Relationships & Family

All for Keith

admin — Sun, 01 Oct 2006 06:35:00 -0500

Nothing will ever erase the memory of our last Sunday together.

Darrell, my husband, had to get ready for harvest, so my 11-year-old son, Keith, played "Dad" when it was time for church. Keith loved church. So much so that he said he wanted to be a minister when he grew up, though farming was in his blood.

"You look nice," he told me that morning—just like Darrell would have—when he came into the living room to get his Bible. "And you smell good too!"

Out of Bounds

jbloustein — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 16:25:49 -0600

Just minutes left in the first half and my daughter Stephanie’s soccer team was down 1-0.

The girls, 11-year-olds like Stephanie, weren’t playing well. Their red uniforms seemed to meander all over the field. I stood with parents on the sideline. My hands were clenched. My heart raced.

Suddenly a girl named Heather on our team got the ball. She dribbled downfield. The opposing team surrounded her. I saw another girl in red open in front of the goal. Pass it, Heather, I thought.

A Family Affair

jbloustein — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 13:44:23 -0600

Nothing was out of place in my son Jonathan’s room, but I straightened up anyway.

I didn’t know what else to do with myself.

Since Jonathan’s death I’d felt like I was drowning in sadness, unable to find anything solid to hold on to. Even my family seemed to be drifting apart. Although my husband, Kurt, and our two sons all lived in the house with me, they felt miles away.

Homework Help

jbloustein — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 09:47:27 -0600

It is 7:30 pm and my son isn’t the only one who needs help with his homework.

He is only in the second grade, so I am not stumped on a tricky math question. I am stressing over how to get him to sit still and concentrate!

If this is life with an eight year old amount of homework, how are we supposed to survive another ten years?!?

So, I turned to Twitter.

Voices in the Darkness

admin — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 16:23:41 -0600

I stand at the window and look out into the yard at our daughter Natalie playing on the jungle gym. When she sees me, her eyes light up, and she waves. My right arm is still partially paralyzed, so I lift it with my left hand to wave back. "Hi, Mommy!" she calls, her voice carrying on the spring breeze.

Easter is coming, and I cannot help but think of those in our family who are no longer here to share it with us. Natalie's four brothers and sisters. Her paternal grandparents. All of them dead as a result of a huge earthquake last August, in Turkey.

911 Dispatcher Saves Own Baby

batch — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 04:05:05 -0600

As a 911 dispatcher, individuals are trained to assess the situation in order to save a stranger's life.

However, when trainee Chris Scott answered a 911 call, he heard his frantic wife on the other line saying their son had stopped breathing.

The Iraq War veteran told CBS News that it's in his nature to remain calm in stressful situations, hoping to provide comfort to the callers. This changed when he learned that his baby, Jacob, was in a life-threatening situation after he began choking on a small piece of plastic.

Mommy, What Does ‘Tragedy’ Mean?

jbloustein — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 09:21:52 -0600

Since the January 12th earthquake, disturbing images and reports of Haiti’s devastation have not only dominated the media, but often our personal conversations.

If it’s painful for adults to contemplate so much suffering, imagine how a child may feel?

Better than Ever

admin — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 11:57:39 -0600

Our daughter, Kendra, dreamed of having a perfect wedding. When she got engaged to her college sweetheart, I was thrilled.

From a trip to India, my husband and I brought home 25 yards of delicate hand-spun silk for her gown. "Oh, Mom, it's beautiful!" Kendra said, gasping. "The color looks like candlelight." She had been sketching wedding-dress designs for years, and I knew how much fun we would have making sure hers was just right.

Peanut Butter & Me

jbloustein — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 12:41:29 -0600

My son Brandon wearily lifted the last box of his things from the back of his truck and carried it toward my house.

His marriage was over, and he was moving back home. Brandon’s forlorn expression said it all.

My eyes fell on the dog trailing after him. The year-old mixed breed was cute enough: her face a cross between a beagle and Chihuahua and her coat a creamy brown worthy of her name, Peanut Butter.

She turned to me—her big brown eyes pleading. For what, I wasn’t sure. I backed away, shooting her a warning look.

Faith in Action

admin — Tue, 01 May 2007 11:01:00 -0500

That afternoon there was the usual mid-week mayhem. My two daughters were making a ruckus in the living room. I was in the kitchen, taking a break from job hunting and rustling up dinner. The front door slammed. That meant Reuben, my 17-year-old, was home. "Mom!" he called.