A Divine Intervention

These last few days of my life have been an amazing roller coaster ride. Not in the losing-your-lunch sort of way because who in the world could call that amazing? I’m talking about the are-you-serious, I-am-in-total-disbelief, get-out-of-town kind of way. I just {heart} hyphens - don't you?

Go back with me about two months and you’ll recall an update on how I was able to work out a new schedule at my job. I was ecstatic. It really was a dream come true – to be able to maintain my career in the number-crunching world and still be able to endure enjoy the carline every day at 2:30.

Sure, I still had to get up every morning at 5:15 and make the 30-minute commute with a crabby pre-preschooler {who would also lose a half-hour of his nap when I picked him up early in the afternoon which made for super-fun manic meltdowns on I-85} in order to put in my hours so that I could face aforementioned carline. And although I was working reduced hours, my workload wasn’t decreasing which meant 120% when I was in the office or it went home with me {boo!} Oh and the work….well, let’s just say that it’s not all peaches and petunias in the world of physician finance. It’s a tid bit stressful. Okay, that’s a lie. It’s a whole lotta pressure and anxiety. One might not understand why but just trust me when I say that it is. And once you factor in healthcare reform, the load wasn’t looking any lighter in the foreseeable future.

Reading back over that list, coupled with all the other activities going on in our lives right now, I really shouldn’t wonder where the cardiologist visits came from. It’s pretty clear. Even if it is a technical condition, my lifestyle was clearly exacerbating it. It’s probably no fluke that many of the ‘episodes’ occurred while at my desk. Nope, not when chasing Dayne over, under and through the clothing racks at Target or giving out disciplinary spoons to Dagen for backtalk {yes, Davis gets in trouble, too….every now and then}; instead, they usually came after another ‘long’ day at the office where my task list was long and my fuse was short.

I know, I know. You’re probably wondering when I'm going to get to the amazing ride. Well, that’s the thing. In one person’s eyes, you may not see it as that but it really was an answer to prayer that I hadn’t even prayed. When I got the call about a possible job opening at our church, I immediately thought it wasn’t for me. Not because I didn’t want to work for my church. I mean, come on. I LOVE my church. I have lots of friends who are on staff. I hear about their meetings and they sound NOTHING like mine. Prayer and praise time over cookies and coffee? Huh uh, I'm not familiar.

No, it wasn’t because I didn’t want it. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a combination of two things – 1) I didn’t feel worthy and 2) I didn’t see how it could work out financially.

The first reason is pretty normal, right? How could this large church want me on their team? It was an honor I felt I didn’t deserve. To join such an awesome team seemed out of my reach. However, after lots of time alone with the Lord and prayers for discernment, I felt such a peace about the decision. It was like God was reminding me that I don’t always have to ask for blessings before He will give them to me. He knows us better than we do which means He knows what is best for us. Isn’t that comforting?

And then there’s that second reason that’s a bit on the silly, superficial side - finances. How could I go from senior rank in the corporate world to a position in the church and still make ends meet? Don’t be misguided – we don’t live this superstar lifestyle that I felt we needed to maintain. In fact, that just gave me quite a chuckle. Seriously, though. We have what I would consider a modest house {that just happens to be in a very nice subdivision and which we bought at a great price}, we drive cars that are making some very noticeable noises when going through the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru {ahem, husband – please take note} and, since I just mentioned fast food, we rarely eat out unless we either have a coupon in hand or it’s a kids-eat-free promotion. Instead of purchasing new, when possible, we hold out for a deal on Craigslist or at Goodwill. Our date nights consist of a Netflix movie and Japanese take-out. Don't be jealous.

Now don’t hear what I’m not saying because I am not even trying to brag. We aren’t always smart with our spending habits, either, but we really do try and be good stewards with what God has blessed us and have, just this year, increased our offerings above our normal tithes each month. So after working the numbers out for a few days after this opportunity came about, it’s like it all mysteriously fit together. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I’ve heard the saying, ‘You can’t outgive God’ and I am seeing it in living color. I also just read somewhere that if it is God’s vision, He will show provision.

Obviously I took the job. I mean, there is no question in my heart that this was from the Lord, which excites me even more. For those that don’t know the logistics, our church is 5 minutes from our house, Dagen & Davis’ elementary school, Dallas’ school and Dayne’s new preschool. The close proximity will allow me to still pick them up every day and, for that, I am so grateful. Sadly {insert sarcasm}, I will be saying farewell to the long commute with flying books, rising gas prices and Dictator Dayne who doesn’t understand why I can’t just snap my fingers and make Mandisa’s ‘Stronger’ song cue up on the radio every morning and afternoon. Oh yes, I’ll miss those times…PSYCH.

As my friends, please pray with me during this transition. I really did/do love my job working with physicians but am grateful for the chance to serve my church in this capacity. I just hope that I can bless those that I will work with, that I will become an integral part of the staff, that I will bring useful talents and traits to my team and that, above all, I will honor and glorify Jesus. After all, I’m just along for this amazing ride.

*Ready for a ‘crazy’ example of provision? I have unclaimed property in Missouri. Not like a piece of farm land but some overpayment of a utility bill or something that warrants them to send me a refund of about $100 that I just found out about today. YES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!! {thanks, CS!}

Me and My Big Mouth

Remember the awesome fanny pack that I was prescribed? Well, I am happy to report that a) I am done wearing it and b) I managed to not drop it {or all its little plugs and wires} into the toilet. That in and of itself is a huge PRAISE. And now for the results….

Okay, before I tell you what Yogi said, I have to tell you that this was just another humorous visit. Not because of what the doc said but because of my sick lil’ sidekick that escorted me this morning.

Thanks to an annoying little cough and a sudden fever {remember how I had just bragged on our health?!?}, I didn’t have any choice but to take Dayne with me this morning. And {insert sarcasm} boy was that fun and exciting.

When we first walked in to the doctor’s office to check in, I honestly wondered if they were offering a 2-for-1 Senior Citizen special because there was no one under the age of 55. Now, I’m not hatin’ on the oldies; however, when I’m rolling in with a little guy bearing a big cough, I don’t get the Goo Goo Grandma looks – I get the Mean ‘Ole Margaret looks. It’s like they left their compassionate red hats at home or something….

And when I say big cough, I mean BIG cough – the kind that sounds like he’s hacking up a hairball {and since he has no problems eating off a floor, it’s quite possible}. It also didn’t help that Dayne just frowned at the first lady that would even give him the time of day. Seriously, kid. You’re not helping the cause.

After we got called back to the room and my stats were taken, we waited. And waited. And waited. Since Dayne being with me was not so much planned, I had limited forms of entertainment to keep him happy. All I could conjure up in a pinch from the backseat of our car was a book with many rips, a package of wipes, a couple of broken crayons and a dried up container of Floam. We looked through all the pictures and tried our hand at some toddler-type games on my iPhone but he wasn’t interested. My normal go-to with the boys, especially Dayne, is food. However, all I could find was two red-and-green peanut M&Ms in the bottom of my purse.

Obviously after waiting about 30 minutes, we were both getting restless. I may have mumbled a question to myself but fortunately Yogi arrived a moment later. Unfortunately, it happened to come right after said conversation with self which apparently was overheard because when the doctor said, ‘Good morning, Mrs. Darnell,’ my sweet son said, ‘What took so long?’ Note to self - Dayne has no filter.

After we reviewed my results, he informed me that I do have PVC’s – premature ventricular contractions. Basically that means that my ventricles contract first which then makes the circulation inefficient. Bored yet?

The good news is that I’m not crazy AND I’m not at risk for heart attack or stroke. However, the bad news is that there is nothing they can do. He told me that typically he would put a patient on a beta-blocker medication to help but apparently those meds lower blood pressure and, because mine is already very low, it would do more harm than good. He confirmed that some things do exacerbate these PVCs, namely smoking, alcohol and stress. Since I only struggle with 1 out of the 3, I should be in good shape right?

I’m sure he had to laugh a little on the inside. Here he is telling me that the best way to control these episodes is to reduce my stress while, at the same time, Dayne is repeatedly telling me that he has to poop and that he wants to go home and watch Mickey Mouse and that he's hungry. Obviously I would love to eliminate stress and I am actually very fortunate to have some changes coming that will help in a BIG way but there are some that cannot be controlled which means I just have to deal with the icky feeling I get when the episodes come over me. Oh and he did say I should increase my salt intake. I guess that helps. Of course, in my mind I’m immediately thinking, ‘But then I’ll end up a water buffalo from the water retention.’ I chose to keep that thought silent.

All in all, I’m very thankful for the diagnosis. It could have been much worse. I won’t lie – a part of me was hoping some miracle drug would fix it all but I’m good with this. My trust is in Jesus and I just have to work harder at simplifying my life and surrendering daily.

Oh but the funnies weren’t over when we left. As we’re walking down the hallway to the check out desk, something caught my attention and I looked away from Dayne. MONUMENTAL MISTAKE. When I turned around, he was opening a door to another patient room. Luckily, I did not make eye contact with whoever was in there because I might have fainted right there and it wouldn’t have had anything to do with PVCs.

Just as I thought my mortifying moments had ended for the morning, Dayne proved me wrong. As we made our way out to the parking lot, a cute old lady was sitting in a wheelchair waiting for someone to pick her up. As we passed by, she waved at Dayne. He didn’t wave back. Instead he stared and, unlike me, didn’t keep his thoughts to himself. He said, ‘Why you have those things in your nose? What are those?’ As luck would have it, she couldn’t understand him but I did. Loud and clear.

Nope, never a dull moment. Oh and in case you were wondering….

Yes, I fed him the Christmas candy and no, I don’t wonder why he’s sick right now.

The Same One

Davis: ‘Daddy, what’s for dinner?’
Dayne: 'I'll tell you what's for dinner. A punch in the face. That's what.'

I’m sorry. What has happened here? When did my little boy turn into a mouthy little monster?

In case you didn’t know, that was a hypothetical. I know what happened. It’s the same thing that has happened with all my boys. Their 'goob' of a father…..

…the same one that forces me to call a weekly Pantry Pow-Wow for the two of us to discuss his recent pile driver technique on the boys.

…the same one I have to remind that hitting soccer balls with the baseball bat in the dining room is probably not a good idea.

…the same one that has taught them how to make their spit stretch to the ground.


However, this man is also

…the same one that plays baseball/soccer/football/kickball/Nerf guns with these boys EVERY.SINGLE.DAY until it’s dark and/or his shoulder/knee/thumb is aching.

…the same one that thoroughly enjoys eating popcorn and watching silly movies with them.

…the same one that reminds them daily who they are in the eyes of Jesus, not the world, and encourages them to be different.

I don’t deserve such a man but am extremely thankful nonetheless. I just pray my boys grow up to be the same kind of 'goobs' as their daddy.

Ballin' It Up

Check out these super-short videos of my little ballers.



The Firstborn Son



Big Dave

Let me just tell you that, for me, there is nothing quite like watching my boys play ball. I love watching them have fun and they're pretty good at it. It used to be 'cute' to watch but now that it's getting a little more competitive {they actually keep score}, it's really exciting.

Proud mommy right here....

Bless His Heart

Have you ever heard someone say ‘Bless your heart?’ I hear it all the time and even find myself saying it, too. I’d like to preface this post with this little tidbit. I recently listened to a podcast from Craig Groeschel {have you heard of him? He is pretty fantastic!} and he equated the saying of, ‘Bless your heart’ to, ‘You’re a ding-dong.’ Actually, I think he used ‘idiot’ but I’ll go with ‘ding-dong’ since I’m working really hard to live out Ephesians 4:29 in my daily life and ding-dong doesn't sound nearly as ugly. Anyway, keep that in mind.


For those that don't know, Dallas grew up in the country on five acres of land. And then when we moved to South Carolina, our first house that we bought came with nearly a full acre. However, in this new pad, our outdoor space is limited. We basically traded our lot for convenience. I, for one, think it was a great swap and I know Dallas does, too, but our backyard really is ridiculously small and, paired with a ginormous deck {which holds a hot tub that we do not even use}, it doesn’t leave much room for the boys to run around.

Do you think that holds Dallas and his posse back? Let me help you here. The answer is no.

About a month ago, I peeked out in to the garage and found Dallas digging through his mess of tools. He looked a lot like a little boy who was gathering supplies for his secret hide-out. Bless his heart. When I asked what he was doing, he told me he was building a field goal post for the back yard.

I’m sorry. Come again? Because, for a minute, I thought you said something about a field goal post in our back yard. But then he followed with, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it down every night.’ Oh, well then, that makes me feel so much better.

Bless his heart.

A few minutes later, I look out into our pint-sized back yard and see that MacGuyver Dallas has managed to turn two shelving brackets and a bungee cord into a contraption with which my boys kick a football through. Nice, BigD. Real classy. Although I will give him an A for the ingenuity, I was still not sold. The good news is that he did not try to replicate one he saw in BiLo that was constructed from PVC pipes and spray-painted a nice shade of neon yellow. You know, if I’m going to look at the bright side….

And, as it is with everything else, the boys have moved on from being professional field goal kickers and the bungee shelves have not made an appearance in a good while. Thank goodness. Oh but not because they chose to spend some time working on Legos or playing a nice, quiet game of Scrabble Junior. They’re still outside in that itty bitty back yard but now they’ve become spectators to Dallas’ latest project – a tree house. Honestly, this man that I married cannot be still for five minutes. He has to be doing something all the time. Bless his heart. I sure do love that man but are we not busy enough?

I’m really not even sure how the idea of a tree house came about. My guess is that Dallas muttered something about a tree house, Dagen overheard him {because he has developed this knack for hanging on to every word out of our mouths – selectively, of course} and rallied the troops around the concept. The next thing I know, Dallas is talking with our neighbor across the street who happens to possess some serious wood-working skills and, 24 hours later, we had a detailed floor plan drawn out on notebook paper. This is no ordinary tree house, mind you. In fact, there’s not even a tree involved so I guess it’s more of a fort but with all the bells and whistles. It will be like the Biltmore Estate of forts.

All I know is that after this is done, they had better spend some quality time in it. In case you didn’t know, wood and hardware is NOT cheap. And, although I try not to dwell on the past, we did buy a very nice swing set just before Dayne was born {which may or may not have been a bribe to the older boys in exchange for their word that they would not use him as a human bowling ball until he was old enough to decide for himself} and they were over it in just a few days. Seriously, it took Dallas longer to assemble that swing set BY HIMSELF {remember, I was pregnant and when I’m with child, I am useless}. I just hope this keeps their attention a bit longer. I'm keeping my expectations low in an effort to be plesantly surprised.

Stay tuned.

Goodbye HRA, Hello Payment Plan

Have you ever been sitting in the doctor’s office and felt like you could hear the sound of money running out of your checking account? I felt that way this morning. And, for once, it wasn’t in our pediatrician’s office. This was actually a visit for Mommy…..with a cardiologist…..that included a ‘to-go’ monitor. Now are you hearing those cha-chings?

You see, a few months ago I started having some weird symptoms but since I tend to second guess myself {and like to see just how high I can bank my HRA}, I blew them off until it got to be too much. When you’re driving down the interstate and start to feel like you might black out, it’s probably time to get checked. Or so says my husband.

So, a couple of days before Christmas, I went in and saw a family practice physician. We ran through my symptoms – heart palpitations, lightheadedness, difficulty breathing. We talked through some of it because I had convinced myself that it was anxiety {and am still wondering if I’m right – in which case I might ask for a refund and enroll in medical school}. Anyway, he wanted to be safe and hooked me up to the EKG machine. The results showed some arrhythmia which I’m told would explain some of my symptoms. The next step was to get a referral to a cardiologist. {insert dark music}

A week later I met with a cardio guy {with the first name of Yogi – how I made it through without asking where Boo-Boo was remains a mystery}. We went through the same set of questions only he wanted to know more. I thought I’d log this conversation because it was comical to me. Granted, this may have been a ‘you had to have been there’ moment but whatever. It’s my blog and I’ll laugh alone if I wanna.

Dr. H: Hello Mrs. Darnell. I’m Yogi ________.
Me: {ahem} Nice to meet you.
Dr. H: Tell me what’s been going on.
Me: {Read above – not him, YOU}
Dr. H: And how long has this been going on?
Me: {Also above if you’re paying attention}
Dr. H: Let’s talk about your everyday. Do you smoke?
Me: Nope.
Dr. H: Drink?
Me: Would that help?
Dr. H : Do you have children?
Me: Yes.
Dr. H: How many?
Me: Three boys.
Dr. H: Well, we can stop right there. That can explain anyone’s problems away. Now let’s move on to family history. Any heart problems for Mom?
Me: I don’t know. We don’t talk much.
Dr. H: Dad?
Me: I don’t know. We’ve never talked.
Dr. H: Grandparents?
Me: Dead
Dr. H: Alright then. This conversation is going well.

I’ll give it to the guy. Ole’ Yogi has a sense of humor which I don’t see all that often in this profession. He did a little examination but it doesn’t help much when these palpitations that seem to trigger the other symptoms are not an everyday occurrence. Because of that, he sent me home with a 48-hour Holter monitor that I could not take off. Not even to shower which was just gross. However, they did tell me that I could ‘sponge bath.’ Right. And how exactly does one do that and actually feel clean?

Oh and the best part about my little electronic friend? He came in a….wait for it…..FANNY PACK. I wore a flippin’ fanny pack for 2 days {working days, I might add}. Um, hello? The last time I wore a fanny pack was in the 4th grade, it was pink and Joey McIntyre’s face was on the front of it. This, my friends, was not that cool….and I’m not nine years old. On the other hand, I knew that if I didn’t wear it, I would have ultimately owned it from dropping it in the toilet. Conformity at its best.

Fast forward three weeks. After I wore that dumb monitor, all along trying to hide the ridiculousness of its carrying case, wouldn’t you know, I didn’t experience one ‘episode.’ Naturally. So I went back in this morning for the results to which I was not surprised at all. They saw a few skipped beats but nothing to be concerned over. I told him that the episodes are so random and I can’t correlate it with anything but to say that they just come and go. I actually expected him to tell me that I was cuckoo and that I just need to simplify my life and relax. For the record, that feedback wouldn’t have gone over well as my million-dollar-diagnosis because how exactly does one just wake up and choose that path?

Instead, he informed me that we had to keep digging for the answer and that would require – you guessed it – another monitor. Only this one stays on for a month. And, according to the technician that suited me up, it transmits directly to the company who then will call me if they receive a ‘bad’ signal at which time they’ll tell me to go to the ER or call my doctor. As much as I want to get to the bottom of this issue, I’m not looking for one of those phone calls. I mean, who wants to hear, ‘Hello, Mrs. Darnell? This is ABC Heart Monitor Company. You’re about to have a heart attack/stroke/aneurysm. Please proceed to the nearest hospital.’ Just sayin.’ Send me an email, Toots.

Now, before you start thinking of how nasty my pits will smell from the 30-day timeframe, I will have you know that I can remove this contraption for a quick shower. That was definitely a deal breaker. And, although this monitor isn’t strapped to a string around my waist, it is riding in a holster-type carrier that makes me feel like I should be able to draw it out like a gun and taze someone. Seriously, in this day and age, can they design a monitor that is not as big as a 1998 cell phone strapped to my belt loop? I’ll add that to my comments and suggestions when I ship this bad boy back.

Don’t get me wrong – I know it could be worse. We’re not talking hospital bills, just physician and diagnostic charges, but those alone are probably going to run the same as a year’s worth of car payments….except I don’t get a new car, just a monthly invoice with Yogi’s name on it.

And since I’m turning my glass over, I’m going to reflect on the fact that we have not graced the doors of the pediatrician since May {with the exception of a round of flu shots}. So far, our little people have managed to avoid the typical stomach bug and strep throat mess. In my opinion, we’ve had our fair share for the last seven straight years. We were due a break.

So, all in all, I can’t complain….except I just did about 72 times, huh? It’s not me, it’s Manny the Monitor.

Justifying My Guilt

NOTE: Roll your cursor over to the right hand side, scroll down a hair and pause the music so that you can hear the videos.

Captions really aren’t necessary for these videos. It’s just Dayne being super cute. I choose to remember these moments over the ones where he is pitching his two-year-old tantrums in an effort to show me who’s boss {and some days I actually wonder that myself}.

And, no, we aren’t always in the car…..it’s just when he’s at his peak of CUTE. That, and when he’s nestled, all snug in his bed….those are extra sweet moments. And he's only cute in the car when books aren't flying at my head. Just to clarify because that is NOT cute.








Alright. Let’s go ahead and address the elephant in this cyber room. Yes, it is true. I post a lot of videos of Dayne. Maybe you’re wondering if I’m still the mom of three. I will assure you that I am but, before you start judging me, let’s get something straight. When Dagen was born, I had LOADS of time {even though I didn’t even realize it}. PSA for one-child parents – if you plan to have more, this IS your free time. Enjoy it. It only vanishes from here.

Ahem, so, because of all that ‘free time,’ Dagen has three elaborate scrapbooks that one day he will appreciate.

When Big Dave came along, the schedules got busier and middle son only has two scrapbooks {but more like pictures on paper} to someday cherish. Are you seeing a theme here?

When sweet little Dayne made a surprise entrance almost three years ago, I was dealing with one boy starting school, one boy mastering the art of potty training and one husband who returned to the basketball court as Coach. There was ZERO time to pull out my stickers, glue dots and stamps and record his first two years. Wait, I take that back. He has two pages – his birth and his first bath. Because that first bath is really a monumental step in his walk of life?!?

Anyway, my point is that this blog is his scrapbook and, at this point in our lives, he’s lucky to have that. I rarely find time to blog anymore, even with my new schedule, but try to jot down a few things, snap a few pictures and tape some footage of his third-child-awesomeness. That, my friends, is why he makes the blog a little more than the others. I may not have all of his statistics or when he first walked and talked but I'd like to think he'd prefer to hear his precious singing over that other 'stuff' anyway. Uh huh, I'm justifying my slack. And it's actually helping the guilt.

Besides, if I posted everyday videos of Dagen and Davis, you would be appalled at how many times they pass gas from one end or the other in a 30-second-interval. If you think I'm kidding, come spend an hour with me. I dare you. And if they're not having fun with flatulence, they're 'stealing' Dayne's buttcrack, throwing it on the front porch and laughing while they watch their baby brother search for it. Where did they come from?!?

That's all for tonight, friends. I hear Dayne screaming from a closet and lots of snickers from the peanut gallery. I'm off to do a search and rescue. Just one more on the long list of Mommy duties.