Big boys with big toys

Ha, I'm posting these just because I'm super proud of my big brother (and his lovely wife, who is not picture here...love you, Kels!). I thought these pictures of him with the little Schoepplers were really pretty cute. ;-)

The boys...

...getting a slightly higher view...

...and this is probably right about the point where Joshua completely freaks out? Bless his heart.

The "New Look"?

Some of us got a bit bored with our old hairstyles and our natural haircolor by the end of this week, and since we have so many options available to us in America, we decided that while there may come a day when the courage of men fails, and we break all ties with hairstylists, today is not that day. Today, we change. And here are the results, which I sincerely hope are not permanently traumatizing to any of you, my dear viewers:

I think we were going for the emo/homeless punk look here...

And this would have been...a Weird Al Yankovic impersonation, perhaps?

Josiah as...Blondie? He wasn't crazy about this 'do.

Our history class is studying the '60s, so this one seemed fitting, somehow.

And this one was...just because we love each other.

So there you have it...Saturday night at the Beatys...minus one brother, who was sensibly occupied the entire time reading Grimm's Fairytales. Go Seth! A very sensible chappy, that.

Before you were sleeping...

It was Thursday night, and a sliver of a moon had risen; the stars were out, and the air held just a twinge of frost as a subtle reminder that the sunny days of summer were drawing rapidly to a close.

Classes had gone well, and physical therapy had been rewarding—but it had been a long day, and I was sleepy as I crawled into bed that night. My two youngest brothers were standing in the bedroom doorway, chattering lightheartedly about the things that had made their day special as they supervised to make sure I got safely aboard the bunk without seriously damaging either the bed or myself.

I was listening to them, nodding, and smiling absent-mindedly as my hands smoothed the top of the quilt, winding down for the night. Suddenly my fingers encountered something foreign. Something soft, but firm. Something flesh-like—and dead. A corpse.

I freaked.

The boys looked on with wide eyes and incredulous little grins as I snatched up the small intruder and flung him onto the floor, spluttering and squeaking and generally going ballistic as I did so. They looked at him...and then at me...and then at him again...and then they both gave me one of those you’ve-certainly-got-to-be-kidding-this-time looks. Yes, I am embarrassed to admit this, but my unwelcome guest was a fly.

Normally, I simply find flies annoying, but when they crawl onto my covers and die, I despise them...utterly and completely. And they become objects of a repulsion I cannot even begin to describe—something bordering on phobic.

After informing me that it was indeed just a fly, Seth and Josiah decided that I needed some time alone to face the formidable dead insect by myself and conduct some self-help therapy sessions, so they retired to bed, snickering softly and casting a few amused backwards glances over their shoulders as they ambled off.

Which left me to wonder...why is it that I find flies so completely repugnant when I have no problem handling toads, who are every bit as ugly and germy, most likely? Why do I hate snakes, and yet find lizards intriguing, despite the similarities?

The philosophical side kicked in right about then: why do I tolerate so many types of fickleness and varieties of phobias in myself when I chalk them up to immaturity in other people?

As I gazed at the small black body lying motionless on my carpet and thought of all the unlucky fellow’s insect children who are buzzing around over the face of WI and who will probably never miss him, I was reminded that a) life is too short to waste on sweating the small stuff, and b) people are too valuable to alienate over that which is forgivable, redeemable, and changeable.

And then it was several minutes past bedtime, and Old Man Slumber came knocking gently at my door to take me away to a warm sunny place filled with happy flies who sat on flowers all day long and debated whether or not their ancestors had turned into ghosts, and whether the ghosts of flies who had died violent deaths (such as by swatting or frog-slurping) were rather misshapen...although no conclusion was ever reached on that score, as far as I can remember.

Hey all! It’s been an eventful week—in a quiet, intense sort of way—and I have so many things to be thankful for as it draws to a close that I decided I probably owe everyone a brief update:

On Tuesday, I went in to have reconstructive surgery on my right knee to replace the ACL that was unhappily murdered during my last game of racquetball. Memories of Tuesday are limited. I recall lying on a gurney and hearing a nurse say in a far-off, fuzzy voice that she’d given me a sedative—I remember smiling at her quizzically, wondering why on earth she’d sedated me…didn’t she trust me? She grinned back, took my right hand in hers, and mumbled something about an IV...and then there was a pricking sensation…and there it was again…and again…and again. The nurse forced a desperate little smile as she said, “Wow, you have really tough skin! And really tough veins!”
She dropped my right hand with a shrug, and took my left. Aha! I thought to myself, hence the sedatives…

The next thing I remember was waking up with an IV in my left hand (yay! They got it in!) and a massive bandage on my right leg…I always wondered what it would feel like to be an elephant for a day…I think I have a better sense of that now.

Kinda cute, eh? But no thanks, really...

There was a nifty little pump attached to my leg, pumping some type of drug into one of the major nerves, so there was little to no sensation in the leg itself. Thank you, Lord, for technology!

My lovely mother came in from the waiting room (apparently what seemed to me like a few minutes had, in fact, been over four hours—wow! Thank you, Mom!). Boy, was it good to see her!

Shortly after entering the room, however, she sank into a chair, and the blood left her face. “Quick! Get a bed!” the nurses scurried to get her safely aboard one of those comfy racing mattresses with wheels (the kind you only see in hospitals? Doctors must have so much fun vrooming around with those after hours!). Tada!

(They're a lot faster than you'd suspect...I think we had one up to at least 15 mph on the way to the operating room--my nurse had had a bit too much coffee that morning, I'm fairly certain.)

So there we were, parked happily beside each other, Mom trying to regain enough strength to hop out of bed again, and me trying to stop the uncontrollable shaking that is apparently part of coming out from under anesthesia.

We were soon on our way home, but had to make a quick stop at ShopKo to fill some prescriptions. I stayed in the car, because of the elephantine leg syndrome, and also because the multiple tubes/hoses attached to various parts of my body made locomotion a rather cumbersome task. Mom returned a few moments later, and when I asked how it had gone, she told me weakly that she had passed out again in the store. At that point, we both knew that it was more than just a psychological, “my-child-just-had-surgery” type of deal. As we hit the road again, I think we were both praying with everything we had.

“God? If Mom passes out behind the wheel…there’s no way it’s even physically possible for me to get up to the front in time to take over this vehicle...You know that. So we ask for Your protection, Your mercy, Your grace…” Thank You, Lord, for getting us home!

Mom grew progressively weaker throughout the day, and when Dad came home from work, he stayed just long enough to get Mom into the car so they could head to the clinic. As we kids waited and prayed, and waited some more, reports started trickling in. Dad called to say that Mom had passed out again and was being transported to the hospital by ambulance. Nearly an hour later, Mom called—what a trooper! She explained that she had passed out while they were collecting some blood samples for testing, that her blood pressure had dropped to 50/40, and that the doctors had panicked and shipped her over to the hospital. Now they were waiting on test results…suspecting maybe a heart attack, since Mom’s Dad was about her age when he had his first one. I felt my heart sink. Heart attacks? Those happen to other people’s families…why us? Why now?

The waiting went on, and finally, around midnight, Mom and Dad returned home. I don’t know when I’ve been so glad to see two people as I was to see them! Mom said the blood work had tested negative for a heart attack (YES!!!), but that she was frightfully anemic, had a kidney stone, and was battling a mild UTI. Whew. So…it looks like we’ll both be lying low for a week or so…but we’re so excited to all be home! Thank You, Lord, for Your faithfulness and Your mercy!

Dad and I went to my first physical therapy session the day after surgery—so neat to be starting right in on rehab! When all the bandages came off, the knee was so ridiculously swollen it looked more like an overgrown puffball found out in the backyard than anything I’ve ever seen in Kingdom Animalia, but hey, it can only get better from here, I’m thinking…and despite the puffiness, it bends…sort of…which was comforting. Maybe someday, it will return to full bendiness. (As Michelle says, “Now would be good!” You have no idea how good…) But we shall take the slow way and learn things that would have been overlooked on the fast track. ;-)

Mom and I continue to mend well, and the boys have been amazing—so amazing that I think I’m pretty much out of a job once I get back to full capacity. Except for the cooking thing—the boys are forever indebted to all of the gracious people who have brought food and thus spared them the psychological trauma of cooking. Thanks so much to everyone for your prayers, support, and thoughtful contributions! Ya’ll are the best!

Oo, and...I couldn't possibly forget this! Happy Anniversary to my awesome parents, who are celebrating 26 years today! Know it hasn't always been easy (not like your angelic kids would ever have, um, played you off of each other, or anything like that...little brats...*cough*), but just wanted to say that I'm SO proud of you both for your commitment to each other, to making your relationship grow, and for encouraging each other to passionately pursue a living relationship with Christ. I love you!

Snapshots of the Week

A few photos from Trevor's birthday celebration, for a certain dear sister who was over on the other side of the world, and sorta missed the action:

Dad was an eager on-looker for this momentous event...

...as was Josiah...

...and Seth.
(These family gigs require intense concentration...so please, don't break the train of thought)

Since we wanted Trevor to know how cool and awesome we really think he is, while helping him to look suave and classy at the same time, we found him an exciting card with a nifty sticker inside that expressed our feelings precisely...

And then, since one pair of sunglasses is never enough, we gave him another pair of those, too.

The sticker, combined with the sunglasses with the sweet new nose-shield, gave just the effect we were hoping for: smart, exciting, and definitely unique.

This pink doo-hicky-thing is apparently a brilliant newfangled frisbee that flies like nobody's business--playing catch with the neighbor's hyper puppy will take on a whole new dimension...

...of course, there are multiple uses for this new frisbee.

...and my lovely sister-in-law, Raquel, showing that there are at least two different ways to bring a smile to someone's face.

Raquel showing off her baby bump.
Brock, we love you already! :-)

And 'Chelle, we miss you! Lots and lots.