not a trick question

OK, so which one of these dolls looks as though it promotes innocence, imagination, wholesome play and childlike fantasy? And which one looks to be a brash, raunchy, made-up, trashily clad, and shockingly sexualized combination of every secular image we want to protect our impressionanable young, precious children from? (no, I am not biased in ANY manner. *grin*)

C'mon. You can do it.

Bueller? Bueller?

I have been hoping for awhile now that a modest, fanciful, imaginative, posable, feminine, popular doll series that would emerge to challenge the stranglehold that BRATZ dolls have on the 4-14 age market for our daughters. I find Bratz startlingly repugnant and am astounded that so many of us are buying this garbage for our children to consume, play with, and emulate. Thank God there are now emerging some great new options for little girls (and boys).

On the recommendation of a friend (who apparently trolls toy stores on a much more regular basis than I do and spied these the moment they hit the shelves!), I purchased the doll on the left and a companion doll, part of the new Trixieville collection, for LaLa last night. She and I played with her dolls for 2 hours, making up stories about the ocean and Maui and the trees and fireflies. It was sheer delight. Thank you, Manhattan Toy Company, for making these delightful, age appropriate dolls which promote sweetness and innocence ~ the very best elements of being a child, after all.

Paralysis, Part One

Migraine Disorder with Residual Frontal Lobe Scarring.
Reynaud's Disease.
Fibromyalgia.

The rheumatologist listed these off methodically in his powerfully booming "Welcome to Disneyland" voice as I sat in an alluringly faded, frayed, lavender, backless little number, trying not to move lest I cause a complaining ruckus from the grouchy crinkle paper draping the examining table. It was late February. This was my fourth visit to this rheumatologist's practice, the eleventh to this medical facility, and the most highly anticipated to date. Today, I expected to receive definite answers, wisdom, and a plan to combat whatever these brightly faceted medical minds decided was causing me to be starkly unwell.

I listened. I heard.

While hearing the detailed reports about my physical state from Dr. Boomer (so named by me because his voice sounds like a television announcer voice), the condition of my brain and subsequent body functions, and various specialists estimates of my prognosis, I was completely silent. I don't even recall breathing, really. I studied the doctor entirely, taking careful note of the joyless, sober expression he wore, and of his eyes pointed back in my direction, searching to see if this information had landed on target and made the impression that was intended. He took care to explain the nature of all three afflictions. He showed me half a dozen photos of my brain, the scan of my spine and ankles, and a small binder of blood panel results with numbers on them in tidy columns that meant something substantive in the realm of medicine. He educated me on the healing process required of a migraine with enough power to scar your frontal lobe. He discussed physical therapy to regain the lost 30% strength in the right side of my body, in terms joints, movement, capacity, and grip. He counseled me on the measures I must take to both prevent and react to the times when my hands or feet turn purplish-red and, cold, or I faint - resulting from a lessened capacity of my circulatory system to transmit warmth to my extremities and major organs. He explained the different types of muscle and joint failures which were accumulating to account for my ankles, wrists, and back refusing to function and basically going on strike without notice. He brought out lists of supplements and medicines that are designed to buoy my body's ability to heal and help create health where there is now chronic and stark unhealth. He educated me on the new ways I was going to learn to administer self-medication for my powerful migraines here at home. He showed me inhalers, syringes, and patches of medicine and stacked books, pamphlets, and papers at my side. On the noisy exam room table paper.

I listened. I heard.

And managed to learn more about myself than the results of any of these invasive clinical tests would ever be able to indicate at face value.

When the doctor did finally cease speaking, he reached out to take my hand. Certainly this was a potentially overwhelming amount of information to take in all at once, right? His kind gesture was meant to comfort - to care - and it was appreciated. I took his hand and then, incredibly, could not resist just openly breaking into gentle laughter that rolled over me with childlike abandon. With tears welling but smile wide, I was overcome with a sense of sober JOY, flavored by a generous splash of intense gratitude.

Not, perhaps, the most "normal" reaction, given the consistent pain I have experienced for the last 4 months, and the daunting nature of the diagnosis handed me in that sterile sage green exam room. Dr. Boomer was puzzled and spoke to me in sharp rebuke, reminding me that this was a SERIOUS diagnosis, with SERIOUS current and future ramifications and an immediate SERIOUS plan of treatment needed to be put into action.

I listened. I heard.

But it still could not break through the sunshine in my heart. Even as the rain also fell.

I felt grateful to be hearing every single syllable of what this man was telling me. I felt grateful because, though it was bad, it was not WORSE. And though it was going to be a battle, at least the enemy finally had an identity - a name. And even though I have to add these three medical labels to my repertoire, I am determined not to be defined or paralyzed by the new limits of my body. And the fact that I have the ultimate healer of the universe on speed dial means the fuel for this vehicle is everlasting.

But it also led me to determine that I needed to reign myself in a bit, curtail some activities and commitments (including this blog. This emerging medical phenomenon is one of two major contributing reasons for my recent HIATUS) to be able to better facilitate my understanding of what healthy IS for me, and because I wanted to savor the feeling of finally being able to break the surface and shatter the paralysis I had been quite literally, suddenly, trapped by.

So, though I hurt in fascinating and sometimes scary ways each day, and am learning the full breadth of the new medical limits and realities I face, my countenance remains focused on the Lord, from whom all blessings flow. "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." ~ Jeremiah 29:11.

I listened.

I heard.

becoming a dog person

I'm sorry, but Dog The Bounty Hunter is smashingly good television.

Oh, just shush.

bad bon bons

So, quite a bit has happened in seven weeks, as is predictable in a time frame of that length, unless you are blessed (or cursed?) with an unprecendently uneventful life. If you are, I envy you a fair bit, as one day I pray to be well ensconsed in that category along side you. I imagine that happening about the time Maui beckons so fiercely we can no longer resist (11 years, 11 months and 4 days until this retirement-induced state becomes a reality), and our days begin to blend into a divine recipe combining blissful ingredients of sand, sea, song, and sunsets.

I do plan to fully update everyone on all things Lachen ~ including updates on new health, faith, familial, church, and "D: none of the above" random~type journeys as I gradually find my blogosphere groove again. Please be patient with my tendency to share things semi-randomly as they organically occur to me.

My time away was an extremely well spent endeavor of renewal. I've discovered fresh fulfillment in rediscovering the power and purpose of listening, of seeking, of hearing, and responding. I have been neck deep in a study of Romans, and deliberately focused on being reshaped and refined by the power of the message contained within that book. My gosh - have you ever read the book of Romans? I mean, REALLY read it? Sat and savored it morsel by morsel, listening and seeking with a heart that clings to each passage like a lifeboat? Wanting to be chiseled away at?

Whoa. It it is a phenomenon of transformation. EVERY time I have been led by God to an intense, deliberate study of Romans in my adult lifetime (five and counting), I have emerged utterly... changed. God bless Paul ~ what a miracle to have his words reach across the generations into the heart of a soon to be (one month away!) 33 year old twenty-first century dwelling, Ugg clad, singing goofball mother of two.

Suffice it to say, I have not been wasting this hiatus eating bon bons.

But Cheezits are another story. And we must not labor in the delusion that I have entertained any thoughts whosoever of my abandoning Dr. Pepper. May it never be.

Joy at the Toi...

...let.

Joyboy is apparently beginning the wild and wooly journey of potty training. On his birthday, he had his first success on the potty - and earned his first Good Boy M&M to add delight to the triumph. Tonight, 6 weeks later, his second success! He is potty training as his desire and timing leads him because Mommy has become a firm believer in not rushing such things. You see, Mommy lost two rugs, 9 pairs of pants, several towels, one sofa cushion, and quite nearly her entire capacity for joy during the rather trying process of trying to potty train Miss LaLa at 18, 22, and again at 24 months old. Yes, Mommy's learning curve is not so swift. When La La learned to consistently use the potty at 28 months, Mommy became a believer that my most important role in potty training is a hugging, kissing, cheerleading M&M dispenser.

I can't contain the joy, though, at this big event in the Lachen house tonight: I love this part of getting to steward my child's growing up process: the joyfully loud celebration of mastering new tasks and feeling such accomplishment. Combined with chocolate. Way to go, JoyBoy!

Rhyme Slack?

Chime lack?

Crime tack?


Dime crack?


Sign mack?


Lime track?


Sign hack?


Mime attack?


Time sack?

No, that can't be right. Oh yes, I've got it now:

I'M BACK!!