Harlan Place

It’s been a while since I’ve posted. A great deal has happened since our delightful little trip to San Francisco (good to know I haven’t lost my sarcasm, eh?)

First things first … Lane and Joshua and I are expecting a new addition to our little family. I’m a little over 2 months pregnant. New life is such a blessing! Of course, the first trimester isn’t always a picnic, and the biggest reason I haven’t updated our website since the trip is that I’ve been battling morning sickness and dizziness. But I’m back online now, ready to update you all on the latest…

We had a wonderful Christmas. Santa (and the grandparents!) brought Joshua some super-cool toys. An indoor roller coaster, a ride-on train, a kids-size inflatable trampoline jumper, a mini indoor swing/slide set, and of course an assortment of noisy toys (from his uncle) and board books (from his aunts)… he’s one lucky little man!

After Christmas, we had our fill of a different assortment of surprises. You know… in a way, it’s almost a blessing when bad things happen during the Christmas season. The miracle of Christ’s birth is at the forefront of your mind, and your heart is filled with joy and hope. It is this Christmas hope that we have clung to this week.

Without getting into the gory details, I’ll just share that serious complications with my pregnancy resulted in hospitalization this week, and although I was discharged, the complications remain as an ever-present threat to my health and our baby’s life. I’ve been placed on strict bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy, in hopes that the condition does not worsen and that the baby and I will win this fight.

We are trusting and believing in God’s faithfulness, and are excited to experience the fullness of his grace and mercy as we fight (and beat!) the odds that threaten to endanger us.

Please join us as we pray and believe that God is in control.

Alright, so San Francisco and I didn’t get off on the best foot. I may have become a little disgruntled during the loooong flight and started off a little critical of S.F. But c’mon … if I complained about your cheese, would you poison me?? Turns out the only great “San Francisco treat” I received was a good dose of food poisoning (or some other equally horrific attack). It was sudden and violent when it hit - I really thought I might die, and definitely wished I would. But mercifully, it passed. And the next morning, the only worse thing imaginable happened - Joshua’s symptoms set in. I couldn’t imagine the torment this evil would cause my little one… so with a call home to the doctor, Joshua and I were off to the E.R. What a nightmare.

Can you imagine trying to navigate a foreign city with a crying toddler in one hand, and his throw-up pail in the other hand? Spending hours in the E.R. (with no further advice or help than our doctor had already provided over the phone), only to be kicked out the moment Joshua falls asleep out of pure exhaustion? Then carrying my half-asleep (yet still vomiting) little boy down the street, trying desperately to flag down a taxi without dropping the baby or the newly filled tub of vomit. It figures that the taxi to pick us up would be a stuffy, smelly, smoky one. (That helped.) Finally we reach our destination. Stumbling out of the taxi, we head for the pharmacy to pick up some prescription suppositories for the little one (if you don’t know what that is, you don’t want to). Of course the pharmacy doesn’t have it in stock, so we’re out on the streets once again. We start walking, in hopes that we’re headed in the right direction and that another pharmacy will cross our paths (we’re not ready for another taxi experience). Thankfully, we spot a Walgreens. After making us wait 20 minutes, they tell us we’ll have to come back because there’s a problem with our insurance card and they don’t have time to call right now. ?!?! Do they not see the toddler and vomit bucket I am holding?? Who cares about insurance - I’ll pay cash. Just get me out of here! Another 25 minutes, and we’re on our way. Once again we tackle the streets of SF, this time headed back to home-base (we hope. We all know I don’t have a great sense of direction).

Finally… it’s 4:00, and after spending all day out on this grand adventure, we are back at the apartment. I turn the key… anxious to get Joshua to sleep and hopefully eat something (I’m dizzy with exhaustion and have eaten nothin all day - you’ll learn in a later post why this is a big deal). You think the adventure is over? Oh no. As we step foot in the apartment, Joshua’s diaper literally explodes like a volcano. Apparently he’s ridding himself of the toxins by every avenue possible. His pant legs are soaked with his soil, and the mess extends fully up his back, touching the collar of his shirt. Abandoning the throw-up bucket (after all, how much damage could a little vomit do at this point??), I put him in the bath tub and begin to strip him down. I can’t bathe him in this filth, so a shower is the only option. As the water pours down over his body, Joshua reaches his breaking point - the exhaustion, frustration, nausea, misery are too much to handle and he begins wailing in torment. As excrutiating as the rest of the day has been, this surpasses all. Nothing breaks your heart as much as your little boy in pain and anguish, pleading through tears and wailing for you to make it all better. So broken or not, I’ll not be leaving this heart in San Francisco. We’re ready to come back home, 6 hour flight and all. 

1. No American cheese?! For breakfast, you try to order an egg and cheese bagel. If we’re talking a Jalepeno bagel with Asiago cheese, no problem! But what? You want a plain bagel with American cheese? Nope, sorry. Unheard of in good ol’ SF. Okay, lunch. You order a cheeseburger, and what are your options? Cheddar, Jack, Swiss. Sure… you can get a guacamole burger or an Asian burger or even a Parisian burger… but a good old fashioned American cheeseburger is apparently too difficult!

2. It’s strange to be in the racial minority. In Philly you can go to different sections of town (China town for instance), and find yourself to be one caucasian face in a sea of Asian faces. But here, it seems, it’s not uncommon to find yourself in a sea of racially diverse faces with few white ones in the mix. The mix is almost all Asian - Chinese, Indian, Russian, you name it. It’s pretty wild.

3. Craaaazy steep hills. I’m telling you, driving up some of these hills is like creeping up a roller coaster slope - you’re expecting to go flying down the other side when you finally reach the top. There’s even one street that is soooo steep that they designed it to be driven on by going right to left … like a maze of curves winding down the one-way street. You could liken it to a novice skiier that winds their way slowly down a hill, back and forth, careful not to point their skiis straight down for fear of flying uncontrollably down the hill.

4. I’m not sure how else to describe the city, except to call it a new-age hippie town. Posh farmer’s markets (an oxymoron?), tea gardens, organic restaurants on every corner, art exhibits-stores-shows-events on every block, boutique shops lining the streets. And the people are strangely surfer-meets-yuppie multi-dimensional. Interesting.

5. Indigents everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. Growing up, my parents tried to teach me to be merciful and compassionate toward the homeless. My dad and I would always stop to buy a sandwhich for anyone that crossed our paths in hunger. But I don’t know how to handle it here. You can walk one block and pass 10 or more homeless people. And that’s on every block! My heart goes out to them. To one in particular. He was American Indian. I don’t know why exactly (or maybe I do), but it really struck a chord with me. It really made me sad.

Let me just preface this post by telling you that, at heart, I am a true complainer. Shocking, I know. Once in middle school I went on a weekend “camping” trip (where we slept in cabins and ate hot meals) and there was an awards ceremony at the end to highlight the greatest achievements of select campers. Well, let’s just say that I was one of the few and the proud to receive such an award. Only my award wasn’t quite as complimentary or noble as the others. I received an award entitled “Complain Spillane” (Spillane is my maiden name, for those not in the know). Apparently I achieved new levels of complaining and trust me… I have upheld my duty to maintain the elite status of Complain Spillane throughout the years. Want a taste? Here we go….

Who in their right mind takes an energetic toddler on a 6 hour flight across the country??!! Apparently Lane and I. Though clearly we are NOT in our right minds. What unbelievable torture. Seriously - what were we THINKING??? Okay, it’s true - God was merciful and blessed us with a last-minute free upgrade to first class. (I think this is the part where the Bible tells you God only gives you what you can handle … I honestly don’t think we could’ve handled a middle seat in row 30 of the coach cabin). But 6 straight hours of pure energy (NO SLEEPING!!!!!!!!!!!) in 6 square feet of space is nothing short of torture. And of course the brunt of the toddler-taming responsibility falls to mom, because as dad puts it “…but he doesn’t want me, he wants you!”. Uh huh. That’s just perfect.

So you’d think the flight was the worst part, right? Oh no… the fun is just beginning. When we finally got off the flight (and I had the joy of chasing our bundle of energy around the airport for 40 minutes while we waited for our luggage to come through), we had to walk up and down and all around for what seemed like forever (guess who had to carry Joshua? Are you sensing a theme here?) to ride the tram, which took us to another train. Of course, considering our luck there was a problem with the trains, forcing us to wait (with some very agitated passengers! San Francisco is such a friek show!) for over an hour. And again we walked. And walked. This time with a dead-wait sleeping baby (why couldn’t some of that shut-eye have happened on the endless plane ride??). At last, we arrive at the hotel (at almost 3:00am East Coast time).

Is that the end of the complaining? Of course not! There’s the unbelievably tiny hotel room to complain about, the YMCA next door (which was supposed to be our salvation and endless swimming entertainment for Joshua and I) with a freezing cold pool and psycho 10 year old who wouldn’t quit harassing me about buying my baby, the complete absence of any kid-friendly restaurants anywhere within walking distance…. Believe me, as reigning champ of complaining there is a TON of stuff for me to whine about on this trip.

8 days to go.