The question “How are you doing emotionally?” intimates that there is a distinct possibility that something may not be right emotionally. And though I field how-are-you’s multiple times a day, when my physician, the guy who’s supposed to be looking out for my general physical health, asks about my emotional status, well, I get a bit overwhelmed.

The answer is that I’m actually doing quite well. But it hasn’t always been this way. In the past year I’ve gone through many rough spots and dark days. Emotionally, the past year has been a challenge. So while I was honestly answering my doctor’s question, sadness brewed up from deep within my soul and I worked hard to force tears from staining my dry eyes. A few steps away from the office, however, and once in the elevator, I reflected on the overwhelming emotions, the “wow, my life really sucks” thoughts that were beginning to boil over.

It wasn’t until I reached my car that I remembered a few key truths that keep me grounded. One, that this life is temporary and my dealings with diabetes and arthritis are very real reminders of that. In the most odd of odd ways, my frustrating physical condition is a blessing. Granted, I hate both diabetes and arthritis and I feel very, terribly, enormously sorry for myself that I have to deal with one, let alone both, of them, but still… I am blessed because they remind me that heaven is just around the corner and Jesus’s grace is enough to sustain me through this phase of life. Someday soon my joints and pancreas will be perfectly restored and, from what I hear, I’ll be doing some serious dancing on golden streets. Incredible really.

The second thought that keeps from me floating away in my own personal bubble of misery is that many, many people have it worse than me. Just the other day I read an article in the newspaper about this little girl with a disease that ages her prematurely (progeria). Though I’m sure this little girl isn’t helped by my pity, I still felt incredibly sorry that she never had a typical childhood and probably will not live to see age 20. My family and loved ones have been remarkably spared from physical pain and misfortune—and I praise God for that. I also praise God for blessing me with a husband who can counter my complaints with, “Oh yeah? I’ll trade you no hands for diabetes for a day” (and then we discuss what we’d do in that particular 24 hour span). I praise God for my beautiful and amazing daughter, the girl with an immune system so fabulous that even the smallest of cuts seem to disappear faster than they should. I praise God for my spirit, which, though affected by physical ailments, doesn’t remain bruised for long. I praise Him for 70 degree weather, for the greenness of grass, for the white clouds in the brilliant blue sky this morning.

“How are you doing emotionally?”

Pretty darn good.

104 degrees means the park across the street is as barren as it is on a winter’s day where windchills are -10.

104 degrees means it’s both hot and muggy, according to one of my favorite two year olds.

104 degrees means that, while Livia slept at Nana and Papa’s last night, Jeremy slept on the couch and dragged a mattress for me to the cooler first floor for respite from the heat upstairs.

104 degrees means that simply walking to the garage and getting in a steamy automobile ensures a family drenched with sweat.

104 degrees means seeking air-conditioned activities for amusement on a lovely Saturday in July.

Here’s hoping it’s cooler in your neck of the woods, my beloved blogging friends. Please keep blogging… Reading all your posts is one of my favorite air-conditioned activities. ; )

Laugh-out-loud funny for cat owners. (Thanks, Jason, for the link.)

My new obsession is creating summer desserts, namely ice cream. I made Chocolate from a mix last week, Peaches & Cream from scratch over the weekend, then Strawberry today. I, being a good Lawton child, would NEVER EVER buy a fruity ice cream from an ice cream store—the David Lawton clan has an undying love for all things chocolate—but I’ve discovered that homemade ice cream is entirely different and so far my peach and strawberry ice creams have been dee-licious. Mmm, mmm good.

Here’s my newest recipe, altered from this one at allrecipes.com:

Strawberry Ice Cream

1, 14 oz can sweetened condensed milk
6.5 cups whole milk, divided
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup sugar, divided
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 pint strawberries

Blend and strain about half of the strawberries with 1/2 cup of milk and 1/2 cup sugar, set aside. Chop/mash the rest of the berries (I like to use my Pampered Chef chopper) and add to blended strawberries.

Combine the rest of the milk, heavy cream, condensed milk and the rest of the sugar in a large pot and heat just to a boil (scald) on medium setting, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and add vanilla and salt. Cool mixture either on the stove or pour into ice cream can and refrigerate.

Once milk mixture has cooled (at least to room temperature), add strawberries and freeze according to manufacturer’s directions.

Yield: one gallon

Ah, the potential pitfalls of mobility.

You know you’re an Extrovert when…

…you go next door (you know, where the party’s at) and within moments your body is reinvigorated and your spirit is renewed.

Just Read:

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, David Sedaris; The Time Traveler’s Wife, Audrey Neffenegger

Still Reading:

The Five Love Languages, Gary Chapman; And Then I Had Kids, Susan Alexander Yates; The Jane Austen Book Club, Karen Joy Fowler; Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi

Just Watched:

Meet the Fockers, Sideways

Still Watching:

Buffy and Angel

I am not a “multiple book reader” so it’s no surprise I haven’t finished the Jane Austen or Lolita books. The others I’m currently reading are for ongoing studies. The books in the just read category were purchased specifically for vacation and, though they engaged my interest, I did not love either one. Meet the Fockers gave me a laugh or two (I thought Barbara Streisand’s character was pretty funny) but overall was quite lame. Sideways received a far more favorable review from me. It was fairly depressing, painted with a broad stroke of realism (which gets gritty), but also ever so slightly redemptive. I enjoyed it.

And there you have it, another edition of “This Blog Isn’t Always about Livia.” Thank you for stopping by.

Dear Livia,

You are now 14 months old and you’re looking more like a toddler than ever. A very pudgy bald little boy sat behind us on the airplane a week ago—he, too, was 13 months old and looked the part of a baby. I think you actually look a bit older now simply because you have lots of hair and you’re a slender little thing. You’re gaining weight now, I can see it around your face, and your muscles are getting stronger everyday. While we were on vacation you started taking multiple steps in a row while clinging on to my fingertips. Now, look out world because Livia no longer wants to sit down; she’d rather be walking! My theory is that you love walking so much because it lets you explore the world with your feet. If there’s a knothole in our wood floors, your toes have to touch it. If there’s a crack in the concrete sidewalk out front, that’s where you’re headed. Even when you’re playing on your back and want a toy, why let your fingers do all the work? Just stretch out those baby feet and get the job done! And I thought my toes were talented…

In the beginning of June we had a few tests done on you. You thought you were just playing with toys and then being oh-so-cruelly manhandled on the floor, but really we were having your skills evaluated. To make an hour long evaluation story shorter, let me just tell you that you’re the first 13 month old I know to have to take summer school! Turns out that summer school isn’t such a bad gig. It involves a very kind and gentle physical therapist coming to our living room and playing with us on a biweekly basis. And guess what you’ve proven in the past four week, at least in my thinking… You don’t need summer school after all. You’ve caught up, in your own sweet timing, and you’ve made significant progress from that day in early June. We pretty much think that you’re going to skip crawling and go straight to walking now. Still, we’re learning a lot from our PT and I’m glad to have her come point out how tremendously you’re getting along.

Besides the walking, you’ve learned to do all sorts of fun things this past month. You show much self-control by not pointing out facial parts anymore. On a rare occasion you’ll bless us with a point to a nose or ear when asked, but mostly you seem like you’re bored with that tired old game. You can also moo like a cow (when you want to, of course) and eagerly point to the stuffed cow hanging on your nursery wall. You can also point out butterflies in your bedroom. You kiss and snuggle in the most beautiful baby fashion, sometimes patting my shoulder as your burrow your head into my neck. Sometimes the kisses are close-mouthed accompanied by lip-smacking noises, other times they involve a little more saliva, say, with the tongue. But you know what? Though I’m grossed out by open-mouthed slobbery kisses from other kids, I LOVE LOVE LOVE the ones you give me. Nothing touches my heart like a Livia-generated smooch.

You have a very sharp mind behind those big blue-grey eyes. You watch everything Daddy and I do and, more often than not, you imitate our actions. (Yep, uh-oh for us.) You wave, blow kisses, try to snap your fingers, open and close your mouth and “talk” with us on a daily basis. You are now learning the art of the fake cry and sometimes will make pathetic whimpers and boo-hoos to get our attention. But guess what, kiddo? Your mama is a champion crier/manipulator, so good luck with that one. What may work with Daddy will probably not work with me! So far you’ve chosen to use your powers for good, not evil, so even though your mind is quick, I’m glad to see that you’re still our beautiful, sweet Livia. Every night I thank God for blessing us with such an amazing girl and every night that sentiment is absolutely honest. We pray that God grants us wisdom to raise you in a righteous manner, that He forgives the many mistakes we make, and that He makes us stronger role models for you. May you glorify Him today in your own baby way.

Love,
Mama

She’s been brainwashed! BRAINWASHED, I TELL YOU!!! I haven’t pulled out the ole finger-in-your-throat, “gag me” sign since sixth grade until I read this line, “Tom and I will always be in our honeymoon phase.”

Barf-o-rama.