The fence stays ...

What's the first thing you notice about this photo? For me, it's the long white fence that dominates the foreground. The houses in the background intrigue me, too, but I'll focus on the fence in this blog.

Imagine, for a moment, the generations that must have inhabited the houses behind the fence. I'm guessing they raised dozens of children over the years. There's no way to know how long the fence has been there, but it looks sturdy and old fashioned.

A fence represents a boundary - a border - the line that marks land and property divisions. It also represents safety for those children in the family who are too young to venture beyond it. Can't you almost picture a busy mother hanging dozens of diapers and shirts, dresses and stockings out back?

All around her, children dash and dart while playing tag, leap frog, ring toss and other games. They know the rules: Play fair, watch after the little ones and stay inside the fence. There is great freedom in their play because the boundaries are well established. No guessing about where they are allowed to venture. The fence is always in the same place no matter what day they go outdoors. It stays, and they find comfort and security in that.

As much as our children push against the "fences" we set up, they are insecure without them. They need to know the rules, the limitations, the family standards -- and they need the loving consistency of parents to maintain the fence. Let me give a personal illustration ...

When one of our sons reached eighteen months, he began writing his own "declaration of independence." He considered it his duty to challenge every little rule we set down, and this continued over the next six months, especially. I knew the importance of sticking with the plan and continued to remind our lil' dumplin' who was in charge... and it wasn't him. :-)

Don't get me wrong ... we had our good times, too. He was a cuddle-bug before bedtime, and he liked story time. He also liked playing in the sandbox and building with LEGOS. But in between those good moments were plenty of trying times. We butt heads on a daily basis -- me (the Momma) and him, (a two year old). At times I thought he was tired of fighting and was going to run up a white flag of surrender. Then he'd pick another battle zone. I was mentally and physically exhausted!

After a particularly long day of it, I was so discouraged I cried into my pillow. Hubby comforted me and reminded me that we just had to "keep at it." Sometime during that night, our little guy must have had a bad dream. He cried out and next thing I knew, he had climbed into our bed and snuggled between us. Seconds later, he was totally relaxed and asleep.

I propped one elbow on my pillow and looked down at him. How long was this war going to last? Could I hang in there? I prayed for wisdom, strength and grace, and that night, the Lord reminded me of a promise in Proverbs 29:17. "Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yeah, he shall give delight unto thy soul."

Too many parents fail to be the loving authority figure their children crave. Instead, they fuss, nag, whine, threaten, and punish in anger -- but nothing is accomplished and the battle rages on for years. The child quickly learns that Mom and Dad really aren't in charge -- they're too busy or lazy to establish sensible boundaries and reinforce them. As a result, the child keeps pushing against the fence until it gives way.

When I looked at my little boy that night in bed, I realized this: As hard as he tried to be in charge and knock down the fence, he really wanted to know if it was secure. After all, if a child can knock it down and run off, what dangers might lurk outside the fence? Who would rescue him? It was a comfort to know when our little boy had a bad dream, he went straight to the place he found security and comfort -- the very ones who set up the fence in the first place.

Children need to know they can trust their parents to hang in there and stick with the plan. Once sensible guidelines are set down, someone needs to reinforce them with loving consistency. If a fence is worth putting up in the first place, it's worth the time and effort required to maintain it, right? So the fence stays ...

Meet the Parents ...

Meet our son Jason and his lovely wife Kerry! Three months from now, they are due to have their first baby - a boy - and our second grandson. I can't wait to meet him!

When I look at this photo, I can't help but notice several things about our son and daughter-in-law. Their love for one another is obvious and shines in their eyes. In every photo we have, they are close together, touching, hugging, happy sweethearts. Their fourth anniversary is coming up in August.

Next, I notice their smiles, which are in place far more often than any other expressions they wear. They enjoy life, being with friends, quality family time, and group activities. Growing up, Jason always had a team mentality and liked pulling people together to interact. He was the boy in the neighborhood that called up all his buddies and had them meet here for touch football, softball, basketball, etc. He still knows how to get people involved! Every time they come to visit, we play games and have a great 'round-the-table family fun night. Kerry introduced us to the Apples-to-Apples card game. if you haven't tried that one, you must!

I also notice their eyes in this photo. Jason's are a light brown while Kerry's are a hazel-green. I'm anxious to see what color our eyes our new grandson has! He's sure to be a handsome fellow no matter what color they are, don't you agree? (Okay, I'm a bit biased.)

When I look to the future, I also think about what kind of parents they will be. If our new grandson takes on their personalities, he will be an outgoing, loves-life, the more-the-merrier kind. He will be upbeat, optimistic, hard-working and energetic. Oh my -- with both their personalities and energies combined, they may have a time keeping up with him. He's already keeping Kerry awake at night with his inutero calisthenics, bless her. :-)

I am so thankful our son will know the joys of parenting. He'll be a devoted family man, a protector of wife and children, a fun-loving, let's-play-catch type of Dad but a disciplinarian when the need arises -- a perfect mix of former Marine Sergeant and always-devoted Dad. Kerry will be a good little Mommy with lots of love to offer and plenty of creative parenting. They will make a great parenting duo and will be the best parents for this boy... because God planned it just that way.

I'm guessing my new grandson will grow up to be a respectful, cheerful, hard-working boy that is willing to look on the positive side of life. He'll be a fine young fellow because his parents are fine people. I'm so very anxious to meet him!

Ready for flight ?

I've been watching this fellow for several days now, and this morning I grabbed my camera. Isn't he (or she) a beauty? When I uploaded the file to my computer and saw it enlarged, I was amazed at the intricate detail of wing design, its compound eyes and in general, its beauty as one of God's intricately-designed creatures.

Studying the photo further, I noticed something that set me to thinking. When you look at his position, it's hard to tell whether he's coming or going - landing or leaving. It could be either ... couldn't it?

There comes a point in time when our children are on that same "edge" and almost ready for take-off. They are ready to fly but not quite gone. Or they have ventured out and returned to rest and recuperate before heading out again. As parents, we study their posture and wonder, "Are they coming or going?"

Our three children each had their own flight patterns. Our firstborn left little by little, you might say. After graduation from high school, she worked full time and came and went in the evenings, left in the mornings and in some ways, was preparing for her future flight. In the meantime, she continued to circle the air strip and practice her take-offs.

Our second child, a son, was accepted into a prestigious college with a decent scholarship and made a sudden departure. He didn't actually fly - we drove him up and unloaded his ironing board, photos of family, suitcases, etc. Visiting campus was nice but driving away was torture. I felt like he'd taken off without warning and his space on the air strip was permanently vacated.

He did come back for holidays, but after his second year of school he joined the Marines because of September 11, 2001. "We're at war, Mom, and it's my turn to serve." I was proud but a little worried, too. After following Uncle Sam here and there, he finished his four years and came back to marry his sweetheart. Eighteen months later, they recalled him, and he flew off to Iraq. The following July 4th, he landed back on American soil. He and his wife are expecting their first baby in September!

Our third child, another son, graduated early and joined the U.S. Marines on the delayed-entry program. He was to leave that September, so I had an entire summer to watch his plane take off and land here on the home airstrip. Or so I thought. In early June he got a call to report early and next day, he was on his way. We had little time to say our goodbyes before his plane (a real plane) ferried him to Parris Island, South Carolina.

Thankfully, he did fine and we saw him cross the parade deck in uniform to receive his eagle-globe-and-anchor pin. He, like his brother before him, had conquered the crucible - a grueling course that tries the body, mind and spirit for 36 hours just before graduation. He did land here a few days before he was shipped out to California for radio school training. When his time with the Marines was over, he landed once more on home turf and parked his "plane" here for about a year. Now he has a good job, a place of his own, and he's close enough to stick his feet under our table now and then.

Children do grow up and fly away. Some do practice flights, others jet away suddenly. Some return for a season while others start their lives elsewhere. It is the way of life and parenting. Like my dragonfly, there are times you aren't quite sure where they stand. Are they coming or going? Flying or floundering?

Shortly after I snapped this photo, my little dragonfly friend flew around the garden and then came back to his perch. Who would have thought he could be the subject that would spur such thoughts on parenting?

Fly high, dragonfly,
Take your wings and split the sky.
You move faster than a blink,
Seeing you has made me think.

Fly high, dragonfly,
Take your wings and split the sky.
Come again and perch awhile,
Seeing you has made me smile.

Seasons of parenting ~

I've been looking through old photos and feeling a bit "sniffly." Photos like this bring back so many mothering memories ...

As you can see, everyone is looking at the camera but me -- and I'm sure it was because I was playing the mother hen. We were perched on a rock that overlooked one of the highest points in the Ohio Valley. You never know when boys might make a sudden move and wiggle right off the edge of a cliff...

I love old photos! There's a certain nostalgia there, of course, but it also shows me that this parenting thing moves all too quickly. I remember the children in this photo so very well. Melissa, at 10, was quite the grown-up starlet as you can see with those cool shades. She loved writing, drawing, playing the piano and being involved with skits and musical recitals.

Jason, on the far right, was our sports enthusiast who actually learned to read by studying the backs of baseball cards. He loved playing ball and would invite all the boys in the neighborhood to our place for a game of wiffle ball (we wanted to keep our windows). I didn't mind serving up Koolaid or popsicles on those hot summer days. Boys aren't a whole lot of trouble -- just give 'em room to run and put out a plate of cookies or peanut butter crackers now and then. :-)

Kevin, beside me in this photo, was probably the happiest (besides my hubby) to be perched in such a precarious place. He was a miniature Marco Polo that loved to explore, experiment, and -- in general -- make a mad dash to the very edge of adventure and hang on by his toenails. Bless him, he usually looked back to make sure his Mom wasn't having a heart attack.

I miss the children in this photo. They don't live here anymore, so they won't be asking for popsicles or Koolaid on hot summer days. There's no gang of boys on our front lawn slapping high-fives and tagging the oak trees as bases. There isn't a sweet little starlet at the piano practicing for her next recital. There's no miniature Marco Polo planning his next escapade to China and beyond (though he did get close -- he spent time in South Korea while in the U.S. Marine Corps).

If parenting can be compared to the seasons, spring is when our children are very young. Summer is when they are elementary age and autumn is when they are teens that will soon be out the door and on their own. I suppose I'm in the winter stage ... parenting from afar and enjoying the lovely snows of grand-parenting.

But it doesn't feel like winter around here. The outdoor thermometer is registering the upper 90's and I'm kinda enjoying the summer of parenting all over again ... compliments of some favorite family photos.

One mean Mama!

I was one of those "mean" mothers who taught her young children how to help around the house and yard.

Worse than that, I made them carry their own books in and out of the library, hang up towels after a bath and put their dirty clothes in the laundry hamper! I was one mean Mama!

Now, lest you think our three children were overworked or under-appreciated, allow me to include a little story about my methods:

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"Hey, sis! Mom's being Mrs. Grump, today!"

When I overheard our son's excitement, I couldn't help grinning. The creative approach we'd taken to doing chores was paying off!

It all started when I was one very-pregnant Momma with a prolapsed uterus. Because this put painful pressure on the cervix, I had to stay off my feet as much as possible. This meant the chores I normally did during the day would be added to our younger children's to-do list.

I felt badly about that. On the flip side, I felt this situation could be turned into a character-building experience for our children. So I turned chore time into fun time!

Some days I played the role of Mrs. Grump, wearing a perpetual frown and pointing out the pickiest little things. She would also "fall asleep and snore" while they worked, then wake up fussing. I'm normally an even-tempered person, so our children thought it funny to see me play the grouch.

I would call up Mrs. Grump when floors needing sweeping and mirrors and sinks needed to be shined. Result? My kids worked extra hard, did a great job and laughed a lot at Mrs. Grump's snoring.

On other days I put on a pretty apron and became Mrs. Sweet. She was the gentle older lady who handed out praise and sweets simultaneously. Her visits were less frequent, but that made them more anticipated.

Mrs. Sweet usually came on days when outdoor work like raking leaves, picking up acorns or sweeping the porches were on the schedule. After working hard in the fresh air, the children loved her praise - and the sweets she brought along!

Then there was Mrs. Honey, a true Southern Belle with an accent to match. One thing I'll say for Mrs. Honey: she knew just how to work a situation. She could tell the best (and longest) stories while little hands scraped dishes and loaded the dishwasher. And she oh-so-kindly requested that her dishes be handled with special care, because ...

"Mah dear de-pahhh-ted husband brought them back with him af-tuh the wah between the Nawth and South."

Not only were our children bewitched by her accent, they tried to be extra careful with any breakable items. (mission accomplished) I also overheard our son tell his sister, "Be careful with that plate! Mrs. Honey's husband got it for her in World War Three!"

Looking for an alternative perspective on children and chores? What we adults consider to be "work," our young children imitate in their play. Try this formula and see if it works for you, too: 1 part fun + 1 part work = lots of cooperation.

Oh, by the way, if you need some extra help, be sure to call on Mrs. Honey, Mrs. Grump and Mrs. Sweet. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to stop by your house, too!

Footnote: In the photo above, 2-year old Kevin was delighted to help Daddy mow the yard. Ten years later, he took over that job and enjoyed tinkering with and maintaining the mower.

The faces of tomorrow ~

Surrounded by extended family at a recent reunion, I was reminded of the days when *I* was one of the little ones dashing between grownup legs. I also remember being interrupted from playing with cousins to pose for one of those infamous annual photo shots. You know ... the ones where you're reminded to "stop talking, quit wiggling and say cheese!"

That seems like just a few years ago, but in reality, I'm now one of what I once considered OLD. You know ... 35 and above. And those above 50 were ancient, which means I'm in that category now, so I guess I'll be needing a cane soon.

And just like the adults of former reunions, I'm behind the camera now -- trying to catch all the little ones and line them up with their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Gotta have those memories on CD's and SD flashcards or uploaded onto computer hard drives!

In the good ole' days, family photos were placed in gray-page albums and held in place with those cute little white photo-mount stickers at each corner. A few years later, someone invented the plastic-page albums that were magnetic in their ability to cling and hold any photos you slipped inside them. But those days are long gone. We have evolved into a hi-tech generation and now realize those other methods resulted in lost or damaged photos.

I've noticed, in the past seven or eight years, that more and more faces at these reunions are those of the younger generation. It was good seeing so many babies and young children in attendance. Their shy smiles and comical antics provided lots of smiles and laughter -- and brightened an otherwise melancholy day for Mom. I think it was hard for her to be one of only two siblings there this year. She grew up in a family of more than a dozen children, and only three are left, one of whom had a stroke the week before the reunion and was unable to attend.

I'm also thankful the parents and grandparents of those babies made it a point to introduce their offspring to Mom. She loves children and draws strength from their energy. I believe she also saw in their faces the hope and promise of tomorrow and the knowledge that the original family name is still alive and being passed down to dozens of new Dentons.

What a precious moment when one of my cousins led in prayer, asking God to bless each member of the family and to help us raise and teach the generations to come to love and serve Him. Although my grandson Ethan (photo above) didn't get to be there, I wanted to include him in this post. He is the youngest baby in the next generation at this point.

Truly, the little ones coming along behind us are the faces of tomorrow. We can learn a lot from them in the days to come. They'll keep us up on world events and coach us as the technology venue explodes with newer upgrades and development. They'll teach us the new lingo that goes along with all those new-fangled inventions and how to maintain them. Good thing, too, because I'm still lagging behind on everything introduced in the last five years.

As we grow older, we'll depend on the younger generation more and more. They'll be the ones that contact each of us with news of the next reunion. They'll cook and bring more of the food and help the rest of us load and unload our baskets and boxes. They'll offer an arm to lean on and bring their little ones to our laps for formal introductions.

In the meantime, I'm not looking for a cane or wheelchair. As long as the Lord gives me health and strength, I'd like to be at the annual reunion with camera in hand. Hopefully, my generation will maintain the tradition of passing down family history and interesting stories about our ancestors to the next generation. That way, those who come after us will have something to pass down to their own children. Who, at that time, will be the new faces of tomorrow.

Here today, gone tomorrow ...

I've got some packing to do! Tomorrow I'll drive Mom about 4 hours up the road to meet my brother. He'll then take her on to visit her 93-year-old sister.

In the meantime, I'll slip over the state line to cuddle my grandson for a couple days. (A tough job, but somebody's got to do it!)

On Saturday, I'll drive back up for the annual Denton family reunion, then bring Mom back home to Alabama that evening. She's going to be one tired lady -- but a happy one to have seen family members again.

Here today, gone tomorrow ... I'll be back to blogging on Monday, Lord willing. (P.S. If you need a smile, don't miss the blog below. I had fun writing it!)

How Curious!

Recently, I wrote an article about bulletin board ideas with a "Curious George" theme. You remember -- the little brown monkey with a big dose of curiosity?

His curious nature often got him into trouble, and as a result, he'd run and hide beneath his master's big yellow hat. Just thinking about little monkeys brought back a flood of memories for this Mom.

You see, we had two little Curious George's at our house over 20 years ago. Not the stuffed kind, pictured here, but the flesh-and-blood kind. How the stuffed monkeys entered the picture is another story.

It all began when their we gave their sister a stuffed teddy bear and she named it "Precious." When the boys kept grabbing it and hiding it from her, I interpreted that to mean one of two things: either they thought her stuffed bear was silly, or they were a teeny bit jealous of her new acquisition.

So I took a chance on the latter and decided to get the boys stuffed animals, too. I couldn't get them bears, however, because they were making fun of their sister's teddy-bear pal.. So I was in the market for something a bit unusual. You guessed it -- when I saw the two monkeys pictured here, I couldn't resist.

Jason named his "Art" for Art Monk, the pro-athlete who became the league's all-time leading receiver in a Monday Night footbal game against Denver on October 12, 1992, with his 820th reception. Pretty perceptive of my son, naming a stuffed monkey after Art "Monk." In time, Art became "Artie."

Kevin, at 5 years old, wanted a suitable name for his monkey, too. When we suggested "Rusty or Rustin" for the color of his fur, Kevin agreed. Hence, Artie and Rustin moved into our home (and hearts) and made themselves comfortable.

They sometimes spoke for the boys, as in, "Artie wants to know when lunch is going to be ready, Mom." Or, "Mom, how long does Rustin have to rest after lunch?" And, oh, how they entertained us! Their long arms were perfect for giving high-fives or hanging from bed posts, and they often put on a fun puppet (er, stuffed) show.

We traveled a lot back then, because their Daddy was speaking every weekend for churches that were without pastors. On 1st and 3rd Saturdays, we'd travel two hours to Birmingham, AL and spend the night in the church parsonage. Melissa took "Precious" along, and the boys stuffed "Artie and Rustin" in their duffel bags to haul out when they got bored.

Oh, the mischief those monkeys got into! (I'm guessing they gave Curious George some pretty stiff competition). As we traveled, Rustin would sometimes beg to stop for French fries, and Artie loved to crack corny jokes that kept us in stitches. They also did acrobatics in the van -- leaping, bouncing, twisting and gyrating to music. Sometimes, quite by accident, they would hit the back of the driver's head, and Artie and Rustin had to take a time out.

One Sunday afternoon in the parsonage, while the boys were supposed to be resting, we heard a loud crash followed by a quiet "Uh-oh." I found our sons standing in the middle of an empty guest bedroom with pieces of white glass lying all around them.

"We were playing a game," was their explanation. Out behind their backs came Artie and Rustin. "They wanted us to throw them up to the ceiling fan so they could ride while it was turning."

Someone tossed too hard, the ceiling fan light cover got knocked off, and you know the rest. They helped clean it up, even though it was all Artie and Rustin's fault for wanting to ride the fan blades. Their Daddy saw it as a good opportunity to teach the boys some responsibility, and he told the church treasurer the boys would replace the light fixture with their allowance money. Monkeys (stuffed or human) must learn some hard lessons now and then.

Thankfully, Artie and Rustin were a lot more fun than they were trouble. They became quite subdued as they grew older with our boys. Now and then, they'd pull them out for a good wrestling match. (It's much more acceptable to pound a fellow monkey's head than your brother's.)

I'm glad I found Artie and Rustin in the cedar chest after writing that Curious George article. They probably needed some fresh air after all these years. One of these days, I'll have Artie dry-cleaned and wrapped nicely so I can pass him down to Jason's son, who is to be born in late September.

I have a feeling our grown son will introduce his own son to the antics of Artie -- and tell him all about Rustin, too. Though I'm not sure what kind of entertainment and mischief Artie will provide for the next generation, I'm guessing my grandson will love him!

Somebody Else's Mother ...

Our son Kevin, who's gone camping and hiking somewhere up in Tennessee with his buddies this weekend, called yesterday.

"Hey, Mom ... just wanted to let you know before we lose our cell phone signal, that we had a safe trip up here."

Then he chuckled, "Oh yeah ... I tried calling earlier but forgot to include the area code. And I accidentally got somebody else's mother."

When she answered, he told her, "Hey, Mom! We had a safe trip and we're heading further into the mountains now ..."

There was silence on the other end. When he said, "Mom?" she responded with, "Who did you say this is?"

We both had a good laugh over that, and I noticed something while talking to my son, dear friends. My heart felt so warm and full with love and pride and joy and peace. The little boy I used to rock and feed and and cuddle is a grown man now. But he called home so his Mom wouldn't worry.

Now, how special is that?!? With all his buddies there beside him and the promise of adventure just ahead of him, my son took time to call me. I'm sure glad he's not somebody else's son. If he was, I'd have missed the blessing of being his mother.

"Here!"

Remember answering "roll call" as a student? When the teacher called our names, we were to answer "Here!"

Of course there was the occasional class clown that would sit silently, forcing the teacher to look up and check his/her seat. Then they would say, "Oh, yeah ... here."

Well, I just wanted to say I'm still here in blog-land. Last week and this week I've had several appointments and have been trying to finish up some articles I'm working on.

It's also been raining a lot lately, and the heavy cloud cover slows (or disconnects) my internet access ... so I've been AWOL against my wishes. So ... this post is my way of checking in to say, "I'm still here!"

Oh yes, a P.S. ~ Ethan weighed 12 lbs. 1 oz. and measured 24 inches long at his 2 month checkup. Melissa reports that he's sleeping through the night more, too. I'm hoping to spend a few days with them next week while Mom visits her folks in Missouri.

My Brand New Son !

Twenty-seven years ago this morning, our first son was born. I woke at 2:30 with distinct waves of labor that made me suck in my breath and hold it until each wave receded. How could I have slept through the beginning stage?

The contractions had actually started the night before ... but because I'd had so many Braxton-Hicks contractions over the past two weeks, I'd given up on ever having the "real thing." Exhausted, I went to bed about midnight and slept peacefully. What a gift that turned out to be!

At 2:30, however, the real thing woke me with a jolt. I had the distinct feeling we were going to deliver the baby at home if we didn't get in the car. Hubby jumped out of bed and dressed, called his parents to keep our two year old daughter and then rushed me to the hospital.

By the time we reached the main highway, my legs were bouncing up and down -- a sign I was in transition. The transition wasn't bad in itself, but I had an overwhelming sensation of being out of control.

And I was -- my body was basically taking over and sending my brain an S.O.S. that could not be ignored: All hands on deck -- delivery is imminent! When we came to a set of railroad tracks, I pleaded with the father-of-my-child to SLOW DOWN. As soon as we were across, I switched gears and entered another plea: HURRY UP!

We arrived at 5:00, and a young man whisked me upstairs in a wheel chair while hubby parked the car. By that time, I was shaking so hard the chair was bouncing up and down inside the elevator. I think that poor young man was scared to death. I'm quite sure he didn't want the elevator to get stuck between floors, leaving him stranded with a pregnant woman who was bouncing up and down like a first-time rider on a fast-trot horse.

When the door slid open, I was relieved to see Nurse Mize, the same wonderful lady who had helped when our daughter was born. What a joy to see a familiar face and hear her soothing voice. When Phillip arrived moments later, she told him to "get in that sterile gown!"

When she examined me and discovered the water sack was still intact, she called the doctor. By the time Dr. Bohannon got there 20 minutes later and scrubbed up, I was a candidate to star in "Shake, Rattle and Roll!" It was all the nurse and my loving husband could do to hold my legs down so I wouldn't bounce off the bed.

If nobody else had a clue, I certainly did. This baby was coming and coming fast. I wanted to holler, "Would somebody let me have this baby!" But I couldn't say anything, because my teeth were chattering like castanets.

Dr. Bohannon popped in and, just as suddenly, popped the water sack. With a deflated inner tube, I soon sprung a leak. That's when he patted my knee and told me on his way out the door, "Try to relax. It might be awhile yet before the baby crowns." I think I might have given him a dirty look about that time -- even though he was a really nice person and a great doctor.

Within 10 minutes, my son could wait no longer. As they wheeled me into delivery, I glanced at the clock and thought, Here we go! Four minutes later -- at 6:32 a.m. on June 1, 1982 -- our son Jason's lungs filled with air and his lusty cry split the silence. What a wonderful sound that was. Dr. Bohannon grinned and said, "He was on a greased slide and there was no stopping him..." Then he patted my arm and said, "You did a great job, Mom."

On the way back to my room, the doctor reached over and took baby Jason off my tummy and said, he wanted to stop in the nursery to weigh and measure him. When he came back and told us Jason weighed 88, I cocked one eyebrow. "Eight pounds, eight ounces -- right on the button," he grinned.

Jason was the fastest birth I had of our three children, and he was also our biggest baby. He also had the best lungs, according to the nursery staff. They said every time he woke up, all the others did too. "That boy has good lungs," Mrs. Polly, the head nurse told me more than once.

She'd been nursing there for 40 years and had seen thousands of babies come through her nursery. "Not many babies are that alert right after birth -- or that loud. He's got healthy lungs." So Jason made a name for himself right from the get-go.

I'll never forget that wonderful day. God was merciful to us in giving us a healthy firstborn son and a safe delivery. I know not every parent has a happy ending like we did, and we consider ourselves blessed beyond measure.

Happy birthday, Jason! I'm so glad you hung in there until we got across the railroad tracks! Guess what? In just sixteen weeks, you'll be having another birth-day ... the day you welcome your *own* son into the world. Love you bunches, Mom