Remembering Uncle Clyde...



Clyde Savage
October 15, 1938-September 9, 1996

 15 years ago today, one of the most important men in my life left this world for what I like to believe is a better one. Clyde Savage was my maternal grandfather's brother. He was a loving son, father, husband and brother. He was a friend to many. He was a leader and music director in his church. He was a manager at his job and a military veteran. For me, he was so much more than just the great-uncle that lived next door.

Growing up, I had a front row seat to his kind nature and selfless generosity. He was the kind of guy that would always lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it, whether they asked for help or not. As a natural handyman, he often fixed things for people. He didn't ask them for anything in return. He just wanted you to pay it forward.

Uncle Clyde with his brother
(my grandfather) Bobby

Of all the things I remember most distinctly (and often miss the most) was his laugh. He had a deep, hearty, from the gut laugh. There were times that sitting in our living room, we could actually hear him laughing in his own living room. (and we lived in the country, so we weren't that close!) When I think of him, that laugh helps soothe the deep absence I feel without him here.

As the years have passed, his absence has grown stronger for me. Time hasn't healed my wound. Logically, I know he is in a better place, called home for a purpose. But it hasn't made me miss him less. I often think about how much he would have loved his grandchildren. I think about how much he would have loved my own children. I also think about the important lessons he could have taught them.

Give of your time. Uncle Clyde believed that the time you spent with people and helping them mattered. He helped coach ball at school, he volunteered at church, took time to teach me how to ride a bike and shoot a basketball. When my Dad was so busy at the farm, Uncle Clyde would cut our grass. He looked out for Chrissy and me and spent time with us when our Dad couldn't. Not because anyone asked him to, it was just his way of helping where he could.

Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda
with their son Tony

Be honest. Chrissy and I had a golf cart and we liked to ride it everywhere, including all over Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde's yard. One day, Chrissy backed into his truck and left a major dent. She made me swear I wouldn't tell. Being afraid of her like I was, I didn't tell a soul. A week or so later, Uncle Clyde came over to the house and asked us if we hit his truck. Chrissy shot a look at me. "Nope" was my response. He responded, "Well I know you hit my truck because I saw you do it. I am not mad about the dent, but I am so disappointed in you for not coming to tell me about it and then lying about it." Boy were Chrissy and I in a heaping pile of trouble with our parents. But the punishment we got didn't bother me as much as knowing I had disappointed him. At 8 years old, I learned the value and importance of honesty--and it's the one thing I value most in others.

Uncle Clyde with my Mom
June 1961

Share your heart and passion with others. Uncle Clyde's mother knew scripture better than anyone else I have ever met. She could quote The Bible from cover to cover. She loved hymns. Uncle Clyde had that love too. And the Lord blessed him with a beautiful voice. Every hymn that I love today is one that when I hear it, in my heart, I feel his voice singing it. "How Great Thou Art," "When We All Get to Heaven," "The Old Rugged Cross," "Majesty." Of course, my favorite, and the one he sang best (especially with the accompaniment of his sister, Carol) was "Because He Lives." He shared his love and passion for music with others. He shared his heart through music.

Be your best self. Uncle Clyde and I had a conversation not long before he died about my future.  He wanted to know what I wanted to do with my life. At 14, I barely had a clue. He encouraged me to get as much education as possible. He urged me to follow every dream; to reach as far as I could in my imagination and when I thought I had reached the end point, reach a little further. He told me to always strive to be my best self. To never be too good or to proud to be humble. To give more to others than I was willing to take for myself. To pay back every generosity I received with even greater kindness.


Aunt Linda and Uncle Clyde with
their nephew Kenny & his children
(next to Uncle Clyde) and their son Todd.
Kenny lived with them growing up.
June 1995

 Rely on your faith for everything. The greatest gift my Uncle Clyde and Aunt Linda ever gave to me was the car ride to church every Sunday. They took me to Sunday school and church with them every week from the time I was very little. My Uncle wore his faith on his sleeve and was never afraid to let people know that his heart belonged to Jesus. It was important to him to know that your heart belonged to Jesus too. He would always tell me, "Daughter, you've got to trust in God with all your heart. He will direct your path. Just have faith in Him." Because of him and his constant counsel, I am a Christian. I was baptized just a few shorts months before he died. There have been many times when my questions were greater than my answers, when I didn't have the faith to see things through. In those moments, his words have always come back to me, pushing me to trust a little more, be patient a little longer, give God's time a chance to work things out.


Uncle Clyde's family
Back row: Todd, my Grandfather, Tony
Front: Leslie w/Talyn, Brewer, my grandmother,
Ansley & Aunt Linda.

These are his lessons. These and so many more. And as I have taken the time to put this reflection into words, I am sad. I am sad that he didn't live longer. I am sad that he has been gone from my life longer now than he was in it. I am sad that he isn't here to see what a lasting impression he made on my life. I am sad that I can't hear him sing or listen to him laugh. I am sad that my children will never know the warmth of his embrace or the brightness of his smile. I am sad that his wife and his children and his grandchildren were deprived of years of memories. I am sad that it is true that the good die young. But in my tears, there is gratitude for what he taught me, I'm sure without even realizing he was doing it. There is peace in knowing that I will see him again. There is determination to ensure that his legacy does not die. I want him to live on in the hearts of those who were blessed to know him. Honesty, compassion, faith and love. We will pass them on.


Grandchildren Brewer, Ansley
& Talyn with Aunt Linda







Uncle Clyde with his sibling and Mom
Back: Bobby, Nita, their mother Beulah & Legare
Front: Betty, Clyde & Carol

Cue Clapperboard....Action!

My life is a little like Groundhog Day. 5:30 alarm clock, drive Ian to school, come home and dress Will, take Will to school, come home, drive back to pick up Will, come home, drive to pick up Ian, come home. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. I feel like I am always driving in the car to get somewhere, wait, and then drive some more. At least 3 hours of my day is spent driving to and from and sitting in the carpool line.

My life also feels a lot like Fight Club. At least when it comes to dealing with Will. If the child doesn't grow up and argue a case before the Supreme Court, he'll have missed his calling. He is now at a stage where he knows everything. "I know" is all I hear coming from him. About everything. He is the only three year old boy I know that cares at all about his wardrobe. He prefers button down, collared shirts and khaki or plaid shorts. He wants to wear his Sperry flip flops or his Sperry boat shoes. If he is feeling a little more relaxed, he will wear his tennis shoes. And he cares about making those choices for himself.

Every morning since school has started, we have argued over my choice of outfit. The shirt wasn't the right one or the shorts didn't fit right. He wanted to wear Sperry boat shoes when I thought he should wear sneakers.Yesterday, they were having Beach Day at school and he was supposed to wear his bathing suit. "No way," he said. I told him if he didn't want to wear that, he had to wear the shorts and shirt I picked out for him. "Nope" was his reply. Thinking I could get the upper hand, I said, "Will I don't care if you wear these clothes or the bathing suit. Those are your choices. If you don't like those, the only other choice is to go naked." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Okay. I'll just go naked." Seriously? Battle. Battle. Battle. He wore his bathing suit in the end, but because he decided that it looked better with his sunglasses. Whatever.

Mentally exhausted from this argument, last night, I told him to pick out his own clothes. He chose a brown shirt with khaki shorts and Sperry flip flops. Perfect. This morning, he apparently changed his mind. OMG! So I sent him to his room to pick a new one. He came out in plaid (navy, orange, green) shorts and a purple shirt. Nope. I told him that it didn't match. He countered that it did. Does not. Does too. Does not. Does too. How about a navy polo? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. How about khaki shorts with your purple shirt? No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Fine. Look Silly. I like to look silly. Did I mention this argument was prior to Diet Coke and barely after 8am? He eventually decided the navy would work with the plaid. I really would have let him go naked if I thought he would learn a lesson. Knowing him, he would have sported his birthday suit with a smile, just to spite me.

Finally, my house always feels a little like a kid version of Animal House. Instead of beer cans and empty pizza boxes, my house is littered with toys and goldfish crumbs. There are always more people here than are actually registered on the Census. Other kids' laundry joins the family hamper and I am always left searching for its rightful owner. The dinner I cook could feed an army because there is a good chance that an army of little people (and sometimes their parents) will eat with us. Tonight on the menu? Pizza for 8! Cold beer for the adults! Okay, maybe this really is Animal House....

The point is that even amongst the chaos, I can usually almost always find the humor in my life. I feel like its OK if my life could fit a Hollywood script sometimes. As long as we aren't becoming Lord of the Flies or American Psycho, I think we will be just fine.

Red Bugs, Mother of the Year Feats, and Other Funnies...

We enjoyed a great Labor Day weekend with my parents in the lowcountry. Ian experienced some firsts---he went dove hunting for the first time and he came home with his bout of red bugs (also known as chiggers). When we told him what caused all of the bites, he almost seemed proud. It is a hunting rite of passage.

Josh and I got to go on a date (alone) while we were there. Thanks Mom and Dad for watching the kids for us! We went to dinner, for a long walk on Folly Beach and enjoyed some frozen yogurt. I couldn't help but notice how calm my parents looked when we got home at 9:30. Mags and Will were already in bed. Ian was quietly watching a show about Dinosaurs. My parents seemed slightly offended when I acted impressed with their parenting skills. I should never doubt them.  It really highlighted my novice.

Here are some funnies:

My Dad took Ian dove hunting for the first time. When he got home, I asked how it went. Ian: It was alright. Me: How many birds did you get? Ian. Just 8. Poppa's shooting leaves A LOT to be desired. Me: Ha! Well at least you got some. Ian: Yes we did. But victory surely wasn't ours.

After the dove hunting adventure, Dad took Ian deer hunting that evening. Ian got to see over 20 deer from his stand. He was very excited! My Dad said that they had a small 8 point buck come out. He told Ian to watch the buck because he was going to turn and head toward does that were eating at the edge of the field. Ian said, "Yeah he is going to go down there to find him a good looking doe so that he can make out with her." Geez....

Will is sitting at the table. My Mom said, "Will. Excuse me. Prince William, would you like some breakfast?" Will turned around with all kinds of serious on his face and said, "It is King. King William." Well excuse us!

Maggie rode the four wheeler with my Dad for the first time. She loves it! And when Dad would take the boys for a ride and not her, she would fall to pieces. He took them over to my grandmother's blueberry field. Maggie fell truly, madly, deeply in love with blueberries. So much so that when I took her over there to pick some, she was eating them directly off the tree. As in, putting her mouth onto the berry and yanking it from the tree. Hands free eating! She has been pooping Smurfy ever since---but she is doing it on the potty! Hooray! She has also named her pacifier. It's name is MiMi and she is way too attached. So much so that it is time to kick the habit. I know this but I have made no effort to do it. Why? Because I don't want to listen to her whining and screaming for it. I know, I am up for Mother of the Year.

As I mentioned, Ian has red bug bites. Chiggers like to bite you in warm places on your body. Under your arms, creases of your legs, and your underwear lines. Ian got them worst in his nether regions. As I am looking for the Bendaryl cream, he decides to ask me if his penis has "a bone in it?" I honestly thought the answer was yes but I was second-guessing myself. I said, "You need to ask your Dad that question." I was still looking in the cabinet when he asks me, "Well what makes it do this?" And I look over to see him flexing it up and down. For whatever reason, my face turned about 30 shades of red. I managed, "You'll have to ask your Dad," tossed him the cream, and practically ran out of the bathroom.

Even though today was Tuesday, it felt more like a Monday. Had to re-strap car seats in the pouring rain, take Josh paperwork he left at home, get dressed for work, all before 8 am. When we get back from Josh's office, I get Will dressed for school and ask him what he wants to eat. He said, "nothing." I went to find something and came back to find him watching cartoons and eating a bag of candy corn that my dear friend, Keri Jones, sent to me last week. I didn't stop him from eating them. I really had too much to do to fight with him over breakfast. He nearly devoured the entire bag before we left the house. He asked, "Who bought those candies?" I told him, "Ms. Keri." He responded, "She just might be my new best friend!" I know... I am totally up for Mother of the Year.

Freedom Thursday....and a Potty Story

I recently read an article (I can't properly cite it because I can't remember where I read it) that contained all sorts of survey results about what Moms really think but feel too guilty to say about their lives, desires, regrets, and children. It went through everything from having favorite children to wishing you had a different spouse (baby daddy) and what moms wanted more than anything. Of course, more than 70% of Moms wanted time for herself, without her kids or her partner around, to just relax. My first thought: They actually needed this as a survey question? Duh. My second thought: At least I'm not alone. There are days when I feel like running right past Josh as he is walking in the door in the evenings so I can get some fresh air and clear my head. And I don't feel guilty at all for admitting that.

That is why I signed Maggie up for Mom's Morning Out--I need a Freedom Thursday morning. Just a few hours to get caught up on laundry or cleaning, or email, or work, or ZTA. I want to volunteer at Ian's school without having to find a sitter, go to the dentist or to the grocery store without it feeling like an act of Congress (That is an exaggeration. My kids are far better mannered and faster-moving that Congress). Some Thursdays, I want to go for a walk, or read a book or just lay on the couch and clean out my DVR. Just the thought of that possibility makes me happy.

So today, I had a plan to grade papers, pay bills, and pack clothes for our weekend trip to Charleston. Not total freedom but at least I could do it without interruption. In the parking lot of preschool, Will informs me that he has to go to the bathroom. I respond, "No problem, Hun. We can go when we get inside." He looks at me very seriously and says, "Mom, I have to go to the real bathroom." Me, "Will you can go to the bathroom here to do that." He responds, "I so should have went before we left the house. You have to take me back home." Me, "Will, that isn't going to happen. You can go here. I will take you." Will, "Mom I can't do that here." Me, "Well that is your only choice." Will, "No it isn't. I will just squeeze my butt cheeks while I am here and do it when I get home." Now, part of me thought that if he really needed to go, he would do it at school. The other part of me knew that he really would squeeze his cheeks and wait until he got home. That of course, made me worry about him. He refused to go when we got inside so I left him with arms crossed in his classroom while I dropped off Maggie. She started clinging and whining. This is new. Perhaps she could sense my excitement about Freedom Thursday? I left her but I felt really bummed out (and a little guilty).

I knew that containing the chaos at home would make me feel better. But when I walk in, our Internet is down and so is our cable. Fantastic. I spend 45 minutes of my precious morning on the phone with technical support. When they finally resolve the issue, it will be a while before our stuff is back up and running. I wash dishes, fold clothes, load the washer and suddenly realize: You are here by yourself with no ability to work. Why are you working? That survey crossed my mind and I literally sprinted to the bathroom, turned on the water, stripped off my "Mommy Uniform" and sunk myself into a very hot bubble bath. In the middle of the morning. It was fabulous. I never get to take a bath or shower without someone either physically in the tub with me or talking to me. So I sang to my Pandora station, let my body relax and felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman (in the bath, not as a hooker).

Once I removed myself from that relaxing sanctuary, technology was back up and I continued on with the rest of my plan. When I drove back to the preschool, I felt a little more relaxed, the chaos of the last few weeks felt lighter on my shoulders. And I didn't feel guilty at all. I needed it and honestly, I feel like I deserved it. Life was back to normal as soon as I loaded the kids in car. Will informs me that I need to "drive as fast as possible to our house because [his] butt cheeks are about to explode!" Freedom surrendered...

Punch-bugging Feminists

I have probably been a feminist my entire life. At least as long as I can remember. My parents raised me to believe that my gender wasn't a disability nor should it prevent me from achieving whatever goal I set for myself---and of course, that my mind was just as capable of genius as a man. My Dad made sure Chrissy and I could bait a hook, shoot a gun, drive a stick shift, or change a tire. My Mom raised us to believe in self-reliance, self-sufficiency, and self-respect. From infancy, we were raised to believe that the gateway to all of our dreams was through an education. No one could take it away from us and no matter what, with an education, we wouldn't be forced to rely on anyone for help in life. There is no better confidence booster than knowing that you can provide for yourself.

Obviously, I want Maggie to know that she is entitled to all of the same rights and privileges as her brothers. I want her to demand equal pay for equal work, to never set her sights any lower than the very best in education and to know her value and her worth are defined by her own expectations, not those of others. I think it is very empowering for a girl to grow up with that attitude--the one that my parents so graciously helped to shape for me.

However, if I am doing my part for the empowerment of women, I will do my very best to teach my boys these important lessons. I want all of those those same things for them. But I also want them to believe that  their sister and women like her are entitled to these same basic rights. It will make them better husbands and fathers, classmates, and maybe even bosses, one day.

If only life were as perfect as it is in my head! I really do tell the boys that girls can do the same things that they can do. I provide examples with those degrees and certifications hanging on the wall. And my ability (to Ian's amazement) to drive Josh's truck (which has a stick shift). I am not afraid of frogs or lizards (I proudly hang lizards on my ear lobes like my Uncle Lee always demonstrated when I was a child). Josh and I  show it in our partnership marriage where we both care for the children, clean the house and contribute to the family income. However, I never really know if they get it.

Today I am driving with Will and his friend Madi. Will yells, "Volkswagen Yellow!" I say, "Yes, punch-bug Yellow! Good job Will" (Thanks April for resurrecting this timeless classic). Madi yells out "Punch-bug." Will responds, "You can't say that. I am the KING of punch-bug." (and he really is. The kid can point out a Volkswagen from miles away). So she counters, "Well if you are the King, then I am the princess." Will thinks about it for a minute and counters back, "No, Madi. You can be the King. Girls can do all the same things as boys so if I can be the King, you can too." Ahhh...melting heart moment for me.

I also know that growing up with a sister will reinforce so many of these lessons for the boys. She thinks that she can do all the same things that they do and because they love her so much, they are more than happy to let her tag along. And if ever a boy makes her doubt her self-worth, I am sure Will is more than happy to use these punch-bugging skills on that boy's face.

Alive, Getting Well, and Turning Gray...

The last week and a half has pretty much stunk.

Good News: The Burgess Bunch is still ALIVE!
Bad News: The entire Bunch has been sick with something EXCEPT Ian! I am convinced he is the carrier rat.

We have battled stomach bug, nasty colds and strep throat in our house for the last week. What a great way to usher in the school year. I hate sickness and germs. But sickness and germs apparently LOVE me and my house. We spent last November thru March constantly sick. I do not want a repeat of that cycle again this year. My kids are great at sharing, especially their germs. So I spent the entire weekend cloroxing, washing, and lysoling everything in our house. Maybe I can get the germs to leave. I sure hope so.

Our pediatrician (despite her less-than-stellar office staff) is so wonderful. We were her first patients on Saturday morning. She welcomed me with a hug and said, "I was afraid I would see you again this week." I practically live in her office. She gave us another script of antibiotics and told me to call her if Ian needed one too. So far, so good.

Antibiotics make Will bounce off the walls. Literally. The kid gets the jerks if you try to make him sit still.  I kept him home from school today just to be sure he was better. He talked my ear off. He has also learned that sick=mommy feels sorry for me=all the ice cream and Popsicles he wants=even more hyper child. I felt like I had the jerks by the end of the day.

In other news, I noticed last night that my hair is now more gray than whatever is my natural color. I don't mention this because because of vanity. I mention it because of how shocking it was for me to notice. Josh changed the lighting in our bathroom and it made the gray far more obvious than the dimmer lighting we had before. Bring back the dims, please! My parents are both beyond white-headed (sorry I outed you Mom), so I knew it was going to happen. I just didn't know it would happen before my 30th birthday. I blame my kids.

And maybe I blame Ian's schoolwork.

2nd grade is hard. Far more difficult than I remember it being. The teacher sends home gobs of instructions and charts and graphs for me to record our reading, writing, math AND even more stuff for me to sign. I realize it isn't her fault. She has to deal with government accountability and slack parents who don't even look in their kids' backpacks. But all of these rules and charts and graphs give this perfectionist Momma heart palpitations. Seriously. I already went to visit the teacher on Thursday so that we could talk through all of it so that "we can ensure that Ian isn't getting overwhelmed." Insert Momma for Ian. I think I got a handle on it but it is a lot to keep up with. And it is all very time consuming.

I am sure it is for all parents. But for us, especially, because Ian has dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculia. Basically, he struggles in reading, writing and math. He is super smart and can remember just about everything, but I have to take the work she sends home for him and rework it in a way that works best for him to understand. This afternoon, we spent 3.5 hours doing homework. I try to make it fun; we play word games and do math drills with yummy treats but it requires a lot of me. And him.

And as if spending 3.5 hours of my afternoon doing math drills and word blends wasn't enough, Maggie pulled my laptop off of my desk and Will dropped my Droid into the bathtub...filled with water. My laptop seems OK, although the screen blinks occasionally. I am not sure I will be able to say the same for my phone.

Oh well, I can replace it. Just like I can pay to hide the gray in my hair. But I can't pay to get the moments back of "Uh Oh" when my laptop crashed to the floor, or Will's "Oh Man" when my phone went for a swim, or even the many hours I spend with Ian agonizing over reading, writing, and arithmetic. It was a bad week but along with the sniffles, I got a lot of snuggles, and "I love yous" and "You're the best Mom," as bribery for more ice cream. Believe me, as hard as it is to live sometimes, these really hard moments are some of the most rewarding of my journey in motherhood. And although I am not loving the gray hair part, if I have to have it in order to have these kids, it will be worth every trip to the salon.

Pediatrician Kind of Monday...

Last night, I got to spend the entire night watching BREAKING NEWS coverage of the chaos in Libya. Not just because I am a total, self-admitted news junkie. As if a weekend of Josh and I both being sick wasn't enough, we thought we would start this week sick too. Fun.

Maggie woke up around 11 last night screaming and yanking on her ear. Seeing as she is my 3rd child, I know this means ear infection. Despite Motrin, warm rags, etc., we didn't do much sleeping. So we watched the events unfold in Libya and counted down the minutes until we could call the Pediatrician's office at 8am.

Now to call the Pediatrician is an art form in and of itself. If you call at 7:59, you get the machine. Once you redial, you are like 15th in line to talk to a receptionist. Call at 8am, sometimes you get the machine and sometimes, you are lucky to be 4th or 5th. I have found with my substantial experience in the matter, it is best to call at 8:01. There is little risk of catching the machine and you usually end up higher than 5 but less than 10 in line to talk to the reception. Art form. Seriously.

So I dial at 8:01, Maggie is crying as I walk her around the house and get Will ready for school. The scary robot voice tells me that there are 5 callers ahead of me. Golden. 10 minutes pass and we finally get a human. Not bad. Nameless receptionist lady asks me if I can be there at 8:40. I ask back, 8:40? Yes, she answers, 8:40. I agree to take that appointment. Best to get it over with than listen to Maggie cry all morning. That gives me half an hour to get she and I ready, get Will down the street to Madi's house so he can carpool with them and get to the doctor's office on time. No problem.

Then I look in the mirror. Total hot mess. I can't go outside the confines of my car (I did drive Ian to school this morning. He never commented on my appearance. Maybe because he knew I wasn't getting out?) looking like this. So I tell Will to entertain Maggie for 3 minutes while I jump in the shower. All I heard was banging on the door and screams from her for me to hold her. She lived until I got out. She wouldn't let me blow dry my hair without holding her so I did the best I could. I threw on some clothes that actually matched, dressed her, grabbed bags and loaded everything (kids included) into the car. I had 7 minutes to get to the doctor. Went back in to grab my phone and purse, took a glance in the mirror. You guessed it. Still a hot mess. The only difference was my hair was still a little damp and I smelled better. Oh well.

Believe it or not, I made it to the Pediatrician with one minute to spare. We signed in, talked to the receptionist, and sat down in the sick area. We waited. We chatted with some people we knew. We waited. We read 2 books. We chatted with some more people we knew. We waited. People we talked with when we got there were leaving. 40 minutes into my wait, I went back to the receptionist lady to inform her I was still waiting. She asks our name. I give it. She informs me our appointment is at 9:30. Sleep deprived and without a single ounce of Diet Coke in my system, I felt the rage welling to my throat. I didn't yell but I was very loud. This is not the first or third time this has happened to me. It's more like the 5th. I love our doctor. I do not love the people who work in her office. I don't think they mean to screw up but they do. A lot.

My semi-hissy fit accomplished nothing but an apology. We waited until 9:30 to get called back. Maggie, luckily, was totally patient the entire time. If this had been Will, the story would have been much different.
After learning that Maggie weighed 29 pounds and I told the nurse the diagnosis. I looked down to notice that my shoes don't match my outfit. I didn't even care. We waited another 25 minutes to see our doctor. As unhappy as I was about the whole thing, it really didn't matter in the scheme of the amazing love and attention our doctor gives to our children. She apologized profusely for the entire thing but honestly, I can deal with her office staff because of the wonderful care we get from her. (She is the kind of Dr that calls you at night to check on your child after a visit to her office). Ear infection it is. Drops and antibiotic and she is doing fine.

It was a rough day but we survived. I even got to hear Will say prayers tonight. Instead of laughing, his tender words brought tears to my eyes. It was a prayer I needed to hear. It definitely cured my bad case of the Mondays!