It never gets old… **UPDATE**

The story of the miracle that is my very life never gets old. There are always people who have never heard the story, seen the pictures of the car, met my beautiful daughter who also survived. I am a willing participant in a genetic study that Baylor Research Foundation has going, so I got a call last month to speak at a reception. TONIGHT. Am I nervous? No. The fact that I’m not is a little disturbing for me. I ask for your prayers, both for me and the doctors speaking this evening. Mostly for the donors who will be in attendance. My prayer is that my story is the proof that they need to know that Baylor is forever conducting research that ultimately benefits patients.

I will post tomorrow about the event.

**UPDATE**
It was a very swank affair this evening, in the posh Dallas Design District. Let’s just say that we got to see how the other half lives. We were welcome to bring our daughters, but had to be thankful we left them at home with Grandma and Grandpa. We are worried enough about how to pay for three separate college tuitions and eventually three separate weddings. DH didn’t want to be working for the next ten years just to pay off the broken merchandise in the store!

God’s specific design for me as an impactor was driven home tonight. Not that I needed any further words of encouragement to be certain, but I know that I know that I know it’s His Design. The event was very intimate. 20 people max, and a subject about which I am very passionate: Baylor Research Institute. It is that very research that gave Baylor Institute for Rehabilitation (BIR) the clinical expertise to treat me back in the summer of 2003. What research did not give those doctors, nurses and therapists was the true heart that I believe I experienced while I was a patient at BIR. Baylor employs earthly angels, let me tell you. I enjoyed speaking tonight, because I am comfortable about the material and passionate about the continuing research that is going on.

At the beginning of February, I had a professional photographer spend an hour or so snapping shots of me with little Rosie in the back yard. One of those photos is posted on the Baylor Foundation website. Of course, you are given the opportunity to watch the story of my miserable accident and miraculous recovery. Please feel free to do so with my blessing!

Thank you to each of you who offered words of encouragement and lifted me up in prayer. I have made myself available to any and all opportunities to speak on Baylor’s behalf.

DH was home, so we had FUN!!

We spent DH’s weekend off helping our daughters design, decorate, and vandalize their own mansion. I’ve got the story, with pictures, posted here.

Personal Questions…

…asked by complete strangers. At Walmart. When, on rare occasion, I take all three of my children out in public, I know that I’m just asking for nosy questions. Yet I do it anyway. Just so I can make those people laugh instantly, yet walk away mulling over what I said. Here are some versions of the questions that I am asked:

Are they all yours?

Actually, none of them are mine. I just like to stop at local daycare centers and take children that look like me.

All you have is girls?

Well, when I told God what I wanted was a single child, and a boy, He laughed and gave me exactly what He thought I needed. I’m raising myself times THREE!

Aren’t you going to try again (for a boy)?

No. We finally found a doctor that was able to explain to us how these babies keep happening, and he put a stop to that!

Oh, my! You must be so busy!

I was busy with just one, but I looked at my husband and said: ‘Why not have a couple more just like her?’

I must have an approachable aura about me. I love that. Really, I’m not at all insulted by these questions. I’m not afraid to answer these questions in front of my daughters. When I’m shopping with all three, however, I’m in a hurry to get finished. I’m not worried about what will happen to my daughters. I’m worried about what will happen to the store.

Take just a minute or two and see Chris’s personal questions about her boys!

My Sweet Pea


Catie may be a loving, soft-spoken, blonde five year old, but she started out a Strawberry-Blonde like her momma. I’m telling you – she’s a redhead on the inside!

For My Mother


I am grateful to be your daughter, Mom. I’m thankful that our past is forgiven and that it has shaped us into the women we are today. The saying is true: Mother and Daughter become closer when the Daughter becomes a Mother. I love watching the joy on your face as you watch my daughters. Your love for me was unmistakeable as you massaged my pregnant belly so long ago. Your love for your granddaughters is apparent in the fearless way that you let them take over your home for an afternoon/a weekend/an entire week. Thirty two years ago, I was growing inside your belly. We were still not as close then as we are now. I look forward to the decades of friendship that lie ahead, spent drinking coffee, playing Scrabble, and making each other laugh. Happy Birthday Mom! I love you today.

Conversations with my toddler


Also called The 20 Questions Game. Every mom knows what I’m talking about. Usually it involves a child much younger than two years old. I’m always the exception to the rule: Rosie (aka Stinker) does not say more than a few words besides ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’. We’ve been seeing a speech therapist since August 2005, and there have been improvements. So when Rosie says “Muh” I’m not sure if she means more or milk. Since we have a safety gate in the opening to the kitchen, Rosie stays on the living room side while I’m actually playing interpreter/translator/sleuth on the kitchen side, trying to figure out what exactly it is that my mostly non-verbal toddler is requesting. I start with the basics : I quickly make up a glass of milk and attempt to hand it to her over the gate. My two year old’s response? She grunts:”Uh-uh.” Usually those grunts are followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet – running away in a physical rejection. I try not to feel insulted. Of course, as soon as I tuck her sippy cup back in the refrigerator and close the door, Rosie is at the gate again. “Muh!” she says. I flip through the memory microfiche in my brain trying to remember what it was that Rosie last had to eat or drink. Was it a carrot? No. Was it crackers? Nah. Maybe string cheese? Yes! That’s what it was. I go to the refrigerator and retrieve a piece of cheese and offer it to my daughter over the gate. Again, she grunts “Uh-uh” and takes off like I lit her hair on fire. Darn! You know what? Sugar is the answer for everything, right? So, I tucked the cheese back in the refrigerator and went to the pantry. I plucked a Dum-Dum from the bin where I keep them, unwrapped it, and handed it to my daughter. She was nodding her head, saying “Yah, Yah, Yah!”, and doing her little happy dance as she snatched the miniature lollipop from my hand. I may not have solved the mystery, but I won The 20 Questions Game!

They have no shame!

Check out the Date Night (last night).

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