The above picture is an x-ray view of the new hardware that now exists inside my son's clavicle. It kind of looks like a centipede, huh? Well, it's a little more complicated than that but I am so glad this procedure is behind us. He is resting comfortably thanks to some strong pain medication and his doting nurse.

Last Sunday when this happened, word spread like wildfire thanks to the younger brother on Facebook. As we were leaving the E.R., I got a text from a friend , "How is Quinn??" I had not talked to anyone so I knew Ian was the bearer of bad news--to the entire social networking world. As the week went on, messages of well wishes and offers of prayer poured in from local friends and neighbors. Classmates stopped by with homework assignments, teachers emailed to check on him and even his former youth group leader came over with a pizza and a movie and spent the afternoon with him. It warmed my heart to see how very loved he was. I commented to my husband, "These are the perks of living in a small community." I haven't always shared that sentiment. But isn't it funny how when it works in our favor, we are all about it?

This got me thinking about celebrities and how they have no problem making millions off the world but when a misfortune happens in their lives (typically a divorce), we all need to respect their privacy. As much as I tend to criticize this hypocrisy in them, am I really that different? I love feeling supported by our community and the perks that come with that part of the small town lifestyle. Those are the days where being a big fish in a small pond works to my advantage. But what about when something happens that I'm not so proud of or that I don't want exposed to everyone else? That's the time I wish for my publicist to issue a statement requesting that everyone mind their own business. Who's the hypocrite now?

Other than this "Ah-ha moment," Quinn's accident has been full of so many other silver linings too. From the minute his collarbone snapped in half, I have seen God's hand on this entire process. First, the friend he was with on the mountain that day happened to have parents who are in the sports medicine field. They are good friends with the local orthopedic doctor who happens to specialize in collarbones and shoulders. They put in a call to him and he fit us in the next morning. His personality and demeanor were a perfect fit with Quinn's. Second, as selfishly as I was looking forward to two weeks off before the kids were out for their Christmas break, I'm so glad this happened when it did so I could be available to take care of him. Is there really a better investment of my time? Third, he gets the entire vacation to recover instead of having to miss two weeks of school--he's already finding that making up the schoolwork is going to take forever. Finally, it was nice to watch Ian and Ben show deep concern for their big brother. They called or texted us all day while we sat in the waiting room on the day of surgery. Typically we would all be going many different directions in the week leading up to Christmas but everyone has slowed down and enjoyed being at home and being together. This has been the biggest blessing of all.

Yesterday afternoon I was finally getting some Christmas tasks crossed off my to-do list. It was just me and Millie having a lazy Sunday while the big boys were tearing it up on the mountain. Little did I know that my oldest was about to be torn up BY the mountain. A seasoned snowboarder, he and his buddy were taking in one last run when someone much slower got in front of him and caused an abrupt stop on his part. Only the stop then turned into a flip which culminated with a collision of his left shoulder and a very icy patch of snow.

Without even an x-ray or medical training of any sort, anyone could determine his collarbone was broken. Badly broken. The bone pushing up under the skin gave it away for me. As we sat in the E.R. waiting to hear his fate, I thought about the sense of loss he was feeling knowing his first winter with a season's pass had come to a screeching halt. It makes it easier to process those losses when we've made decisions that have had a direct effect on the outcome. But he did nothing wrong. He wasn't being crazy or risky--not that this never happens. He didn't cut anyone off or break any rules and yet he has to pay a hefty price in spite of it.

I didn't go down the path of "this isn't fair" but instead I started thinking about how this has been a theme in my life this Fall season: having to pay (literally and figuratively) for something that wasn't my fault. Back in October, I got out of my car in the Walgreens parking lot during a terrible windstorm. Just as I opened my driver's door, a gust of wind flung it out of my hand and perfectly into the mirror of the car parked beside mine. My door hit the passenger side mirror so perfectly that it shattered in a million pieces and blew away. The unit was fine but the mirror was gone. I left a note and went inside. As I got to the register, there was a little old man holding my note with a bewildered look on his face. I went up to him and identified myself as the author and breaker of his mirror. He was appreciative of my honesty and felt sure it wasn't going to be a costly repair. Less than two hours later I got a call informing me that he'd already been to two body shops and the total damage was $280!!! It was hard to write that check knowing I didn't willfully cause his mirror to break.

Two days later I walked out to my car in the driveway only to notice a huge dent in my front bumper that I know wasn't there before. I retraced my steps and figured it happened in the high school stadium parking lot during the last home football game. No note was left behind. Although it was covered by insurance, I still had to pay a $300 deductible toward the repair. Again, I was innocent but still had to pay the price--and write another check.

The last incident that came to mind was when Millie (our dog) had a bladder infection in September that was treated with antibiotics. It returned in November with a vengeance. This time they wanted to do a culture to determine if the strain was resistant to what was previously prescribed. Sure enough it was and, more than likely, the original infection had never left her body. Apparently we were supposed to bring her back after the first round of medicine to make sure the infection was gone. We don't recall hearing those instructions although it's highly likely they were given. The culture showed a bacteria that should respond to the second round of meds and we brought her back in for yet another culture to determine it worked. No dice. We went back again for another urinalysis and culture and they suggested that perhaps their office may have contaminated her urine sample so the charge would be half. Sure enough, the last culture found no bacteria and most likely they were at fault but a full admission wasn't given. The cost? Again, close to $300. And again, neither we nor Millie did anything wrong.

So where am I going with this? No, I'm not just venting and I'm really not angry about it because it's made me realize something greater. Jesus also did nothing wrong. He was completely innocent and yet he still had to pay the price for our decisions. He still went to the cross knowing this. What a beautiful, humbling reminder of His sacrifice.

No, I'm not happy about the time and money spent on that which I view as frivilous. No, I'm in no way excited that my son has to endure a painful surgery, a long recovery and a season's pass down the drain. But in the grand scheme of things, they are small annoyances in comparison to what I have been given. And what better time than this Christmas season to be reminded of this.

• My "middle schools" class: with only 6 of us in there, everyone of whom was over 5 years post-baccaleaurate, the lively, mature discussions made showing up at 8 a.m. worth it every Tuesday and Thursday.

Thumbs Down:

• It was the only class that required a meeting during finals week. I did my final presentation and thought I was officially done. On the bus ride home, my classmate informed me that there were grading guidelines posted on our website--of which I had no clue. I missed doing the part that was 50% of the grade. OOPS!! It turned positive when I emailed my professor and explained my ignorance. She extended a lot of grace and let me do an "addendum" after the fact.

THUMBS UP:

• Having an actual teaching experience in a middle school setting. Planning lessons and spending time with the students was invigorating. My professor's daughter and my son were students at the school so we had an affinity with each other over our love for the building and its teachers. My supervising teacher was Quinn's 6th grade teacher which was another plus.

THUMBS DOWN:

• Trying to team teach with a classmate from another endorsement area whom I had no relationship with. And learning later,from someone in another class, that my teaching partner was not fond of me and referred to me not by name but by "that older person." OUCH!

THUMBS UP:

• Having a professor who was a professional storyteller with a British accent. She brought such enthusiasm and fun to the class and gave amazing feedback to our performances. My classmates were so creative and passionate about their subject areas. Every week I grew to love them more.

THUMBS DOWN:

• It was only a two-credit class but we regularly met for 3-4 hours per week, in the middle of the day. And knowing I won't share classes with but one or two of them next quarter makes me sad. Also, I was a nervous wreck all four times I had to get up in front of the class. Crazy.

THUMBS UP:

• atching my family adapt to their mom and wife being preoccupied by her schoolwork and completely step up and show support and encouragement. Having the boys regularly ask me how class was and Trey taking over carpool while I rushed off for my early morning classes warmed my heart. I found out yesterday that when they shared prayer requests in Ben's class last week, he asked his classmates and teacher to pray for his mom's finals. Double "thumbs up!"

THUMBS DOWN:

• Having to say no to "can you have lunch with me?" or "can you pick me up from practice ?" or "did you make it to the store today?" and regularly accepting a messy house, unfinished laundry and cereal for dinner.

It's been a great adventure and one that presses me into uncomfortable places and out of that comfort zone which is always a good thing. Looking forward to a month of no deadlines, clean clothes, nutritious meals and quality time with all my guys. Until I disappear again on January 3rd.

Prior to heading out of town for our Thanksgiving celebration with our dear college friends, the McQuarries, I received a text reminding me to bring a hostess gift (love that girl's sense of humor) and informing us that our family was being challenged to a little basketball competition--the reason being that they would have a greater chance of beating us than if we competed in a different sport. Always up for a challenge, we replied: Game on!

Now this family lives, eats and breathes basketball. All three kids are on teams and have been since they could practically walk. We knew we had our work cut out for us. But, much to their surprise, we were up by 7 points within the first 3 minutes. This wasn't what they expected--nor did we. They stepped up their game but we held our lead until everyone's fingers were frozen and it was time to indulge in Janelle's gourmet cooking, stuff ourselves and enjoy our family's favorite sport: Football! All was forgiven and bruised egos healed as we shared our 10th Thanksgiving together. What a joy and a blessing it is to have those lifelong friends who are more like family. But you know we can expect a re-match next year!

Bring it!

We're going down--or so we thought.

They even had the fancy shoes to intimidate us

Trey and Janelle on our way to the courts for the big tip off.

Go Ben!

Go, Quinn!

What just happened? Even we were shocked.

I am always glad to turn the calendar to November 1st. September and October oftentimes feel like we are operating in survival mode. With sports, school and a plethora of family birthday celebrations, we spend less time together than we would like and the pace gets a little out of hand. All that said, when looking at these pictures, I wouldn't have it any other way. Even though it's 60 days of non-stop activity, it also reminds me that we have so much to be thankful for heading into the Thanksgiving season. Thank you, Lord for friendships, family, birthdays and sporting events. None of which we could experience and enjoy if you hadn't first given us LIFE itself.

Ben is ten and it's a "friend party" year.

Sorry for the horrible picture of the birthday twins.

Big brothers and two of our favorite young men who are like family-Russ and Zach

Brotherly love.

Ben ordered an ice cream cake and Russ delivered. Such a "Martha" he is.

Middle school changed track to a Fall sport this year. There's Ian tearing it up in his bright orange.

The final lap of the 1600.

Mom's birthday dinner at her favorite restaurant with her favorite guys.

Our first experience with Friday Night Lights. Awesome.

My BFF Laurie. Believe it or not she is older than me. Isn't she gorgeous?

Happy hour with my besties. I don't have single friend who is shorter than me. Love these ladies!

October 28th is a very special day in our family. Since the early 1900's there has been a relative on my side with that birthday. Yes, there's a story here. My beloved and most favored great uncle Charlie was born on that day. And forty some years later so was my mom. (She's lucky they didn't name her Charlotte or Chuckie) When my parents met in 1964 she discovered her future father-in-law shared her special day. What are the chances? And don't you love stories like this?

Fast forward to February 2001. Every time I was expecting my mother was always adamant that my child had to have his or her "own" birthday. Since I have an extended family of over 50 people, the chances that I'd have a due date close to a relative's was pretty much guaranteed. And it happened every time. So when I learned that our baby Ben was to arrive around October 25th, his grandmother was most worried that he would have to share the rest of his birthdays with me. (October 23rd)

October 23rd came and went. Phew. October 25th came and went. Grrr. Labor was gently induced on October 27th and, after 10 hours, I barely progressed. Just as I was taken off the monitor, it all broke loose and they admitted me to labor and delivery--at 10 p.m. By the time the epidural took effect and contractions slowed down it was obvious we would be passing the midnight mark before a baby appeared. So guess who Ben gets to share his birthday with?? "Ma" couldn't have been prouder to relinquish the rights as the last living family member born on the 28th of October.

Since Ma came to the hospital that stormy October afternoon, she hasn't missed a single one of the birthday twin celebrations. I love that every year I get to honor and celebrate two of my most favorite people in the whole world!

Happy Birthday Ma and Ben!!! And rest in peace Uncle Charlie and Grandpa Marty. Your legacy continues.

2009

2008

2006

2003

First birthday!!

Well high school has taken us by storm. We blinked and our oldest was a freshman. Before the year even started there was already talk about "where Homecoming pictures would be taken??" Huh? Homecoming? I was just getting used to the idea of having a high schooler and they're making plans for their first formal dance. Wow have times changed.

I don't think my son even knows that I have a blog--or cares-- but I want to be sensitive to him as I write about this. The whole process of planning the asking of his date, picking out his clothes, and ordering the corsage was fraught with misunderstanding, miscommunication and frustration. I have definitely lost my "cool mom" status. In an effort to keep our relationship on a civil level I refrained from asking questions or giving advice. You know this was killing me. I became more concerned about him being a gentleman and how he looked to his date's parents than whether he still trusted me and felt safe talking with me. Lesson learned. The poor firstborn endures all of our parenting mistakes to the fullest, huh?

He let me take him to get his hair cut and pick up the corsage yesterday afternoon. I just cracked up at his reaction when paying for it. When we got to the register and he took out his wallet he looked at me and said "That much for this?? Geez you women are expensive!" That's right son.

In an effort to not further embarrass him, I aquiesced to his request that I not accompany him and his dad to pick up his date and snap a bunch of pictures. Talk about restraint. My husband took them to the house where 15 couples were convening for dinner and pictures. As I waited (impatiently) at home, Trey returned and announced: "She is BEAUTIFUL! You should have come. There were a ton of parents there. It was a big party." Great. He said the group thing made everyone relaxed and I had permission to come back with him to transport the kids to the school for the dance. This was when they reluctantly agreed to take the pictures below. Baby steps, right?

I'm happy to report that they had a great time and he spent the better part of this morning sitting on the edge of my bed giving me a play-by-play of the evening. I wish I could share more but I'll refrain. I'm just glad I'm back in the know--until the next big event.

Before the dinner.

Leaving for the dance. Much more relaxed.

I wrote a post on my middle son's 13th birthday and it disappeared. I even did it in advance and scheduled the posting. That's what I get for not following up. Story of my life. If I was a bit more of a micro manager maybe events would happen a little more seamlessly.

It's something I look forward to every year:  the "boy free" Labor Day weekend.  Trey and the boys ship off on a three day adventure and I get the house to myself.  I clean from top to bottom, don't cook a thing, spruce up the yard and usually burn out by Sunday morning.  It is glorious.  This year it was not meant to be.

By Wednesday I knew it wasn't looking good for me when no plans had been made.  A few were thrown around but I could tell no one was really into it--namely my husband.  Salmon fishing on the Fraser River was the first consideration but after purchasing one fishing license, we realized that we were lacking in gear, bait, etc.  Plan B: Trey would go up on Friday afternoon and fish since the license would expire in 5 days then come back on Saturday and get the kids to go camping an hour away.  He promised to farm everyone out for Friday night sleepovers so I could have the evening to myself.  Ian was gone by noon and Ben left at 3.  In the meantime, Quinn got invited to Whistler on Saturday morning but wasn't able to sleep over for various reasons.  Just as I was about to doze off, Quinn announced that he now could go over to his friend's--at 10:20 p.m.!

Saturday morning I jumped out of bed, got some coffee and made my plan of attack.  Target, Costco gas, Costco, Kohls, Walgreens, Haggen--in that order.  As I backed in the driveway to unload my goods, I get a text "the boys want to come back over to your house, is that okay?"  By noon my house was full of boys again as we waited for Trey to appear.  Five hours later he showed up, not in the mood to pack up for camping, but with 26 pounds of beautiful salmon in his possession so all was forgiven.  We feasted on his catch with the promise that "I'll pack up the tent trailer and leave tomorrow morning." 

We spent Sunday morning packing up and I stood in the driveway and waved goodbye with a huge smile on my face.  Off they went to do boy things and I grabbed Millie and went out to the lake for some reading on the beach.  Three hours later as I arrived at the 3-way stop near our neighborhood there in front of me was my brood of boys with the tent trailer still attached to the vehicle.  Uh-oh.  Trey yells out the window, "Zach fell and hit his head on a rock and needs stitches."  How could I be so selfish when a sweet little 9 year old is in pain?  I quickly got over my disappointment when I saw this blonde boy crying in the backseat.  Quinn came home a couple hours later from his mountain biking excursion--in one piece-- and our family was reunited.  I just had to laugh.

Monday morning Trey and I got up early and went on a beautiful hike.  (Our summer arrived along with September and we've been in the mid-80s all week)  When we returned he loaded up just his truck with pellet guns, mountain bikes, a cooler and all three boys and off they went.  I didn't even ask when they were coming back.  I didn't need to.  10 minutes later I hear banging in the garage and open the door to find Trey hammering away at Quinn's bike seat.  ??? Apparently his seat fell off while driving down the road and when they realized and turned the car around to retrieve it some obnoxious teenagers decided it would be funny to run over it.  Hilarious.  Not.  I walked over to the car to see three glum faces and some tears.  Everyone was ready to call it quits.  Dad perservered, fixed the seat, jammed it back on the bike and they drove away.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't holding my breath for at least the next two hours.  To channel my nervous energy I got busy scrubbing floors, organizing closets and washing windows.  Millie and I returned to the lake to cool off and when we walked back into the neighborhood there was my contented family. 

So the 3 day weekend morphed into 7 hours but at this point I was happy to take what I could get.  Isn't it hard when traditions change?  I think this was just God's way of showing me that I need to be open to what the future holds and eventually some things I've counted on for years are going to look different as my children grow and change and ultimately leave home.  Case in point: I can't even count on school starting the day after Labor Day as it has for the last 9 years since the teachers went on strike last week. (A contract was reached and they are starting tomorrow. Phew!)