Accounting 101

So when we embarked on 2011, there were far too many unknowns for our liking. Now I know that for most of the population (at least those who don't claim to have divine insight into the future) this is the obvious truth... we actually don't know what is going to happen. However, most of us make plans and sail along in the hope that nothing will jump out and alter our course too dramatically. And lets face it, despite our understanding that we don't infact know the future, we are still completely shell-shocked when something unforeseen does happen! Quite illogical really...

Anyway, in our case, we had little opportunity to plan for the year as there were so many factors unknown but most of these really boiled dwon to the fact that we honestly didn't know how we would survive financially... we only hoped and prayed that we would... and not because of divine insight into the future, but because of assurance in God, we knew we would... somehow...

I have just spent the last hour or so having a quick look at the budget spreadsheets for the year (I may be guilty of being rather anally retentive over Excel spreadsheets and accounting for every minute financial cost including the current monthly cost for Driver's Licence Renewals due in 2020*). It turns out that I was $29.09 out in my projected spending and actual spending and given that we started with a 'bit of a float' we are essentially finishing the year as we started it... financially speaking.

My first reaction? SMS to Ye Olde Husby to beam with pride (and maybe get some justification for being such a tight-arse all year). But then remembered that while I do have a bit of a knack with sums and wotnot, I really need the resources (ie clams, coin, squids) to make it all work. I could go through all the ins and outs of how money has reached our accounts, but in the end it is only by the generosity and provision of our loving Father.

The Bible talks heaps about how much God loves giving to us... I reckon most of the time it has little to do with $$ but I am just currently basking in seeing first hand Him doing just that for us.



*May have been severely stung last year when both husband's and my lincense renewals came up for the first time as a married couple requiring a double payment in the space of 3 weeks... OUCH

Chosen

You know when you hear a phrase that you've heard a thousand times, (and even used yourself) but then one day someone says it in a way that makes you feel like you've never heard it before? Yeah? Well that happened to me today...

During church today, our Pastor told a story. I went something like this: Just this week he took his daughter to the pet shop to buy a new goldfish for the tank. Once they had decided which sort of fish they wanted, rather bemusingly for onlookers, the shop attendant asked Miss H which particular fish she wanted.

Miss H enthusiastically chose one and the shop attendant dutifully went about chasing it around the tank to catch the very one desired. Once deposited in a plastic bag, she and her dad left the shop, fish in hand. Her chosen fish. She was the owner. It belonged to her.

At the risk of likening us all to goldfish (before you get too insulted... just pause... I can think of at least 2 other likenesses...), our Pastor went on to draw the parallel of us being chosen by our Heavenly Father. Being chosen isn't something we can bring about, earn or take any credit for whatsoever. I was overwhelmed with a renewed understanding of how undeserving I am. I didn't do or say anything that wow-ed God into it - in fact I'm pretty unremarkable on the whole and if I am honest, I spend much of my time either being far too nonchalant about such a gift or willingly doing the things that say anything but "thankyou".

And why were we chosen? Because it certainly wasn't to be put on a pedestal or to take any glory. It is for the praise of HIS glory. So that we can glorify and honor our creator and Father.

So while the rest of the sermon was far from being ego-centric, my mind wandered for a brief moment where I was humbled, reminded and somewhat thankful.

In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, in order that we, who were the first to hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory. And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession—to the praise of his glory. Ephesians 1:11-14

Tonsils are so last month...

Last Friday, Miss N had surgery. Having never been the mother of one undergoing such a procedure, I was, let's just say, a little apprehensive. Here we are, four days later and I can honestly say it has been less than a blip in our history... a total anti-climax.

Nearly four weeks ago, we visited an ENT surgeon who was investigating some hearing loss in Miss N, who incidentally had already shown signs of unassisted recovery during the 10 day gap between the GP visit and the referred visit to the said specialist. During the consultation, his anecdotal observations lead him to suspect, among other things, that she was suffering from sleep apnoea due to over sized tonsils and (more than likely) adenoids.

During the following 3 weeks, Miss N had shown even more improvement from the initial problem and, as far as I was concerned, was completely better... thus beckoning the validity of the impeding operation. Nevertheless, we soldiered on as planned and arrived dutifully on time to the hospital. Miss N had no idea what was going on really. In her understanding, her tonsils were "too big and the Dr was going to fix them" and the she and her mum (me) were going to have a special sleepover at the hospital. I had been a little concerned with how much information to give her... give her too much and she'll be traumatised leading up to the event; give her too little and she'll be traumatised after, having been lulled into a false sense of security... what to do, what to do... I stuck with the above information, suspecting it was enough and added in some logistical issues such as being hungry, having to wait and expecting to meet a lot of different doctors - most likely of the male variety (for some reason, the gender of medics is very important to Miss N and lets just say that those with 'y-chromosomes' are not her favourite). If this resulted in an irrational fear of anything medical and hospital related, I would deal with it later.

Everything was going along swimmingly. She had barley mentioned food and was quite happy waiting on her "special" bed. It took me by surprise that it was the gown that would be the undoing of her composure. No attempts on my behalf to convince her of the "beauty" or "princess-like qualities" of "the pretty blue dress" were going to get this gown on and it resulted in brute force, a lot of tears and finally a complete breakdown with her begging me to take her home... oh dear... What distracted her was the arrival of the orderly to take her to theatre and while this was sufficient distraction for her to compose herself, I was beginning to feel myself unravel... great timing... She sat silently as we made our way to the theatre.

The next few minutes happened rather swiftly and apparently routinely. I held her while she fell asleep with gas. I transferred her to the table and exited. She was in their hands. To my surprise, I held it together... I even ate some lunch while I waited.

She came back to the ward in less than an hour, out of anaesthetic but still suffering the effects of it. This was probably the most difficult time for the both of us and I braced myself for the next 4-5 days of this... a distraught, tucked up little sicky suffering weight loss due to fear of using required anatomy for eating. Alas, after about 2 hours of dozing, Miss N woke up and asked for food. I offered her the mandatory post-tonsillectomy foods: jelly and ice cream. She took the jelly but didn't want the ice cream... she spotted the bag of Twisties in my handbag and demanded those. When they were devoured, she asked for a sandwich... and so it continued. They won't discharge patients until they've eaten... based on this rule, Miss N could've left then and there! Precaution prevailed and we bunkered down for the night. Miss N slept like a log... the only one of the 6 occupying the room that night.

She met her discharge conditions once again at breakfast, scoffing her full sized portion of porridge, English muffin, yoghurt, and juice. Once that was finished, she managed to get the nurses to make her 2 more slices of toast with Vegemite (it ought to be noted that Nadia is not the greatest breakfast eater at the best of times). All of this happened around frequent visits to the playroom and other walking expeditions through the ward... she was wired!

I thought I'd best not base too much of her recovery on this demonstration, thinking that maybe she'd "crash" on day 2. Once on day 2, I still held out that she might be a 'day 3' kinda girl... it's now day 5 and she is as full of beans as ever. Aside from her initial general anaesthetic recovery she has not stopped or even slowed down. Not once... I kind of had her recovery time pinned as my recovery time but not to be... I am very grateful for her speedy, uneventful healing... What can I say? She's a trooper.

Our Sweet Jemma

Today we celebrated the life and milestones of our precious Jemma. Let me introduce you to my niece.

Special. Unique. Different.

Aren't we all? Well, yes, but as much as we say that we are all those things, it's not until you meet someone like Jemma that you grasp this a little more profoundly. We are indeed unique but it's not very comfortable when someone really challenges this concept. We like to be unique as long as we look like, behave like and do the same things as everyone else.

It might surprise you to know, given the photo above, that Jemma is disabled. She was diagnosed as a baby with a chromosomal "glitch". And here begins her unique-ness... as far as any documentation concludes, she is the only one in the world like her - but of course, we already knew that! Along the way, she's gained a few more diagnoses but nothing that help define her or tell us what happens next.
For now, what you see is what you get.
She is five years old.
She doesn't speak... but she communicates.
She laughs.
She cries.
And just recently, she now walks. And hence the party. Today my brother and sister-in-law threw a party to celebrate - a party they promised many years ago when only faith and hope allowed us to dream it might happen.

Occasionally, when I ponder Jemma, her parents, and her sisters, my breath is taken away by the enormity of what having a child with disability must be like, by the complexity of their thoughts and emotions and by the sheer physical tiredness and overwhelmed-ness that must consume them relentlessly.

And while my brother and his wife are incredible people, they are but people. They don't for a minute profess to have this all stitched up. All they do, because it is all they can do, is 'walk humbly with their God'*. And He is Good. He delivers their needs. Sustains them. Loves them.

Today we heard again this eloquently written piece that seems to sum up well what it is like to be chosen to be the parents of one special, unique, different little girl who is, in fact, fearfully and wonderfully made**.

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Sistine Chapel, Gondolas. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting. After several months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland!” “Holland?” you say. “What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy. I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It’s just a different place. So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. You begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. And Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” And the pain of that experience will never, ever, ever, go away. The loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.***

*Micah 6:8
** Psalm 139
*** Written by Emily Perl Kingsley

Company for the Run

Since Mr E has learnt to ride his bike without training wheels, it has become somewhat of a tradition that he accompany me on a "Wetlands Run". The Laratinga Wetlands Linear Trail (Mount Barker's answer to the River Torren's Linear Trail) is a lovely 6-7km return track that is relatively flat and mostly sealed. Given the ease of this track, Andy is inclined to join us, albeit at a walking pace (someone has to push Miss N!! - who avoids ambulation at all costs... strikingly familiar). Naturally his greater motivation is the well-positioned coffee shop alongside this track that we meet at - after Eli have run/ridden to our end point and back and Andy has walked to from the start point. After our standard (Two Skinny Caps and Two Baby 'Cinos) we make our way back to the parked car... BLISS...

And when I say "BLISS", I mean...



Mount Barker sure does Autumn well!

The Great Holiday Finale

Today marks the end of Mr E's first ever school holidays which also coincides with Andy's last day of annual leave. Much of the last week has been somewhat upset with Miss N being quite sick which has since afflicted me and more recently poor Mr E. Last night was particularly awful for the boy but he seemed to pick up this morning so we decided to set out for our idea of camping... which doesn't include tents - or sleeping for that matter!

At about 11am we made the somewhat last minute decision to go a cook sausages on a camp fire in Kuipto. Some impressive moves in fast organisation occurred and within the hour, we were well on our way.

Upon arrival, Andy and Mr E set off to find wood, I emptied the car and Miss N "supervised" from her red chair...Mr E took his wood collecting very seriously and saw to it that it was all the right size and placed properly on the fire... or maybe just haphazardly thrown...

Before long, there was a good fire with enough heat to get the snags sizzling...

and then they looked like this...

According to the troops, it was a very tasty lunch that we had proudly cooked ourselves!

After lunch and pack up, a quick game of Hide-and-Seek in the forest was played and then we were on our way.

A great day, a great experience. Hoping it won't be the last!

Go Barker!

Yet another induction into the world of having kids at school... cue House Sports Day. Mr E was put into the 'yellow' team, named "Barker", which, I can only assume has some historical significance - given the location of his school. Having graduated from a school whose creativity in naming Houses extended only as far as the compass points (North, South, East and West), it is a new concept to me that House names can actually have a meaning... Anyway, after lamenting slightly for him not being in the "Green Team" (or, "East" as it was to me), I set out to buy a yellow top for him... evidently, not an easy task this far into the term when all school uniform basics have sold out.

Last minute enthusiasm saw me pulling out an old Tutu (conveniently yellow) and endeavouring to create a matching one for Miss N (yes, it's true, she copied me!)... and when I say 'last minute', I mean: I dropped Mr E off at school, rushed to Spotlight, bought some yellow tutu material, rushed home, pulled out the sewing machine, whipped up another tutu and rushed back to school, having only missed the first event... PHEW! We made it... we matched... we turned heads...

Mr E had such a great time, channelling his endless energy into something that was so well organised...

He ran his heart out in the 50m Dash...while some serious Sibling Support was given...
He kicked... and threw...
There were loads of proud moments...
and all in all, it was a very fun day.

GO BARKER!