat, which was firmly secured via the LATCH system and nigh impossible to remove (as Trevor later discovered, but that's another story).

I looked away and focused on breathing evenly, willing the blood not to rush to my face. "Allyson really wants to go," I said finally. "And if Allyson goes, Ethan will have to go. And then there won't be room for Mom and Dad."

Bill sighed theatrically. "Oh, all right. We'll all go."

The whole time we were waiting at baggage claim, I was on edge. Trevor was arriving on a separate flight just ahead of Mom and Dad, and I wondered what would happen if he was delayed. How would I convince Bill we needed to hang around the airport? I'll just have to develop a diarrhea relapse and camp out in the bathroom, I decided.

Of course, it all worked out beautifully. Just as I spotted Mom and Dad, with Trevor skulking along behind them, Ethan exclaimed, "Hey, I didn't know Uncle Trevor was coming!"

"No, he's not," Bill said.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "See for yourself."

"It's Uncle Trevor!" Allyson yelled, hurtling herself at his legs.

Bill couldn't stop smiling, and neither could I.

We had his big party on Saturday, at which we served seven kinds of pizza. I'd been planning to make three kinds of lasagna, but Bill had insisted on beer and pizza. When I said we couldn't just have beer and pizza, he said, "It's MY 40th birthday, and if I want beer and pizza, I'm having beer and pizza."

"Well, okay then," I said meekly.

It was actually really tasty, and the entire evening was lots of fun. Without any deliberate planning that way, the party had taken on a hockey theme. It started with me putting a picture of Bill in his hockey uniform on the invitation.

When my sister Emily saw the invitation, she decided to make his cake with a hockey theme.  Knowing he was a Canucks fan, she went online and found their logo, which she re-created in fondant. [To see more of Emily's cakes, see her Facebook page, Charlie Cakes. She takes orders!]

Allyson, Ethan, Bill, Emily

But that wasn't all. Guess what he got from his parents? A regulation Canucks hockey jersey, complete with the number 40 (because it's the team's 40th anniversary)! Finally, as luck would have it, the Canucks were playing the Dallas Stars that night, which meant we could actually watch the game on local TV.

So Bill and Trevor drug down Ethan's clunky old TV--the one we used for awhile after our big-screen TV broke, the one you have to whack periodically to bring the picture back. They set it up on a folding table on the back porch, stretching the satellite cable out Ethan's window and down the wall to the TV.

There were a few chuckles about this setup, but everyone had fun watching the game--well, maybe not everyone. The Canucks won 5-2, much to the delight of Bill, his Dad, and his brother, who were watching the game in their Canucks jerseys.

Allyson Wore a Jersey, Too

I think we had the most fun while Bill opened his presents. His friends Scott and Troy surprised him with an authentic T-shirt from his alma mater, Brookswood Secondary.

Love this "Over The Hill" Paper

Brookswood Ice Hockey - 1989

"We almost ordered you the band T-shirt," Scott remarked.

"But we wanted to get you a shirt you might actually wear," Troy put in.

Bill's mom laughed. "You know, Bill didn't actually play hockey in high school.... But he was in the band."

"No way!" Troy exclaimed. "Why have we never heard about this?"

"He played the tuba," Mom went on.

The entire room burst into breathless laughter. "The tuba??" his buddies repeated.

"Oh, I wish I'd known you could get a band T-shirt," I said ruefully. "I would have told you about the tuba for sure."

"You wouldn't happen to have a picture of Bill playing the tuba?" Scott asked. "It might bring you some money."

"No, I don't think so," his mom said. "He always slouched down low so the tuba covered his face. If we got a picture, it would have just looked like a tuba with black legs."

Scott and Troy howled.

"He only stayed in one year," Mom explained. "He wanted to drop out, but we made him finish the year."

"I wanted to play the bass guitar," Bill said. "The only problem was that all the 8th grade boys wanted to play the bass guitar. So the teacher drew out one name for the guitar and then said, 'You get the trumpet, you get the flute... And I got the tuba."

Scott and Troy thought about all the mischief they could get into with a picture of Bill in his tuba-playing days, which reminded them of the many pranks they'd already pulled on him. (Each time we go out of town, they do something to vandalize his desk.) They kept us laughing for ten minutes recounting all their practical jokes: dropping 500 marbles into his overhead bookshelf, turning his cube into a giant snow globe with blowing "snow" made of packing peanuts, and rigging a shower of glitter over his desk, to name a few.

After we'd regained our composure, Scott brought in their real gift, a combination cooler, adjustable serving table, and bottle opener:

Scott and the Awesome Cooler

Before the evening ended, Bill's mom couldn't help sharing one more tidbit about Bill's childhood. We were watching scores of pictures that Bill's sister Lisa had loaded onto her gift, a digital picture frame that she sent with Mom and Dad. We giggled a lot over Bill's bushy 80s hair, but we laughed even harder over his dad's 70s sideburns and mustache.

Bill, Jim, Lisa

Bill With His Grandpa, Whom I Never Got to Meet

Anyway, while we were looking at the pictures, his mom mused, "We used to call him Billie back then... with an 'ie'."

"Oh, Mom," Trevor said. "You realize you've just given them more ammunition!"

And he was right... When Bill returned to work today, this is what he found:

A Mouse Encased in Jell-O... A Typical Prank

Through all of this ribbing, Bill has been a very good sport. But tonight he drew the line. When he caught me trying to post one of his high school pictures, he said, "If you post that on the Internet it might mean the end of our marriage."

I guess you'll just have to use your imagination.

He's a Strange, Strange Man (And I Love Him)

Are you one of those fearless shoppers who venture out at 3:00 in the morning on Black Friday for all the doorbuster deals? Well, we're not that brave. In fact, until this year we had never even considered going out on Black Friday--especially Bill, since he doesn't enjoy crowds. But there's a first time for everything.

Several months ago, our big screen projection TV (only about five years old, I must mention) abruptly shut itself off and wouldn't come back on again. Bill researched the symptoms on the Internet and figured he could fix it with a $35 part. The only catch was the danger of electrocution from opening the set. We weighed the options and decided it wasn't worth the risk. It was the worst possible timing as we had just committed to our new budget, but I figured Bill would consider this a true emergency, and that we'd break into the sacred Emergency Fund.

Even after ten years, he can still surprise me. He made no mention of buying a new set, just moved his ancient 13-inch TV/VCR combo into the TV room. It looked so ridiculous sitting on Allyson's play table in front of our broken 47-inch set.

Bump-Bumpity-Bump... Down to the Garage

After a few days Bill commandeered Ethan's 30-something-inch set, a hand-me-down from my sister Amy. "Hey!" Ethan protested, but then he watched the 13-inch set without any complaints.

All was good until a few weeks ago, when the picture on the replacement TV started blacking out periodically. A firm stomp on the TV room floor brought it back each time, but it was rather jarring to hear all that stomping going on upstairs. The intervals gradually got closer and closer together, and soon we had to start rapping the TV smartly on the side or top. Still, Bill didn't say a word about buying a new TV.

I started thinking about how compliant he had been with the budget--my idea, by the way--and how he'd never once gone over, though he does occasionally mix some of the envelopes together, which drives me nuts. Then I started thinking about all the sales going on after Thanksgiving, and how it would be smarter to buy a TV now if we're going to buy one soon anyway.

So one night last week I surprised Bill by casually suggesting that we buy a TV on Black Friday. He immediately launched into hours of research into the different brands, prices, and technologies. This went on for over a week, and then he made his final decision on Thanksgiving evening: a Vizio LCD flat screen. The cheapest price was at Walmart, of course, and he grimaced at the thought of braving the crowds in the chain where people have literally been trampled to death on a Black Friday in the not-too-distant past (not in OUR store, thankfully).

"The sales last all weekend," I said. "You don't necessarily have to go out on Friday."

"We'll see," he said.

He did go out around noon yesterday, hours after the serious shoppers hit the stores. An hour later, I heard the garage door opening as he backed his truck up the driveway. "I think we have a new TV, Allyson!" I said, an unexpected grin stretching across my face.

Bill was smiling too when he walked in from the garage. "What did you get?" I asked eagerly.

"A TV stand," he said.

"You went out on Black Friday to get a TV STAND??"

"Well, it was a good price. And I need to get the TV room organized and move out the old shelves before I can bring in a new TV," he explained.

This made perfect sense, but still.... How could he go without a big-screen TV for this many months and then come back with just a TV stand? I shook my head in wonder. "You are a very unusual man," I said. He just smiled.

He worked on the new setup for hours, clearing out old CDs and DVDs and rearranging the ones he meant to keep, stringing wires, and hanging the speakers that used to sit on the shelves. It reminded me of an expectant mother in the nesting phase, lovingly making a place for her new arrival.

When everything was in place we all sat on the couch admiring his handiwork. "It looks great!" I said. "And doesn't our little TV look snazzy on that big new stand?"

Bill's Black Friday Find

He gave me a sidelong glance. "You do realize I'm probably going to sneak out and head to Walmart around midnight?"

"I wouldn't be surprised, Bill."

He didn't make a midnight Walmart run after all (due to his poor, aching back after all that work). But he was up this morning just as the weak morning light began filtering through the heavy curtains. I squinted up at him and strained to see the clock over Allyson, who had crept into our bed in the wee hours of the morning. "What time is it?" I mouthed, gesturing at the clock that was still out of view.

"Seven forty-five," he replied without making a sound. He held his arms out in front of him and pantomimed turning a giant steering wheel. "I'm going to the store."

A knowing smile pulled at my lips. He was like a kid on Christmas morning! I traced a large rectangle with my hands. "You're getting the TV?" I mouthed. He grinned sheepishly and waved on his way out the bedroom door.

Three hours later, after visiting two Walmart stores, he returned with the Vizio. I have to admit it looked pretty darn good on our Black Friday TV stand. Can you guess what we watched first? Allyson's "Noggin" preschool channel, of course! Wow, Dora and Swiper look awesome in high definition.

When Allyson had moved on to other things, and Bill was contentedly adjusting all the settings while watching a football game, I said, "Are you happy, husband?"

He nodded and gave me a quick peck on the lips. "Happy early Christmas," I said. And it did feel like Christmas.

That's Better!

One More Bill Story
Last night Bill and I spent a half hour finishing the latest chapter in the marriage study that we're doing with our home group from church. We snuggled on the couch and answered questions about how well he makes me feel loved and how well I make him feel respected. For him, it probably ranked right up there with getting his teeth cleaned, but it made me feel very loved (ka-ching!) to know that he would do the study with me.

The last question asked us to evaluate the current state of our marriage. I answered first. "It's good," I said, and we both laughed at the unaccustomed brevity of my answer.

" 'sgood," he echoed, mimicking Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty.

"But what do you think about our marriage?" I pressed.

"It's better than I could have imagined," he said with a cocky grin and a tongue-in-cheek tone.

I pursed my lips and lowered my brows in mock disapproval.

He went on in a very serious tone. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."

My heart begin to pitter-patter. "Oh, Bill..." Then I saw that he was chuckling.

"Braveheart," he said, and I stared at him blankly. "It's a line from Mel Gibson in Braveheart."

"Say it again," I demanded. "I don't care where it came from."

"It would be better in a thick Scottish brogue," he protested.

"Just say it."

He looked in my eyes. "I love you. I've always loved you. I always will love you."

I kissed him, wincing when his bristly chin scratched my lips.

"I'm writing this down in the study book," I said.

"Of course you are."

"And I'm going to read it out loud at the home group meeting."

He rolled his eyes. I'll let you know how that goes.

Is There Anything That Man Can't Do?

Even after ten years together, Bill continues to surprise me with the things he's able to do. I vividly remember the first time he took on a handyman task. It was after he'd moved down to Texas but before we got married.  One of the many aggravations he had to deal with every weekend as he tried to bring life to the dead dust bowl in my backyard was a broken faucet under the kitchen window. I can't remember what was wrong with it, but I seem to recall that he had to use pliers to turn it on. I heard him cuss for the first time on the evening that the pipe snapped.

"Don't worry. I can fix it," he assured me as I stood behind him, wringing my hands.

"Have you ever fixed a pipe before?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, but I know I can figure it out."

"How?"

"Hush, woman. I need to get a blow torch."

I followed on his heels as he gathered the blow torch and whatever tools he thought he'd need. When he knelt in front of the pipe and got ready to do some welding, I said in a tiny voice, "Are you sure you don't want me to call a plumber?"

Bill glowered at me. "I said I can fix it."

And he did. I think it took two tries because it was still seeping after his first attempt, but he did fix that pipe. Since then, I've never dared to suggest calling a professional for anything. No matter what it is, Bill can figure it out:

• Laying tile? Piece of cake.
• Hanging wallpaper border? Not a problem. 
• Designing and hanging a tile backsplash? Easy. 
• Faux finish? Fun! 

• Fixing the icemaker? $28.00. 
• Changing my alternator? A Sunday afternoon.
• Removing wallpaper and texturing the kitchen walls? No, better call a professional....  The professional did a sloppy job, so when it came time to texture the bathroom, Bill bought a hopper from Home Depot and applied that texture impeccably. It looked better than the "professional" job at a fraction of the cost.

Each time I watch Bill research something on the Internet and then flawlessly carry out the instructions, I admire him just a little bit more. But when it comes to showing off his bigger home improvement tasks to family and friends, my pride really swells. There's the shed that he designed and built with his own hands....

...and the patio extension, complete with slate tiles and a cedar pergola.

It was fun watching Bill mark out the curves using a big string, kind of like a human protractor. He built the wooden forms and then, with a little help from family and friends (and a big cement truck that he hired), he poured that deck.


But That's Not All! 
Not only does Bill excel at manly tasks like fixing and building things, he is also quite talented at... well, things that you might consider more feminine. Like braiding Allyson's hair--better than I can. He hasn't learned the French braid yet, but I'm sure he will when he sets his mind to it.

And then there was the pie crust. Last December, he announced that he'd found a great apple pie recipe that he wanted to make for Christmas dinner. "Honey, have you ever made a pie crust?" I asked.

"No, but how hard can it be? Have you made one?"

"No, but I've heard it's really tricky," I replied.  "I don't think you can just whip out a pie crust. You have to keep working at it until you get it right. You'll probably mess it up the first few times."

"So I'll make a practice crust tonight," he said.

With that, he got together the flour, ice-cold butter, and ice water, and drug out the big KitchenAid mixer (my favorite Christmas gift ever). I stood by and smirked while he and Allyson measured out the flour and butter and pulsed it in the mixer bowl.

But I had to eat my words--along with a big hunk of pie--when I saw his pie. It was PERFECT!

He made another pie for our Christmas dinner, and it was so good that it even enticed my dad, who was still recovering from an esophagectomy and had very little appetite, to take a second piece.

So why am I telling you about all of this now? Because Bill just surprised me again. Allyson's bangs had been getting longer and longer and were starting to really annoy her. As I mentioned in my last post, we've just started on a new  budget, and I hated to pay $15 to take her for a haircut.

One of my friends suggested cutting her bangs myself, but I had visions of a zig-zaggy line such as I've seen on other children whose mothers take the scissors into their own hands. I told Bill that I wanted to cut her bangs, but that I was afraid. "You should cut them," I said. "You can do anything else you set your mind to, so why not cut bangs?"

I was sort of joking, but he said mildly, "Yeah, I probably could."

So the next night (this past Tuesday), he sprayed down her bangs, combed them out straight, and then pinched them between his thumb and forefinger. I stood by with trembling hands, offering compulsive, unsolicited advice. "Cut them longer than you want them. That way we can take her to the salon if they get messed up.... Hold the piece you've already cut as a guide.... Careful! Not too short!... Oh, there's a long piece."

Two minutes later, her bangs hung in a perfectly straight line just above her eyebrows. They looked at least as good as they did after her last haircut. See?

I couldn't get her to stop pushing her bangs to the side, a habit she developed because they were constantly in her eyes, but hopefully you can see what a great job Bill did.

Yep, it's official. There really isn't anything that man can't do. Maybe I can even convince him to sew me some pads! Nah, because he knows I would blog about it. But I bet he could!

There's Dog Poop in the Pool

Yesterday while Allyson played in her new waterfall pool from Nana, Bill gathered bits of lumber and laid them out in a rough oval on the ground. Then he dragged a patio chair over to the near edge and sat down, deep in thought.

Allyson at the Lake Last Summer

Allyson paused in her splashing and ran up beside him. "What are you doin', Daddy?"

"I'm imagining that I'm sitting in front of the pool," he replied.

For the last few weeks, we've been trying to decide on a design and a builder for our new pool. Bill's been very scientific about it. Last weekend he chalked out his favorite design, using a pretty accurate scale, so that he could envision the finished pool and see the clearance on both ends. The main thing that I noticed was the three trees encompassed within the perimeter. It would seem Bill has it in for ALL my trees.

This week he was focusing on the deck, trying to determine whether there would really be room for lounge chairs between the pool and the iron fence that will separate the pool from the rest of the yard.

Allyson climbed onto the closest piece of wood, balanced for a moment, and jumped off.

"I'm imaginin' that I'm jumpin' in the pool," she explained. She splashed around in the imaginary water for a moment and then drug herself back out. Then she jumped back in, landing precariously close to a pile of doggy doo that Bill had missed on daily poop duty.

"Watch out for that-"

"Hey, why does the pool have dog poop in it?" Allyson demanded indignantly.

"Well, it's only a pretend pool," Bill laughed.

At that, Allyson went back over to her inflatable (poop-free) pool, and Bill resumed sunning himself in front of his imaginary pool.

Lola (The Culprit) Running Through the Deep End

Nobody Would Notice...

Tonight while Bill took Allyson to soccer practice, I hurriedly put together a fabulous meal of shrimp and angel hair pasta with homemade Alfredo sauce. While I was chopping onions for a green bean side dish, my eyes watered so profusely that I had to dry them on a dish towel. I noticed the dark mascara smudge on the towel, but I didn't have time to deal with that as I scurried around getting the sauce, shrimp, and pasta ready.

Over dinner a half hour later--which everyone but Allyson loved--Allyson asked, "What are those black things on you, Mama?"

"What black things?"

"Under your eyes."

"Oh, yeah. I was cutting onions and they made me cry, and I guess I smeared my mascara."

"Oh, do you mean like in the rat story? [Ratatouille: I Smell A Rat]"

"Yes. Sometimes people really do cry when they chop onions."

Since no one else said anything, I thought, How bad could it be? But I was enjoying my buttery, cheesy sauce too much to get up and check.

While Bill finished up the last of the dishes, I got ready to drive to Braum's to buy some milk--meaning, I put on some flip flops. About halfway to the car, I turned sharply on my heel and hurried back inside.

"Were you seriously going to let me go to the store with mascara smeared under my eyes?" I demanded.

"Nobody would notice. It's not so bad with your glasses on. Besides, they never make eye contact there," Bill replied.

I ripped off a sheet of paper towel and went into the downstairs bathroom. Oh boy! There was a centimeter-wide crescent of black under each eye. After I'd laboriously washed it off with the paper towel and a bit of hand soap, I stomped back to the kitchen.

"That was terrible!! I can't believe you would let me leave the house like that. They would too have noticed!"

Bill's glance swept over me with a mixture of amusement and derision. "No one would have noticed your eyes," he assured me.

I looked down at my clothes in consternation. I was wearing the flip flops, my black "Pray" T-shirt, and some blue jean shorts that Bill's sister passed down to me recently. The shorts are only moderately faded, not nearly as faded as the identical ones that I wore out before Lisa so kindly gave me hers.

I stared at him blankly.

"Your fly's open," he explained.

Ethan's raucous laughter followed me out the open door and all the way to the car.

For the record, the clerk at Braum's looked me right in the eye when she smiled and thanked me for my purchase. I wonder how she would have reacted if I'd gone in with my raccoon eyes? Whew! Bill's going to get a kick in the pants.

Bill and I in July 2009
Hell's Gate, Over Fraser River in British Columbia