This Week in History was an eventful one for us back in 1992. My preterm labor started and put me on bedrest that would last the rest of my pregnancy, and my insurance tried to dump me.
When the kids were little, even when we weren’t homeschooling, Jason and I liked to make whatever we were doing as a family into an educational experience. Learning is fun and we wanted to pass on that belief to our children. It was with that goal that we prepared our kids to visit Mount Rushmore.
Mr. Rich had a bucket of Stuff and he was going to use it to get a lot of Buy for himself. He took his Stuff to Mr. Larder and told him he Hoped it Could Save the World. Mr. Rich talked him into using Stuff, to mix it in with all the food before Mr. Larder gave it out to the people in his village. Mr. Larder said, “But Mr. Rich, this costs a lot. How will I pay you for it?” Mr. Rich explained that Mr. Larder could just collect more Buy from the people and he could get rich too. So that’s what he did, and Mr. Larder and Mr. Rich made sure Stuff started getting into everything, and Mr. Larder got a little more Buy and Mr. Rich got a lot more Buy.
Chris and Cheri 1980
Monte Cristo Day is a relatively new addition to the National Day Calendar, proclaimed by the Registrar just last year. But as soon as I saw it, my mind immediately raced to my memory of the first Monte Cristo sandwich I ever tasted.
My high school friend Chris introduced me to the Monte Cristo sandwich. He took me to the country club where his family are members. When we sat down to order, without hesitation he heartily recommended the Monte Cristo to me. I’d never heard of it, but I trusted him and ordered it. And it was a delectable lunch experience! The powdered sugar sprinkled over the fried egg coating makes my mouth water now to remember it. I’ve tried the sandwich in other places, searching for its equal, and have even attempted to make it myself, hoping to recapture that culinary experience. But I have yet to match that memory.
The detectives examined the body at the bottom of the deck stairs. “Dust the wheelchair for prints, then get photos.” The chalk outlined her where she died.
My second roommate in college was Becky. We lived off campus in the basement of a house on Myrtle Street just north of Colorado State University. We’d met in the violin section in orchestra when we were stand partners my first year at CSU. She was engaged and away every weekend from our apartment to see her fiancé Mark in Denver. They were married in the spring of 1983 and Becky asked me to sing for their wedding.
Yesterday was a sad day. Sometimes I just have those. I know a lot of people do. When I get one, I can’t always pinpoint the trigger, but if I can that’s helpful because I can put it in context and process it. If I can’t figure it out though, like if I can just feel sadness in my blood as a chemical that for some unknown reason decides to course through my system on a given day, I just have to weather it. I used to focus on it more and it got a better hold of me. Now I try things to cope with the sadness.
Me in the NICU in 1987 on a slow day but I still didn't have to float to another floor.
It left me time to decorate some bulletin boards in the hallway for Christmas.
Once in a while the census in the unit was low when I worked at Children’s in Chicago, even to the point where we’d have to rotate taking days off without pay. Now if our floor was slow when another was cram packed with patients, then they’d float us over to them to help out where they needed it. No one liked to float to another unit, but it was better than being short on pay at the end of the month.
Molly was our first baby to come home. Statistically, premie girls do better than boys. And she fell in line with the data. In the hospital, she was the first of the four to get off CPAP and oxygen (though she couldn’t stay off oxygen until she was about three months old) and the first to start feedings. She did best at breastfeeding and continued to nurse for nine months. She was a champ and an easy baby.
I had five grandparents growing up, one of whom was my great grandma (my dad’s grandmother). I get my white hair from my dad’s mom, Grandma Robinson.
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Life with Quadruplets
As a mother of quadruplets, I've had plenty of crazy experiences raising "supertwins." I blog a lot of memories about my kids. Sometimes just my thoughts on things. I get those sometimes—when my brain works. Which is about one third of the time.