Scribbles and Notes

1. There is a picture on the left of Gemma and me, dressed up before going to the theater. This was on 23 December, when we went with our friends to Denver for a matinee of Little House on the Prairie, the musical.

The day itself was a delight. We stopped on our way up for lunch and spent twice as long on the drive home due to traffic and bad weather, but the company in our car was good.

As for the musical, it was also a delight. The stagecraft was very imaginative, as it would have to be because half of the relevant material included horses, crops burning and treacherous journeys through snow. Melissa Gilbert, the actress who played Laura in the TV series, played Ma Ingalls in the stage production. Though it pains me to say it, she was pretty terrible.

When she made her first entrance, she got a huge round of applause. OK. That's cool. A lot of fans in the audience. But at her curtain all, she got a massive, standing ovation. People! Applause after performance is supposed to be directly related to the performance! Were you not watching?

My other critique is of the script. Gemma and I finished reading all the Little House books just this past summer. (This was my first time reading them, too, and I was so impressed by them. These are books for adults as much as children. . . ) So it is fresh in my mind how God-fearing the Ingalls family was. All the books are permeated with prayers, hymns and, at times, theological discussions.

In this musical, there was no inclusion of this faith. No mention of God at all, really, except for one exasperating moment: In the books, when Mary becomes blind, she speaks with great love for God, and no blame. In the musical, not only does Mary not have this reflection, but Pa curses God for her blindness!

GASP.

Pa would never say something like that. . .

And I don't really understand the script-writer's choice in these matters.

2. I brought the list of peculiar doctor names to Dr. Tanner on Wednesday. A mental list, not a printed one. Thank you to Sister #2, my Mom, Ben and Amanda who played along. I was pretty excited to spring some on him.

Here was his reaction: to Payne, Scream, Luc, and Clutts--practically nothing. Just a mild look of bemusement and the thought across his face of, "Why is this woman still on the topic?"

Then I mentioned the OB named Dr. Hymen and he laughed out loud.

Then I said, "There were a few others, but it would make me blush to repeat them," and a different look crossed his face. Something like, "Who blushes about anything anymore?"

From there, we chatted about other things. It's become a little game for me: How irrelevant can I make my comments before he ends the appointment? Or maybe he figures he needs to sit there for 10 minutes in order to bill in good conscience, so he'll talk about anything.

3. I had an appointment with Mayfield on Monday! How fun is that? Bryan and I went together, then did lunch and a movie, and then I went to radiation while the kids were with Betsy for the day. I enjoyed Monday more than Christmas itself.

Why did I need to see Mayfield?

Oh. Well. I'd called his office to get a referral for a surgical consult in the coming months so I could learn more about my surgical options. Mayfield had me schedule an appointment with him instead of just signing off on a referral.

I told Bryan, "I know what he's going to say. He's going to say 'Wait, slow down, give yourself several months before surgery. . .'"

And it's not that I'm in a hurry, it's just that as long as I'm clicking along with a disrupted routine and various treatments, I might as well keep right on clicking, right?

Turns out that's not what he wanted to say. He thinks clicking along is a good idea. There were just other clarifications to be made about what surgery could happen where and he wanted to talk about them in person so he could see us again, and see for himself how I was doing.

It felt like seeing an old friend, so Bryan and I didn't mind going down there one bit.

And the movie we saw was Sherlock Holmes. Such a good movie. Such a good day all around.

And as for A?

What did A's husband get her for Christmas?

Back when Gemma came along, Bryan gave me a charm bracelet, and he's faithfully been adding charms to it. Each one is a well-considered symbol.

Some are obvious: A teddy bear for when Gemma was born.

Some are cute: A bison for when we lived in Kansas.

Some have long stories behind them: A Korean pipe as a symbol for how much fun we have together. (That's not supposed to make sense to you because I haven't told you the long story.)

Some are poetic: A pitcher, because I "pour out my life for Bryan and the kids."

And some are sweet: A Korean palace gate. For, in Seoul, there remain the 4 massive gates of a palace long since gone to ruins, and at each gate, there is a huge market. When I saw the charm, I asked, "Is this a symbol of how much shopping I've done here?"

He said, "No, I gave it to you because you're my queen."

This Christmas, the charm was. . .can you guess?


A hat.

And I thought that was great all by itself. But then came the accompanying explanation:

Because one day, I will wear a hat only when I want to.

B, G and J Day: Christmas Edition

I have been alerted by Sister #2 that my post for Wednesday didn't actually post. I'm mystified. Operator error, no doubt. But what error, exactly?

Annoying, friends. Because it was a really great post that I don't have another copy of. Now I'm left to reconstruct it. But if T. E. Lawrence can re-write his 500 page memoir from scratch after the original was lost a train station, then I can re-write this one post. Because that's the kind of serious blogger I am.


B:

B's wife got him a terrific Christmas present:

A Nerf N-Strike Rapid Fire AS-20 Dart Blaster that Shoots 20 Darts with Automatic Fire

Gemma and Josh already had nerf guns. They were the great enticement for Joshua to commit to using the toilet.

(e.g. "Josh, if you get 10 X's in a row on your poop chart, you get your grand prize!" That 10th poop happened while at church, and as soon as his pants were pulled up, he announced--to anyone he met--"I pooped, so I get a gun!")

Gemma got a gun, too, because our policy is that you cannot shoot at someone who is not armed. But in the weeks between The 10th Poop and Christmas, the war was really between Josh and Bryan, with Bryan saying often, as he loaded up Gemma's 6-shooter, "Joshua, go get your gun!"

This Christmas morning, Bryan was grinning as he loaded up his 20-shooter. "Joshua, go get your gun!"

Well. Gemma got hers, too. And I got mine. Oh yes, Mommy gave Mommy a present this year: my own 6-shooter. We had a family gun battle on Christmas morning.

G:

A Christmas morning that started a lot later than yours, I am guessing. Because, I guess again, you did not spend the wee hours of your Christmas morning in the ER and/or scrubbing blood out of your carpet.

What's this?

Gemma rolled out of bed at 12:30 AM, climbed back in, and then noticed through her stupor that there was blood on her pillow.

She screamed that panic scream, which woke me, and then raced to our room to tell me she had a bloody nose.

As you would have, I leaped out of bed to rush her to the bathroom. Maybe you'd have done it out of parental concern. I did it out of blood-on-the-rug concern and found that it was not a nose bleed. Instead, there was a gash across her chin, below her lip, and it was gushing.

While Bryan got dressed for the trip to the ER, I explained to her why she had to go, and what would happen there. Her eyes were wide, forehead creased--she was all dread. A dread I knew well and I figured that 6 years old was not to young to know: There are somethings we don't want to do, but that we just have to do. Things that aren't like trying a new food we think we will hate and then are surprised by how much we like it. But things we think are going to suck and then, yes, they do indeed suck.

I think her ER experience did suck. Bryan reported that as soon as the nurse said, "We're all done here," Gemma hopped off the bed and started putting on her shoes, wasting no time to high-tail it out.

But I don't think it sucked as much as she'd dreaded it would. They used a numbing agent, so the 6 sutures were tolerable. And they have her a little stuffed bear, her 'Hospital Teddy,' which she took to heart.

From Bryan's point of view, it was a great visit because they got in right away and out soon after.

We examined her bed and still don't understand what she could have hit her chin on. But we've put up a sleeping gate, which she'll probably want to use through high school, perhaps even bring to college with her. . .

At 4 AM that night, everyone was home and back in bed, Gemma in ours. I asked her, "When you fell out of bed, did you think, 'My chin hurts a little'?" It was amazing to me that she had thought it was just a bloody nose.

She said, "No, Mommy. When I fell out and then got back into bed, my chin felt just like every other person's chin that was not wounded and bleeding like mine."

J:

Joshua slept well that night. But he was very concerned to see his sister's bandaged chin, and to hear about a trip to the hospital. He even offered his doggers to her for comfort.

Then, later, he shot her full of nerf darts.

'Tis the Season

Permit a tardy Deep Christmas Thought:

One of the primary lessons I've learned through the military life of moving around, changing jobs, changing churches, changing ministries, changing roles, changing changing changing--one of the lessons of this is that life happens in seasons.

For instance, our normal Ponce Family Policy is that the children don't watch many movies throughout the week. (We don't have television, so it's easy to count just how much DVD time they get.)

Then I did chemotherapy and suddenly we were in a new season: A time whence Gemma and Josh got out of bed, got their own breakfast and put a movie in to watch until Mommy managed to get out of bed herself.

I have been thinking about Mary's seasons of motherhood. It must have been a hard adjustment for her when baby #2 came along and was a sinner, unlike his big Brother. . .

But in general, that time between His birth and His public ministry starting about 30 years later must have been a joyful season. Not without its trials and difficulties (she did, probably, lose her husband at some point). Not without its similarities to the work of all mothers everywhere. But also, not without its joys at seeing such a marvelous Boy grow to manhood.

Then came that dark day. And a dark 3 days following. Throughout these, we should always remember, those who loved Jesus had no hope at all that they would ever see Him again before they themselves died. They had no expectation that He would resurrect. They had only their grief and dispair and whatever other ache their hearts held.

Multiplied by a hundred in the case of His mother, I would expect.

Then He appeared. And everything changed forever.

This Christmas, I was thinking about how Mary knew a joyful season of motherhood, and only after that crucible of grief--indeed, only out of its event--came a new and glorious season.

This is what the living Savior does. He makes the season new. He turns a dark hour into a dawn.

My own marathon proceeds. A lot of radiation left. Then surgery. And though I'd expected to be of very light heart by this time--the worst is behind us, no?--there's more sadness now than ever before. Even so, I know this is just a season.

And I do sense that there is something glorious ahead. The darker this season seems to me, the brighter, I believe, will be His triumph.