Yesterday we had an early celebration of my birthday by going out to dinner at Casa Madrid. It's a little restaurant in Pleasanton, probably no more than fifteen tables indoors. We were the only ones in the restaurant most of the time, which made me a little worried (don't other people like this restaurant?), but it was nice to have the whole place to ourselves. We ordered the Vieiras al Ajillo (scallops in lobster sauce), the Calamares Andalucia (calamari rings), the Tortilla Española (potato and onion wedges), the Pinchitos Morunos a la Casa Madrid (Casa Madrid spicy pork) and the Paella Valenciana (seafood and meat paella). Yum. My favorite dish by far was the scallops. The calamari was a close second. It could be the simple fact that I'm a sucker for seafood. But nonetheless it was really good. I'd love to go back just to have two orders of scallops and two orders of calamari.
Today my husband had to go to work (stinkin' work! It always takes him away from us! Oh well, at least it pays the bills) so I had a busy morning with the girls: bangs trim, gymnastics, lunch at Sushi-Ya, and painting a couple of bowls at Cafe Art.
The afternoon was a mad rush to get dinner going before Elizabeth has swimming lesson and I have my first day of school. (I'm going back to school for my Early Childhood Development certificate.) Throughout my entire school career, until today, I've never had school on my birthday. Before college, school always began the Tuesday after Labor Day, and always ended the second Friday of June. Summer school always ended the last week of July. August was always a slow, quiet month, with nothing really happening -- not even holidays. During college, school began dangerously close to my birthday, one year even daring to begin on the 18th of August, and summer school ended dangerously close to my birthday as well, one year even daring to end on the 16th of August. But I always figured society considered the 17th of August as a day exempt from any academic or scholastic responsibilities. Until today. Today was my first day of school. It was fine -- I just had one class, and it was 3 hours long, giving me some time away from the kids. While my husband took the kids to Elizabeth's swimming lesson.
When I got back from class, the kids were well on their way to bed, until Elizabeth asked me if we're gonna eat cake. Cake? What cake? Apparently he took the kids to Baskin Robbins and picked up a small mint-chocolate-chip ice cream cake for me. And they were looking forward to not only having ice cream and cake, but also delaying bedtime. Who am I to delay bedtime? So we got Abigail out of bed, sat down at the table, sang Happy Birthday, and ate cake at 9:45pm.
It's been a good day. Despite the fact that I had to go to school on my birthday. I suppose worse things could happen.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Monday, August 17, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Happy birthday, honey!
Today is my husband's birthday. Won't tell you how old he's turning today though.
I'm picking him up from work in Tracy, about 25 minutes to the east of us. And then we're going up north another 30 minutes to Stockton to eat dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory (haven't been in years!) and then drop off the kids with my grandparents. And then after that, who knows what we'll do. I know, it sounds like so much fun. Probably we'll end up going to Borders, sip coffee, and read magazines across the table from each other while not saying a single word to each other, close the place down, and then see a movie. Maybe. What an adventure, huh?
I'm picking him up from work in Tracy, about 25 minutes to the east of us. And then we're going up north another 30 minutes to Stockton to eat dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory (haven't been in years!) and then drop off the kids with my grandparents. And then after that, who knows what we'll do. I know, it sounds like so much fun. Probably we'll end up going to Borders, sip coffee, and read magazines across the table from each other while not saying a single word to each other, close the place down, and then see a movie. Maybe. What an adventure, huh?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
three years ago today
happy birthday to my baby girl. here's the story, beginning a few days earlier:
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Saturday, February 11, 2006, 9:39pm
For the last few days I felt like my abs are about to rip open down the middle above my belly button. Is there anything I can do about the pain? It hurts to laugh, it hurts to cough or sneeze, it hurts to wear pants, it hurts to walk, it hurts to touch! Anyone? Please, somebody, tell me that you had this too and I'm not the only freak with hurting abs!
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Monday, February 13, 2006, 2:09pm
I feel so cheated!
Yesterday I got to play in my concert without any incident. Whee! I was joking to the other people in the orchestra that I'm in the clear to go into labor or for my water to break at 6:15pm, when the concert ends. Well, I got home, hung out with my daughter and husband for a little while, and then went to bed early. My husband and I normally don't go to bed until like 1, so it is kind of a treat for me to go to bed early. (Yeah, I know, I'm weird like that.) Anyways, around 12:30am I woke up from my evening nap (hah!) and my husband was still awake, so we just got to talking. We had a really good talk. Talking about our plans for the future, his job, a pending promotion, a different pending job offer... it was a really really good talk. Haven't had one of those in a long time.
Well, finally around 1:30am or so we got tired so we turned out the lights and rolled over to go to sleep. I started feeling contractions here and there (a bit stronger than Braxton-Hicks contractions -- they'd start with a general tightening, then finish off with a big surge of pain near the cervix), and I decided to stay up and start timing them. They were pretty regular, about 5-8 minutes apart. I woke up my husband around 3:30 and told him to not plan to go to work today. We did a frantic packing of the hospital bags, woke up our 2-year-old and loaded her up the car, called the doctor, and headed out to the hospital at around 4:45am. I joked to my husband that the baby must have waited for me to play in the concert and then decided to come right after that.
Once we're in the hospital, I got hooked up to a monitor, had an internal exam, and was found to be 3cm. (I had an appointment just a day and a half earlier, and was 2cm at that point.) We decided to walk the halls, and get checked again in an hour. Around 7am I'm determined still to be a good 3cm and my contractions have slowed down to almost nothing!!! The doctor comes to check me at 8am, I'm still 3cm, and we decide to have me walk some more. Again at 11:30 I'm still 3cm, and after talking with the doctor, we decide to send me home. Waaaaahhhhh!!!
Not that I want to have the baby today or anything (we're so far from ready it's not even funny), but I can't help but feel cheated. Cheated of my good night's sleep, cheated of my husband's sleep, cheated of my 2-year-old daughter's sleep. Cheated of getting my hopes up. Cheated of the precious gas that was spent driving 30 mins each way to and from the hospital. *sigh*
And I'm still getting contractions. Still just as strong. But only about once every hour or so.
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Monday night, February 13, 2006, around 9pm.
We went to the mall tonight to pick out the pictures we'd like to have from my pregnancy photo shoot the Saturday before. While we're there, looking at pictures, I suddenly got really quiet. The guy at the photo studio asked me what I was thinking, since I was just kinda' staring at the pictures and not having much of a facial expression at all. (Normally I'm quite gregarious and my husband's always looking for my "off" switch.) My response? "Oh, nothing... I'm just having a contraction."
You should've seen the look on his face!
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Tuesday morning, February 14, 2006.
Around 5am I woke up again with contractions. They're probably false labor again, so I ignored it as best as I could, but they still came every 5-6 minutes. Around 6am my husband asked if I'm okay (I guess my stirring woke him up). I said that I'm having contractions again, so he asked if we should call the doctor. I was afraid of calling the doctor again at such an unholy hour, so we decided to wait until at least 7. I was still convinced that this is just false labor, so he took a shower, and then I decided I'd take a shower. The nerd in me was fascinated with the fact that I knew exactly what time it was just from my contractions. After my shower, still in denial, we decided to have breakfast (two years earlier when I was in the hospital to give birth to my firstborn, they wouldn't let me eat anything, so I made sure I got myself something to eat this time).
Finally around 7 we decided to call the doctor, and the first question she had for me, of course, was "are these contractions different from those you had yesterday morning?" I wasn't completely sure, but thought they *might* be a little harder, so she recommended that we get to the hospital.
We finished up breakfast, got Eliz, and began our drive to the hospital. It was around 8am (we took our time, figuring that it's just false labor again) so we just moseyed along with the rush-hour traffic. It took us a good 35-40 minutes to get there, and by the time I was there, contractions were coming a little faster and much harder. About 25 minutes into the drive I felt it was getting unbearable -- two years earlier when I was in labor with my first one, this is about the point of pain when I asked for my epidural. I decided this was enough pain, and that I'll ask for the epidural as soon as we get to the hospital. This was so different from the day before, when I sauntered into the hospital, practically singing "I think I'm in labor." This time I staggered in, between contractions, and I guess the expression on my face said everything to the nurses. I wanted to get under some hot water again, to ease the pain, but they said that they had to monitor me and check my dilation first. I reluctantly agreed, figuring that once they get the formalities out of the way I can hop into the shower and get that hot water on my back.
So they checked me and it turned out that I was already 8cm dilated. Too late for an epidural, the doctor said. And not only that, but I'll be ready to push in about an hour or two. What!??? I was expecting to hang out and chill with my epidural for a few hours first, and then maybe sometime in the afternoon have the baby. And my poor husband, I think he wanted the pain relief more than I did. He asked the doctor a few times if there's anything that can be done about the pain. She assured him that there was nothing to do but to just go through it since it's too late.
So here I was, hanging out and trying to chill with my contractions, and some lady walked in asking if it's okay for some student nurses to come and observe the birth, since it'll be an unmedicated one. Uhhh, okay, I guess. I'm in labor and can't really think clearly, so whatever.
A few contractions later I realize hey, waitaminnit, this is a bunch of strangers coming in to see me push a baby out of my hoohaa, and the least they can do is babysit my two-year-old in a different room so she doesn't have to witness all of this! So I guess it worked out -- we have a babysitter!
Anyways, around 10am I was determined to be fully dilated, so they instructed me to push. No epidural, just a bunch of ladies that I don't know, one counting to ten every time I push (one of my personal pet peeves), and another telling me "how wonderful it is to be bringing a baby into the world" (that particular wording, I discovered, is another one of my personal pet peeves).
Finally at 10:29am, Abi (she prefers Iga) came out, looking just like her daddy, just like her big sister did when she was born. I was a little disappointed, not because looking like daddy is a bad thing, but because I was hoping that at least one of my two kids would look anything like me. Oh well, she's a beautiful baby, and still is a beautiful three-year-old girl today.
The crazy thing was, the first time around I gained 31 pounds, and Eliz came out 7 pounds, 7 ounces. This time I gained 11 pounds, and Abi came out 8 pounds, 2 ounces. Okay, I guess it doesn't always mean that bigger weight gain means bigger babies!
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As a baby she was even easier than Eliz. Even in the hospital she was sleeping 5 hours at night, and she hardly cried either. Just like her big sister, she nursed like a champ and was never picky with clothes or food. To have gotten lucky twice, I would love to say it was my superb parenting skills that made my children this way, but you and I both know, it was all God's grace.
I nursed my firstborn for 13 months, so I figured I'd nurse my secondborn until she starts walking. Little did I know that she'd wait until weaning (at 16 months) to start walking (a few days shy of 18 months)! For the longest time she'd communicate with a two-syllable "Ah-ah?" It really meant anything between "I'm sitting here and having a good time" to "Let's play!" Soon after that was her "Weng-oh-weng-oh-weng-oh-weng." It took us a few weeks to realize that that was her way asking "What is this?" Nowadays she loves to sing and dance, she loves to jump around and play with her big sister. She is very good about waiting her turn for things, and even her Terrible Two wasn't really that terrible. I guess now that she's three, I can't say she's a baby anymore, especially since she's now fully potty-trained, sleeps in a big-girl bed, and is beginning to learn the alphabet and the sounds of each letter too. Oh well, she'll always be my baby.
Happy birthday, my baby. I love you. You're truly your parents' joy. May God bless you and keep you in the palm of His hand. May he love you and call you his own, and may you grow into a woman who fears the Lord and therefore is greatly to be praised.
************************
Saturday, February 11, 2006, 9:39pm
For the last few days I felt like my abs are about to rip open down the middle above my belly button. Is there anything I can do about the pain? It hurts to laugh, it hurts to cough or sneeze, it hurts to wear pants, it hurts to walk, it hurts to touch! Anyone? Please, somebody, tell me that you had this too and I'm not the only freak with hurting abs!
************************
Monday, February 13, 2006, 2:09pm
I feel so cheated!
Yesterday I got to play in my concert without any incident. Whee! I was joking to the other people in the orchestra that I'm in the clear to go into labor or for my water to break at 6:15pm, when the concert ends. Well, I got home, hung out with my daughter and husband for a little while, and then went to bed early. My husband and I normally don't go to bed until like 1, so it is kind of a treat for me to go to bed early. (Yeah, I know, I'm weird like that.) Anyways, around 12:30am I woke up from my evening nap (hah!) and my husband was still awake, so we just got to talking. We had a really good talk. Talking about our plans for the future, his job, a pending promotion, a different pending job offer... it was a really really good talk. Haven't had one of those in a long time.
Well, finally around 1:30am or so we got tired so we turned out the lights and rolled over to go to sleep. I started feeling contractions here and there (a bit stronger than Braxton-Hicks contractions -- they'd start with a general tightening, then finish off with a big surge of pain near the cervix), and I decided to stay up and start timing them. They were pretty regular, about 5-8 minutes apart. I woke up my husband around 3:30 and told him to not plan to go to work today. We did a frantic packing of the hospital bags, woke up our 2-year-old and loaded her up the car, called the doctor, and headed out to the hospital at around 4:45am. I joked to my husband that the baby must have waited for me to play in the concert and then decided to come right after that.
Once we're in the hospital, I got hooked up to a monitor, had an internal exam, and was found to be 3cm. (I had an appointment just a day and a half earlier, and was 2cm at that point.) We decided to walk the halls, and get checked again in an hour. Around 7am I'm determined still to be a good 3cm and my contractions have slowed down to almost nothing!!! The doctor comes to check me at 8am, I'm still 3cm, and we decide to have me walk some more. Again at 11:30 I'm still 3cm, and after talking with the doctor, we decide to send me home. Waaaaahhhhh!!!
Not that I want to have the baby today or anything (we're so far from ready it's not even funny), but I can't help but feel cheated. Cheated of my good night's sleep, cheated of my husband's sleep, cheated of my 2-year-old daughter's sleep. Cheated of getting my hopes up. Cheated of the precious gas that was spent driving 30 mins each way to and from the hospital. *sigh*
And I'm still getting contractions. Still just as strong. But only about once every hour or so.
************************
Monday night, February 13, 2006, around 9pm.
We went to the mall tonight to pick out the pictures we'd like to have from my pregnancy photo shoot the Saturday before. While we're there, looking at pictures, I suddenly got really quiet. The guy at the photo studio asked me what I was thinking, since I was just kinda' staring at the pictures and not having much of a facial expression at all. (Normally I'm quite gregarious and my husband's always looking for my "off" switch.) My response? "Oh, nothing... I'm just having a contraction."
You should've seen the look on his face!
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Tuesday morning, February 14, 2006.
Around 5am I woke up again with contractions. They're probably false labor again, so I ignored it as best as I could, but they still came every 5-6 minutes. Around 6am my husband asked if I'm okay (I guess my stirring woke him up). I said that I'm having contractions again, so he asked if we should call the doctor. I was afraid of calling the doctor again at such an unholy hour, so we decided to wait until at least 7. I was still convinced that this is just false labor, so he took a shower, and then I decided I'd take a shower. The nerd in me was fascinated with the fact that I knew exactly what time it was just from my contractions. After my shower, still in denial, we decided to have breakfast (two years earlier when I was in the hospital to give birth to my firstborn, they wouldn't let me eat anything, so I made sure I got myself something to eat this time).
Finally around 7 we decided to call the doctor, and the first question she had for me, of course, was "are these contractions different from those you had yesterday morning?" I wasn't completely sure, but thought they *might* be a little harder, so she recommended that we get to the hospital.
We finished up breakfast, got Eliz, and began our drive to the hospital. It was around 8am (we took our time, figuring that it's just false labor again) so we just moseyed along with the rush-hour traffic. It took us a good 35-40 minutes to get there, and by the time I was there, contractions were coming a little faster and much harder. About 25 minutes into the drive I felt it was getting unbearable -- two years earlier when I was in labor with my first one, this is about the point of pain when I asked for my epidural. I decided this was enough pain, and that I'll ask for the epidural as soon as we get to the hospital. This was so different from the day before, when I sauntered into the hospital, practically singing "I think I'm in labor." This time I staggered in, between contractions, and I guess the expression on my face said everything to the nurses. I wanted to get under some hot water again, to ease the pain, but they said that they had to monitor me and check my dilation first. I reluctantly agreed, figuring that once they get the formalities out of the way I can hop into the shower and get that hot water on my back.
So they checked me and it turned out that I was already 8cm dilated. Too late for an epidural, the doctor said. And not only that, but I'll be ready to push in about an hour or two. What!??? I was expecting to hang out and chill with my epidural for a few hours first, and then maybe sometime in the afternoon have the baby. And my poor husband, I think he wanted the pain relief more than I did. He asked the doctor a few times if there's anything that can be done about the pain. She assured him that there was nothing to do but to just go through it since it's too late.
So here I was, hanging out and trying to chill with my contractions, and some lady walked in asking if it's okay for some student nurses to come and observe the birth, since it'll be an unmedicated one. Uhhh, okay, I guess. I'm in labor and can't really think clearly, so whatever.
A few contractions later I realize hey, waitaminnit, this is a bunch of strangers coming in to see me push a baby out of my hoohaa, and the least they can do is babysit my two-year-old in a different room so she doesn't have to witness all of this! So I guess it worked out -- we have a babysitter!
Anyways, around 10am I was determined to be fully dilated, so they instructed me to push. No epidural, just a bunch of ladies that I don't know, one counting to ten every time I push (one of my personal pet peeves), and another telling me "how wonderful it is to be bringing a baby into the world" (that particular wording, I discovered, is another one of my personal pet peeves).
Finally at 10:29am, Abi (she prefers Iga) came out, looking just like her daddy, just like her big sister did when she was born. I was a little disappointed, not because looking like daddy is a bad thing, but because I was hoping that at least one of my two kids would look anything like me. Oh well, she's a beautiful baby, and still is a beautiful three-year-old girl today.
The crazy thing was, the first time around I gained 31 pounds, and Eliz came out 7 pounds, 7 ounces. This time I gained 11 pounds, and Abi came out 8 pounds, 2 ounces. Okay, I guess it doesn't always mean that bigger weight gain means bigger babies!
************************
As a baby she was even easier than Eliz. Even in the hospital she was sleeping 5 hours at night, and she hardly cried either. Just like her big sister, she nursed like a champ and was never picky with clothes or food. To have gotten lucky twice, I would love to say it was my superb parenting skills that made my children this way, but you and I both know, it was all God's grace.
I nursed my firstborn for 13 months, so I figured I'd nurse my secondborn until she starts walking. Little did I know that she'd wait until weaning (at 16 months) to start walking (a few days shy of 18 months)! For the longest time she'd communicate with a two-syllable "Ah-ah?" It really meant anything between "I'm sitting here and having a good time" to "Let's play!" Soon after that was her "Weng-oh-weng-oh-weng-oh-weng." It took us a few weeks to realize that that was her way asking "What is this?" Nowadays she loves to sing and dance, she loves to jump around and play with her big sister. She is very good about waiting her turn for things, and even her Terrible Two wasn't really that terrible. I guess now that she's three, I can't say she's a baby anymore, especially since she's now fully potty-trained, sleeps in a big-girl bed, and is beginning to learn the alphabet and the sounds of each letter too. Oh well, she'll always be my baby.
Happy birthday, my baby. I love you. You're truly your parents' joy. May God bless you and keep you in the palm of His hand. May he love you and call you his own, and may you grow into a woman who fears the Lord and therefore is greatly to be praised.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Five years ago today
Five years ago today my firstborn entered into the world. She came at 8:45pm on a snowy Friday night in a hospital just north of Chicago. I went to the hospital the day after my due date for an induction -- I was just too uncomfortable to stay pregnant any longer, and frankly, I was too impatient and wanted to meet my little girl!
So at 6am we went in, excited, nervous, and just a bit scared out of our minds. At 8am (1cm dilated) they started the pitocin drip. At 3pm (3cm dilated) the doctor broke my water to speed things along. At the same time, the doctor attached a monitor to the baby's scalp. At 3:05pm I decided these contractions are just too unbearable, and asked for the epidural. A few contractions later, I no longer felt anything from the waist down. The epidural was so effective that I couldn't even move my legs.
At 8pm (or was it 8:30?) I was determined to be fully dilated, so at the nurse's direction I began to push. Just a few pushes later, Eliz (Iza? Zabe? We're still working on a nickname...) was born at 8:45pm. She weighed 7lb, 7oz, and measured 20.5 inches long. She was perfect. She still is.
Despite our parenting skills (or lack thereof), she's a sweet, smart, and silly little girl who loves to learn about the world all around her. She can read (with so much expression!), count by 2s, 5s, 10s, all the way to a few hundreds, tell time on a dial clock, and add/subtract like nobody's business. She loves to sing, play games, put together jigsaw puzzles, and work on the pages of her workbooks. She hates to be told what to do when she doesn't feel like it, waking up earlier than she wants to, going to bed earlier than she wants to, and doing things that are more difficult than she thinks she can do.
As a baby she was so easy. She nursed like a champ, slept through the night (well, 6 hours) at 6 weeks, and hardly ever cried. She never even got her first cold until she was almost a year old, and diaper rashes were pretty much a foreign concept for two years. She was never picky with clothes or food, and made me feel like a parenting pro. Of course it wasn't my parenting skills that made her this way -- it was all God's grace. He knew I can't handle things otherwise, I'm sure!
I treasured her baby words. Pim-dae for chim-dae (bed). Dda-ddeu-geo for vegetables. Da-da for doggy. Dugga-dugga for the letter W. Her grabbing one hand with the other, and pumping it back and forth as she signs "baby."
I loved her made-up songs. My favorite was her singing in the car about a month before her third birthday: "I love my car, I love my bed. I love my house. 'Cause, I love my house. I love my car. I love my bed. I love my bed. I love my ..."
She's grown up so much now. A big sprout, her clothes are a bit too short on her, and yet some of her skirts are still too big around to stay up on her waist. She has displayed the ability to play peacefully with her little sister without fighting (when she feels like it). She even shows a nurturing side when she feels like it, running to the bathroom to help Abi with the toilet paper or washing her hands, helping unbuckle her from her car seat when we arrive at our destination.
Happy birthday, my first baby. I love you. May God bless you and grow you to become a lovely woman, one who takes care of the people around her, one who is well-loved and well-liked, one who fears the Lord.
So at 6am we went in, excited, nervous, and just a bit scared out of our minds. At 8am (1cm dilated) they started the pitocin drip. At 3pm (3cm dilated) the doctor broke my water to speed things along. At the same time, the doctor attached a monitor to the baby's scalp. At 3:05pm I decided these contractions are just too unbearable, and asked for the epidural. A few contractions later, I no longer felt anything from the waist down. The epidural was so effective that I couldn't even move my legs.
At 8pm (or was it 8:30?) I was determined to be fully dilated, so at the nurse's direction I began to push. Just a few pushes later, Eliz (Iza? Zabe? We're still working on a nickname...) was born at 8:45pm. She weighed 7lb, 7oz, and measured 20.5 inches long. She was perfect. She still is.
Despite our parenting skills (or lack thereof), she's a sweet, smart, and silly little girl who loves to learn about the world all around her. She can read (with so much expression!), count by 2s, 5s, 10s, all the way to a few hundreds, tell time on a dial clock, and add/subtract like nobody's business. She loves to sing, play games, put together jigsaw puzzles, and work on the pages of her workbooks. She hates to be told what to do when she doesn't feel like it, waking up earlier than she wants to, going to bed earlier than she wants to, and doing things that are more difficult than she thinks she can do.
As a baby she was so easy. She nursed like a champ, slept through the night (well, 6 hours) at 6 weeks, and hardly ever cried. She never even got her first cold until she was almost a year old, and diaper rashes were pretty much a foreign concept for two years. She was never picky with clothes or food, and made me feel like a parenting pro. Of course it wasn't my parenting skills that made her this way -- it was all God's grace. He knew I can't handle things otherwise, I'm sure!
I treasured her baby words. Pim-dae for chim-dae (bed). Dda-ddeu-geo for vegetables. Da-da for doggy. Dugga-dugga for the letter W. Her grabbing one hand with the other, and pumping it back and forth as she signs "baby."
I loved her made-up songs. My favorite was her singing in the car about a month before her third birthday: "I love my car, I love my bed. I love my house. 'Cause, I love my house. I love my car. I love my bed. I love my bed. I love my ..."
She's grown up so much now. A big sprout, her clothes are a bit too short on her, and yet some of her skirts are still too big around to stay up on her waist. She has displayed the ability to play peacefully with her little sister without fighting (when she feels like it). She even shows a nurturing side when she feels like it, running to the bathroom to help Abi with the toilet paper or washing her hands, helping unbuckle her from her car seat when we arrive at our destination.
Happy birthday, my first baby. I love you. May God bless you and grow you to become a lovely woman, one who takes care of the people around her, one who is well-loved and well-liked, one who fears the Lord.
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