Four and counting

The night before I had Ben, I had my bishop give me a blessing. In it, he blessed me that I would be able to remember the details of Ben's birth. I wondered about the wording later that night, and even the next day.

I know now why I was blessed to remember the sweet, sweet details of Ben's birth. It was because it would be my last labor. It was so that I could return to that day often in the future. Like today, which is the 4th anniversary of that day.

Ben was born at 6:30 pm. I was started at 7:30am, so it had been a long day, but if it had been possible, I would have let it go on longer. I was 3 days overdue, and he still took his time coming into this world. I still regret, a little, that I never got the excitement of goint into labor, of rushing to the hospital, timing contractions, trying to breath, screaming at the traffic (at least that is what I would imagine it would be like.) But maybe then labor wouldn't have lasted as long, and I wouldn't have been able to claw out every moment the way I did. I seriously love, love, love the days my babies were born.

Maybe that blessing was what inspired me to get a picture with my delivery nurse and doctor. Ben's middle name is for my doctor, a man I love to pieces. It would be my last possible birth with him, because he is now retiring. It probably inspired me to sit down and write everything I could in my journal on the day I left the hospital. And I know it inspired me to treasure the quiet moments with Shane, waiting, while we talked and laughed and trailed IV poles to the bathroom while we watched When Harry Met Sally.

But that day is far in the past now. Ben is four. He refused to stay three, even when I asked him extra nice last night. For some reason, he keeps marching straight toward little-kid-dom and away from baby-dom. He wants to be big and play we and fight with his brother the way all four's do. He has no need for being reminded that he was the sweet, blond-haired baby that emerged that long ago February 17th.

But I do.

Happy Birthday, my Benny-bean.

Random February Stuff

It's been a while since I've updated our goings-on in the Kump household. I figure it's always nice to keep record of those things that I wouldn't necessarily devote a whole blog post to, but want to remember all the same. Here goes!

• Thomas started taking karate last September. It's been a really fun outlet for him, and he's learned some cool anti-bully tricks. Two Thursday's ago he took his first test to go from a white belt to a yellow-white (white with a yellow stripe). He did so well on his test. I've never seen him look so fierce, determined, or nervous before. I was so proud of him. Well worth all those hours sitting around reading at the gym (maybe that's why I've actually been able to read this year!
  


• We went to the Draper Temple open house last Thursday. It was so amazing! I was really excited to go, and glad we could make it. One of my thoughts: it looks bigger from the outside. I kept wondering if there were more rooms somewhere that we didn't see. But I doubt there were. If you live around Salt Lake and have ever wanted to know what the inside of a temple looks like, head on over.
  


• We got a Wii. Incredible amounts of time are now spent punching, bowling, and swinging pretend tennis rackets. Shane and I are far more competitive than I ever dreamed. Last night he kicked my butt 5 times in Bull Riding. I keep ending up next to the fence and missing all the scarecrows. And he doesn't wait for me. Jerk.
  


• Because of the last entry, I now want Wii Fit.
  


• I got to spend a few minutes holding my sweet great-niece Claire on Sunday. I kept wondering if I could put her in my purse and take her home with me without her mom noticing. She is so dang sweet.
  


• Our friends John and Melanie may never invite us over again after my enthusiasm at watching John Travolta movie clips from U-tube. Those poor people had no idea when I innocently asked them to play the "Summer Loving" clip from Grease that they would see their friend turn into a spaz. Sorry, guys. (And in case you wondered, I kept singing it the whole way home for my family. They weren't very amused either.) (And now I'm sure I'll now sing it for the rest of today.)

I think that does it for today. Man, isn't the above picture of Johnny T HOT?

Part 3 in the ongoing series of why I'm no good in an emergency

It started out like a normal enough Friday night. After dinner, we debated: play the Wii, or go to Kohl's and look for new rugs. After hopping on-line and looking at the sale Kohl's was having (should I write "is always having," because seriously: who pays full price at Kohl's?), we decided to drive down and see if we could find some we liked.

I found some flip-flops, wandered through the clearanced gloves and mittens, aswered "Yes" to Ben's plea of looking for new jammie pants. We rounded the corner by the rugs, and heard a thump.

All of a sudden, a lady in a pink shirt was on the floor.

A pool of blood was forming under her head.

Her eyes were partly open, and she was shuddering.

I found myself wanting to help, but completely, 100% unable to walk over to her. I got Shane's phone as soon as humanly possible, and dialed 911. I blurted out to the dispatcher where we were and that they needed to help this bleeding woman. Shane ran to the front of the store to find a worker to come, because we knew that someone from the management needed to be aware of the situation.

I suddenly realize my little boys are standing dumbstruck, looking at the woman on the floor. I dragged them behind a display of rugs, then ushered them down the aisle, far enough away that their curious-but-horrified-eyes couldn't see anything. A lady offered to stay with them, but Shane quickly appeared so I let him stand down the aisle while I talked to the dispatcher.

Itfelt like hours, days, but I'm sure it was only minutes. A brave, brave (far braver than me) store clerk was looking for a medical bracelet on the woman to see if any information could be obtained. She called to me that the woman was an asthmatic, and had another condition that I was able to spell to the dispatcher but now can't come up with for the life of me. I could relay the information from the 2 people now trying to help her, while I half hid behind the rug displays.

I felt so helpless in the face of this emergency. I COULD NOT go up and help. I could talk on the phone, but not help. I finally had to let the manager and store clerk who were helping the woman take the phone, explaining/confessing that I could talk on the phone, but not deal with the blood. They tipped her head back. They felt for her pulse. They talked her through breathing in and breathing out. The clerk gently rubbed the woman's forehead, and talked calmly to her when she became conscious.

The entire time, my inclination was to run. When I heard that terrible thunk, the declaration from someone I can't remember who that she was lying in a pool of blood: I wanted to run. My hands started wringing, panicking, trying to find a way to call someone Official, someone to take over. But I discovered it was me and my husband and boys and a handful other passers-by who needed to be Official.

I tell myself that it was a small contribution - calling the 911. But I wasn't the one to comfort, or look for the medical bracelet. I couldn't feel for a pulse, or comfort her when she came around. It makes me feel so helpless, ashamed in fact that I was a person who runs away, instead of runs toward.

It brought back those other times when I've cowered in the face of emergency. Rationally, knowing what I know now about the situation tonight, I should have been able to go up to her. But my initial thoughts of "What is she is dead?" "What if she is having a seizure; what do I do for her?" "What do I do about all that blood?" kept me being the wringing-the-hands-one, not the talking-softly-to-the-victim one.

Are you good in an emergency? Am I alone in feeling helpless? I just keep feeling so ashamed that I couldn't do more.

Sisterly form of hero worship

"I love you."

It slipped out before I had even thought of it. I panicked a little, because we'd never said it before, at least out loud. Sure, I had said it loads of times to the others, but WE had never said it.

I decided not to panic. We were, after all, sisters, and that is definitely something that sisters are supposed to say to each other. Despite the years of emails and letters and Christmas cards ending with "Love you!" or "love ya!" or even plain old "Love," I'd never told her out loud.

Our journey together has been a long one. We shared a room until I was 9 and she was 12. We would spend long hours in the dark, deciding which male TV and radio stars were ours, and which females we "were" (as in, "I'm Crystal Gale" or "I get Michael Jackson.") If a certain person was "yours" then could sing to their songs on the radio. Important stuff when you are young, apparently. I remember feeling so jubilant when I got to be some actress that she had been the last round; aah, sweet victory.

We had a few years of fighting. One time, we were waiting for a ride to go train at a different gym to learn new gymnastics tricks (our first gym was extremely basic, so we spent a lot of time at another gym 2 towns away that had a ceiling high enough for a trampoline. Pitiful.) We were fighting, and I had all my friends around me and didn't want to back down. I reached out and scratched her face. I ran away and hid, knowing that I'd be dead meat if she caught me.

When I went away to Virginia Tech, I got my first email account. It was 1995; most people at home didn't even know what email was, but both my mom and Amy had email addresses at their work. Amy and I emailed almost every day. They were long, open-hearted, no-secrets-between-us missives that I looked forward to every day. I found out how similar we were, and how much I liked being her friend, and not just her sister.

We've shared so many things over the years. Mostly books. I followed her in the last SDBBE exchange (which means that she mailed all the books to me after she had read and commented in them). It was exciting to me in each book to find her red handwriting, to read what she had wrote and imagine her saying it, and knowing the origin of some of the more personal commentary.

The other day, we went and visited my dad together. I have a hard time going to visit him by myself. It's hard to keep up a one-sided conversation for long, and so I usually invite my mom to come. But I called Amy on the off chance that she could go. It was such a relief to have her and her son Kaleb there with me and my sons.

The visit was...typical. We visited with him, even walked down to the common room and had Thomas play a piano piece for Dad. We all put together a puzzle. Afterwards, we all visited my mom who was working a few blocks away. We laughed and chatted and watched the boys play with Kaleb's cool animal toys. When it was time to leave, I found myself hugging my sister. I thought of the last time I had hugged her, on Christmas, when I told her for the second time in my life that I loved her.

I thought about this new aspect of our sisterhood the whole way home. The first time I told her I loved her, we were on the phone, and she was having a hard day or something, and it just came out before I realized what I was saying. The second time was because I was so happy to see her happy. That we are now hugging, without hesitation, like we have been doing it for years, makes my heart happy. I can't for the life of me figure out why it was so hard to get to this point. Maybe it was all those years of fighting over who could sing which radio song, or admire which actress. Maybe it was the left over competitiveness from our days in gymnastics where I had my friends, and she had hers. Possibly it's the shyness of knowing so many of each other's secrets, or the hero-worship that I know I still have.

I do know this: I'm glad I don't have to panic if I let it slip that I love her, or spontaneously hug her in front of a Provo bakery. I'm grateful for our 5 minute venting conversations while one is heading to dinner with her husband and the other at a party.

Whatever it is, I'm glad we are where we are. And I might even let her song one of my songs next time we go together somewhere. I'm growing up like that.