Thursday, June 30, 2011

The Airport Is Not My Friend

I had another encounter with my nemesis: the Airport. Today I had to pick up Andy after his trip to Costa Rica where he was doing some kind of businessy business stuff.  As soon as I pulled up to Terminal 2 I was scolded by security. "No Waiting!! You will have to move on!" But wait! The very gracious Ace Valet Parking service had allowed me to keep the rental car they provided until I had to return to pick up my hubby. They advised me to drive up to the Valet Parking area in Terminal 2 and leave the rental car. Then, they would bring my husband's long-lost car (well, technically it was a long-lost key--but also technically, we hadn't  seen the car for about a week) around to the curb so my husband and I could drive off into the sunset--as previously planned. But you know about me and my so-called plans.

So I did move--I moved on to the Valet Parking area and pulled up to the curb. I called the supervisor (he gave me his cell number!) to let him know I had arrived. Whereupon he called for the car to be brought around--and soon it was parked at the curb as well.  Such prompt, courteous service! I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going. I made small talk with the boy on duty at the valet stand. He's from Tennessee and his girlfriend is from Colorado. He is going on vacation tomorrow for nine days...I began to realize that I was learning WAY too much about this young man's life story and his plans for his upcoming holiday. Andy's plane should have landed by then. The time for Andy's flight to arrive had come and gone with no sign of him.

I went inside to check the Arrivals and Departures board and see if there was a delay. I had plenty of leeway coming and going as I pleased due to the fact that our car was smugly parked between the little stretchy dividers of Valet Parking. This was small comfort when I saw that what I thought was his flight, was on time and that the passengers from that plane were crowded around baggage claim gathering their baggage even as I was looking at the board. Soon they all dispersed and I saw that it was 45 minutes past Andy's landing time. Still no sign of Andy--I began to worry.

To add to the excitement, I had a 
"Relief Society Activity Quilting and Provident Living Get-together With Refreshments and Bring Your Friends Meeting"
 (Formerly known as Enrichment)
 looming up this evening for which I had promised to bring homemade Blackberry Cobbler AND for which I had promised my nervous non-quiliting Humanitarian Leader that I would be there early to set up the quilt.

I had texted Andy of my location and the plan was for him to call me as soon as he arrived. Yet, I heard nothing from him. I checked with the girl at the American Airlines counter to see if he had been on the flight. No, he had not been on the flight. My worry escalated pretty quickly to heightened concern. To add to this, I had swirling around in my head the story of Andy's briefcase being stolen the night before. His passport, his laptop, a credit card and other valuables were lost in the robbery. It was now an hour since he should have been there at the Valet Stand ready to drive off into the sunset. Still no hubby. This is where my cool was lost. I began to feel a little hint of panic. If he could be robbed, maybe something worse happened. So I just went ahead and made the leap to:
 KIDNAPPED.
 I decided I had better get moving on his rescue. I had been texting Shanna so I asked her to look up his company's phone number. Luckily, I managed to talk myself into being rational until I knew for sure what had happened. As I was talking to his colleague on the phone, Andy beeped in.  He had not been kidnapped. His plane was delayed because of a storm. And he wasn't on the flight I thought he was. So, that was why he wasn't on the passenger list. We were soon reunited at the Ace Parking Valet stand
 and we drove off into the sunset.
1 1/2 hours behind schedule.
But, on the bright side...
my hair was clean.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I Should Have Washed My Hair

Well, all good things must come to an end and I had to tear myself away from my adorable grandson and get back to reality. I flew home yesterday. The trip itself was rather uneventful--I had to change planes in Oakland and there was a bit of a layover --but I love me some good People Watching and the airport never disappoints so it wasn't a total waste of time.

So, I got into San Diego and my thoughtful husband had left his car for me at Valet Parking. He flew to Utah on Friday for little Mason's blessing and went from there off on a business trip. Rather than leave the car in long-term where I would have to search for it, he kindly left it at Valet Parking so I could get off the plane, have the car brought around to the curb for me and head off into the sunset. That was the plan anyway. But you know about the best laid plans and me.

I dragged my two weeks worth of rumpled clothing and BYU  paraphernalia crammed into a large suitcase and a huge rolling duffle out to the valet parking area. There I queued up with all of the hoity toity elite of San Diego who ONLY use Valet Parking. I gave each of them a job description: "Hollywood Mogul", "Trophy Wife of Hollywood Mogul", "Socialite Maven", "Multi-billionaire Industrialist", "Indian Chief" (really, he had the braids and everything--you know those casinos are big money-makers!) and watched as each of them climbed into their Mercedes and Bentleys and Dodge Ram Pick-ups. When I got up to the counter, the ticket taker asked me if I had called ahead to have my car brought around. I had to confess to my ignorance of the procedures and reveal my hick status. I realized by then that my hasty decision to take a speed shower and skip the hair-washing that morning also contributed "greasy hair" to my status. They seemed a little skeptical as to my actually having a car in Valet Parking. Perhaps I was a deluded wannabe who actually had a 1989 Dodge Dart out there in the wilderness of long-term parking. Or maybe I was a bag lady wandering the airport looking for carts to return. I wasn't getting the polite, quick service that everyone else seemed to enjoy. I had the ticket Andy had given me and they deigned to call for me to get the car brought over. So I waited humbly off to the side as many more well-dressed people rolled away in their fancy cars. I kept looking down the road for Andy's car to appear. I had to remind myself what kind of car he drove (I am known to openly insult him when we are out together by heading for the closest car that is similar in color to his--I don't really know one car from the other. The names I gave of cars for this post are just obvious ones that I have overheard my kids admire or insult). I started to worry that it might roll up and I wouldn't recognize it. Then I remembered that he has BYU license plates! Oh happy day--I wouldn't make a fool of myself by walking up to the wrong car!

After a long, hopeful wait, I realized that many people who got there way after me were long gone. Then I noticed that there was some frantic calling going on over at the Valet stand. I walked over a little closer and gathered that they had lost someone's car key. Of course it was my car key. Suddenly I began to get the royalty treatment. "Mrs. Gale, would you like some water?" "Mrs. Gale, we are doing our best to get your car over here." "Mrs. Gale, we are soo sorry. It looks like we lost the key to your car." "Mrs. Gale, we will be crediting your card for the cost of parking and tip that you just paid." "Mrs. Gale, we will get you home somehow."

Then some frantic problem-solving ensued. By now an hour had passed and my plans of getting my greasy-haired self home quickly and with minimal personal interaction slipped away. The first thought was to get me a taxi--until they found out how far out in the wilderness I actually live. Then the "Customer Service" Head Honcho was going to drive me home (awkward, long drive home with a stranger--no thank you). Luckily that fell through. At last, they concluded that a rental car was the way to go. They brought up the Ace Valet Parking company van to whisk me off to the car rental place. Only I thought it was the "Rental Car" I was to drive home. I tried to get in on the driver's side and was politely directed to the passenger side. I was a little relieved as the van was trashed and the seats were torn up. Beggars can't be choosers  but it wasn't my fault I was a beggar.

So, to make a long story just a little longer, I was soon outfitted with a rental car and on my way home.
 2 1/2 hours after I landed. 

The moral of this story is: Don't try to save time and effort at the airport--they will find a way to thwart you.
And the bonus moral is: Wash your hair.

But wait! Did I mention we have an adorable grandson?!

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Friday, June 17, 2011

Cuteness Alert


Sweet Baby Mason showing off one of
his many baby skills: Cute Sleeping




I was only going to post one--but how could I 
with so much adorableness to choose from?!


This little angel slept 6 1/2 hours last night.
In a row.
We would adore him regardless, but that was pretty sweet.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Snoozin'

Funny how we can all sit around and watch him sleep.
He's just that adorable.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Grandbaby Alert!

Here's the newest addition to the Gale family:
Mason Austin Keaton was born 6/11/11 at 2:03 a.m.
(Named after his Daddy!)

Our little girl is a Mommy! Here she is with her son just after he was born.

That sweet little bundle of joy came into the world here:
It was a beautiful, amazing, spiritual experience. 
And I feel privileged to have been there for it all.

 "Milk Drunk"


A very contented little baby boy home with his loving family
just a few hours after he was born.

I will be spending a few weeks here in Grandma heaven so posts may be sporadic--and full of grandbaby pictures and possibly some bragging--but only within the rules and regulations as stated in the
Grandparent Adoration Handbook.

Did I mention he is adorable? Darling, precious? Perfect?
You know that sweet baby smell? The soft cheeks?
Can't get enough!

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Just A Little Bit of Pixie Dust!

Sunday after our Family Home Evening lesson, we discussed our (VERY) busy upcoming summer. New grandbaby, Girls Camp, Catalina Island Super Activity, Boy Scout Camp, sell the house, move, start over in a new place. That sort of thing. Sam was explaining what all he would need for his week of Venturing and informed us he was supposed to take a bike. I was questioning how they would get all the bikes to the island when he said:
Sam: There's a ferry that will do that.
            (But we all heard it "FAIRY")
Me: I'm sorry to break it to you, but there's no such thing as a fairy that magically transports your bike for you.
Sam: Brother McBride said there is.
Dad: You know these California people might believe in fairies but we'll have none of that nonsense.
Sam: Ha. Ha.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Wolves and Bears and Pox, Oh My! Seth's Birth Story

Seth: The Day He Was Born

Seth is our fifth child, and at the time I was due with him I was the Cub Scout Den Leader in our ward.  I was a very enthusiastic Cubber. Attending Round Tables and Pow Wows for ideas and inspiration, collecting egg cartons and juice cans for projects. I even taught myself to use Andy's woodworking tools so I could help them make birdhouses and toolboxes. Then I got really crazy and decided to recruit some more boys from the community so we would have bigger dens and spread the fun. We set up a table at the elementary school with our enticing display and stacks of brochures. And we ended up with TWELVE NEW CUB SCOUTS!! Crazy yes?

So as I was coming down the home stretch with Seth, I was herding a big group of boys through our rough and tumble den meetings every week. And then, the chicken pox came to visit. First Scott and Siara went through them, then two weeks to the day later, the pox struck Shanna and Spencer. It was so miserable for them and a little challenging for their mother being great with child, to lean over the bathtub and slather them with oatmeal or reach all the itchy spots with Caladryl and sooth them through their feverish nights.I was worried about the baby being exposed to chicken pox in utero but my midwife assured me that my immunities would protect him.

We had changed insurance since I had Spencer and I had a wider range of choice than I had before with Kaiser, so I decided to go with a midwife: Ann Morten. I felt like we were kindred spirits--she had five children and I was having my fifth. She was an advocate of herbal and natural remedies and we enjoyed discussing the mothering arts and she was interested in my Grandmother's herbal remedies. She also told me about her adventures as a young mom serving a mission for her church with her husband in Guatemala. She encouraged me to bring the other kids in to hear the baby's heartbeat and she was really like a good friend and not just a medical provider.

 One week before Seth was born I went in for my appointment and she couldn't get a heartbeat. She brought in a portable ultrasound (very new technology at the time) and did a quick look. I had not had an ultrasound up to that point with Seth so I didn't know what we were having. As she looked around, I was pretty sure I saw compelling evidence that he was a boy although Ann wouldn't commit. But more important, we saw his little heart beating away and he began kicking and wiggling. Speaking of which, he was the wiggliest little baby. All through the pregnancy he would wear me out at night with his acrobatics. She asked me if I wanted her to strip the membranes--sometimes it will kick-start labor. The last few weeks of pregnancy are so exhausting and I felt so miserable and sore it made labor and delivery look good! I said yes please and she did. I started having contractions on the way home from the clinic and got my hopes up that maybe that was it. But, it was a false alarm. 

I was really hoping that it was labor because I had been asked to speak in church that Sunday-- Easter Sunday--I was thinking maybe it would give me a good excuse to get out of the talk. Not that I am advocating getting out of doing what you are asked--just for the record--I was just a tired, pregnant mama. So, I dragged my pregnant self out of bed on Easter morning and got my four precious children ready and off to church. I waddled up to the pulpit and gave my talk--joking that I was in labor and if I had the baby there on the stand, it was the Bishop's fault for asking a nine month pregnant woman to speak. 

It turned out that real labor started the following Thursday late in the afternoon. There was an open house and ice cream social at Dorothy Fox Elementary school where Scott was in the 2nd grade. I really wanted to go for his sake--he had been looking forward to it for weeks. The contractions were steady but not getting any closer together. We had ice cream and visited Scott's classroom and talked to his teacher. My good friend Linda was "on call" to take the kids when I had the baby and I saw her there. I told her I was planning to go to the hospital after the open house and she said to bring the kids over. So when we got home, we packed over-night bags for everyone and dropped them off at "The Lindas" as they called her and her bunch. 

We got to the hospital at 8:30 and I realized we had not had time for Andy to give me a blessing, so we took care of that there in the car in the parking lot. He blessed me that it "would go quickly and with a minimum of pain". Then we went in and I got checked--I was dilated to 5.  They called our midwife and we walked around while they prepped the birthing room. When we got into the room, I was at 8+. Our midwife had been out having a romantic dinner with her husband on their boat. She had to get to shore and then to the hospital. She came in and dimmed the lights and she was so calm and relaxed it completely put me at ease. She and Andy chit-chatted while I went quickly into transition. It was only two hard pushes for the head and one for the rest of him. And there he was! He started hollering immediately--he had lots of black hair and a very red, angry face--he seemed unhappy to be pushed out so fast into the cold world. Andy got to participate more in the delivery than he had with the first four children and he cut the cord.. I held Seth right away and he calmed down. I wrote in my journal that "he was so warm and slippery but beautiful and wonderful". I didn't ask if he was a boy or girl--or even look to see. Andy did that and announced "A boy! Another boy!" He weighed 7 lbs. 7 oz. and was 19" long. He was the smallest of our babies and he actually fit into newborn undershirts. 



He was born at 11:35 and by the time we were all cleaned up and tucked in for the night, I started feeling really warm. As the night wore on, I couldn't sleep because I was burning up. I buzzed for the nurse and asked her to turn the heat down. She saw that it wasn't even on and then checked my temperature. I had a fever. She decided to drown the fever with water and other beverages and began forcing me to drink about a gallon every hour (that is only a slight exaggeration). I was so delirious I didn't care. I nursed Seth each time he woke up and got up to go to the bathroom many times and somehow made it through the night. They wouldn't discharge me until my fever went down, so I had to stay all the next day. By late afternoon, Seth  had a slightly elevated temperature. I felt better and my fever was gone so I got ready to check out. That was when I was informed that Seth would have to stay in the hospital until his fever went down. The thought of leaving the hospital without my baby dissolved me into tears. I insisted on staying so that I could nurse him. I had no intention of abandoning him to strangers and formula. The nurse looked at me like I was crazy. I told her I would sit in a chair next to his bed or hang out in the waiting room between feedings.  She left and came back with the news that there was a tiny room near the nursery where I could sleep so that I could take care of my baby. Just as I was settling in, the pediatrician came in to talk to me about Seth's condition. After a few minutes he turned to the nurse and said, "This is her fifth child--let her take her baby home and take care of him. She's perfectly capable of giving him the Tylenol."

The Siblings Meeting Their New Baby Brother
So, we bundled up our little Seth and brought him home--as quickly as possible before someone changed their mind. He was happily welcomed by his siblings and settled into our crazy family life. He was born on a Thursday and the following Thursday I took him to Cub Scouts with me. He sat happily in his car seat in the old Scout House in Crown Park where we held our den meetings. I had planned a game of Frisbee baseball to channel some of the boisterous energy of my Pack of Wolves and Bears so we went outside and split up for teams. We were one short so as Den Leader I felt it my duty to take up the slack. We enjoyed a fun game and I even made a home run! Seth sat on the sidelines and slept. I took a bit of teasing later from some of the moms of the boys--they couldn't believe I was out running around so soon after having a baby. It just felt so good not to be pregnant any more.

On May 6th, 13 days after Seth was born, I wrote in my journal: "It is miraculous to give birth and have each child be so precious and instantly take their place in the family. I hold him or look at him in the crib when he's sleeping and I'm overwhelmed with love and amazement that we could be so blessed!" And that pretty much sums it up.






Happy Birthday Scott!

 It has been awhile since I updated this little family scrapbook on the internet. I like to pop over here from time to time and look at our ...