Starting small to becoming something big

I am blessed with a big family.

So big that my great nieces and nephews are just as important

to me as my first generation ones are.

Today I want to brag on the great nephew on the

left of this photo.

This is Hugh John Plaisance,

My sister, Veronica's grandson, My niece Rebecca and

her hubby, Mikie's first born,

Older brother to Lucy, Owen, and Ellen.

Today he is my spotlight guest on the blog.

Not just for the awards he recently won at

a competition for his college, Nicholl's State University.

Also because of how he started his life.

My niece, his Mom, Rebecca had a hard pregnancy 

with this child from the minute she found out she

was pregnant. No details are needed here, just

know it was a hard pregnancy.

When she went into labor way too early,

I think at 27 weeks, we all gathered at the hospital.

I can remember it like yesterday.

We gathered for my sister and hubby,

we gathered for her in-laws but mostly 

we gathered to each silently pray for a miracle.

When you know a full term pregnancy is 40 weeks

and here is a little Momma threatening to deliver

at a little more than half that time, you pray... big...

For a few days on bedrest in hospital and meds,

they were able to hold off his delivery for a few days

but then came the day that nothing was going to stop his

birth. Where all our thoughts were at the time, we have

not all shared but I know I was there to support my sister 

and brother in law and my niece and nephew in case 

this child would be lost to them.

The labor began and the doctors and nurses began

to prepare us all. "He will be small" he said.

"He will not cry" she said,

"If he makes the delivery, he will probably be on life support"

they told us. 

we were prepared mentally, yet all our hearts were wearing our sleeves.

It became very real to me as my sister came out her

own daughters delivery room crying and reminding us

"I know we are all worried about this little baby, but that

is my baby in there who is about to become a Mother 

and suffering" Having my own children, I could understand

my sister's pain. We all stood around the

delivery room when we knew that baby boy was

coming, we could hear doctors, nurses, we never heard

my niece make a sound nor her husband who was probably 

whispering in her ear, "We got this"

It got very quiet at one point, quiet for those standing

around the door, quiet in the delivery room and after a few

minutes we all heard it, the small soft cry.....

of an under 2 pound baby boy. 

We all joined that cry. 

What transpired from that time to the age he is now

is one that could be written into a book.

He fought to live in the NICU,

my niece made the hospital hotel her home.

her Hubby joined her most days when not at work.

It was touch and go for days.

My niece would visit, touch him, cuddle him, read to him,

play classic music, whisper and sing to him.

He did not just survive he flourished.

Throughout his life, he has had some tough issues he

had to overcome yet he could not have been born to better 

parents. They, both being very smart, did and learned all

they could about premature babies. 

If you looked up patience in the dictionary, you might

just see their names there. 

this child has always been a super smart one when it came

to common sense and understanding things that

most children his age just would not understand.

I always use the story about when I visited him

at Christmas time when he was under three.

We were playing with his family nativity set

and i wrongly called one of the statues a Wise Man.

"Aunt Lil, he is not a Wise Man, do you see him

carrying any gifts, do you see any Frankincense, gold, or Myrrh?"

Yes, this two year old knew more about wise men than

his aunt Lil. In his early years, we had a close bond and

I would like to think, even if I rarely see him now

that he is a young adult, he still feels that bond as I do.

Yesterday as I sat at 4 am to check out what is going on in my

world via facebook, I come across the photo of my

nephew all grown up, making his way into the journalism part

of his college, having won not only an award with his

peers for the work they have done for their college newspaper,

4th place in Best College News Magazine,

where Hugh is the managing Editor 

but bringing home his own personal award,

third place for his Op-Ed writing!

how proud we all are of him is an understatement.

For those that worked hard for him throughout these years,

his parents, himself, I applaud you all.

In my eyes this child is a miracle. So many warned

us of just how much he may never gain for his early birth,

he has proved them all wrong. Partly, I believe because

everyone who has loved him refused to not only label him

this way but didn't tell him what was expected.

He was always told he could achieve anything he wanted.

He has not always worked to his full potential in the eyes of

others but I know that he has always worked

up to what was important to him. He has made his own timeline.

This young man, who his Aunt Lil has trouble seeing him 

all grown instead of that little baby that fit in the palm of

his Daddy's hand,

is going places. In his own time he will make a difference in 

this world. I hope when he looks back on his life,

he remembers auntie Lil who has been in his "village" 

since the day we knew he was coming.

I love you, Hughbee and am so very proud of not

only these awards but all you possess inside that 

tall, lovely frame of yours.

Keep on writing and show the world the other side of

the norm, continue to pass on your knowledge to the World

just as you did at two when you taught me

the difference between a Shepard and a Wise Man.

Weather persons OR Whether persons.

I know it has to be a challenge to try and

make sense of weather changes, especially in 

South Louisiana. You can go from a thick, lined coat

one hour, to shorts the next.

I get it, its hard.

Yet, Weather people, well they go to college to 

be able to read these computer readings 

that are probably printed for them in the morning.

On Tuesday they announced the terrible weather

coming, Possible tornado's, hard rains, thunder.

All the alerts were posted for the cold front.

We were going to go from 70 something degrees,

to the 40's over a few hours.

So I await the bad weather. 

David came in yesterday so I knew he would be

traveling in this stuff so I reminded

him to be careful, "It's going to be bad"...

.... and it wasn't. The wind blew, there were drizzles,

and this morning, Evidently we missed the hit.

There was little rain, nothing serious and

this morning it is quite cooler.

So much for all the warnings, lol.

Really this is not a complaint post,

it is all a set up to something Dad used

to say when we were younger and watching the news.

"Lil, you know why they call them weather men?"

Nope Dad...

"Because they never know whether it was going to rain,

snow, be sunny...."

OH my Dad, sometimes he cracked the best little sayings

to make him laugh, telling it with a straight face.

I must be lonesome for this Dad of mine!

Enjoy the cooler weather my friends,

we don't know whether it will be here tomorrow!

MY DAD'S WAR

World War II was a hard time for Dad and men and women of those times.

They were "War heroes" when they returned after the battle 

unlike most of the Vietnam Vets who were treated

 as the problem, such as my brother, Peter. However the Vietnam generation

 looked at war differently then in World WarII.

Even if you had lost a brother, cousins and multiple friends

 you were the lucky one if you came home and you rarely spoke about it.

 Celena does not remember any stories my dad ever told of World War II.

While she visited with me last week I shared

  with her the stories Dad told me about being in the war.

 I do not know why he told them to me nor do I know when he told them to me. 

I just know that sometime in my life, he told and

 they were his stories. 

Perhaps he shared some of them with me

 as I lay in a bed at five years old so sick that he actually thought

I may die. Or maybe he saw me as fighting my own war 

 when the doctor said, "bring her home 

and if she still alive in three months bring her back." 

Maybe for him this was harder than what he battled in the war.

Today, I will share one of these memories from Dad.

 Daddy explained that during his time in battle he and his platoon

 had a mission to blowup a small village. He and his comrades believed that the 

mission was a success as the whole village was eerily quiet and smoke filled the area.

 He told this story with little emotion, robotic. I took this to believe that you

 could not think of it as a human thing but a mission as you had just took part in

something you did not personally condone,

 death by your hands. He had taken part in wiping out a small community.

 However, very shortly, for him this particular war tactic would became very personal.

 My Momma was pregnant for one of my siblings, with one of his children.     

 Just as he and his platoon began to leave, one soldier heard a baby crying.

 He and his battalion began searching this fire blazed area filled with smoke

 to find this child. After some time,
 they finally approached, among many dead, a small infant.
He did not share much about the baby's condition except to say
 that this baby was not well but still crying.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

My Dad knew that this child was not going to live
and he also knew that there was no way
he could bring the child with him.

 I can't even imagine the personal war each of these men must have fought

internally between their hearts and heads. Just the thought of this seems like 

one of the worst battles he and his peers faced.

Dad went on with the story, he and his army buddies

 put the baby under a tree where they had no choice but to leave it.

There was silence all the way back to their safety area.

Sometime after what this war considered a successful attack 

my Mother gave birth to his child.

 The one who was safe back in Golden Meadow and far away from the

danger of war. Yet, his torment continued as

as each time their own infant would cry,

 his very own flesh and blood,

the child that he and my Mama had prayed for, 

it was not his baby but the baby under a tree that he remembered.

 He kept this to himself as his child and family grew to be 7 children.

Somehow he felt like he wanted to share such a horrific story with me. 

Maybe, as I have said before,

 it was told during one of those long nights in the hospital where I received

treatment and we often fell asleep hearing babies cry for their parents.

 Back in 1968 in a hospital children's ward, parents were not allowed

 to stay with their sick children. My parents found this unacceptable and

 never left me. After visiting hours, 

one of them would reenter the waiting area to spend the night with me. 

After I was settled, He rocked many crying babies in that ward.

I want to believe this gained him some peace from the horrors of a war 

he was called to fight to keep our Country free. 

This story and others he told me through my growing up years was a rare thing.  

He just did not talk about the War. I do believe it is why I

feel such patriortism to whoever is President. Why each time I stand for The Star Spangled Banner, hand over heart, I sing and get teary-eyed. 

War is never pretty and so many have given so much so we can live free. 

I know many of my siblings have either never heard some of the stories

 or they have forgotten. 

Maybe he shared them with me because

 in that dark hospital ward, hearing so many children cry 

brought this one such story up from a deep place in his soul to the surface. 

Perhaps he subconsciously knew that I would share it one day 

in the way I share so many other stories of my life.

Whatever the reason, this is my thoughts about differences between Vietnam War

 and those Wars that came before it. 

Whether these men and women soldiers were recognized 

as hero's or never received that recognition, the personal war

 inside themselves that they battled throughout their lives, 

 that they all had to live with molded them into who they were

for the rest of their days.

War is never pretty for those who were called or chose to serve,

Nor for those left behind at home who love them.

I praise you always.

THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME...

   Long before I learned of Wizard of Oz, in following the yellow brick road, I learned 

what it meant to follow the yellow line. In the children's ward, following the "yellow line" 

was not a brick road that led you to a wonderful Wizard. Instead it led you to blood 

 tests, needles and smells of alcohol. The red line led you to Xrays and radiation tables

 where you could not move while your skin became seared like wood left from a house

 fire. The "blue line" led you to inpatient, where you didn’t yet understand how an IV 

was going to give you poison chemicals that would not just kill cancer cells but also

  those cells that were made to help you grow into a healthy young child, those that 

were meant to see you into adulthood. I always have loved Wizard of OZ, many do.

 My infatuation came from the courage of Dorothy. Like me, she was thrown into a

 world of the unknown. She did not know she would encounter the land of Munchkin 

land, where she would continue her journey with only her trusted ToTo along.

 She bravely continued on the path to find a Scarecrow without brains, a Tin Man

without a heart and a Cowardly Lion who needed courage. Again, like Dorothy, I had no 

choice on the path that cancer led me to. Yet, because of this road, I learned empathy 

for the other children in this “Munchkin Land” who were fighting for life.

“Chemo brain” is now a known side effect of receiving chemotherapy. In 1968  it was 

not yet understood. Like the Scarecrow, I tried my best to learn all I could, to overcome

the things that were hard for me to learn and in that process I learned more than the

average child. Not about History or Geography, not about Math but about thoughts and

feelings, pain and healing, well beyond my years. Like the Tin man, I found a heart, not 

made bigger because of the medications given to me but because I saw tears and love

for people I barely knew. I understood tears were not always for sad times but also for  

the news that a child was going home, that cancer had been eliminated from the 

family’s world. I overcame a shyness and advanced to understanding a love so deep

 that it sometimes meant parents went home forever without their child so as not to 

watch them suffer from a disease they could not overcome. Last of all, came the 

courage. Courage like the Lion. I did not have a choice to say no to what lay ahead. 

Instead I tried not to cry as much when I went into treatment without my parents.. I 

tried hard to be brave even though I was “afraid of spooks”. When I could not go home 

for twelve weeks, I realized like Dorothy, I needed all these things I endured so that I 

too, could follow the yellow path that would make my road home possible. I like to 

think, because of this unorthodox childhood, Dorothy and I had a lot of things in 

common. All these elements, The Brain, the Heart, the Courage I received over the 

years made me similar to Dorothy. These are the elements that have made me into the

whole woman I am today. It was many years before I made this comparison between

 myself and the Wizard of Oz. Each year I watched this classic movie at my Aunt Lee 

Lee's home. It was a yearly event that included a sleepover at her home, the same 

 home my Mother grew up in. Back in those years a show was watched once a year. 

Each year as I watched, when Technicolor added such a vibrance to the film, I gained 

understanding about myself. I had all these traits Dorothy possessed, those she 

gathered on her journeyed to 0z. Although she had all her faith in the Wizard to get 

her home, neither of us needed the magic of a wizard to realize that not only would we

 eventually go home, that as she clicked her heels three times, I waited twelve weeks 

but we both would understand the meaning of

"THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME!

3

smart phones and texting...

I may be known as the Worlds Worst Texter, 

if there is such a thing.....

Or the World's best...

I am a fast typer, so texting comes easy to me,

what does not come easy is that because

I do it quickly. most of my words are not typed 

correctly and auto correct changes my words.

My speed may be why I may be the best at it,

but not rereading my texts makes most of them

something the receiver has to try and guess what I am saying.

If you have texted with me for a while,

you get used to the fact that

"living" Is "Loving"

"live" is "love"

I mean I know where the letters are but why

indeed is the I right next to the O???

So when I text "I live you"

know I am saying I love you....

It's a curse and a blessing this auto correcting

and being my friend with whom I text to.

I know my two besties, Laurie and Ann secretly have

to laugh about how they have to always guess what I

am trying to say. Because they are my besties,

they also know I probably have not read all their texts

before my own answer making my text probably

not making sense to the new topic at hand for which

they change often. ('live' you two...lol)

David, being my newest text friend,

rarely asks what I am trying to say, he just reads those

long texts and tries to figure out what I am saying.

Probably because he is too polite to say,

"What the hell are you trying to say?"

Last week though, there were texts we were sharing 

back and forth, an important topic to us,

and he actually had to say,

"I did not understand that last text"

Kudo's to you David for admitting that. 

My answer back to him....

"My smart phone is so smart it knows what I want to say

even when i don't" 

So that is my analogy of my texting talent.

If you can figure out what my smart phone tells me I am

saying, you are smarter than my phone.

BUT, if you have the courage to say,

"I do not know what the heck you are saying"

Well, that makes you one brave soul.

All kidding aside, I apologize to all of those with whom 

I text regularly for not reading what I am sending before 

I press that "send" button.

My goal from now on is to try and slow down a tad,

reread before sending and maybe, just maybe,

I will try and readALL the texts that come before my 

own so that at least the context will be correct

as my Smart  phone continues to figure me out.

Patience is the key when dealing with my terrible texting habits.

Love y'all.....

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em....

Although most know when grand girls come

here we don't watch much tv and only get on 

Ipads at night or first thing in the morning.

As Jilly told me her Daddy said that is like

her cup of coffee...

I like that analogy.

I know its a different world they live in

and I know that technology, internet, game playing 

on Ipads is and will be in their lives.

Kudo's to their parents and Guilbeaux grandparents

for making sure what they are on is safe and 

monitored. 

That sets up where I am going with this blog.

Jilly and JoJo love Roblox.

A game where you can go into different places

and play with others.

Two night ago, Sunday, Jilly face timed me and

asked me to play roblox with her.

One, I love that now at 8, she can FaceTime me

when she is on her iPad. I love that I actually have

a Roblox account because of them.

So she is at her home and I at mine, we

minimize our FaceTime but stay connected

and we play Farm land Roblox together.

Yes, I may be too old to be playing games but

she loves teaching me as she goes along,

building her farm. I get to see JoJo and Jemma

on FaceTime as they come in to talk and watch

us play. A new connection with the grandgirls.

I always remind them, listen to Momma and Daddy's rules

and don't give Mom no trouble or I will stop playing with

her. I also have found myself, even after she tells me 

goodnight, I continue to play. It has taught me how

to grow crops, take care of the animals I buy by 

selling the fish I catch or the gardening I do.

It really is a site that teaches some responsibilities to

children. Not all Roblox sites are like this, 

but this one is fun and more so because I get to 

share a little time with the girls even when they are not here.

So, if you are looking for a way to  mix

into the world of the children of this era, 

look into this. I am beginning to look forward

to the FaceTime calls saying,

"Mumsie, if Momma lets, can we play Roblox?"

Yes, my sweet girls, when I can I will. 

 ( photos I accidentally took while she was teaching me... I am

a novice, I have lots to learn from them)