Surgery

I've had a crazy 48 hours.  After enduring pain and discomfort over the long weekend, I called my doctor on Tuesday and got a mid-afternoon appointment.  My exam lead to a referral for an ultrasound at 7:30 p.m. that evening, where a large blood clot was found.  That discovery lead to being admitted into the hospital and a 1:00 a.m. CT scan.  My string of medical interventions finished off yesterday with a last-minute decision for a late-afternoon surgery. I'm exhausted, but feeling thankful my medical issues are on the path to being resolved.

When my doctor first broached the subject of surgery the next morning, I was scared and overwhelmed.  Until that point, I was being kept in the hospital for observation and even though the CT scan hadn't ruled out continued bleeding, my hemoglobin levels were steady and I was actually feeling the least amount of pain I had had in days.  I was bored out of my mind sitting around my hospital room and I missed my family, so I tried asking the doctor if I could leave and just come back every three hours for another blood draw.  Otherwise, I was just hanging out around and feeling like I there was no reason for being there. 

Before my doctor even determined surgery was necessary, she had insisted she felt more comfortable if I stayed in the hospital until she could be sure I was going to be okay, because it's easy for young and otherwise healthy people to tolerate a lot of bad stuff going.  Indeed, I'd put up with a lot of pain and discomfort over the past two weeks as proof of her point.   But since I was feeling pretty decent by yesterday, I thought maybe all I needed was to continue resting.  Despite how healthy I looked, my doctor impressed upon me how I could go downhill very quickly and she'd rather that happen in the hospital and not at home in the middle of the night. 

Despite how well taken care of I was at the hospital, never in my life did I want to be home with my family so badly than when I was faced with an unknown amount of time in a hospital for reasons I wasn't so sure required me to be there.  Thinking about my kids and wanting to be with them made me cry.

My case was apparently unusual enough that my doctor consulted her colleagues who've treated many patients with ectopic pregnancies and complications as a result and they determined that the state of my health was a "ticking time bomb."  Yes, if the internal bleeding had indeed stopped, I'd be fine and the blood clot would have been absorbed into my body. But if it didn't and the clot ruptured or broke up, the consequences would have been disastrous.  Although the decision to operate isn't taken lightly, being able to remove the blood clot would be an instant cure. 

I was nervous going into surgery, but was at least feeling somewhat reassured that because I was having laparoscopic surgery, the recovery would be a lot easier than when I had c-sections. More importantly, I reminded myself that I have to take care of myself for Oliver and Soren.   

For all the worrying I did about whether I even needed to be in the hospital at all, the discoveries during surgery showed exactly how serious of a situation I was in and how I truly was the ticking time bomb my doctor had referred to me as.  Surgery turned out not to be just the best option, but an absolutely necessary one. 

My doctor's original goal was to remove the blood cot, drain out blood that had gathered in the abdomen and then stop the bleeding.  As soon as she got in there though, she couldn't see past the fallopian tube, which was swollen and heavily scarred.  She immediately removed it so she could see past the "mess." Because the tube was in such rough shape, she assumed at first that the ectopic had implanted there.  Once the fallopian tube was out of her way, though, she discovered that the ectopic had actually implanted in one of my ovaries, which had split open completely in half and was still bleeding and covered in scars.  So not only did I have an ectopic pregnancy, but I had a very rare ovarian pregnancy, which occurs is less than 3% of ectopic pregnancies.

It blew me away to think that I had been walking around with internal bleeding and a ruptured ovary.  After my successful round of methotrexate, I couldn't believe that there was anything left of a sizable amount that could cause a rupture.  My doctor explained to me that ovaries are really sensitive, so even if the ectopic never grew big, it could still do more damage than if it had implanted in the fallopian tube.  Without that round of methotrexate I had a week and a half ago to break up the ectopic, my body would have been in a lot more serious trouble and a lot sooner, and I would have probably ended up in emergency surgery.  I was relieved to hear that there had still been a need for the methotrexate even though I still needed surgery in the end. 

Now that all the problems have been identified and either removed or repaired, my doctor thinks I'm well on my way to a full recovery.  I'm no longer a ticking time bomb and am humbled by the knowledge that the doctor wasn't just being overly cautious when she said how serious ectopic pregnancies and the risk of rupture are.  I'm thankful now that she consulted with her colleagues and she didn't let me go home while she tried to figure out what the heck the problem was, because in her words, it would have been a matter of time before I "crumpled" if I hadn't had surgery.

I'm now waiting to be discharged from the hospital.  I'm super tired, but at least the pain doesn't seem to be as bad as it was after c-section.  Recovery from a laparoscopic surgery is a lot easier on your body since it only requires small incisions.  I hope that remains the case. I still have recovery ahead of me and have been given the same restrictions (no heavy lifting, housework, no driving while on pain medications, etc.) that I had after Oliver's and Soren's births. 

I look forward to being back at home and with my family.  I felt so lonely at the hospital without them, so it really lifted my spirits when I had visitors.  Our nanny brought Oliver and Soren to the hospital to hang out with me the morning of surgery and then Chris took over when it was time for the kids to go home for lunch and naps.  The biggest surprise was when I was wheeled back into my room after surgery and I saw Chris sitting in my room with our two little boys in his lap.  The surgery started an hour later than expected and took a lot longer than anticipated, but there was my little family patiently waiting for me. 

Blood Clot

I was clearly ahead of the ball when I declared myself "on the mend" last week.  But I really was feeling much better by the time I met again with my doctor for a follow-up appointment at the end of last week.  I even felt well enough to take a walk.  And then another one the next day.  But during that second walk, I knew I wasn't doing so well anymore when I realized I was using Soren's stroller as support.  Once we got home, I fed him lunch and got him down for his afternoon nap as soon as I could and then collapsed on the couch for the next three hours.  I was still in enough pain the next morning that I needed to call Chris's parents for help with Soren and then called Chris at the cabin where he'd gone to help his brother with beginning-of-the-season chores and asked him to come home early. 

I saw my doctor again yesterday afternoon and although my blood tests looked great, (my hCG levels had dropped by half) she wasn't optomistic by the pain and tenderness I was experiencing in my lower abdomen and ordered an ultrasound.  The earliest appointment I could get was at 7:30 p.m. in the Radiology Department and then that got pushed back due to an emergency patient.  With my luck, the ultrasound had to be performed twice, which shouldn't have been a good sign, and by the time I talked with the doctor at 10:30 p.m., she informed me that I had a 14-centimeter-long blood clot. It could be serious, or not at all.  I have in my favor the fact that my hCG levels are dropping like they should, which means the ectopic is resolving, or else we'd have what the doctor called a "hot mess." However, until I could have a CT scan to determine whether the clot is bleeding and get a better idea of exactly what's going on, she didn't feel comfortable sending me home.  Thus I was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital.

Two and a half hours and three trys later, the third nurse was finally able to get an IV line going and sent me back down to Radiology for the CT scan.  The results of the scan weren't enough on their own to make a more detailed diagnoses and the doctor told me she really needed the results of the blood draws I'd have throughout the night.  So more waiting.  After very, very little sleep last night, I'm sitting around waiting for my doctor to round today and let me know the next course of action.   

After feeling like I was making progress towards recovery, it was so frustrating to suddenly feel like I was never going to get better.  Besides my physical discomfort, I'm feeling sad because I miss my kids and because I haven't really been able to play with them much recently and haven't been in the best mood.  And even though I have a supportive work environment and helpful nanny, I actually feel anxious imagining how Chris and I would manage if I were still a stay-at-home mom.  As difficult as it was to concentrate at work when I wasn't feeling my best, I appreciated that I have someone healthy at home to do fun stuff with the kids.  And of course, having the nanny home with the kids today is a huge help so Chris can go to work and they can follow their normal routine. 

On the Mend

I am less pregnant than I was on Monday.  That's good news! The results of my blood test on Monday showed a continued rise in my hCG level from the Friday before, but I was told that's normal even a few days after the initial methotrexate treatment.  What my doctor was hoping to see was a 15% drop in my hCG level between day four of treatment (Monday) and day seven of treatment (today) and my drop was 34%.  Never have I been so happy to be not (less) pregnant.  I'll need to have weekly blood draws until my hCG levels hit zero, but my follow-up exam indicates that I'm recovering from the ectopic pregnancy as well as my doctor was hoping. 

Today is the best I've felt in two weeks, especially compared with this last week.  My doctor warned me there would be a lot of cramping, but my gosh, I wasn't expecting flashbacks of my labor with Soren.  Remember those contractions that really started to hurt?  That's what it felt like.  I looked at my body and wanted to scream at myself, "There's not even a baby in there!"

As particularly painful and uncomfortable as that first wave of cramping was, I've never experienced being so comforted by my own child like I was by Soren.  Chris was out with Oliver and Soren had just woken up from his nap, so I pulled him out of his crib and laid in my bed with him.  I held him tightly and clasped his fists in mine as my tears fell onto the soft, wisps of curls forming on the back of his head.  I was sure he'd want to get up and play, but he contently lay there snuggled with mom and thankfully oblivious to my pain.  I was so thankful to have this sweet little boy to hug and hold.

Tylenol, the only pain-reliever I was allowed to take, was also a great comfort.  It was enough to take the edge off and allow me to be functional, but there were periods this past week where let's just say I was grumpy.   I can't wait to be back to my normal self. 

I'll Miss My ECFE Classmates

Everyone tells you as a parent that "it goes by quickly."  So, too, does the ECFE year, where we lamented about, well, how our kids are growing up so quickly.  It's too easy to get caught up in whatever the challenge of the week is with your kids and not see how much they've grown.  But oh my gosh, they have and they've achieved some big milestones.  Oliver tackled potty-training and successfully dropped a nap. Soren started the year by crawling and finished by being able to walk with us all the way to school. He experienced various levels of separation anxiety, but during the past few weeks, he'd let me leave without so much as a quiver of the lip and his teachers would report afterward about what a blast he had.   While the kids still don't always treat each other with "kind and consideration" like our house rules call for, I had forgotten, until a classmate reminded me, that at the beginning of the year, I was worried about how vulnerable I felt my once-tiny Soren was in comparison to Oliver who would push him over to get attention. I was at wit's end with how to deal with the situation and spent half a class discussing it.  And like so much else, the problem fell into the category of "this too shall pass."

Now I face an entire summer  with no weekly check-ins.  No opportunity to bounce ideas or frustrations off a group of empathetic ears.  It's difficult to leave a group when I look around the room and realize that I learned something from every single parent sitting at the table.  Whether it was telling a story about their own joys or challenges or brainstorming ideas or providing tips, I am a better parent because of every single one of them. 

One parent commented on the night of our last class how parenting is such a personal journey, yet the experience is so common and mundane.  That's all the more reason 13 families come together every Monday night.  Parenting is a more enjoyable and enlightening journey when taken together.     

Ectopic Pregnancy Treatment

My hCG levels have continued to rise, so despite another inconclusive ultrasound, my OB was confident that I have an ectopic pregnancy and the best course of action was immediate treatment.  Surgery was not an option since she couldn't tell where the egg had even implanted.  Treating with an injection of methotrexate, which is essentially a cancer drug, is the best option, even though I'll need follow-up testing and additional doses if the first one doesn't work. 

I was hesitant to immediately pursue any sort of treatment though.  If the egg hadn't implanted where it was supposed to, how could it even survive?  It just didn't make sense to me. I felt like immediate treatment had to be unnecessary.  But that's the unfair part about an ectopic pregnancy I learned.  The egg usually continues to grow despite no chance of long-term survival and the fatal risk of eventual rupture.  Even though I wasn't in pain, "wait and see" was not the recommended approach.

So I could put my options in perspective, I asked my doctor what happened to women with ectopic pregnancies "back in the day."  Before ultrasounds, doctors had no way to detect an ectopic pregnancy early on, she explained, and they were usually diagnosed when a woman showed up in the emergency room with severe abdominal pain and then they were treated with emergency surgery.  Before the era of modern surgery - women often died.  Chris and I appreciated her bluntness. I opted for the injections of methotrexate.

Before I could start on the methotrexate, I needed another blood draw to test my liver function, so Chris and I went out for lunch while we waited for the tests to come back. It's rare Chris and I have a quiet meal together, just the two of us, and I appreciated even more having that break in between what was hours of waiting, prods and pokes and consultations with doctors and nurses.  We talked about how frustrating it is to come so close to what should have been a healthy, complication-free pregnancy and how sad Chris is about not having more biological children when he thinks about what great kids Oliver and Soren are.  I sometimes feel like I'm throwing in the towel too early, but my heart just isn't in it anymore. 

As much as I'm looking forward to moving on, I need to focus in the immediate future on getting better.  With a prescription of Zofran on hand in case I become nauseated, I'm taking it easy the next couple of days and am keeping my fingers crossed this round of treatment is successful. 

Soren Update: 19 Months

Nineteen months is an unremarkable age and at the same time all-inspiring.  Soren isn't doing anything new per say, yet he seems to be changing so quickly.  People who hadn't seen him for just a few short weeks commented how much taller he seems.  Yet when I zip him into his sleepsack and rock him in my arms, I'm reminded that he's still so young and so innocent.  In just size 12-month pants and 18-month tops, and not much over 20 pounds, Soren is still a peanut. 

I delight in witnessing Soren's curiosity and zeal for daily life.  He'll still act bashful if someone tries to talk to him by burying his head into me, but he has ultra social moments where he yells "Hi!" and "Bye!" to people and inanimate objects.  Or he'll watch Oliver drink the milk from his cereal bowl and immediately try to do the same with his bowl of oatmeal.  He can be such a ham.  He'll pick up Chris's baseball cap, put it on his head and try to get your attention so you'll laugh at this cute little boy wearing his daddy's big hat.  Chris thinks he's too fearless for his own good.  He'll throw himself down the biggest slide at the playground, but he has his calm moments, like when he wants to chill out in the bucket swing. 

For all his fearlessness, though, Soren is still terrified of animals, which can be an inconvenience if we're playing outside and a dog on a walk strolls by.  A family with an over-friendly cat moved in across the street and even though I'm not an official cat person, I'm starting to like Beebs the cat.  Unfortunately, Soren goes ballistic if Beebs approaches him.  Chris was unloading the kids from the car and set Soren down on the boulevard while he unbuckled Oliver from his car seat.  Soren didn't notice the cat saunter up to him and he had the scare of his life when he turned to walk towards the house and was face to face with Beebs. 

Technically Still Pregnant

Despite how upset I was to learn that I was miscarrying, once it happened, I wanted it to be over.  I've already missed spent as much time at my OB's office as I have at work and I'm ready to go back to my normal routine. Except that I'm still technically pregnant.  The physical symptoms I was experiencing indicated a miscarriage, but blood tests showed rising levels of hCG, a hormone produced during pregnancy.  My OB suspects I have an ectopic pregnancy, which means the fertilized egg implanted in my fallopian tube instead of my uterus, and thus can't survive.  I haven't decided which is worse, knowing the reason for the miscarriage or knowing that there was likely nothing wrong with what could have grown to become our baby other than that the cluster of cells missed landing in the right spot. 

An ectopic pregnancy is serious, but luckily hasn't reached the level of emergency yet and there's a chance my body will sort everything out on its own.  If not, after my next ultrasound and a blood draw to test my hCG level, my OB hopes to be able to treat me with methotrexate instead of surgery.  With either scenario, I'll have multiple OB visits over the next couple of weeks to make sure the treatment worked.  I didn't realize this process could drag on for so long. 

This experience is helping me feel more at peace with our decision to pursue adoption.  It can take longer to conceive after an ectopic pregnancy and I'm more likely to have another one, so I'm relieved not to add that to the long list of all the things I worry about.  Instead of feeling frustrated at the prospect of starting over, adoption gives me something to look forward to. 

Soul Searching

For two weeks I let myself be excited about expecting another baby.  How could I not?  Chris and I had wanted another baby and it was exhilarating when we decided we were going to go for number three.  When I found out I was pregnant, it's simply my nature to go into planner mode.  Chris and I talked about childcare, maternity leave and what to do about the kids' rooms.  I started a running list in my head of all the things we needed to tackle before Christmas.  Then dizziness, cramping and spotting ensued and by the time I rushed to the doctor in the middle of the work day, I knew in my gut the pregnancy was over.  I was crushed. 

When I talked with my OB, she asked me what our plans are for trying again, and I told her I didn't think I wanted to. Chris and I had talked about adoption before, although we'd never seriously looked into it.  She looked at me and very compassionately said, "I think adoption is a wonderful option. You were not happy when you were pregnant." I wish Chris had been there to hear her say that. I had never kept quiet my dislike of pregnancy, but it was a sentiment even I never took seriously.  My doctor hadn't seen me in a year and a half, yet my unhappiness was one of the things she remembered about me.

If anything good can come from losing a pregnancy I really did want so badly, it is that it forced Chris and me to do some soul-searching.  We want more children, that we can agree on. But where should we go from here? We could wait a month or two and try again. And I would most likely have a successful pregnancy, or I could possibly not. Or we could talk seriously about adoption.
I had to be honest with Chris that not only did I prefer not to be pregnant again, but that I thought it would be too hard on our family if I did.           

I'm ready for a new direction, but, honestly, the unknown scares me.  I don't trust that Chris is yet emotionally committed to adoption as he assures me he is.  And we both worry about the money, waiting and uncertainty involved with the process.  This is a moment in my life where I wished I had a crystal ball and could catch a glimpse of the future and see if adoption works out for us.  I've acknolwedged to myself that I really have no desire to ever be pregnant again, yet I don't know if I would ever be at peace stopping at two. 

I think about the wonderful family I have and how lucky I am that I have two happy, healthy and lovable kids.  Chris and I can continue to have a great life even if we stop now.  We developed a comfortable routine based on a two-kid family, each kid has his own bedroom in our cozy little house, we have daycare figured out and we live a comfortable lifestyle.  All outward signs tell us, "Stop, you have it good!"  Yet even if I don't want any more biological children, my heart knows I'm not finished having children.  So the soul-searching continues. 

A Hint of Color

"Spring" in Minnesota has been miserable.  It snowed on the third day of May.  Enough said.  After a really cold start to the weekend on Saturday morning, the rest of the weekend turned out better than forecasted and we spent time outside.  We went for walks, played at the playground and did some yardwork.  But what I've really been longing to do is start this season's garden.  Our yard looks so depressing right now.  The grass is nearly dead from last summer's drought, the gardens are bare and even our window boxes are empty since I'm waiting until planting time to replace the coconut fiber lining.  I had gotten a taste of spring when I was in New Jersey last weekend and I was desperate to put some color in my yard. 

Soren and I visited our neighborhood nursery and I asked what I could plant this early in the season.  I was pointed towards the flowers I could plant next weekend, maybe, and those I could buy now if I brought them onto the porch or into the house in the evening until the nights are reliably warmer.  I clarified that I wanted something I could plant now, as in today.  I left with enough verbena and ranunculus to fill the four large flower pots on our front steps, which I did as soon as we got home.

Even though my yard is still so dreary, looking at the bright colors displayed in my four potted plants makes me happy.  And then today I noticed that my flowers aren't the only signs of spring.  I spotted tulips poking up in my neighbor's yard and the first buds on our Royal Star Magnolia. I'm excited the spring may finally be reaching us here in Minnesota. 

My Brother's Wedding

The logistics of our trip to the East Coast last weekend for my little brother's wedding were not ideal considering we had two little ones with us.  We flew in and out in barely a 48-hour's timeframe and stayed at a bed and breakfast with lots of breakable antiques.  While the weekend was tiring and went by too quickly, it was a joy and the only damage to the bed and breakfast in our wake were some chocolate stains on the comforter left behind by the kids' granola bars. 

My brother, Scott, and his new wife, Stevie, married at the YMCA camp in Medford, New Jersey my brother had worked at for years.  They held the ceremony at the outdoor chapel on a little island on the edge of the main lake.  A short bridge and a narrow, winding trail worn down to expose tree roots by the feet of a 100 summers' worth of campers lead us to the open-air chapel, which consisted of benches facing a simple wooden cross and stone altar, with the lake as a back-drop.   

My brother the outdoorsman set off from the swimming beach on the opposite shore and canoed to the chapel. Against the recommendation of his best man who could see no sign of the bride across the shore, Scott set off in his canoe a few minutes before the start of the 4:00 p.m. ceremony.  Unfortunately, the ceremony ran a little behind schedule.  The wedding party stood lined up across the bridge and at one point the frantic wedding planning hissed in her walkie-talkie to her co-planner that she had no idea where the bride was.  Meanwhile, over the bridge at the chapel, Chris was desperately trying to keep the kids from digging in the dirt after he'd exhausted every snack and diversion. I had begged (well, demanded) that Chris keep the kids clean through the ceremony and pictures and that was looking less and less like a reality and the ceremony hadn't even started yet.  The bride eventually arrived, and even though Chris had to leave mid-ceremony with our restless kids, the rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch. 

The ceremony itself was not only beautiful, but so was the weather.  Scott FINALLY broke the spell of bad weather at Partenheimer weddings.  It snowed so much the night before my parents' wedding that the minister couldn't make it, it rained so much for my wedding that we had to move the ceremony from the tent to the sturdier shelter of a barn and when my dad married Debbie it rained so hard that the power went out and I thought we were going to have a reception by candlelight.  In contrast, the weather the entire weekend of Scott and Stevie's wedding could only be described as glorious.  Spring was in full bloom, the sky wasn't marred by a single cloud and the days were warm and the evenings cool. 

Even if the weather was perfect, my Uncle Gary, who officiated Scott and Stevie's wedding, (as well as mine and my dad's) warns everyone he marries that something always goes wrong (but that you'll still think your wedding was the best that ever occurred).  If something was to go wrong, I thought the obvious scenario was the canoe tipping.  But sometimes, what goes wrong is that the minister falls off the stage.  Really. 

Luckily the ceremony had already finished.  We had wished Scott and Stevie well and as they canoed away and I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief that my brother had pulled off such an unconventional exit without dropping his new bride in the lake, when my uncle stepped off the stage, put his foot on the edge of the step, (which wasn't nailed into the stage) flipped the step upside down and then wedged his foot into the open side of the step as he tumbled into the crowd of guests.  Miraculously, he wasn't hurt (and my grandmother didn't have a heart attack) and classic Uncle Gary, laughed his misstep off as the best man frantically pulled him back to his feet and dusted him off.   

Scott's wedding was a time to celebrate with family, but it was also a chance for me to reconnect with my childhood.  I had lived in Medford until we moved to Haddonfield when I was in high school, and while my husband and kids have visited both Haddonfield and Ambler where my dad grew up, (my grandmother still lives there) Medford in completely unknown to them. 

Since we had taken such an early flight from Minneapolis, when we arrived in Medford the day of the rehearsal, we still had much of the day ahead of us.  Our bed and breakfast was a huge Victorian home on Main Street. Before trying to put Soren down for a nap, we let the kids run around outside since it was so gorgeous outside.  Since spring still hadn't bloomed in Minnesota, (and it would actually snow again after we got home) I couldn't get over the sight of gardens full of color, lush, green lawns and dogwood trees covered in pink flowers.  I brought my camera outside and although I probably annoyed my husband and kids to no end, I had a lot of fun taking pictures of the kids dressed in t-shirts (and not winter parks, hats, gloves and so on) against the backdrop of greenery and historic buildings.

We walked towards the Main Street Meeting House, which I knew had a huge lawn in front of it where the kids could run around away from the threat of traffic. The kids brought the little bulldozers and dump trucks we'd stashed in their carry-on and they contently sat in the sunshine pushing little piles of dirt around.  Since Medford Monthly Meeting relocated to the Union Street Meeting House in 1984, I have few memories of the Main Street Meeting House.  But of the few memories, one was playing on the lawn with the other kids from the meeting.  It was sweet to flashforward nearly 30 years and watch my own children play.  Aside from the boards covering the windows, the building and grounds looked exactly as I remembered it.  Since there aren't enough Quakers anymore to fill two meeting houses, this one mostly sat empty since we left it in 1984 and I was happy to see the sign announcing the building was to become the new Medford Arts Center. 

When Soren and Chris went to take naps, Oliver and I walked through town and looked around.  I had forgotten how cute and quaint Medford Village is, especially in the spring. We stopped in a toy store where I picked up some new things to occupy the kids at the rehearsal and then a cafe where Oliver ordered a chocolate chip cookie as big as his face.  I enjoyed talking to the shop owners because, believe it or not, I couldn't get enough of the South Jersey accents!  To me, that's the sound of home and my childhood.

The last stop was the Union Street Meeting House that I grew up in. I think the last time I was there was for my mom's memorial service, so although a bittersweet homecoming, being there was peaceful. I enjoyed being able to bring my son back to a place that was a fixture of my childhood.  We walked the grounds and discovered a playground, something they didn't have when I was a kid, and Oliver was so happy to be able to play.

After naps, we drove over to the camp for the rehearsal and dinner.  You would never think that a coastal state would remind me of Minnesota, but as we drove past the little lake homes, it reminded me of a denser version of Northern Minnesota, except the camp pretty much sat in the middle of suburbia.  While we waited for the rehearsal to begin, we walked down to the shore of the lake where my kids could have spent the rest of the weekend throwing rocks in the water.  Except for the sandy soil of the Pine Barrens at my feet, I could have been looking out across a lake in Minnesota. 

The weekend was tiring and wonderful all at the same time. Wonderful that we were able to spend time with family, both as a family of four after Chris's time away from home due to work trips and as an extended family. And of course wonderful that we were witnesses to Scott and Stevie's marriage. But tiring in that we left on a 7:10 a.m. flight and the kids were too excited to nap and stayed up too late both nights.  It was worth it though for the memories it created of the kids dancing and playing with their cousins, of eight-year-old Zachary entertaining a delighted Soren with countless games of Peekaboo, of my brother dancing to Ella Fitzgerald with our grandmother and of welcoming a new member to the family, Stevie, the love of my brother's life.