The Flights Part One: TO

My flight alone with our 20 month old, from Qatar to Nova Scotia...



July 10, 11pm - Finally finish packing and double checking all bags. Positive I have everything I may need in my carry on, and think I have adequately packed us for the 'weather' back home. Satisfied. Good to go.

July 10, 11:45pm - Finally get to bed after failing to check us in online (C tried all day). Some goofy website error message over and over again.

July 11, 1:15am - Had to fight for those last 15 mins (C wanted me up at 1). Wake up, get ready to head to airport. Thinking how stupid I was to stay up so late.

July 11, 1:30am - On way to airport. Amazed how perky E is after finding herself  in her car seat in the middle of the night.

July 11, 2am - C helps get us checked in and whatnot. We have a teary goodbye (I am not used to being the one going away anymore, sad to say). Flight is overbooked and our seats have been changed, but check-in-lady assures me we have two good seats together.

July 11, 2:30am - Make it through security and find gate. Feeling excited to be heading home.

July 11, 2:45am - Get into heated debate with check in staff over my umbrella stroller. I was told repeatedly (phone call to airline and at check in desk just down stairs from where I was standing) that I could gate check said stroller (which is why I brought the crappy small one along). Apparently not. I could feel panic welling up inside me as I tried to reason with the wretched woman trying to take my stroller away. It basically came down to 'if you want to get on the plane, you have to check the stroller and retrieve it at your final destination'. So we carried on without our wheels. 32lb pajama-clad child on hip with two bags on arm. Grrr.

July 11, 3:15am - Standing up, holding overhead strap on shuttle bus while glaring at the 11 men and three women (I counted) sitting in all the bus seats. None look to be pregnant, travelling with children, disabled or geriatric to me. E starting to feel a tad heavy now. Nothing I can't handle though.

July 11, 3:30am - Horrified to learn that our "good seats" are the middle two in a row of four. This can't be happening? Please let us have good seat-mates.

July 11, 3:35am - Two big older men take their seats on either side of E and I. First big old man presses his button for the flight attendant.

July 11, 3:36am - Big Old Man says to flight attendant "Can you find me a seat that is not next to a baby?". He actually said that. He must have been part pyschic as he could obviously see what was about to unfold. I still didn't see it coming. Flight attendant tells Big Old Man that flight is overbooked and he will be staying put.
Side note: She also secretly jostles our overhead bags around, as later, when I need a diaper, I eventually find my bag over seat 28D... I was in 32E. Randomly checking all of the overhead bins in the middle of the night wasn't a pain in the a** at all (while carrying my 32 pounder).

July 11, 4am - Start down the run way, into the night sky, just as my sweet E starts to wail repeatedly that she wants "out" of her seat belt "now".

July 11, 4:01am to 9amUK - A mixture of stories, hushes, songs and soothing words all night as I tried to make E happy and comfortable. Who knew that when the person in front of you reclines their seat, your 20 month old is then at the exact perfect kicking length if she simply straightens her legs. Boy, was this a thrill for her to discover.  Why oh why, Lord, won't she sleep?

July 11 - some time after 9amUK - Land at Heathrow Airport to an overcast, drizzly day. Try to gather us up. Not one minute of sleep has passed between us. Ella refused to eat her tray of food (therefore I didn't eat mine either), but somehow managed to spill lots of both trays on her jammies and my pants. I am guessing we look a bit frazzled.

Still after 9am (who knows how much time has passed) - Find out we need to switch terminals via bus again. Walk what seems to be 10 miles carrying E, who despite not eating anything, feels suddenly 10 lbs heavier. Stop several times to shift her to other hip. This is getting ridiculous.



Ella, answering her banana,
four hours into our second flight

 Probably around 10am - Take another bus ride to our new terminal. I must be on some comedy show involving a hidden camera. Again, no seat on bus. Desperately hanging on to overhead rope-y thing as English bus driver proceeds full tilt on what I deem to be the 'wrong' side of the road. Where did all of these people come from? Bus is jammed. E is whining. I can smell poop. Great time for a poop, E.

10ish am - Make it to terminal. Gate hasn't been announced. Sign says gate will be announced @ 11:30am. Find bathroom, clean E & I up, call C and sob that I have made a terrible mistake. Where the f*ck is my stroller.

10:30am - Find pub that sells breakfast for obscene airport prices. Yes they have child seats. But E has had enough. Over-over-tired and hungry, she pitches a fit with a temper she could have only gotten from me.  Good thing is that we appear to have cleared out our section of the restaurant with all the noise. We nibble on our food in silence (why do Brits eat beans and fried tomatoes for breakfast??).

11:15am - Find a seat in a crowded common area by the big flight announcement sign. Arms too weak to carry E anywhere. Must sit and wait the last 15mins till gate is announced. I can't believe how heavy she seems.

11:30am -  Sign says that gate will now be announced at 11:45am.

11:45am - Sign says that gate will now be announced at 12pm. Mother of God, I give up. E is flipping her lid and I have had two hours sleep in the last 24. E is trying to run away from me. Not even looking back. I try to bribe her back to our seats. This is torture.

12:00pm - YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING. Sign says gate will be announced at 12:15. I am living my life in 15 minute increments of pure hell.  E makes another escape attempt (almost succeeds).

12:13pm or so (still July 11) - I must make note of this occurence as it was a first in our mother-daughter relationship. E had had it. She was done with waiting. She didn't want cheerios or juice or any toy in my bags. She didn't want an iPod loaded with Mickey or Dora, and she didn't want anymore of this waiting. I had a pony tail in my hair. Without warning, E looked right in my eyes, pulls her face close to mine (I thought for a kiss, perhaps?), swiftly takes her hands, one on either side of my head, and grabs fistfuls of my hair, yanking it out of my pony tail and holding it in her hands as tight as she could. We just stared at each other, locked in place. She didn't have the words to vent her frustration, but she let me know. Enough of this sh*t, Mom. Get us out of here.  Everyone around us stared as I gathered my hair, my bags, my daughter, and my dignity, just as the sign flicked: LONDON TO HALIFAX - GATE 43.

12:25pm - E is falling all over the place when she tries to walk. Thats no sleep for ya, kiddo. I have to carry her. Where the hell are those little golf carts? Can't somebody see that my arms are about to come loose from my shoulders and fall on the floor. I have never lifted anything heavier in my life. E now feels like a full grown, soaking wet, water buffalo in my arms. I am at Gate 12 and I want to give up.
I develop a pattern: walk ten or twelve feet. Stop. Set water buffalo on metal hand rail that lines the wall.  Rest. Repeat. Thank God for that hand rail. We were a sight.

Some time around 1pm, but really, who gives a sh*t what time it is at this point - Finally made it to our gate. Arms shaking and eyes blurry. We wait some more.

2pm-ish - We board. A new airline. Air Canada. Now, in the past I have critized this airline. But not today. I take it all back today. No, today the two seats (window and aisle) waiting for us were a thing of beauty. The French and English passenger announcements were sweet music to my ears. Every person walking by our seats to find their own looked familiar. A neighbour or an old teacher, or someone I once worked with, perhaps? My ears were picking up accents I knew. E seemed to suddenly get a second wind. Thank you Jesus, Thank you.

The rest of our flight - E slept, but only for an hour. Poor little thing just couldn't get comfortable. But, we made friends. The lady in front of us was from Gander, Newfoundland, and was travelling with her two teenaged kids. The lady behind us was Lebanese-Canadian, travelling with her daughter back to their home in Halifax. They were wonderful people. Changed my day around. The young girls played with E over the seats and my new Newfie friend helped us right till the end. Her son carried our bags till we parted ways in Halifax. I forget their names now, but I will never forget how great they were. I love Canadians.

When we got to the customs line, I realized I had to clean us up a bit to see C's mom on the other side. So into the bathroom we went to change. When we came out, half of Southeast Asia had arrived at Customs. There were now at least 200 people in line... ten minutes ago there were 40. Sh*t.

My last hour without a stroller (and without my NL friends) proved to be the breaking point for us. E kept running away, under the security pully gate things. It is damn near impossible to catch a wild, sleep deprived child who has run under the maze of those things, determined to escape her mother. She weaved like a pro through a sea of Asian tourists. She screamed when I made her stay in line. I screamed inwardly as my left arm threatened once again to fall off and abandon my body once and for all.

But, we made it. The Canadian Customs Officer was more than sympathetic and said: "I heard her crying in the line this whole time, and you are all by yourself? Next time that happens, go over to the Airline Staff Only line and we'll get you right through". Ha ha! Next time? Not me, my friend, not me.

Rare Birds... I Mean, Ghutra's

It has taken me a while to notice them and their subtle differences, but now that I have, they are all I see everywhere I go. My eyes just can't help it.

I'll see one coming toward me in the mall and I will steal a glance - careful not to appear like I am staring.  That would be highly inappropriate.
I have become quite serious about recognizing the different styles. A secret pastime while out and about. Laugh if you want - you would do it too if you were here.
Especially in the heat of the summer when everyone you know is gone already and it is too hot for the pool, the beach, or any public park. You need to make your own fun in these parts. No judgements please.

What am I yammering on about this time? Not the latest sunglass fashions or hair styles... not bird watching or spotting a new Porsche Cayenne in a parking lot. No, I am stealing glances at ghutras. What men wear on their heads here. For real. Not a joke.

Let me back up a bit and give you the basics.

Qatari national dress for men (much like other GCC countries) includes wearing a thobe, which is basically a long white shirt that goes to the ankles, over loose white pants/shorts. They also wear a loose fabric headdress, called a ghutra, in white or red-and-white patterned cloth, held on with a black rope or chord with tassles, known as an agal.

Qatari national dress for women consists basically of covering their heads with a black headdress called a shayla, and their bodies with a long black dress called an abayha. Some women also cover their faces with a black bourga; sometimes the eyes are left uncovered; it really varies.

English spelling of these clothing names can differ, depending on translation. 

All this black and white drifting through the malls and restaurants is quite eye catching to a foreigner.
I never grow tired of noticing the subtle differences in appearances... for both men and women, the accessories are everything. Cuff links, sunglasses, stylish pens, handbags, and shoes. Shiny and expensive. Small bits of bling everywhere.

I noticed right away that the ghutra is to young Qatari men what long flowing locks of hair are to any teenage girl. They toss the long bits over their shoulders, fussing with them constantly, they stop in store front windows to view their reflections and fix their ghutra and agals 'just so'. It is a great source of pride, indeed.

Imagine my surprise at lunch with a friend a few weeks ago, when she notices a young Qatari walking by and she says "look, he's wearing a cobra ghutra". What? I ask her what she means...

It turns out that there are many ways to manipulate the ghutra just right on your head. A huge fashion statement to some. Amazing. She forwards me an email later that day to demonstrate such styles. I am copying the pictures to show you:

Modesty Style

A simple and popular look with the older fellas.  Just throw one end of the ghutra over the opposite shoulder and you are ready to rock and roll. Looks like it would be good to protect your face on a sandy day too - always handy.

The Eagle

This is similar to the Modesty Style, only this time you take the other end of the cloth and flip it over the opposite shoulder. I haven't seen this one around yet but I have allll summer, don't I?

Mr. X

You can see from the picture why it is called 'Mr. X'. Just toss both ends of the ghutra over opposite shoulders. Apparently from what I have read, this is good for desert trips and cold winter months. Its important to stay bundled up with it drops down to 22C in January. Brrr.

The VIP

This is the one you will often see worn by government officials and ministers, and at formal events like weddings. Just let your ghutra hang low, maybe adding some funky little folds on both sides of the mirzam (which is the area of the ghutra in the middle of the forehead).

The Teacher

This one is quick and easy and seen everywhere in Doha. Again, let the ghutra hang down, only this time tuck the ends behind your back. It's a cinch to create and great if you are moving around constantly, hence the name "The Teacher".

The Schoolboy

This one is popular at the universities around town - modern with a traditional touch. You bring one end of the ghutra from behind and put it in front of the opposite shoulder, while the other end remains down the back. This one is a personal fave.





The Abu Rashed

This one is named after Mr. Khaled Abu Rashed, who happened to be the lawyer of the infamous drifter Abu Kab. He allegedly mastered this style. All you have to do is throw one end of the ghutra above your head while leaving the other hang down.  Colin and I call this bad boy the "Gretzky"... true hockey fans will know why.

The Balanced Style

Given it's name, you can see that this one looks like a balanced scale from the front. You toss both ends above the head with a slight angle on each, while leaving space to form what resembles scale pans. This one might be tricky to keep if it is windy outside. This screams high maintenance to me! 

The Cobra Snake

This one was a huge hit in the 90's, and got its name from its resemblance to the venomous snake. You need a large amount of starch and a hot iron to stabilize this puppy, and one needs to practice caution when moving their head too fast to keep this delicate piece intact. This is still very popular around Qatar.




The Butterfly

Unlike the stiffness of the Cobra, which limits the ability to move freely for fear of collapsing the design, this one allows freer movement. Easy to create and wear, it's great in the summer time and very popular this year.  Think flower child of the desert.

The Bint al-Bakr Style

There wasn't any details on the history of this one online, and I haven't spotted one of these around town yet either. A very rare bird, perhaps? Looks complicated and a bit delicate, but impressive nonetheless.  I'll keep on the lookout.






So there you have it. Who needs to bird watch, coin collect or scrap book. Just head to your local mall or supermarket when its 125 degrees outside and watch the Ghutra styles bob on by in all their Arabic glory.
I think I need a drink.

Back At It

I am back - honest!  I know it appears that I fell completely off the blogging grid for a while... well, I did do just that... but I am back now.

I can't exactly put my finger on what I have been so busy with, but I have been... busy.

Not lots of time to sit uninterrupted and gather my thoughts. Either that, or the heat has just melted my brain into a mushy porridge and I am using 'busy' as my excuse. Good Lord, it's been hot here lately.

The heat, a travelling husband, saying goodbye to expat friends as they move away or leave for the summer, and keeping E entertained each day has left little alone time for me lately.

Hope you missed me, dear friends! I know you must have been staring at your computer screens waiting with bated breath for my next blog. Wink wink.
I promise to take time this week to catch you up on my life and catch up on all your great blogs that I have been missing.
I have some reading and writing to do!

Flying Solo?

Since our daughter was born, we have been doing a lot of flying. She has travelled to seven countries in her short little life of almost nineteen months. We have puddle jumped half way around this world and back again several times. I think this is the reason I must dye my hair every four weeks. Flying, although amazing, takes on a whole new meaning with a wee one in toe.

At first, flying with an infant was a breeze. She ate, she slept, she smiled at passers-by, she pooped, she ate some more, then she would sleep more too. Never a cry out of her most times.

On our flight over to Qatar for the first time, the flight attendants kept saying how sweet she was, and before we deboarded the plane in Doha, the pilot asked to see her & we got to take pictures of E sitting in his lap in the cock pit. It made our move here that much easier... she must have sensed her mama was nervous and decided to be on her best behavior.

It seemed after we hit the big Numero Uno, our flight experiences shifted. E no longer wanted to sit in my lap and peek at the people sitting behind us through the crack in our seats. She wasn't content to snuggle in with her mama and play with a toy quietly. Nope. She wanted to run free. She longed to feel the recirculated cabin air on her face as she tried to scoot down the aisle at her most wobbly top speed. She just needed to touch every button within eyesight - tv remote control, on-flight phone, seat recliner, Daddy's Kindle...the 'call' light button for the attendant was her absolute favorite. Sigh. She kept us all hopping.

Our last flight in April - a piddly four hours and twenty minutes - was tough. E had her own seat (even though she isn't two yet), but really didn't care to sit in it. She gave up sleeping on planes months ago and fights sleep with everything she's got (and she's got lots).

This time around, E wanted to explore, and talk (very loudly) to all the other passengers. Talk, Talk, Talk. She wanted to sit on my lap, then daddy's lap, then back to mine. Sit, Stand, Sit, Squirm, Down, Up, Down again.  

It's not that she was misbehaving because she really wasn't. She just isn't used to sitting still for that long. We own one very busy bee and we are asking a lot of her every time we fly.

I packed a whole bag of tricks to keep her occupied - her favorite snacks, most loved books, new toys all wrapped up to open and play with. We made it through the flight okay, but flying with her isn't what it once was suddenly. Let it be said that she doesn't mind flying - no sickness or ear issues. She loves looking out the window and "discussing" all she sees with us.

All you parents of more than one child who are frequent flyers, get your laughs in now. I have a deep and lasting respect for this very challenging undertaking, and am seeking your wisdom and guidance. Especially if you are the long-haul flight kind of family.
You see, flying with E has been okay with four hands to 'handle' her. C likes to sneak his snoozes and an odd movie or two in (had to say it), but he is always there to help feed, walk, or hold E whenever I need him. Teamwork rocks. We've been lucky to have travelled together so often!

So, here's the thing - I think E & I may fly home a bit early this summer. (Home = Nova Scotia, Canada). This will give the grandparents more time with E, and also give us time to get over some jet lag and have a better visit. There are no words for how hot a Doha summer can be, so escaping it a tad early would free us of that heat for a while longer. C plans to follow us later. 
My question: What am I in for?
We are looking at 18 to 22 hours in total. Good God. I shudder at the thought of it.
Juggling an independent-sleep-refusing toddler, luggage and lay overs. Trying to rest/eat/keep quiet during a long haul flight. Trying to PEE whilst holding E in my arms at the same time (TMI, I know, but it is a serious consideration!). I feel a headache coming on just picturing it all in my mind.
Bonus for me: all the flights out of Doha to my neck of the world seem to leave at very stupid times... 3:50am is a popular one. Just perfect for E to get her cranky you-dare-to-wake-me-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-haul-me-to-the-airport-where-there-are-fluorescent-lights-beaming-down-upon-me-from-the-ceiling-begging-me-to-be-super-awake-and-on-high-alert-for-the-flights-ahead. Why oh why are airports not calm, dimly lit spaces with soft smells of lavender wafting around, and faint 'beach wave' nature sounds playing in the background? A girl can dream, I guess.  
Let the advice pour in. I am currently searching the internet obsessively for the best flight combinations to get us there in the shortest amount of time. This still isn't a done deal. I may chicken out. If I do chicken out, grandparents, bite your tongues, as I have/had good intentions.  We will see what happens. I have about nine weeks to plan a smooth flight. Tickets need to be purchased soon. I think I can, I think I can! I can, right?

You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky.

~Amelia Earhart

That Place...

It's been a week since we got home from our most recent vacation - an awesome week spent soaking up the sun, playing in the waves, exploring the little island in the Maldives that we called home for a week, and tasting all kinds of delicious food. It was seriously one of the nicest places we have ever been. Those memories will be floating around in my mind for years to come.



Walking the beach, Maldives 2011



Given my dreamy post-vacation like state this week (where I had a serious dinner conversation with my husband about the possibility of quitting his job and becoming employees of a surf shop or local restaurant on some tropical island, living in a beach hut and lapping up a simpler life... he said no, but a good discussion none the less), a friend posed an interesting question on Facebook that got me reminiscing.

His status said the following: Ever go to one of those places that you never forget, that you think of often, that you perhaps return to or want to, that when you think about it, you see it in your mind and wonder what’s happening there right now and how you need to go back? What place is that? It could be the Seychelles or your hometown. Tell me what it is right now…………

He got many responses, including mine. I quickly added a few favorites - the Cape Breton Highlands where I spent many happy summers as a little girl, the Texas Hill Country, where Colin & I would often get away together for a romantic weekend,  and the City of Halifax, where C & I both went to university, met, and fell in love.

Orlando, FL 2008

Rocky Mountains 2007

I checked back a few times to see where other people went when they day dreamed, where they drifted away to during a boring work day or a sleepless night. Very intriguing. 

Peggys Cove NS, 2005

So, my list has kept growing in my mind all week... the bungalow we rented in Peggy's Cove one weekend when we could hardly find each other through all the fog... the little Italian cafe in San Francisco that we shared a few laughs over a bottle of wine on a summer afternoon as we sat 'people watching'... the vineyard in Napa Valley where we spread a blanket and had, hands down, the best picnic ever... the day we canoed around Emerald Lake and talked about where we wanted to raise a family and where we might some day retire... or that random hotel we stayed at in Field, BC, where we ended up meeting some amazing strangers while sharing an exceptional meal.

Ahhh - the memories.  

I could go on and on. Seriously, I could. I am one lucky girl.



Christmas in Qatar 2010

It should be noted here that from time to time, I will grumble about living in Doha. Have you noticed?

Colin reminded me this week, as we talked about planning a summer trip to Canada, that some day, we will look back at our time in the Middle East with affection, as we've already made lots of great memories here. Yes, he is that kind of guy. Sometimes his optimism can really get to me, but in this instance, I know he is right. One of the reasons I married him ; )

We will look back at our time here as a wild and crazy adventure that we once had - 'Hey, do you remember that time we packed up everything we owned and moved half way around the world to Qatar?'

Yep, I sure do.


Napa Inn in Napa Valley - A snuggle on the patio
after an awesome day

Thanks Tim, for encouraging me to remember some fantastic moments this week. And thanks Colin, for helping me live them.

Please leave a comment if you have a place you want to add to Tim's list. I will read & enjoy every one :)

Three Little Birds

It's only 8pm, the evening before we leave, and I am almost packed! This is a record. Has to be. C is another story (currently out golfing and hasn't even opened his suitcase yet), but the bean and I are pretty much ready to go. I have spent basically ALL afternoon organizing, doing laundry and packing. This is exciting. I am super pumped.

In the wee hours of tomorrow morning, we leave for the Maldives.
(Can I get a WOOT WOOT?)
Our first tropical holiday since becoming parents. Seriously... I can't even remember our last vacation to a beach. I am guessing about three years ago? Maybe four. It may be a 'bit' different since our last retreat to a tropical desitination (days filled with sleeping in, lounging by the water, reading a few good books and sipping a few good drinks) but we are up for the challenge.
Can't wait.
These three little birds will be doning sun hats and bathing suits first thing tomorrow.
Yahoo for vacations! Life is good!

Bentley's Knees

The item most on my mind this week: Bentley's knees. His back knees, specifically.


Benny in Texas - 2007



Ben's first night with us - 8 weeks old

 Our tiny ball of fire with his floppy ears and tail wag that really wags his entire body  isn’t 100% right now. Ben has been having a weird 'thing' happen for the last month or so - almost not noticeable at first - but we still started thinking we should get it checked out.

Every night before bed, both dogs get a good long walk. We started noticing when we were on these walks that every so often (like once a week), Ben would pick up his back leg, let out a little noise, hop a few steps, then put his leg back down, trotting along like nothing had happened.

We tried to excuse it away - maybe he had a muscle cramp, maybe his nails were too long, or maybe he had a splinter in his paw. But, after ruling out everything we could think of, we decided it was time for a professional’s opinion.

There are not many veterinary clinics in Doha, but we have managed to find a decent one (which we've used since we arrived last year), and last Saturday, we took him in for a consultation.

His diagnosis: Grade 2 Luxating Patella

This basically means that Bentley's knee cap is popping out of place every so often, which could be a genetic thing, and will get worse with age. When he picks up his back leg (or, when he goes "lame", as the vet described it), his patella (knee cap) deviates from the natural groove in his femur.

Here's the thing - all the reading we've done suggests that if you are going to go ahead and do the surgery (recommended around stage 3) then you should really get a specialist who does this operation routinely, as the results can really vary if an inexperienced surgeon attempts this type of correction.

The vet here couldn't really answer all of our questions about Bentley's knee issues, and when Colin wanted to talk further about how involved the surgery would be, he proceeded to get out his handy 'Surgical Manual for Veterinarian Students' book (my confidence in him plummeted at this point).

I understand that there was a language barrier (our vet’s first language was not English), but I didn’t like how keen he was to do this to our three year old pup, who has only just begun to show any symptoms. He wanted us to book it right away. No discussion of any other options. Groan. I felt, knowing Ben, that this was/is not in his best interests at this point, without more information.

2010

I believe his diagnosis is correct - pretty much EXACTLY how it's described online - and we've since found out that this commonly affects Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, as they are a smaller dog breed prone to joint issues. Performing such a major surgery here (with months of healing time involved) raises some red flags, though. Unless you are a camel, options for certain animal care here is a bit limited, sad to say. I know he will have to get surgery to have this problem corrected - I just hope it doesn't get any worse for a long while (our vet said it will probably progress slowly). 



Halloween 2009 - HATED his bee costume

We had some great suggestions from informed friends about dietary supplements and exercise that could really help, but talk about a bad scenario. It’s when these kinds of things happen that I really appreciate how fortunate we were in both Canada, and the USA, to have experts in any field (dog or otherwise) at our very finger tips.

We are going to try for a second opinion at another office we've heard decent things about, and until then, we'll do everything we can to keep him happy and healthy, with his tail waggin'. Neither C or I have seen him do the three-legged hop thing for over a week and a half. And believe me, we have been watching for it.

All suggestions, prayers and comments welcome!



 2011 - Never far from Cooper ... or Ella