Carson had his first ear infection at 8 weeks, and he's had one almost consistently since then. After 5 doctor visits, 3 rounds of nasty antibiotics, 2 chiropractic adjustments, and a whole host of eardrops, tears, and nights of pain and screaming, we decided to bite the bullet and have tubes put in his ears.The procedure would be fairly routine, but it still meant going to Childrens Hospital and being put under general anesthesia so an incision could be made in each of his little eardrums. We were fine until they wheeled him away on the gurney in his pint-sized hospital gown. As he and the surgical nurses disappeared down the long corridor, Carson looked back to find us. They might as well have taken my beating heart out of my chest, wheeled it away, and said "stay calm...this won't be long at all."
The surgeon reported that it went well, and that Carson had been in the midst of a terrible double ear infection, which they were able to clear and treat during the procedure.
The recovery nurses reported that he woke from the anesthesia "hopping mad and starving." We were able to connect once they brought him back to us; he latched onto me, and his eyes rolled backward. He hummed and cooed, all sleepy-eyed and red-faced. For the first time, our little man had NO pressure behind his eardrums!
It's the start of a new day.
I knew it would be a good day when Ella raced down the hall in her footie pajamas. "Santa's been here!" we shouted, and I pointed to the plate where only cookie crumbs and broken carrot sticks remained. She had a dozen gifts under the tree, many of which were displayed for immediate shock value. She ignored them all and dove, belly-down, under the tree. After a few minutes of rustling and digging, Ella produced a tiny, one-inch box. It was wrapped with more tape than gift wrap. "For you, mommy. I picked it out all by myself." She was glowing with excitement as she presented it to me, centered in her open hand.
I unwrapped a gumball-machine ring with a gold heart and a tiny blue gemstone. She waited until I tried it on, giggling with excitement and relief at how much I loved it. I wore it all weekend and finally retired it to my jewelry box "for safe keeping" once I realized that my finger was turning green. A decade from now, when she's 14 and claims that I'm "so lame," I'll put it on again and remember the day that my gift was more important to her than santa's loot. Wow. The next three days were filled with food, family, and fun: 
Grandma Erma celebrated her 95th Christmas this year, and Carson's very first. A happy holiday indeed!
Carson is almost six months old now...and he runs our household. When he laughs, so do all of us. It's absolutely contagious.
Ella has a new pink coat and a matching, fur-lined purse. She carries the purse with her everywhere she goes, toting at least a pound of pennies from her piggy bank. We decided to do some last-minute Christmas shopping at The Greene, so it was only natural that Ella wanted to drag along the purse. "You'll lose it," I said, and rolled my eyes as we attempted to buckle her into her carseat. She had her doll Ava stuffed into her coat and her pink purse clutched tightly to her chest. She persisted and I gave in.
We got to The Greene: I didn't have change for the parking meter, and neither did Derek. Ella produced three shiny quarters, which bought us the exact amount of time we needed to shop. We shopped and bought and moved in and out of stores, and Ella never lost sight of that purse.
On our way back to the car we saw a beautiful live nativity scene. We took it in for a moment and talked about the true meaning of Christmas. They had a sign up: "Donations are warmly appreciated." I suggested to Ella that I was going to give, and she dug her tiny purse from the bottom of Carson's stroller. Derek lifted her high, and we watched as she dumped the majority of her precious coins into the metal container.
That was my Christmas gift — that no matter how much we have screwed up our youth, our cars, and almost every new year's resolution, there is one area where Derek and I are doing something right. That little something just gave of herself for the benefit of others, who were there to tell an important story on a cold winter's evening. And that, my sweet daughter, is something I want you to read about when you are feeling down on yourself someday. I'll hold this memory forever. 
The story begins with an excited 4 year old. She stands at the end of a long, carpeted hallway in a pair of rubber-soled mary janes. She builds speed toward the drinking fountain, rubber catches carpet, and she goes flying. Her skull hits the corner of a concrete-block wall. The next chapter includes a hysterical grandma, a blood-spattered Aunt Andrea, and a Daddy who scooped everyone up and got us to the ER in minutes. I had time to pack a few blankets and stuffed animals, and off we went.
We learned that the cut was through the skin and muscle. We held out for a plastic surgeon...she's a girly-girl, and it's her face, after all. Dr. Hicks arrived around 11pm, not thrilled to be called in from his slumber. He silently worked on her for almost an hour with Derek close by to hold Ella's hand. (I was pacing the halls and wiping tears.) At the point Derek saw her cranium, he broke into a sweat and asked for a chair. Ella was tearful but more brave than either of us expected. 
The story ends with Dr. Hicks finishing the outer layer of stitches around midnight. Ella's sweetness had completely won him over. As he wiped away the iodine, the ER nurses and I heard a tiny sound. It was Ella, whistling a Christmas carol from under the surgical barrier blanket.
