providential good fortune

I went to a small Christian school for my high school years.  We had this really neat guy for our bible teacher.  He was very thought provoking, to the point where it was sometimes frustrating. (at the time, though, I always thought he was argumentative.  Now, I see he was trying to get us to explore our own belief system and not the belief system of our parents.)

Anyway, one of his big beefs was with the word "luck" and how often we use it.  He preferred  instead, to use the term "providential good fortune!"  Meaning the care of God in your life, resulting in something good. 

At the time, I sort of thought it was silly.   All caught up in semantics.  If what I intend doesn't change with the words I use, what difference does it make? 

This past week, I some how stumbled upon a website called doula match.  Its a website that matches up local doulas with clients.  Its free, though they ask for donations.  I usually am pretty skeptical of things like that.  But this time I thought "meh.  why not?  I doubt I'll get any calls from this, but I'll put it out there."

I had my information on for all of two days before I got my first response.  An email from some one looking for a doula for her hopeful VBAC in June (um, score!  This is totally one of my passions!) With in a few days, I also received a phone call from another woman interested in my services, who was referred to me by Glenni, who runs A Nurturing Moment (a baby/maternity boutique here in town.) and the blog where I posted on MSPI.   The same day, I was contacted by another woman who found me on Doula Match.

This weekend I met with two of the three women, and I felt like we really hit it off.  I'm hoping they thought so, too, and I can get this doula train a going. ;)

 I can see the hand of God guiding me where he wants me to be.  I don't know if I'll be a doula for years and years, but, right now, I am certain this is what I'm supposed to do now.  Its a pretty freeing feeling.  I'd say I was feeling lucky, but I am really feeling providential good fortune. 

She only likes her hot dogs with bits of plastic

Thursdays are school days for Isaac, which happens to coordinate well with my trip to Aldi every week. (Isaac's not a huge fan of Aldi.  Something about not having cookies.)  Today is one of my bi-weekly trips to get produce, etc.

I have family coming into town this weekend.  There's four of them.   I have to feed them, obviously, and us.  It'll probably be close to double what our family eats considering O and Eliza probably add up to one regular kid.

I'm concentrating hard on how much food I need to buy, etc.  Eliza is in the back of the cart because 1.she climbs out of the buckle and out of the cart if she's in the front and 2. I didn't carry her because I was going for a run after our shopping trip where she needed to be strapped down.  I felt bad having her "confined" for too long.  I'm putting most of my groceries in the back with little Miss.

 I stop and get two different kinds of hot dogs.  One package of turkey dogs for Eliza and I because I prefer them and they're cheaper.  One package of the, more expensive, all beef bun-length hot dogs.   That way everyone else can have the more expensive ones, yadda yadda yadda.

I round the aisle, focusing on the veggie produce area, turn down the fruit aisle (so, half and aisle total) and I glance at Eliza.   There she is, an entire hot dog in hand, chomping down like its a banana or something.

First reaction:  gross.  Cold hot dog.

Second reaction: ugh.  She got hot dog juice all over her outfit.

Third reaction: how did she get that?!?

I finally glanced down in the cart and she had gnawed her way through the plastic packaging, bitten off most of the tips in the process, until she made enough of a hole to slip a hot dog out.

Can you guess which ones she opened?

Yeah.  The beef ones.

The lady at the check out: "Do you know these are open and... eaten??"

Me: "yes."

After my run, I thought I'd go ahead and actually make Eliza that hot dog she desired in the grocery store.  I heated it up and gave it to her.  What did she do?  She turned her nose up at it, said "uh-uh" in her caveman voice, and threw it on the ground.

Clearly, cold hot dogs, wrapped in plastic, are much more appealing to her pallet.

(Also, I'm thinking the "bun length" all beef hot dogs may be a little shorter than bun length.shhhhh)

Please and "daint do"

O's growth hormone medicine came on Thursday night.  In two gigantic boxes.  It freaked O (and, to be honest, myself) out a little to see such big boxes. 

Luckily, this is the actual medicine.  Four tiny boxes, to last us a month.  The rest was refrigerant and supplies (needles, sharps box, alcohol wipes, etc.)  

These four tiny boxes?  They cost $1,500. No. Joke.

The home health nurse is coming after school today to teach O, E, and I how to give the injections.  O will have to learn for things like sleep overs eventually, so we're going to have the nurse teach her how to do it tonight.  

O is nervous.  She keeps saying "I like the size I am.  I don't want to grow. "