So it would appear that I have busted my own myth. That would be the one where I truly believed I must stay as far away from the children's hallway at church because I would not last five minutes.
Let me back up just a little bit though.
On Friday night, I sat amongst women I considered (notice this past tense...haha) my friends. The need for children's workers came up in our conversation. What happened next was kind of a blur for me.
You know those times when you chime in on a conversation because that is totally appropriate social etiquette. I think it was one of those moments. It was far past my bed time and I was in a daydreaming, comatose like state, talking in between yawns. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I may have completely and utterly been joking when I said that I might as well go help in the nursery since I am not really engaging in the church service these days. I should known by the perked ears and feeling as though I were suddenly fresh meat for a pack of ravenous dogs that I was in trouble. Although, through my foggy brain and blurry eyes I am positive that I repeated how bad of an idea it would be for me to be with a bunch of children.
I must admit that babies have been on my brain lately. I am 38 and my biological clock is ticking like a bomb. My reproductive woes have had little influence over my heart and brain lately. With friends having babies, trying to have babies, pregnant with babies, babies, babies, babies, everywhere babies...I swear my ovaries cry a little everyday.
As the music began playing today, I had a friend tap me on the shoulder from behind. I'm sure she said to me, "I heard you wanted to help in the nursery and we really need help today." That's not at all what I heard though.
What I saw was this giant, floating head off to the side talking in a cartoon-like voice. What I thought the cartoon-like voice was saying was, "B A B I E S...you want to go hold babies." That was the point my brain lost all ability to answer in any sort of appropriate way, like with a "Have you lost your mind? Those children can smell fear!"
But NO, my crying ovaries and baby, baby, baby, baby heart, jumped up and hauled the rest of me to the nursery.
Let me tell you, I was a fish out of water. I've watched babies before, it isn't a new thing for me. But there is something different about having a half dozen of them looking at me. It is a completely different animal when you walk into a church nursery for the first time. Not that anyone was mean or assuming or anything like that, but I'm not kidding when I say salivating pack of ravenous dogs. Fresh meat!!!!
So many babies, it was overwhelming. I was handed a fussy baby so my friend could tend to another fussy baby. Not overly fussy, but fussy enough.
As I sat and rocked the little guy, more help arrived. Oh good, my chance to hand off and split. But NO again. Said baby boy calmed down, cooed and my ovaries once again took over for my brain.
After 30 minutes, I got to set in a quiet little room and rock the little guy to sleep. Each time I laid him in the crib, he'd cry and we'd repeat. The last time I rocked him longer and listened to him breathe deep with a hint of a snore. I think in that moment, I finally got my brain back and decided it wasn't so bad.
But then I walked out with all the other babies and one by one they started to get fussy. It was like a chain reaction. What had I gotten myself into? The next hour was a juggling and jostling of babies from person to another, trying to finding the right combination of adult and baby to make the babies happy.
I had walked in the nursery before, but only to drop off Sunday school books and when it was completely empty. I would secretly laugh to myself when I would see the little instructions hanging on the cabinets. I learned today that those things are just as good as an instruction manual and every child needs to have one.
You know what else I learned, when you have multiple babies, parents really should somehow identify their baby bags. That would make the hunt for diapers and binkies and blankies so much easier.
When the parents began to trickle in, I realized that I had officially busted that myth. I had made it the entire time. I was sure to show a moderate amount of anxiousness to get out of the nursery. I wouldn't want anyone to think I had somehow become comfortable.
I left with drool running down my leg and spit up on my shirt and of course, that sweet baby smell all over me. I think that made it all worth it. But shhhhh...don't let that get out. Pack. of. Ravenous. Dogs.!!!!!!
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
It's a Season
I realized that I have written a lot on focused topics lately but nothing much about how things are for me. I think that is indicative of this season I am in right now.
My head is so full that it feels like a swirling little hot mess that could explode. My emotions are comparable to that beach ball held under water for so long that the slightest move off of center and they will shoot about four feet above the surface and come flailing back down with a torrential splash.
But it is a season for me. A season when I must go it all alone.
The people closest to me are in various seasons in their lives as well. They are all going through times when they just aren't available. They are busy with family and health issues and work. Even my husband is in one of those seasons when he barely has time for a conversation.
I am not faulting anyone, but living in acceptance of how life goes.
So I tuck it all away. I hide it all inside, doing my best to not let a hint of it reach the surface especially in the presence of others.
Even though I have done my best to embrace the stay at home wife role, I still struggle each day finding value and purpose for my life. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. I cook and clean and do my best at keeping the laundry and dishes done. Those things don't seem to give me much value.
I know some of those people close to me are so quick to point out that seasons like this point me to God and teach me dependence on Him. Seasons like this are when you find your value in God alone.
Blah...blah...blah...blah. Yea, I know. That doesn't do anything to help me in my very earthly, fleshly struggles where a season like this breaks me down. It doesn't do anything to help me find very earthly reasons to keep chugging along. It does drive me toward wanting eternal life sooner than later.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
My head is so full that it feels like a swirling little hot mess that could explode. My emotions are comparable to that beach ball held under water for so long that the slightest move off of center and they will shoot about four feet above the surface and come flailing back down with a torrential splash.
But it is a season for me. A season when I must go it all alone.
The people closest to me are in various seasons in their lives as well. They are all going through times when they just aren't available. They are busy with family and health issues and work. Even my husband is in one of those seasons when he barely has time for a conversation.
I am not faulting anyone, but living in acceptance of how life goes.
So I tuck it all away. I hide it all inside, doing my best to not let a hint of it reach the surface especially in the presence of others.
Even though I have done my best to embrace the stay at home wife role, I still struggle each day finding value and purpose for my life. Don't get me wrong, I stay busy. I cook and clean and do my best at keeping the laundry and dishes done. Those things don't seem to give me much value.
I know some of those people close to me are so quick to point out that seasons like this point me to God and teach me dependence on Him. Seasons like this are when you find your value in God alone.
Blah...blah...blah...blah. Yea, I know. That doesn't do anything to help me in my very earthly, fleshly struggles where a season like this breaks me down. It doesn't do anything to help me find very earthly reasons to keep chugging along. It does drive me toward wanting eternal life sooner than later.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Forgiving the Forgotten
Several unplanned and unexpected events have led to this strange rebuilding of a relationship with my little brother and his family.
If you would have told me a few years ago that this would be happening, I wouldn't have believed it. I would have laughed if you said I would spend two holidays in one year with his family.
As the relationship slowly begins to mend itself, we all have become more comfortable sharing pieces of life with each other. My feelings about our parents seep into the conversation in ways I never expected.
Likewise, my brother has started to share more about the family with me. Oddly enough, he shares in healthy ways. He doesn't over share either. Not because I have set any boundaries, but because in his own maturity has not pushed that information on me.
This weekend, he shared several things with me. He gently creaked open that door into the dark under belly of my dysfunctional family. That's a scary place. For the most part, I have been blocked off from all pertinent family information for over six years. Births, deaths, illnesses, good news, bad news...it's all been locked down like it were top secret government information.
He shared with me that my grandpa has a significant amount of brain atrophy and is suffering from Alzheimer's.
My grandpa has a secure place on the long list of my abusers. His part is only a small slice of what lies in my past, but is horrific all the same.
He recently turned 80, so this comes as a natural progression of life to me. Yet, I am finding peace in it.
While I didn't get a lot of information, I got enough. He gets easily confused when he leaves the house. His second wife and her children are currently considering putting him in a home. His life is winding down to the end. He is 80, it is expected. He's smoked since he was a kid and never taken care of himself. He has traveled and done all the things he wanted. He has 3 children, 10 grandchildren, 13 great-grandchildren, many step-children and step grandchildren. He still has living aunts who are in their 90s. He's had a full life. It's natural progression.
He did some horrific things when I was a kid. I have physical evidence of some of his abuse in the from of photos (long story). I had yet come to a point in life where I was ready to forgive him.
Learning about his current condition has left me in the unique place. There's nothing left but forgiveness.
He's a physical shell of the person I once knew. The horrible monster who used to do unspeakable things to me is now trapped inside this shell. He can no longer remember his wrongs and will never be able to make personal amends for them.
If I ever chose to confront him, he would never comprehend what I had to say and any remnants of genuine sorrow would never make it to the surface. That time has passed here on earth.
His wrongs, the weight of his sin against children...that has now become an issue between he and God. That is all that is left. It is no longer my issue.
It isn't that I am completely over all that he did. He did some really messed up things that still haunt me. But the over arching issue of forgiveness, that door is closed for me.
There is peace and healing in that for me. While he is still living, my earthly conflict with him is over. I don't have anger or hatred toward him. I don't feel as though he owes me anything, not even an apology. Door closed.
Honestly, I don't feel the same gut-wrenching heartache with him having this disease as I do with my mother-in-law. It will take some soul searching of my own to know if that is because I deep down believe it was somehow deserved. I will have to search my own heart to know if there is some twisted satisfaction in knowing he will die a miserable death with such a horrible affliction. I will have to consider my own fleshly lack of concern for his salvation.
This wasn't the path I would have chosen. I would have chosen to eventually confront him. That day has passed and the door is closed. He likely wouldn't even know who I am.
Regardless of the path or circumstance, there is always healing in forgiveness. I couldn't have chosen it any sooner. I couldn't have done it any other way.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Schools
Ok, so the other icky topic I am getting hit with so often.
Homeschool vs. Private School vs. Public School
This one definitely shouldn't effect me, given I don't have children. However, it comes up in conversation quite often.
I have seen and heard many of my friends be cornered in the halls of the church by those pressuring them to pick a side. Of course, they want them to pick a side that is the homeschooling side.
(Before you get offended, I am not referring to the home school moms who are absolutely respectful of the individual choices.)
Some of these are young moms who still have years before they have to make a choice. The more mature mothers aren't immune to the badgering either. I have seen firsthand when moms who have chosen public school are ridiculed and made to feel less than as a mother.
While the bible isn't clear on which of the options is best, I am thinking that the choice does fall on the parents. The PARENTS!
I am all for helping others make informed decisions by offering useful tools and giving objective advice WHEN ASKED. But what I see happening crosses a line.
Some of these aggressive home schooling moms are barreling over that line and soaring into that area where only the parents of the child belong.
Let me tell you, I went to a public school. It was a horrible public school. Even with that, my education didn't suffer. The schools around my area are far more advanced than the school I grew up in and I would be comfortable with a child going there.
Let me share another observation I have made. Some people home schooling really shouldn't be.
I know there is a stereotype of home school kids being socially awkward. Honestly, that is dependent more on the personality of the kid because there are plenty of public school kids who are socially awkward.
What I see in comparison is that I know a lot of home school kids who are not as advanced as public school kids. Technologically, they seem far behind the public school child.
Now, I am going to get brutally honest. I know some parents who may think their calling is to home school, but it is not their gift. I wish they would consider their ability or lack of ability to teach in regards to their children. They could potentially be doing more damage than good.
It is hard to see so many beautiful, intelligent moms struggling with this subject. It is hard to know they hurt because of the direct and indirect judgements that fall on them when they choose public school. It is hard to hear their fears as they feel the pressures prematurely placed upon them.
Since I don't have children, my opinion matters not to these people. However, I wish it did. I would tell everyone of these eager beavers to back off. The bottom line is that the decision is between the mother and father. Support them through these difficult decisions, don't judge them if they choose a different direction than you. Respect God's decision to make us all different from each other.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Homeschool vs. Private School vs. Public School
This one definitely shouldn't effect me, given I don't have children. However, it comes up in conversation quite often.
I have seen and heard many of my friends be cornered in the halls of the church by those pressuring them to pick a side. Of course, they want them to pick a side that is the homeschooling side.
(Before you get offended, I am not referring to the home school moms who are absolutely respectful of the individual choices.)
Some of these are young moms who still have years before they have to make a choice. The more mature mothers aren't immune to the badgering either. I have seen firsthand when moms who have chosen public school are ridiculed and made to feel less than as a mother.
While the bible isn't clear on which of the options is best, I am thinking that the choice does fall on the parents. The PARENTS!
I am all for helping others make informed decisions by offering useful tools and giving objective advice WHEN ASKED. But what I see happening crosses a line.
Some of these aggressive home schooling moms are barreling over that line and soaring into that area where only the parents of the child belong.
Let me tell you, I went to a public school. It was a horrible public school. Even with that, my education didn't suffer. The schools around my area are far more advanced than the school I grew up in and I would be comfortable with a child going there.
Let me share another observation I have made. Some people home schooling really shouldn't be.
I know there is a stereotype of home school kids being socially awkward. Honestly, that is dependent more on the personality of the kid because there are plenty of public school kids who are socially awkward.
What I see in comparison is that I know a lot of home school kids who are not as advanced as public school kids. Technologically, they seem far behind the public school child.
Now, I am going to get brutally honest. I know some parents who may think their calling is to home school, but it is not their gift. I wish they would consider their ability or lack of ability to teach in regards to their children. They could potentially be doing more damage than good.
It is hard to see so many beautiful, intelligent moms struggling with this subject. It is hard to know they hurt because of the direct and indirect judgements that fall on them when they choose public school. It is hard to hear their fears as they feel the pressures prematurely placed upon them.
Since I don't have children, my opinion matters not to these people. However, I wish it did. I would tell everyone of these eager beavers to back off. The bottom line is that the decision is between the mother and father. Support them through these difficult decisions, don't judge them if they choose a different direction than you. Respect God's decision to make us all different from each other.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Adoption
Lately, I have been thinking about all the things I never have to deal with because we don't have children. We don't have to discuss methods of discipline. We don't have to prepare for the first day of school and spend money on school supplies. We don't have to deal with awkward teenage years or dating. We don't have to save for college or elaborate weddings someday. Yes, there are a few pros to not having children.
There are a couple child based subjects that shouldn't affect me, but keep sneaking onto my radar.
Adoption.
Oh my goodness, adoption is a wonderful thing. I think every child in the world should be adopted. Near or far away, I wish any child without a parent to love and nurture them should be adopted.
I would give anything to adopt a child. I would adopt more than one child. I would love that child as my own. It's not even something we have discussed, but I know my heart on it. Good grief, this is why we have three dogs.
Sadly, we can't adopt. We can't afford the process and the adoption. Those things are expensive. We can't afford to go through a lengthy process of flying to the corners of the earth to find an orphan.
It has taken me so long to come to a healthy enough place in my life to even consider adoption, that I realize it is just too late. My husband is approaching 50 years old and we are just not prime candidates.
Isn't it sad that the amount of love you have to give a child is such a minimal requirement for an adoption.
But it I can't grieve and put yet another missed opportunity behind me. This subject is always in front of me. Staring me down. Pushed upon me. Thrown in my face. Judged by those who feel the same way, but don't understand the circumstances.
Since the bible is fairly clear about caring for the orphans, it is understandable that the church body supports and promotes adoption. But, I see it taken way too far.
Some people are capable of reproducing without a problem and never feel called to adopt.
Some people have considered it, but cannot afford it.
Some people choose to be childless because that the direction their life has led them.
Adoption is NOT for everyone. If you don't choose to adopt a child, it doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't even mean that you don't have a love for orphans. It simply means, that God has not called you to adopt.
Why is that so difficult for people to understand? I find it most often in those who have adopted. They try to push others toward their personal passion. They do it in abrasive and confrontational ways. They do it with a lack of respect for the person and what God has done in that person's life.
It is a tough, tough issue. None of the people constantly bringing this issue up know me, know my heart. None of them know how badly I want to adopt a child. None of them understand how brokenhearted I am to not be able to share all the love I have reserved just for a child.
Next time...Schooling...
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
There are a couple child based subjects that shouldn't affect me, but keep sneaking onto my radar.
Adoption.
Oh my goodness, adoption is a wonderful thing. I think every child in the world should be adopted. Near or far away, I wish any child without a parent to love and nurture them should be adopted.
I would give anything to adopt a child. I would adopt more than one child. I would love that child as my own. It's not even something we have discussed, but I know my heart on it. Good grief, this is why we have three dogs.
Sadly, we can't adopt. We can't afford the process and the adoption. Those things are expensive. We can't afford to go through a lengthy process of flying to the corners of the earth to find an orphan.
It has taken me so long to come to a healthy enough place in my life to even consider adoption, that I realize it is just too late. My husband is approaching 50 years old and we are just not prime candidates.
Isn't it sad that the amount of love you have to give a child is such a minimal requirement for an adoption.
But it I can't grieve and put yet another missed opportunity behind me. This subject is always in front of me. Staring me down. Pushed upon me. Thrown in my face. Judged by those who feel the same way, but don't understand the circumstances.
Since the bible is fairly clear about caring for the orphans, it is understandable that the church body supports and promotes adoption. But, I see it taken way too far.
Some people are capable of reproducing without a problem and never feel called to adopt.
Some people have considered it, but cannot afford it.
Some people choose to be childless because that the direction their life has led them.
Adoption is NOT for everyone. If you don't choose to adopt a child, it doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't even mean that you don't have a love for orphans. It simply means, that God has not called you to adopt.
Why is that so difficult for people to understand? I find it most often in those who have adopted. They try to push others toward their personal passion. They do it in abrasive and confrontational ways. They do it with a lack of respect for the person and what God has done in that person's life.
It is a tough, tough issue. None of the people constantly bringing this issue up know me, know my heart. None of them know how badly I want to adopt a child. None of them understand how brokenhearted I am to not be able to share all the love I have reserved just for a child.
Next time...Schooling...
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Holy Bananas Batman
Most of the time, I consider myself to be a unaffected by the insecurity monster. But there are seasons when my husband is busy or unintentionally not attentive, times when I think so low of my self or the way I look. I've definitely had a season of that sprinkled throughout my life lately.
I didn't do a lot this week. When I struggled with self with and insecurity, I tend to not leave the house much. After vacation, I couldn't hide from the grocery store. List in hand, I headed to my usual store a few blocks away.
My first stop was produce. I want to make chocolate covered frozen bananas and they were on sale. Score for me!
I looked them over and decided the bunches being put out by a man stocking the shelf were the best looking. I waited for him to move and then grabbed what I wanted.
As I put the bananas in my basket, I looked up at the man stocking. Looking straight at me, he said "Stupid fat fuck."
Shocked, I stood there looking at him in disbelief. Picking my mouth up off the floor, I began to walk away. In those seconds, I know I kept thinking about what was said. Had he really just said that? I tried to find any other words that I could have put together that wouldn't have been those.
Before I got out of the isle, he was standing beside me rubbing my shoulder and mumbling some nonsense about how sorry he was that the bananas weren't in better shape. What the hell? Sorry about the bananas?
I pulled away from him and walked away. Just past my shock were the tears setting heavy in my eyes. My mind was full of thoughts. How could this man have been so cruel. You know I'm not above the swearing. But by an employee? Yes, I know I'm fat, but who was he to remind me?
Several isles back and deep into the bakery section, I had finally regained enough composure to go on shopping. Standing over some rolls, I felt a hand on my back shoulder. Nearly jumping, I turned around to find the giant asshole standing in by me again.
He had banana in hand and was bringing me what he thought were better ones than I'd picked. I stepped away from him as he reached again to put his hand on my back. Believe it or not, I told him to put the bananas in the basket and let me go...CALMLY!
He was a strange man who'd been so mean to me, then touched me repeatedly. Oh my word! Ivy then, I was doing my best to not breakdown in a bawling heap. I had those full body shutters that you get as you are about to or just finished crying.
I'm not sure what kept me in the store. It took me about 45 minutes to finish my shopping. I'm a fast shopper. That's slow for me.
At the other end of the store, I heard raised voices and swearing coming from a hallway to the warehouse. Out stomps the same older man, cussing in a raised voice.
That was the determining factor in what would happen next.
When I got to checkout, I waited patiently for the cashier to ask if I'd found everything. When she did, I was ready. I said first of all, I could t find wonton wrappers. The truth was that they were in produce and I couldn't go back.
Then I said second, your banana sticker must be having a bad day because he called me a stupid fat fuck. Before I knew it, there was a supervisor standing there asking me what had been said.
As I shared with her what had happened, she asked if it was possible he had not been talking to me.
Hello! I was the only one standing there. I'm pretty sure that the bananas had not done anything to tick him off. Shouldn't her first response be to apologize anyway? That sort of language by an employee should not be acceptable regardless of who he was talking to. Probably the most obvious thing would be that if you say that around a larger person, it's going to be taken personally.
My aggravation was certainly growing by this time, which was when the store manager stepped in. I'd repeated it so many times by this point that I was feeling humiliated and more angry than I had been.
I walked out of the store with a couple free cases of pop, wontons and a $50 gift card. Honestly, I'd trade it all for an explanation and apology.
I know that most women are very sensitive to how they look. That insecurity is multiplied when you are a heavier woman. I know that even a slightly overweight person would have been offended. I do wonder why he felt so lowly of me that he would label me as something so awful. It had more to do with him having a bad day than anything about me. However, I still wonder if my mere existence is that off putting. Am I that difficult to look at, so much so that I appear to be a wall of flesh with no emotion. Do I appear so large that my ears must be filled with fat rendering me unable to hear the insults being hurled at me?
It makes me think and consider and beat myself up inside. It's a good thing I'm not an emotional eater cause this is the sort of thing that would land me in the middle of a family sized pepperoni pizza and half gallon of ice cream.
I didn't do a lot this week. When I struggled with self with and insecurity, I tend to not leave the house much. After vacation, I couldn't hide from the grocery store. List in hand, I headed to my usual store a few blocks away.
My first stop was produce. I want to make chocolate covered frozen bananas and they were on sale. Score for me!
I looked them over and decided the bunches being put out by a man stocking the shelf were the best looking. I waited for him to move and then grabbed what I wanted.
As I put the bananas in my basket, I looked up at the man stocking. Looking straight at me, he said "Stupid fat fuck."
Shocked, I stood there looking at him in disbelief. Picking my mouth up off the floor, I began to walk away. In those seconds, I know I kept thinking about what was said. Had he really just said that? I tried to find any other words that I could have put together that wouldn't have been those.
Before I got out of the isle, he was standing beside me rubbing my shoulder and mumbling some nonsense about how sorry he was that the bananas weren't in better shape. What the hell? Sorry about the bananas?
I pulled away from him and walked away. Just past my shock were the tears setting heavy in my eyes. My mind was full of thoughts. How could this man have been so cruel. You know I'm not above the swearing. But by an employee? Yes, I know I'm fat, but who was he to remind me?
Several isles back and deep into the bakery section, I had finally regained enough composure to go on shopping. Standing over some rolls, I felt a hand on my back shoulder. Nearly jumping, I turned around to find the giant asshole standing in by me again.
He had banana in hand and was bringing me what he thought were better ones than I'd picked. I stepped away from him as he reached again to put his hand on my back. Believe it or not, I told him to put the bananas in the basket and let me go...CALMLY!
He was a strange man who'd been so mean to me, then touched me repeatedly. Oh my word! Ivy then, I was doing my best to not breakdown in a bawling heap. I had those full body shutters that you get as you are about to or just finished crying.
I'm not sure what kept me in the store. It took me about 45 minutes to finish my shopping. I'm a fast shopper. That's slow for me.
At the other end of the store, I heard raised voices and swearing coming from a hallway to the warehouse. Out stomps the same older man, cussing in a raised voice.
That was the determining factor in what would happen next.
When I got to checkout, I waited patiently for the cashier to ask if I'd found everything. When she did, I was ready. I said first of all, I could t find wonton wrappers. The truth was that they were in produce and I couldn't go back.
Then I said second, your banana sticker must be having a bad day because he called me a stupid fat fuck. Before I knew it, there was a supervisor standing there asking me what had been said.
As I shared with her what had happened, she asked if it was possible he had not been talking to me.
Hello! I was the only one standing there. I'm pretty sure that the bananas had not done anything to tick him off. Shouldn't her first response be to apologize anyway? That sort of language by an employee should not be acceptable regardless of who he was talking to. Probably the most obvious thing would be that if you say that around a larger person, it's going to be taken personally.
My aggravation was certainly growing by this time, which was when the store manager stepped in. I'd repeated it so many times by this point that I was feeling humiliated and more angry than I had been.
I walked out of the store with a couple free cases of pop, wontons and a $50 gift card. Honestly, I'd trade it all for an explanation and apology.
I know that most women are very sensitive to how they look. That insecurity is multiplied when you are a heavier woman. I know that even a slightly overweight person would have been offended. I do wonder why he felt so lowly of me that he would label me as something so awful. It had more to do with him having a bad day than anything about me. However, I still wonder if my mere existence is that off putting. Am I that difficult to look at, so much so that I appear to be a wall of flesh with no emotion. Do I appear so large that my ears must be filled with fat rendering me unable to hear the insults being hurled at me?
It makes me think and consider and beat myself up inside. It's a good thing I'm not an emotional eater cause this is the sort of thing that would land me in the middle of a family sized pepperoni pizza and half gallon of ice cream.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Smiles
As I get ready to go through our vacation pictures, I am reminded of how hard it was to get a smile from my niece and nephew.
I asked my nephew the first day why he wouldn't smile. He said because a tooth far back on the side was chipped and he was embarrassed. He said, "it's the same reason my dad doesn't smile."
It is true that his dad had chipped a front tooth growing up, ruining his once perfect smile. Surprisingly enough, it had everything to do with lack of attention at school and nothing to do with the tumultuous home life. My parents didn't have the money to get it fixed like most parents would do now.
The conversation made me think about smiling. It has only been in the past 10 years that I have been more comfortable smiling and only in the more recent years that I have embraced it.
Obviously, we didn't have a lot to smile about as children. That wasn't really the biggest problem with smiling. My dad hated it! Looking back, I think he took smiling as a form of happiness. The slightest hint of happiness was a threat to his control over us and his desire to keep us miserable.
Smiling and laughing taunted him. Have you ever heard the saying, "I'll wipe that smile off your face."? Well in our house, it was used and over used. It wasn't an antagonistic statement so much as a viable warning of what would happen if we showed the slightest bit of happiness.
Outside of the home and for years after I left, a smile consisted of an upturned, closed lip smile at best.
When I started working at the eye clinic, one of the doctors told me I had a wonderful phone voice that the patients would value. He is also the one who taught me that your phone voice is greatly altered if you will intentionally smile throughout the conversation. That was probably the point, I started smiling willingly.
I don't know that there was a turning point, but I have started to embrace my smile more the past few years. Granted, a smile is my one of the more confident ways I hide everything terrible in my life. When you present yourself with a smile, it hides all the ick and makes people think life is wonderful.
Pictures have even gotten easier the past few years. My smile is my smile. It is unique to me. Good, bad or ugly, it is a part of me. Since I'm not going to do anything intentional to alter it medically, it's a part of me that's unchanging.
The longer I am intentionally away from my parents, the easier it gets to smile and laugh and enjoy life.
Whatever the reasons my brother or niece or nephew choose not to smile, I hope they eventually learn it is ok. I hope they get to a place in life where they know that a chipped tooth or another person doesn't need to be a barrier in them being able to do the simple things in life. Nobody needs a barrier to allowing others to seem the simplest sign of happiness in their lives.
I asked my nephew the first day why he wouldn't smile. He said because a tooth far back on the side was chipped and he was embarrassed. He said, "it's the same reason my dad doesn't smile."
It is true that his dad had chipped a front tooth growing up, ruining his once perfect smile. Surprisingly enough, it had everything to do with lack of attention at school and nothing to do with the tumultuous home life. My parents didn't have the money to get it fixed like most parents would do now.
The conversation made me think about smiling. It has only been in the past 10 years that I have been more comfortable smiling and only in the more recent years that I have embraced it.
Obviously, we didn't have a lot to smile about as children. That wasn't really the biggest problem with smiling. My dad hated it! Looking back, I think he took smiling as a form of happiness. The slightest hint of happiness was a threat to his control over us and his desire to keep us miserable.
Smiling and laughing taunted him. Have you ever heard the saying, "I'll wipe that smile off your face."? Well in our house, it was used and over used. It wasn't an antagonistic statement so much as a viable warning of what would happen if we showed the slightest bit of happiness.
Outside of the home and for years after I left, a smile consisted of an upturned, closed lip smile at best.
When I started working at the eye clinic, one of the doctors told me I had a wonderful phone voice that the patients would value. He is also the one who taught me that your phone voice is greatly altered if you will intentionally smile throughout the conversation. That was probably the point, I started smiling willingly.
I don't know that there was a turning point, but I have started to embrace my smile more the past few years. Granted, a smile is my one of the more confident ways I hide everything terrible in my life. When you present yourself with a smile, it hides all the ick and makes people think life is wonderful.
Pictures have even gotten easier the past few years. My smile is my smile. It is unique to me. Good, bad or ugly, it is a part of me. Since I'm not going to do anything intentional to alter it medically, it's a part of me that's unchanging.
The longer I am intentionally away from my parents, the easier it gets to smile and laugh and enjoy life.
Whatever the reasons my brother or niece or nephew choose not to smile, I hope they eventually learn it is ok. I hope they get to a place in life where they know that a chipped tooth or another person doesn't need to be a barrier in them being able to do the simple things in life. Nobody needs a barrier to allowing others to seem the simplest sign of happiness in their lives.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Happy 15th Anniversary
Today we will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary.
Thanks to blogger's ability to schedule posts, I am writing this during a few moments of down time as we prepare for our trip. Provided things have gone close to planned, we have checked into our hotel for the next three days and will be headed out on our NASA tour soon.
The fact we are spending our 15th anniversary with my niece and nephew in Texas is somewhat indicative of how our married life has gone.
When we got married, neither of us had a plan. Even though we had dated for nearly five years, we hadn't discussed the major things in life. The only thing that mattered was that we loved each other and had a place to live. We hadn't discussed children or savings or future plans at all. We were the epitome of "fly by the seat of your pants" when it came to our relationship.
That way of living has led us to completely different ends of the life spectrum over the years. We've had times of flourishing and times of depletion. I am sure at some point over the next couple weeks, we will take time to reflect on both.
It is with great humility that I can say that the great times were the most fun, but the worst times taught me the most.
He prepared well for me, buying a home for us before we were married. After all these years, we finally have made it a home. Great progress has been made in our ability to communicate with each other just through a complete home remodel.
Some of our more impulsive times and most fun have come in our vacations. We have traveled all over. Minnesota, Wyoming, Utah, California, New Mexico, Texas, Arizona, South Dakota, New York, Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Colorado, Iowa, Mississippi, Alabama, Kansas, Missouri, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Nevada, Jamaica, Mexico, Grand Cayman, Belize, Honduras, Canada and we've sailed around the coast of Cuba.
I am so thankful that we've had so many opportunities to travel and spend quality time together. Goodness, that may have very well balanced out the bad.
There is one thing which has been consistent in the worst of times during our marriage. I have been solely responsible for the bad times. Yes, it is true. My husband is not a saint by nature, but has practiced patience and forgiveness like one.
Massive credit card debt, not now but we've made a huge dent in the over 150K debt. Infidelity, that one's probably the hardest to admit and was very early in our marriage. Walking out, this has been a go to for me when things have gotten rough. Job loss. Surgeries. Fertility treatments and miscarriages and infertility. Diagnoses of life-altering mental illness, subsequent unemployment.
Not to make excuses for any of the terrible things I have done, but if you knew more about the mental illness, you might have more understanding about some of the things I listed above.
It is kind of amazing and hard to believe that we survived all that. I have given my husband every reason to divorce me. In fact, I think there were times I did things intentionally to test his willingness to stay. I don't do that any more, he's proven over and over that his love is greater than my ignorance.
I know that every cheesy, mushy anniversary card tells your spouse that you love them more today than the day you were married. In our case, that is true. I love him so much more than I ever thought possible. What's even more amazing is that he loves me more than I ever thought possible.
He's still the one. The one I trust the most. The one I love the most. The one I know will never leave me. The one I want to share the good things in life. The one who wipes my tears. The one who was made for me. The one I want to be more like. The one I want to grow older with. I love this man.
Happy 15th Anniversary! May the next 15 bring more joy than pain.
Thanks to blogger's ability to schedule posts, I am writing this during a few moments of down time as we prepare for our trip. Provided things have gone close to planned, we have checked into our hotel for the next three days and will be headed out on our NASA tour soon.
The fact we are spending our 15th anniversary with my niece and nephew in Texas is somewhat indicative of how our married life has gone.
When we got married, neither of us had a plan. Even though we had dated for nearly five years, we hadn't discussed the major things in life. The only thing that mattered was that we loved each other and had a place to live. We hadn't discussed children or savings or future plans at all. We were the epitome of "fly by the seat of your pants" when it came to our relationship.
That way of living has led us to completely different ends of the life spectrum over the years. We've had times of flourishing and times of depletion. I am sure at some point over the next couple weeks, we will take time to reflect on both.
It is with great humility that I can say that the great times were the most fun, but the worst times taught me the most.
He prepared well for me, buying a home for us before we were married. After all these years, we finally have made it a home. Great progress has been made in our ability to communicate with each other just through a complete home remodel.
Some of our more impulsive times and most fun have come in our vacations. We have traveled all over. Minnesota, Wyoming, Utah, California, New Mexico, Texas, Arizona, South Dakota, New York, Ohio, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Florida, Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Colorado, Iowa, Mississippi, Alabama, Kansas, Missouri, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Nevada, Jamaica, Mexico, Grand Cayman, Belize, Honduras, Canada and we've sailed around the coast of Cuba.
I am so thankful that we've had so many opportunities to travel and spend quality time together. Goodness, that may have very well balanced out the bad.
There is one thing which has been consistent in the worst of times during our marriage. I have been solely responsible for the bad times. Yes, it is true. My husband is not a saint by nature, but has practiced patience and forgiveness like one.
Massive credit card debt, not now but we've made a huge dent in the over 150K debt. Infidelity, that one's probably the hardest to admit and was very early in our marriage. Walking out, this has been a go to for me when things have gotten rough. Job loss. Surgeries. Fertility treatments and miscarriages and infertility. Diagnoses of life-altering mental illness, subsequent unemployment.
Not to make excuses for any of the terrible things I have done, but if you knew more about the mental illness, you might have more understanding about some of the things I listed above.
It is kind of amazing and hard to believe that we survived all that. I have given my husband every reason to divorce me. In fact, I think there were times I did things intentionally to test his willingness to stay. I don't do that any more, he's proven over and over that his love is greater than my ignorance.
I know that every cheesy, mushy anniversary card tells your spouse that you love them more today than the day you were married. In our case, that is true. I love him so much more than I ever thought possible. What's even more amazing is that he loves me more than I ever thought possible.
He's still the one. The one I trust the most. The one I love the most. The one I know will never leave me. The one I want to share the good things in life. The one who wipes my tears. The one who was made for me. The one I want to be more like. The one I want to grow older with. I love this man.
Happy 15th Anniversary! May the next 15 bring more joy than pain.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
We Have Arrived
We finally made it! I did fair, given I only slept two hours. I don't want to go into it now but spending the nigh with my in laws proved harder than I remember.
The kids did a marvelous job. It was the longest they had ever traveled in a car together. By the time we got to the end of the 9 hours, they were ready for some room to move and were a bit slap happy.
We grabbed breakfast at McDonalds this morning. Let me tell you, I am glad all of our lodging comes with free breakfast. That was just genius on my part. Our breakfast cost $2 more than our KFC lunch and the kids didn't get full.
After a few drink/bathroom stops and one refueling, we finally arrived at our hotel. We got a lovely two bedroom suite super cheap and super awesome. We took a few minutes of down time before going to eat dinner.
We took the kids to Chop House burger that we found last time we were here. Giant burgers, onion rings and brownies the size of your foot and I think they finally got full.
I think my niece is in the early stages of a cold. Ugh!!! I'm a total germaphobe! So we now have meds, tissues, and hand sanitizer.
I took the kids for a swim so my husband could get lots of rest. It's still 97 degrees and humid out. So the water felt great.
Maybe I'm learning a new respect for parents who travel with their kids. It's a lot more work than just the two of us.
I should probably call for lights out because we now only have 9 hours before we all have to be up again. But I'm either wanting to savor every last drop out of the day or I'm crazy exhausted.
Tomorrow the real fun begins. We will have a four hour drive tomorrow night, hopefully that goes well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
The kids did a marvelous job. It was the longest they had ever traveled in a car together. By the time we got to the end of the 9 hours, they were ready for some room to move and were a bit slap happy.
We grabbed breakfast at McDonalds this morning. Let me tell you, I am glad all of our lodging comes with free breakfast. That was just genius on my part. Our breakfast cost $2 more than our KFC lunch and the kids didn't get full.
After a few drink/bathroom stops and one refueling, we finally arrived at our hotel. We got a lovely two bedroom suite super cheap and super awesome. We took a few minutes of down time before going to eat dinner.
We took the kids to Chop House burger that we found last time we were here. Giant burgers, onion rings and brownies the size of your foot and I think they finally got full.
I think my niece is in the early stages of a cold. Ugh!!! I'm a total germaphobe! So we now have meds, tissues, and hand sanitizer.
I took the kids for a swim so my husband could get lots of rest. It's still 97 degrees and humid out. So the water felt great.
Maybe I'm learning a new respect for parents who travel with their kids. It's a lot more work than just the two of us.
I should probably call for lights out because we now only have 9 hours before we all have to be up again. But I'm either wanting to savor every last drop out of the day or I'm crazy exhausted.
Tomorrow the real fun begins. We will have a four hour drive tomorrow night, hopefully that goes well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Perfect Church Moment
This is the third week in a row that I've comfortably sat in my old familiar place. Today was the hardest to walk in the door, but has been the best so far.
It was easier for me to connect to the music. To me, it was familiar and inviting. There is something so sincere in worship when you can visibly see a drummer, guitarist, or even people in the congregation worshipping with passion. Let me be painfully honest, I'd love it if it were always this way.
We had an adult baptism this morning. It is usually difficult for me to watch an adult be baptized. The whole thing is so reminiscent of my past experience of be pushed and held under water. It's so bittersweet for me. Through the painful memories I always find the one good one.
I always remember with fondness my own baptism.
I am sure I've mentioned this before but the weeks and days leading up to my baptism were hard. I couldn't wrap my head around willing allowing a man I barely knew push me under water.
You know the saying that it takes a village to raise a child? Well, in my case, it took a village to get this baby Christian baptized.
My village consisted of our church staff. They were so good to me during this process. None of us knew at the time why I was having such a difficult time. Despite the lack of understanding, they were all exhibited an immense amount of patience and kindness.
I can't even remember the number of times we did practice runs. There were times they just let me sit in the baptismal so that I could get more comfortable. They prayed and prayed with me and probably prayed in private for the craziness nobody understood.
With their help and a peace that is beyond understanding, I was baptized on September 9, 2007.
As I stood in church today thinking through that time, I looked over my shoulder. Across the church stood the pastor who was instrumental in my conversion and who baptized me. I looked to the left to see the counselor who stuck by me through that crazy time and many more. Ahead of me, leading the worship, was the music minister who was so good to me through encouragement during that time.
What a sweet, sweet moment. To look and see these three people made those memories even more special today. Lots and lots of other things have changed since that time. Many of the people are different. I've changed. Even those three people have changed. But that moment was absolutely perfect.
In all my terrible church experiences, I understandably struggle to remember the good. I am so glad I got that reminder today. I needed it. I needed to be reminded of the goodness inside the church.
It was easier for me to connect to the music. To me, it was familiar and inviting. There is something so sincere in worship when you can visibly see a drummer, guitarist, or even people in the congregation worshipping with passion. Let me be painfully honest, I'd love it if it were always this way.
We had an adult baptism this morning. It is usually difficult for me to watch an adult be baptized. The whole thing is so reminiscent of my past experience of be pushed and held under water. It's so bittersweet for me. Through the painful memories I always find the one good one.
I always remember with fondness my own baptism.
I am sure I've mentioned this before but the weeks and days leading up to my baptism were hard. I couldn't wrap my head around willing allowing a man I barely knew push me under water.
You know the saying that it takes a village to raise a child? Well, in my case, it took a village to get this baby Christian baptized.
My village consisted of our church staff. They were so good to me during this process. None of us knew at the time why I was having such a difficult time. Despite the lack of understanding, they were all exhibited an immense amount of patience and kindness.
I can't even remember the number of times we did practice runs. There were times they just let me sit in the baptismal so that I could get more comfortable. They prayed and prayed with me and probably prayed in private for the craziness nobody understood.
With their help and a peace that is beyond understanding, I was baptized on September 9, 2007.
As I stood in church today thinking through that time, I looked over my shoulder. Across the church stood the pastor who was instrumental in my conversion and who baptized me. I looked to the left to see the counselor who stuck by me through that crazy time and many more. Ahead of me, leading the worship, was the music minister who was so good to me through encouragement during that time.
What a sweet, sweet moment. To look and see these three people made those memories even more special today. Lots and lots of other things have changed since that time. Many of the people are different. I've changed. Even those three people have changed. But that moment was absolutely perfect.
In all my terrible church experiences, I understandably struggle to remember the good. I am so glad I got that reminder today. I needed it. I needed to be reminded of the goodness inside the church.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
15 Years Ago Monday
Before we head out on this whirlwind vacation, I have (at least) one more hurdle to jump. It is a personal one and certainly one which seems to evolve a little every year.
Our quickly approaching 15th wedding anniversary is definitely a milestone. Hopefully, I will take the time to write more on that later. Very few anniversaries pass me by without thinking about the loss of my grandma. Monday will mark 15 years of living life without her.
It is only in the past couple years that I have started to mourn her passing. Long delayed for me, I know but understandable if you know how my brain works.
Last year at this time was very difficult for me, maybe more so than the previous years. I had lived for nearly 6 years without much family contact and I felt the loss more than ever.
My grandma was literally the best of the worst. She wasn't great, had her issues and was sub par at best as a person. However, she loved and cared for me in more overt ways than anyone else in my family. I sat at her bed side for 6 days before she passed away, delaying many of my wedding preparations.
Looking back at her life, I could say with bold confidence that she was not a Christian. She spent her last few days alive at a Catholic hospital. She had a very aggressive lung cancer, which only took 7 days to fill her body. All of that 7 days, she was on life support. Five of those days, she communicated with us by blinking her eyes, tapping our hands and writing somewhat decipherable notes.
I was not a Christian at the time. However, I found comfort in their courtyard and chapel. The courtyard had a large statue of Mary. It was beautiful and peaceful, a great place to breathe in life and breathe out the sterilization of the ICU. The chapel was a warm place, filled with candles. I would sit for what seemed like hours. I often found myself in a sobbing heap in the pew hoping for a miracle.
On one of my trips to the chapel, a kind priest gave me a tissue and patted my back. He proceeded on to a stool at the front of the chapel, lighting a candle and then bowing in silence. I realize now that this was very much the Catholic way of praying for someone specific.
I left the chapel, went to my grandma's room and asked her if she believed in God. She nodded yes and I found comfort in that. Not sure why, since I was still years and years from truly believing in God myself. Her affirmation of belief has confused me greatly over the years and I could probably write a book on that. That part of her passing probably gets more and more difficult to reconcile as the years go by.
This year, I find myself mourning her in a much different way. As the process of re-establishing a couple family relationships continues, I think I mourn my connection to my grandma less.
For the first time ever, I think there is a potential to have a stronger relationship and certainly a healthier relationship with others in my family. These relationships, which are really starting anew, could be so much better in the future than what I ever had with her. They won't replace what I had with her. But maybe, the best relationship I ever had with someone in my family is yet to come. Maybe, just maybe, the best I ever have won't be the best of the worst.
Tuesday morning before we leave for Texas, I will be visiting her grave site. Something I have not done is over 7 years. It will be the first time to visit with a true understanding of death. There won't be flowers. There won't be one-sided conversation. There will probably be tears, but they won't be wasted. Fifteen years later, I can finally mourn the good, put aside the bad and hope for the future.
Our quickly approaching 15th wedding anniversary is definitely a milestone. Hopefully, I will take the time to write more on that later. Very few anniversaries pass me by without thinking about the loss of my grandma. Monday will mark 15 years of living life without her.
It is only in the past couple years that I have started to mourn her passing. Long delayed for me, I know but understandable if you know how my brain works.
Last year at this time was very difficult for me, maybe more so than the previous years. I had lived for nearly 6 years without much family contact and I felt the loss more than ever.
My grandma was literally the best of the worst. She wasn't great, had her issues and was sub par at best as a person. However, she loved and cared for me in more overt ways than anyone else in my family. I sat at her bed side for 6 days before she passed away, delaying many of my wedding preparations.
Looking back at her life, I could say with bold confidence that she was not a Christian. She spent her last few days alive at a Catholic hospital. She had a very aggressive lung cancer, which only took 7 days to fill her body. All of that 7 days, she was on life support. Five of those days, she communicated with us by blinking her eyes, tapping our hands and writing somewhat decipherable notes.
I was not a Christian at the time. However, I found comfort in their courtyard and chapel. The courtyard had a large statue of Mary. It was beautiful and peaceful, a great place to breathe in life and breathe out the sterilization of the ICU. The chapel was a warm place, filled with candles. I would sit for what seemed like hours. I often found myself in a sobbing heap in the pew hoping for a miracle.
On one of my trips to the chapel, a kind priest gave me a tissue and patted my back. He proceeded on to a stool at the front of the chapel, lighting a candle and then bowing in silence. I realize now that this was very much the Catholic way of praying for someone specific.
I left the chapel, went to my grandma's room and asked her if she believed in God. She nodded yes and I found comfort in that. Not sure why, since I was still years and years from truly believing in God myself. Her affirmation of belief has confused me greatly over the years and I could probably write a book on that. That part of her passing probably gets more and more difficult to reconcile as the years go by.
This year, I find myself mourning her in a much different way. As the process of re-establishing a couple family relationships continues, I think I mourn my connection to my grandma less.
For the first time ever, I think there is a potential to have a stronger relationship and certainly a healthier relationship with others in my family. These relationships, which are really starting anew, could be so much better in the future than what I ever had with her. They won't replace what I had with her. But maybe, the best relationship I ever had with someone in my family is yet to come. Maybe, just maybe, the best I ever have won't be the best of the worst.
Tuesday morning before we leave for Texas, I will be visiting her grave site. Something I have not done is over 7 years. It will be the first time to visit with a true understanding of death. There won't be flowers. There won't be one-sided conversation. There will probably be tears, but they won't be wasted. Fifteen years later, I can finally mourn the good, put aside the bad and hope for the future.
Friday, July 26, 2013
3 Days and Counting
Much to my own surprise, we are eagerly preparing for an upcoming vacation. It isn't the timing or location or specifics I had planned, but it very well could be even better.
Our original plan was to take 7-10 days and make a trip east to South Carolina. We had delayed finalizing lodging while we waited on a potential change in my husband's employment (which did not happen).
A little over a week ago, we learned that we would be able to have my niece and nephew for a short period of time. It looked like it would be an extended weekend at the beginning of August. A furlough day for my husband, we agreed to give the kids a few options. We could make a quick road trip to Dallas, St. Louis, Omaha, Branson or they could hang out with us at home.
My niece had no real preference. My nephew immediately chose Dallas and gave his reason. He wanted to go to the ocean and beach. It's reasonable for a kid to think all of Texas is surrounded by beach, right? I can't imagine his disappointment as his mom explained that Texas is far from the beach.
After some discussion, we agreed that with a few additional days we could take them to the beach. The parents agreed and so we began to plan our 6 day vacation.
Our adventure will start next Tuesday. We have so much planned. Tours of Cowboy's Stadium, Johnson Space Center and the new George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum. We plan to wrap up our time in Texas with a few days on the beaches and piers in Galveston.
The hotels are booked. The tickets are purchased. The car is clean. Bags and bags of chips and crackers are bought and packed.
As excited as I am, I am holding a respectful amount of fear.
My niece and nephew are 12 and 13. They are sweet, quiet kids most of the time. However, I am positive that sitting in a car side by side for hours upon hours will wash away some of that sweetness and they will inevitably start to irritate each other. I can easily predict at least a half dozen of the "Don't make me pull this car over" moments. But I am praying that the flow of activities will wear them out and they will sleep.
I don't take the responsibility lightly. Even though I babysat these kids from birth on, I don't take for granted the precious gifts they are and how we will be responsible for their well-being during this vacation. I know we can handle it, but it is certainly on my mind as we prepare to travel 9 hours from their parents.
I would like to add that I don't take for granted how big this is for us. It wasn't that long ago when I never thought this kind of trip would be possible. I am extremely thankful for the time to spend with them and see it as an unexpected gift.
Of course I want them to have a great time. They don't get vacations like this every year. While I don't have unrealistic expectations of them, but I certainly don't want the trip to be a flop. So far, the kids seem so excited and that's all I can hope for right now.
It's hard to admit and I am sure no surprise, but I am worried about my own anxiety. Yes, I have anxiety about my anxiety. Since our accident two years ago, my travel/car anxiety is sometimes out of control. Honestly, it is usually the one thing on any of our trips that brings out the worst in both of us. I don't want my niece and nephew to see that and I certainly don't want to them to see us fight.
That leads to my last concern. Even though I don't think we need to give the kids this facade that life is always perfect for us, I do want to be good role models for them. I want us to be able to show them love and for them to have a fun trip.
I don't typically do this, but would you consider praying for this trip? Pray for safe travels, quieted hearts and minds, and that it would be a wonderful experience for all four of us.
I hope to be sitting here in a couple weeks, sharing pictures from our trip.
Our original plan was to take 7-10 days and make a trip east to South Carolina. We had delayed finalizing lodging while we waited on a potential change in my husband's employment (which did not happen).
A little over a week ago, we learned that we would be able to have my niece and nephew for a short period of time. It looked like it would be an extended weekend at the beginning of August. A furlough day for my husband, we agreed to give the kids a few options. We could make a quick road trip to Dallas, St. Louis, Omaha, Branson or they could hang out with us at home.
My niece had no real preference. My nephew immediately chose Dallas and gave his reason. He wanted to go to the ocean and beach. It's reasonable for a kid to think all of Texas is surrounded by beach, right? I can't imagine his disappointment as his mom explained that Texas is far from the beach.
After some discussion, we agreed that with a few additional days we could take them to the beach. The parents agreed and so we began to plan our 6 day vacation.
Our adventure will start next Tuesday. We have so much planned. Tours of Cowboy's Stadium, Johnson Space Center and the new George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum. We plan to wrap up our time in Texas with a few days on the beaches and piers in Galveston.
The hotels are booked. The tickets are purchased. The car is clean. Bags and bags of chips and crackers are bought and packed.
As excited as I am, I am holding a respectful amount of fear.
My niece and nephew are 12 and 13. They are sweet, quiet kids most of the time. However, I am positive that sitting in a car side by side for hours upon hours will wash away some of that sweetness and they will inevitably start to irritate each other. I can easily predict at least a half dozen of the "Don't make me pull this car over" moments. But I am praying that the flow of activities will wear them out and they will sleep.
I don't take the responsibility lightly. Even though I babysat these kids from birth on, I don't take for granted the precious gifts they are and how we will be responsible for their well-being during this vacation. I know we can handle it, but it is certainly on my mind as we prepare to travel 9 hours from their parents.
I would like to add that I don't take for granted how big this is for us. It wasn't that long ago when I never thought this kind of trip would be possible. I am extremely thankful for the time to spend with them and see it as an unexpected gift.
Of course I want them to have a great time. They don't get vacations like this every year. While I don't have unrealistic expectations of them, but I certainly don't want the trip to be a flop. So far, the kids seem so excited and that's all I can hope for right now.
It's hard to admit and I am sure no surprise, but I am worried about my own anxiety. Yes, I have anxiety about my anxiety. Since our accident two years ago, my travel/car anxiety is sometimes out of control. Honestly, it is usually the one thing on any of our trips that brings out the worst in both of us. I don't want my niece and nephew to see that and I certainly don't want to them to see us fight.
That leads to my last concern. Even though I don't think we need to give the kids this facade that life is always perfect for us, I do want to be good role models for them. I want us to be able to show them love and for them to have a fun trip.
I don't typically do this, but would you consider praying for this trip? Pray for safe travels, quieted hearts and minds, and that it would be a wonderful experience for all four of us.
I hope to be sitting here in a couple weeks, sharing pictures from our trip.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Scrapbooking
I am so thankful to get to take a few minutes out of my busy life to share about an awesome experience I had last night. I will have to share later why all the busyness, which is an awesome story all of it's own.
When a dear friend invited me to her house for a scrapbooking night, I was eager to go but definitely held some reservations in the back of my mind. NOT at all because of the ladies involved! I love all of them!
My skepticism comes from the myriad of mediocre and just down right bad experiences I've had when I am an outsider. By outsider, I mean the least known person to the group or the newest one in the group. That's a strength and weakness of a small church. People who grew up together or have been in the same social circles for so long often are very close knit and can have a difficult time bringing in new people.
Since I certainly needed some time around other people, I headed for my friend's house with my skepticism in check.
I was so pleasantly surprised. It was probably the best evening I've had and for so many reasons. We talked, openly and honestly. We shared serious stuff. We laughed. We laughed some more. We did it all without fear of judgment. We talked about things that scare us and future life plans. I'm pretty sure we did some scrapbooking, but it certainly wasn't the main topic.
Most of all, I was just one of them. I've never had an experience where I so naturally felt a part of a small group the way I did this one. It was one of the rare times I walked away sad it was over and anxiously awaiting the next time we could get together.
The other three ladies have known each other far longer than I have known any of them. And, I know it was a short break from the ins and outs of everyday life for them. For me, it was so much more.
I needed a night like this. I needed a renewed hope that I could naturally fit somewhere without it being difficult for me. I needed to know there was a place I could be myself and not fear being judged. I needed to hear that beyond the happy faces that grace the church doors on Sunday morning, there are people who have messy lives. I needed to know I wasn't going to forever be an outsider.
I share this solely for myself. There will be many more times when I struggle to find that natural fit and feeling, especially in the church body. I needed to be reminded that my place does exist and there are people who are caring, loving and not judgmental.
When a dear friend invited me to her house for a scrapbooking night, I was eager to go but definitely held some reservations in the back of my mind. NOT at all because of the ladies involved! I love all of them!
My skepticism comes from the myriad of mediocre and just down right bad experiences I've had when I am an outsider. By outsider, I mean the least known person to the group or the newest one in the group. That's a strength and weakness of a small church. People who grew up together or have been in the same social circles for so long often are very close knit and can have a difficult time bringing in new people.
Since I certainly needed some time around other people, I headed for my friend's house with my skepticism in check.
I was so pleasantly surprised. It was probably the best evening I've had and for so many reasons. We talked, openly and honestly. We shared serious stuff. We laughed. We laughed some more. We did it all without fear of judgment. We talked about things that scare us and future life plans. I'm pretty sure we did some scrapbooking, but it certainly wasn't the main topic.
Most of all, I was just one of them. I've never had an experience where I so naturally felt a part of a small group the way I did this one. It was one of the rare times I walked away sad it was over and anxiously awaiting the next time we could get together.
The other three ladies have known each other far longer than I have known any of them. And, I know it was a short break from the ins and outs of everyday life for them. For me, it was so much more.
I needed a night like this. I needed a renewed hope that I could naturally fit somewhere without it being difficult for me. I needed to know there was a place I could be myself and not fear being judged. I needed to hear that beyond the happy faces that grace the church doors on Sunday morning, there are people who have messy lives. I needed to know I wasn't going to forever be an outsider.
I share this solely for myself. There will be many more times when I struggle to find that natural fit and feeling, especially in the church body. I needed to be reminded that my place does exist and there are people who are caring, loving and not judgmental.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Conviction
This past week, I was having a conversation with an individual from church when I found myself feeling so convicted. That doesn't happen often. Not because I am above conviction, but because I rarely have deep enough conversations to lead to conviction.
Honestly, this wasn't that deep of a conversation. It was with someone who has been a Christian longer than me, so I was a bit surprised.
In the conversation, the person said with firm belief that Christians who drink, smoke, cuss and watch questionable television are NOT Christians.
NOT Christians!
I tried to reason this out with the person that this was simply untrue. Everyone has their stuff. Everyone had their sin. Their crutches. The things God has not dealt with them on. This person was having none of it.
They said they don't do those things because Christians aren't supposed to to do them. By that time, I was doing my best to share in a loving way that this was holding a judgement over someone for their stuff. I tried.
I found myself just getting pissed. Yea, I said pissed. If you missed it, long ago I readily admitted that I have a problem with swearing. That surprises some people, because I know the absolute wrong times and places to do it. It's not something God has dealt with me on yet. I obviously have much bigger things in my life right now.
This person was standing in my home telling me I was not a Christian because I occasionally drop the F-bomb. Oh hell no!
I didn't have much to say the remainder of the time this person was visiting. I was insulted. Hurt. Angry.
After they left, I prayed. My goodness, I prayed for forgiveness. I know I have done the same thing. Not in the same way, but very similar.
You see, I have long thought that Christians were all loving and forgiving and understanding. I have expected it. The bible tells us to be that way and it was presented to me in many ways that the church as a whole was this way.
Through years of hurt, I learned the hard way that this isn't true. Do I believe the absence of these things are a weakness of the church as a whole...yes! But I've certainly learned that individually, those things are largely often an unmet expectation. To find an individual who loves, forgives and shows compassion regularly is a rarity. I have found it in a few select people, but it was a long process and not easy.
I know I spent a lot of time the past few years angry because these things were so hard to find even though its right there in the bible. Yes, I've given a lot of grace and second, third and eighth chances. But, I realized that I felt convicted for being so judgmental.
Hearing the judgement being spewed out at me in my own house changed me. I'm not sure I've yet forgiven this person for their ignorance as it was deeply personal. But, I certainly know I will reconsider my anger toward the Christians who don't quite have it right yet.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Honestly, this wasn't that deep of a conversation. It was with someone who has been a Christian longer than me, so I was a bit surprised.
In the conversation, the person said with firm belief that Christians who drink, smoke, cuss and watch questionable television are NOT Christians.
NOT Christians!
I tried to reason this out with the person that this was simply untrue. Everyone has their stuff. Everyone had their sin. Their crutches. The things God has not dealt with them on. This person was having none of it.
They said they don't do those things because Christians aren't supposed to to do them. By that time, I was doing my best to share in a loving way that this was holding a judgement over someone for their stuff. I tried.
I found myself just getting pissed. Yea, I said pissed. If you missed it, long ago I readily admitted that I have a problem with swearing. That surprises some people, because I know the absolute wrong times and places to do it. It's not something God has dealt with me on yet. I obviously have much bigger things in my life right now.
This person was standing in my home telling me I was not a Christian because I occasionally drop the F-bomb. Oh hell no!
I didn't have much to say the remainder of the time this person was visiting. I was insulted. Hurt. Angry.
After they left, I prayed. My goodness, I prayed for forgiveness. I know I have done the same thing. Not in the same way, but very similar.
You see, I have long thought that Christians were all loving and forgiving and understanding. I have expected it. The bible tells us to be that way and it was presented to me in many ways that the church as a whole was this way.
Through years of hurt, I learned the hard way that this isn't true. Do I believe the absence of these things are a weakness of the church as a whole...yes! But I've certainly learned that individually, those things are largely often an unmet expectation. To find an individual who loves, forgives and shows compassion regularly is a rarity. I have found it in a few select people, but it was a long process and not easy.
I know I spent a lot of time the past few years angry because these things were so hard to find even though its right there in the bible. Yes, I've given a lot of grace and second, third and eighth chances. But, I realized that I felt convicted for being so judgmental.
Hearing the judgement being spewed out at me in my own house changed me. I'm not sure I've yet forgiven this person for their ignorance as it was deeply personal. But, I certainly know I will reconsider my anger toward the Christians who don't quite have it right yet.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Foreign Movie
It is a notable accomplishment for me to be sitting in church for the second time in three weeks. I should be happy with that, but I'm just not. I'm not unhappy either. It really has little to do with emotion at all.
I want to be here or I wouldn't be. I didn't sleep last night so I certainly had a viable excuse to stay home, again. I have finally reached the point where I miss what little I used to get from church and have a desire to have it again.
Wouldn't it be easy for me if that would all fall into place after I overcome the other issues that have been roadblocks for me. I mean things have literally happened over the past few weeks that have paved a road clear to the front door and I've only had to walk through it. I couldn't have asked for it to be easier.
But as I sit here, I realize I have yet another hurdle in front of me. Another obstacle to get over before my time here can be meaningful. It's my own and its big. It's really two-fold.
This is one area where my disorder is painfully obvious. Most of the time, I get nothing from listening to preaching or corporate worship. There's a block that I don't want to go into right now, but its real and hard.
That problem IS unique to me and my situation, but the outcome is not. Regardless of the number of people I've asked, I've never found anyone willing to take the time to summarize the sermon for me. That leaves me with a high level of frustration.
Lets face it, there are few people who will continue to willingly put forth an effort to do something when they continuously feel it is useless. I'm no different in this. If you don't get anything for your effort, you simply just give up after a while. I'm not talking about perseverance here. There is a possibility it will be this way the rest of my life. So, it's not just a test.
All that said, I have a serous disconnect from the church service itself. When the actions are always the same and you don't hear the content which does change from week to week, it's like sitting quietly and watching the same movie repeatedly.
We sing two songs. Someone preaches a mini sermon. An offering is taken. We sing two more songs. Someone reads scripture. The pastor preaches. We sing another song. Someone prays. Up. Down. It all happens in a scripted way. Everything is pre written. The guys speaking or praying talk in ways they wouldn't normally because they are reading what is written.
The songs don't make sense. I typically sing along only once or twice through the entire service because I'm not familiar. The words just don't connect for me and I'm usually good at dissecting music.
Rinse and repeat.
It's disheartening to hear people be able to connect and be enriched by their time at church. I'm happy for them. It's not my story though.
So I should be happy to be sitting here. I should be ecstatic to see the mountain I've climbed just to be sitting here. But I'm not. I want more. I don't want to sit in a foreign film without subtitles every week and walk out frustrated over the time lost. That's simply not satisfying.
If you search your heart, I'm sure you'd feel the same.
I want to be here or I wouldn't be. I didn't sleep last night so I certainly had a viable excuse to stay home, again. I have finally reached the point where I miss what little I used to get from church and have a desire to have it again.
Wouldn't it be easy for me if that would all fall into place after I overcome the other issues that have been roadblocks for me. I mean things have literally happened over the past few weeks that have paved a road clear to the front door and I've only had to walk through it. I couldn't have asked for it to be easier.
But as I sit here, I realize I have yet another hurdle in front of me. Another obstacle to get over before my time here can be meaningful. It's my own and its big. It's really two-fold.
This is one area where my disorder is painfully obvious. Most of the time, I get nothing from listening to preaching or corporate worship. There's a block that I don't want to go into right now, but its real and hard.
That problem IS unique to me and my situation, but the outcome is not. Regardless of the number of people I've asked, I've never found anyone willing to take the time to summarize the sermon for me. That leaves me with a high level of frustration.
Lets face it, there are few people who will continue to willingly put forth an effort to do something when they continuously feel it is useless. I'm no different in this. If you don't get anything for your effort, you simply just give up after a while. I'm not talking about perseverance here. There is a possibility it will be this way the rest of my life. So, it's not just a test.
All that said, I have a serous disconnect from the church service itself. When the actions are always the same and you don't hear the content which does change from week to week, it's like sitting quietly and watching the same movie repeatedly.
We sing two songs. Someone preaches a mini sermon. An offering is taken. We sing two more songs. Someone reads scripture. The pastor preaches. We sing another song. Someone prays. Up. Down. It all happens in a scripted way. Everything is pre written. The guys speaking or praying talk in ways they wouldn't normally because they are reading what is written.
The songs don't make sense. I typically sing along only once or twice through the entire service because I'm not familiar. The words just don't connect for me and I'm usually good at dissecting music.
Rinse and repeat.
It's disheartening to hear people be able to connect and be enriched by their time at church. I'm happy for them. It's not my story though.
So I should be happy to be sitting here. I should be ecstatic to see the mountain I've climbed just to be sitting here. But I'm not. I want more. I don't want to sit in a foreign film without subtitles every week and walk out frustrated over the time lost. That's simply not satisfying.
If you search your heart, I'm sure you'd feel the same.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Missed It By That Much...
To my delight alone, I have been driving all summer. Nobody is happier about that than me. In fact, I'm not sure anybody is happy about that except me. Although, there have really not been many problems.
I did have an incident this week which made me reconsider my desire to drive....briefly.
Our accident in 2011 certainly raised my level of anxiety while riding in a car. I have much less of it when I'm the one driving. After a couple months behind the wheel, I am cautious and yet very carefree while driving. That's definitely not the case while riding with someone else.
Isn't it funny how sometimes it only takes one little thing to remind us that we aren't invincible? To remind us just how small we are? To remind us that God is bigger than us? To remind us that all the little things work together for something bigger? To remind us just how vulnerable we really are?
While making the 10 minute trek between suburbs one evening this week, I had what I am positive was a little thing happen to me. I am sure it would have been deemed "cool" by my husband and a lot of guys. It might have rattled some of the ladies I know, but some of them probably would have thought it was exciting after the initial shock.
As I drove down the highway, I saw ahead that I had a green light to keep going. I usually am very attentive to all side roads even when I have the right of way. As I approached the intersection, I saw a large truck barreling down the side street but was certain it would stop at the red light. Wrong!
The truck fishtailed through traffic, smacking a car and light pole in it's path. By this time, I was already into the intersection and could see the truck wasn't stopping for anyone. I hit my brakes and veered to the side as the end of the truck swung just inches away from my bumper.
In a complete state of shock, I know I took a deep breath and had some choice words flowing through my head about the truck load of young cowboys who were hanging out the windows and yelling. In that brief second, I couldn't believe they had just blown through a stop light causing so much damage and nearly hitting me.
It may have seemed like minutes but I know it was only seconds later, I realized that these fools weren't stopping. Why? Well, it might have had something to do with the police cars chasing them. One after another, police cars were in pursuit of these young men and I was sitting right in the middle of their chase.
As I watched the truck and cars get smaller and smaller as they headed further away, the tears in my eyes got bigger and bigger. I took a lot of deep breaths and headed back out on the highway. I didn't cry, but those giant tears set in my eyes all the way home. I'm not sure I even blinked.
My mind didn't slow down the rest of the way home. If I hadn't taken that extra 30 seconds to send a text message or if I had been on my phone and not paying attention or if I hadn't slowed down when I did.
Being in the driver's seat didn't make me any bigger or any more in control. I was a little tiny spec in a great big world and I was vulnerable. A few seconds in either direction and my evening would have ended a lot different.
I haven't given up driving yet (I know there are some people anxiously waiting for that moment), but I'm driving a little bit more alert the past few days. And, I'm certainly driving a lot more thankful when I arrive home safely.
I did have an incident this week which made me reconsider my desire to drive....briefly.
Our accident in 2011 certainly raised my level of anxiety while riding in a car. I have much less of it when I'm the one driving. After a couple months behind the wheel, I am cautious and yet very carefree while driving. That's definitely not the case while riding with someone else.
Isn't it funny how sometimes it only takes one little thing to remind us that we aren't invincible? To remind us just how small we are? To remind us that God is bigger than us? To remind us that all the little things work together for something bigger? To remind us just how vulnerable we really are?
While making the 10 minute trek between suburbs one evening this week, I had what I am positive was a little thing happen to me. I am sure it would have been deemed "cool" by my husband and a lot of guys. It might have rattled some of the ladies I know, but some of them probably would have thought it was exciting after the initial shock.
As I drove down the highway, I saw ahead that I had a green light to keep going. I usually am very attentive to all side roads even when I have the right of way. As I approached the intersection, I saw a large truck barreling down the side street but was certain it would stop at the red light. Wrong!
The truck fishtailed through traffic, smacking a car and light pole in it's path. By this time, I was already into the intersection and could see the truck wasn't stopping for anyone. I hit my brakes and veered to the side as the end of the truck swung just inches away from my bumper.
In a complete state of shock, I know I took a deep breath and had some choice words flowing through my head about the truck load of young cowboys who were hanging out the windows and yelling. In that brief second, I couldn't believe they had just blown through a stop light causing so much damage and nearly hitting me.
It may have seemed like minutes but I know it was only seconds later, I realized that these fools weren't stopping. Why? Well, it might have had something to do with the police cars chasing them. One after another, police cars were in pursuit of these young men and I was sitting right in the middle of their chase.
As I watched the truck and cars get smaller and smaller as they headed further away, the tears in my eyes got bigger and bigger. I took a lot of deep breaths and headed back out on the highway. I didn't cry, but those giant tears set in my eyes all the way home. I'm not sure I even blinked.
My mind didn't slow down the rest of the way home. If I hadn't taken that extra 30 seconds to send a text message or if I had been on my phone and not paying attention or if I hadn't slowed down when I did.
Being in the driver's seat didn't make me any bigger or any more in control. I was a little tiny spec in a great big world and I was vulnerable. A few seconds in either direction and my evening would have ended a lot different.
I haven't given up driving yet (I know there are some people anxiously waiting for that moment), but I'm driving a little bit more alert the past few days. And, I'm certainly driving a lot more thankful when I arrive home safely.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Marriage 2.0
We are less than a month away from celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary. I know that's a big deal to most people, but for us it's HUGE!
As is always the case, I'm going to be brutally honest. Two weeks ago, I packed a bag and left my husband a detailed letter about how I needed a few days away from him to decide if I still wanted to be married.
There were a couple issues plaguing me. He had been gone the week prior and I had gone days with only 1-2 hours of sleep. I needed rest and sleep desperately. My days had become filled with little more than laundry, cleaning, cooking, taking care of dogs and repeating. My exhaustion only exacerbated the feelings of being a single wife. My husband had gotten so focused and wrapped up in his job, that he had little interest in or focus on anything else. I have certainly done that and maybe you have too. It is easy to let the most stressful issue in our lives consume us and for the ones we love the most to suffer.
Regardless, I'd had enough and needed a respite from it all. I needed things to change or I needed the strength to accept it. Needless-to-say, I came back home the same night and we left the next day for a weekend away. No cleaning, no cooking, no working, no email, no time spent apart. It was just what we needed. I know, packing and leaving was extreme but it certainly led to our quick realignment.
As terrible as that all sounds, it is NOTHING in comparison to the months leading up to our 1st wedding anniversary.
OK, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. Our first entire year was pretty miserable. He had lived on his own for well over five years. He had his routine, his stuff, his ways and I was an intruder! I had no stability prior to moving and was a bit more free and loose with time and routine than he was. We clashed in big ways.
My grandma had died three days before our wedding. I didn't have time to grieve and I certainly didn't know how. On top of that, I had moved two hours away from everyone I knew. My husband, who I didn't like much that first year, was literally the only person I knew. I left a town of 2,000 people with only 1 gas station and a Pizza Hut and moved to a huge suburb of KC. My entire life had been turned upside down.
Because my husband was so regimented in his routine, we made the trip back to his parents EVERY weekend. No kidding! We spent not one weekend at home that entire first year. We also made six trips back that first year for more funerals. Our families both suffered lots of loss that first 12-15 months of our marriage.
Heading into our first anniversary, I was fairly certain that I didn't like this guy enough to stick around. I had gotten a marketing job that I loved though. So, I decided to at least stick it out through our first anniversary.
If you know my husband, you know he is a kind, quiet guy who would do anything for anybody. He wasn't always that way. He went through some major thyroid issues prior to our wedding that didn't moderate until several years into marriage. That made him moody and easily annoyed. He was kind of arrogant and had the "I've got the world by the tail" mentality. I cringe even typing that because he is nowhere close to that today.
One month before our anniversary, his company downsized and he was let go. My $8/hour marketing job had become our only income. That job loss was the turning point for my husband. It had brought him to his knees. Crushed him in a way that forever changed him.
He was only out of work for about 45 days, but it took us months and maybe even years to overcome. The days, weeks and months following our first anniversary were a blur, but we obviously survived it.
This year certainly has nothing on that first year or many of the past 14. But here we are, still together and heading into our 15th anniversary.
With all that we've been through (and there's a whole bunch of ick that I haven't mentioned that's even worse), we are still together. We've beat the odds. With my background and all that we have endured, there was little hope we'd still be together today. We are about to prove the statistics wrong.
That feels good! It would be great if the next 15 were perfect, but I'll just be happy if I can look back and say "These past 15 were easier than the first 15."
As is always the case, I'm going to be brutally honest. Two weeks ago, I packed a bag and left my husband a detailed letter about how I needed a few days away from him to decide if I still wanted to be married.
There were a couple issues plaguing me. He had been gone the week prior and I had gone days with only 1-2 hours of sleep. I needed rest and sleep desperately. My days had become filled with little more than laundry, cleaning, cooking, taking care of dogs and repeating. My exhaustion only exacerbated the feelings of being a single wife. My husband had gotten so focused and wrapped up in his job, that he had little interest in or focus on anything else. I have certainly done that and maybe you have too. It is easy to let the most stressful issue in our lives consume us and for the ones we love the most to suffer.
Regardless, I'd had enough and needed a respite from it all. I needed things to change or I needed the strength to accept it. Needless-to-say, I came back home the same night and we left the next day for a weekend away. No cleaning, no cooking, no working, no email, no time spent apart. It was just what we needed. I know, packing and leaving was extreme but it certainly led to our quick realignment.
As terrible as that all sounds, it is NOTHING in comparison to the months leading up to our 1st wedding anniversary.
OK, I'm not going to sugar coat this at all. Our first entire year was pretty miserable. He had lived on his own for well over five years. He had his routine, his stuff, his ways and I was an intruder! I had no stability prior to moving and was a bit more free and loose with time and routine than he was. We clashed in big ways.
My grandma had died three days before our wedding. I didn't have time to grieve and I certainly didn't know how. On top of that, I had moved two hours away from everyone I knew. My husband, who I didn't like much that first year, was literally the only person I knew. I left a town of 2,000 people with only 1 gas station and a Pizza Hut and moved to a huge suburb of KC. My entire life had been turned upside down.
Because my husband was so regimented in his routine, we made the trip back to his parents EVERY weekend. No kidding! We spent not one weekend at home that entire first year. We also made six trips back that first year for more funerals. Our families both suffered lots of loss that first 12-15 months of our marriage.
Heading into our first anniversary, I was fairly certain that I didn't like this guy enough to stick around. I had gotten a marketing job that I loved though. So, I decided to at least stick it out through our first anniversary.
If you know my husband, you know he is a kind, quiet guy who would do anything for anybody. He wasn't always that way. He went through some major thyroid issues prior to our wedding that didn't moderate until several years into marriage. That made him moody and easily annoyed. He was kind of arrogant and had the "I've got the world by the tail" mentality. I cringe even typing that because he is nowhere close to that today.
One month before our anniversary, his company downsized and he was let go. My $8/hour marketing job had become our only income. That job loss was the turning point for my husband. It had brought him to his knees. Crushed him in a way that forever changed him.
He was only out of work for about 45 days, but it took us months and maybe even years to overcome. The days, weeks and months following our first anniversary were a blur, but we obviously survived it.
This year certainly has nothing on that first year or many of the past 14. But here we are, still together and heading into our 15th anniversary.
With all that we've been through (and there's a whole bunch of ick that I haven't mentioned that's even worse), we are still together. We've beat the odds. With my background and all that we have endured, there was little hope we'd still be together today. We are about to prove the statistics wrong.
That feels good! It would be great if the next 15 were perfect, but I'll just be happy if I can look back and say "These past 15 were easier than the first 15."
Friday, June 28, 2013
Glitter and Girly Stuff
This past year has been one of the toughest for me in regards to dealing with my infertility. At one time, I had over 20 friends and acquaintances who were either having babies, pregnant, just had babies or having grandchildren for the first time. Everywhere I looked around me, there were babies. Probably the hardest were people my age having babies. Happy for them, but it stung a lot worse than my younger friends having babies.
I have been quietly sitting in my own anguish while skirting around as many baby showers and hospital visits as possible. There have also been a few times that I've taken a leap out of my comfort zone and held babies. I had not held a baby since the day an ER doctor asked me if I wanted to hold my own stillborn baby boy. I found that it wasn't quite as painful as it had once been.
It was during my ride home from a friend's house today when I realized that I really am fortunate to have friends with small children.
Over the past year, I've had the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful, young mama of two little girls. Until baby sissy arrived a few weeks ago, I got to spend time with the nearly two-year-old almost every week. Besides my nieces and nephews, she's probably the only toddler I have spent much time with.
Let me tell you, I absolutely love this little girl. She's such a doll. When she says my name, which isn't easy for a kid, it just melts my heart. She's got a huge imagination and is so well-behaved.
I got to spend some time helping with the prep work for her upcoming birthday party. It was fun to spend time with my dear friend and I wanted to help her out as much as possible. A hungry newborn who has an internal feeding clock that is timed with absolute accuracy keeps her pretty worn out.
I realized today that I wasn't just helping my friend. This has been an opportunity to do something I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. Purple princess birthday decorations for a little girl are full of glitter and shine and fluff and fun. Something I will never, ever get to experience on my own. But, thanks to my dear friend, I got to be surrounded by all of it. My life would never offer me a chance to be covered in glitter, glue and tissue paper scraps. It was so much fun!
It might not always be easy. In fact, there are going to be lots of times which are down right painful reminders of what I don't have. But, those experiences like helping with 2 year-old party decorations make it so worth it!
I have been quietly sitting in my own anguish while skirting around as many baby showers and hospital visits as possible. There have also been a few times that I've taken a leap out of my comfort zone and held babies. I had not held a baby since the day an ER doctor asked me if I wanted to hold my own stillborn baby boy. I found that it wasn't quite as painful as it had once been.
It was during my ride home from a friend's house today when I realized that I really am fortunate to have friends with small children.
Over the past year, I've had the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful, young mama of two little girls. Until baby sissy arrived a few weeks ago, I got to spend time with the nearly two-year-old almost every week. Besides my nieces and nephews, she's probably the only toddler I have spent much time with.
Let me tell you, I absolutely love this little girl. She's such a doll. When she says my name, which isn't easy for a kid, it just melts my heart. She's got a huge imagination and is so well-behaved.
I got to spend some time helping with the prep work for her upcoming birthday party. It was fun to spend time with my dear friend and I wanted to help her out as much as possible. A hungry newborn who has an internal feeding clock that is timed with absolute accuracy keeps her pretty worn out.
I realized today that I wasn't just helping my friend. This has been an opportunity to do something I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. Purple princess birthday decorations for a little girl are full of glitter and shine and fluff and fun. Something I will never, ever get to experience on my own. But, thanks to my dear friend, I got to be surrounded by all of it. My life would never offer me a chance to be covered in glitter, glue and tissue paper scraps. It was so much fun!
It might not always be easy. In fact, there are going to be lots of times which are down right painful reminders of what I don't have. But, those experiences like helping with 2 year-old party decorations make it so worth it!
Sunday, June 16, 2013
A Father's Day Unlike Most
Usually, Father's Day would be a tough, tough time for me. Between having no reason to be thankful for my sperm donor and not being able to make my husband a father, I usually sulk the day away as I dutifully make the trip back to see my father-in-law.
Today has been a bit different in some respects. Sure, I am still angry and hurt over what is not. But, this year I have held onto something a little better than years past.
During our recent trip to Branson with my brother's family, I had a chance to have a short yet sweet conversation with my little brother.
We introduced them to our favorite dessert diner on the strip. My nephew threw a giant size fit during our time there because his parents refused to buy him his own dessert. The desserts average about $7.50 per plate and are huge! I usually end up with just a piece of cake or a scoop of ice cream because I can't even finish one of their speciality funnel cakes. These things are massive with strawberries, two scoops of ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry.
My brother made the right decision, the kid couldn't have finished an entire plate right after we had just eaten ginormous burgers from another diner. Regardless, my nephew showed his more childish side and caused a scene.
The next day was the day they went trout fishing. That gave them several hours of father son time together.
After they arrived back at the condo, my brother and I sat at the table while everyone watched tv and busied themselves with other things.
My brother shared with me that he had talked to my nephew about his behavior the night before. He said he made my nephew use his lawn mowing money to pay for his fishing permit. He said he had planned to pay for it, but knew it would mean more to him if he had to sacrifice for it.
It took my nephew a long time to catch a fish and they got fairly close to giving up before they caught anything. He said he asked my nephew what it would have felt like to him to have paid for the permit and not caught anything. My nephew's response was that it would have been a waste of money, like throwing it away. My brother said he told him that if he'd have gotten an entire dessert and not been able to eat it all, that would have been like throwing away money.
To you, that might seem like a simple thing to teach your child. For my brother, it's a big thing. My brother finished our conversation by telling me that he had to teach his kids that kind of thing because nobody taught him that.
He's right! Nobody taught any of us about money or savings or check writing. We saw a good example of how to get yourself in debt or steal or write bad checks.
Both of my brothers had problems with writing bad checks. Two days before my wedding, I drove my then 19 year-old little brother around to 21 places to pay for bad checks. Some were written for $100s and others for under $5. My grandpa covered it all. Bad check fees, bank fees, check cost...he paid it all. One by one, we picked them all up and got his name removed from humiliation lists of bad check writers.
That was probably the first experience he had with anyone teaching him the difference between the right way to handle a checking account and the wrong way. I by no means have gone unscathed in this area, but I haven't ever written a bad check.
I thought about that conversation today, repeatedly. My brother isn't a perfect dad. He may not even be a good dad by any stretch of the imagination. But, he's a better dad than he was ever taught to be. He's the best dad that he can be given the examples he had growing up.
I am so thankful for all of that. I'm thankful that in so many ways, he is breaking the cycle he came from. It's not perfect, but I at least got a perfect glimpse at the progress he has made. I am thankful today that he is worthy to be celebrated on a day like today even though his role model is not.
With any luck, he will continue to mature and become less and less like his dad. That's all I can ever hope for him and his children.
Today has been a bit different in some respects. Sure, I am still angry and hurt over what is not. But, this year I have held onto something a little better than years past.
During our recent trip to Branson with my brother's family, I had a chance to have a short yet sweet conversation with my little brother.
We introduced them to our favorite dessert diner on the strip. My nephew threw a giant size fit during our time there because his parents refused to buy him his own dessert. The desserts average about $7.50 per plate and are huge! I usually end up with just a piece of cake or a scoop of ice cream because I can't even finish one of their speciality funnel cakes. These things are massive with strawberries, two scoops of ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry.
My brother made the right decision, the kid couldn't have finished an entire plate right after we had just eaten ginormous burgers from another diner. Regardless, my nephew showed his more childish side and caused a scene.
The next day was the day they went trout fishing. That gave them several hours of father son time together.
After they arrived back at the condo, my brother and I sat at the table while everyone watched tv and busied themselves with other things.
My brother shared with me that he had talked to my nephew about his behavior the night before. He said he made my nephew use his lawn mowing money to pay for his fishing permit. He said he had planned to pay for it, but knew it would mean more to him if he had to sacrifice for it.
It took my nephew a long time to catch a fish and they got fairly close to giving up before they caught anything. He said he asked my nephew what it would have felt like to him to have paid for the permit and not caught anything. My nephew's response was that it would have been a waste of money, like throwing it away. My brother said he told him that if he'd have gotten an entire dessert and not been able to eat it all, that would have been like throwing away money.
To you, that might seem like a simple thing to teach your child. For my brother, it's a big thing. My brother finished our conversation by telling me that he had to teach his kids that kind of thing because nobody taught him that.
He's right! Nobody taught any of us about money or savings or check writing. We saw a good example of how to get yourself in debt or steal or write bad checks.
Both of my brothers had problems with writing bad checks. Two days before my wedding, I drove my then 19 year-old little brother around to 21 places to pay for bad checks. Some were written for $100s and others for under $5. My grandpa covered it all. Bad check fees, bank fees, check cost...he paid it all. One by one, we picked them all up and got his name removed from humiliation lists of bad check writers.
That was probably the first experience he had with anyone teaching him the difference between the right way to handle a checking account and the wrong way. I by no means have gone unscathed in this area, but I haven't ever written a bad check.
I thought about that conversation today, repeatedly. My brother isn't a perfect dad. He may not even be a good dad by any stretch of the imagination. But, he's a better dad than he was ever taught to be. He's the best dad that he can be given the examples he had growing up.
I am so thankful for all of that. I'm thankful that in so many ways, he is breaking the cycle he came from. It's not perfect, but I at least got a perfect glimpse at the progress he has made. I am thankful today that he is worthy to be celebrated on a day like today even though his role model is not.
With any luck, he will continue to mature and become less and less like his dad. That's all I can ever hope for him and his children.
Friday, June 14, 2013
TGIF
Oh my word am I glad it is Friday. I don't work, so I usually don't get excited for the weekend. However, this week is different.
The two weeks prior to this one were hellish at times and quite physically and mentally draining. I had been looking forward to this week for several days, if not weeks. I knew it would bring me some rest and relaxation that I desperately needed.
Oh but I was so wrong.
The most dreaded phone call you can get from your spouse while they are on their way home from work is the "Honey, don't freak out but I've been in an accident." I've gotten a few of those in the past 15 years. The 2nd most dreaded call you can get at that time is "Honey, don't be mad but I have to leave town...in the morning!"
Damn it!
Literally, my husband booked his flight at 7 pm and left at 7 am for the entire week. Completely unexpected and certainly the curve ball in my week.
Things usually fall apart while he is gone, especially me. Things break. I don't sleep. This week was no exception.
Tuesday things went well and I was sure this time would be different, despite the sleep deprivation. My goal this week was to repaint our patio table and chairs. I got them painted no problem. One minor problem though. The paint is oil based and doesn't come off anything easily. No husband, means I have no way of knowing where the cleaners are for the paint. No problem, throw the cheap brush away and life is good, right? Well, yes except I've been sporting white paint splatters on my legs and feet all week like a trophy. Oh yea, I can't forget to mention the giant mess of paint that I got in my hair. How does that happen? I know it's quite trendy to have color streaked hair, but I'm not much into it. So, curly styling it has to be for now until I can get it all picked out. Goodness, that stuff is like hair concrete. With the curls, it's a bit harder to see...but I KNOW!
As I sat inside on Wednesday morning, I heard a giant swoosh outside. Hmm...that wasn't the mailman. A peak out the window and I saw the culprit. A giant limb had broken and fallen to the ground. My neighbors were of little help. One of them exclaimed, "That made me crap my pants!" The other stated, "You know you need to get that out of the street."
Well the darn thing was barely in the street and they both watched while I unsuccessfully tried to move it. Have I mentioned what classy neighbors I have?
So, I headed to the backyard to water plants since we've had some really hot weather this week. My spray nozzle was stuck, so there was no soaker hose watering. My super strong husband always puts those things on so tight.
Before he left, my husband asked me to pull the wooden forms off the concrete patio so that it would finish curing. Yea right! After I failed with the sprayer, I knew the forms were far beyond my scope of ability. Let's face it, I don't have a lot of upper body strength and I think that task might have been outside of my pay grade.
Thankfully, a couple friends of ours came over and took care of the manly tasks that needed done. Whew! Only half way through the week and I surely would be able to relax the rest of it.
Wait just a minute!
Have I mentioned that I don't sleep while my husband is gone? Yes. Have I also mentioned that one of said classy neighbors picked this week to install a pool? No. Oh my. Starting on Wednesday, every morning there has been large equipment running right outside my bedroom window by 7 am. Fun, right? What's more exciting is that these are the heavy drinkers who often have parties (not loud, just late). How much more fun is that going to make the summer for us? Ugh!
Thursday night finally came and I knew I only had one more night alone. Usually, I find comfort in that and can cat nap my way through the night. Oh but wait....not this time.
As I folded the 10 loads of laundry I had ignored since last week, I heard strange noises come from the front of the house. With a large kitchen knife in hand (that's all I had), I searched the house. Nothing! Every time I would step out of the bedroom, it would stop. The dogs were exhausted and unphased by it, which was odd since they often fuss and bark when a car door shuts a block away.
Needless to say, I stacked and piled and pushed furniture in front of all the doors. Yea, because nothing says safe like potentially blocking the exits for an intruder to leave if they are hiding in my house.
The noise never stopped! I never slept! Ugh!
This morning, I was digging in the mess of tools in the garage looking for the stapler. Ok, I know you are probably thinking that at this point I probably shouldn't be operating anything potentially dangerous, but that's just the kind of risk taker I am. Ha!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furry thing jump from a box. OY! The worst thing we've ever had in the garage is a mouse and a baby bird. This ain't no mouse. I don't know what it is, except furry.
No problem, I'll back my car out and turn my dog loose. She's part Cocker Spaniel and often hunts. She's got quite a record of dead mice, bunnies and birds. I knew she'd be all over it. I tried to get the little critter stirred up so she would jump right on it.
Nope! She plopped down on the concrete floor cocking her head from one side to another. I'm positive she was saying, "I'm tired. You kept me up all night long. You chase that stupid critter while I sit here and laugh at you."
Finally, my husband will be home sometime around midnight. Goodness, I cannot wait!
The two weeks prior to this one were hellish at times and quite physically and mentally draining. I had been looking forward to this week for several days, if not weeks. I knew it would bring me some rest and relaxation that I desperately needed.
Oh but I was so wrong.
The most dreaded phone call you can get from your spouse while they are on their way home from work is the "Honey, don't freak out but I've been in an accident." I've gotten a few of those in the past 15 years. The 2nd most dreaded call you can get at that time is "Honey, don't be mad but I have to leave town...in the morning!"
Damn it!
Literally, my husband booked his flight at 7 pm and left at 7 am for the entire week. Completely unexpected and certainly the curve ball in my week.
Things usually fall apart while he is gone, especially me. Things break. I don't sleep. This week was no exception.
Tuesday things went well and I was sure this time would be different, despite the sleep deprivation. My goal this week was to repaint our patio table and chairs. I got them painted no problem. One minor problem though. The paint is oil based and doesn't come off anything easily. No husband, means I have no way of knowing where the cleaners are for the paint. No problem, throw the cheap brush away and life is good, right? Well, yes except I've been sporting white paint splatters on my legs and feet all week like a trophy. Oh yea, I can't forget to mention the giant mess of paint that I got in my hair. How does that happen? I know it's quite trendy to have color streaked hair, but I'm not much into it. So, curly styling it has to be for now until I can get it all picked out. Goodness, that stuff is like hair concrete. With the curls, it's a bit harder to see...but I KNOW!
As I sat inside on Wednesday morning, I heard a giant swoosh outside. Hmm...that wasn't the mailman. A peak out the window and I saw the culprit. A giant limb had broken and fallen to the ground. My neighbors were of little help. One of them exclaimed, "That made me crap my pants!" The other stated, "You know you need to get that out of the street."
Well the darn thing was barely in the street and they both watched while I unsuccessfully tried to move it. Have I mentioned what classy neighbors I have?
So, I headed to the backyard to water plants since we've had some really hot weather this week. My spray nozzle was stuck, so there was no soaker hose watering. My super strong husband always puts those things on so tight.
Before he left, my husband asked me to pull the wooden forms off the concrete patio so that it would finish curing. Yea right! After I failed with the sprayer, I knew the forms were far beyond my scope of ability. Let's face it, I don't have a lot of upper body strength and I think that task might have been outside of my pay grade.
Thankfully, a couple friends of ours came over and took care of the manly tasks that needed done. Whew! Only half way through the week and I surely would be able to relax the rest of it.
Wait just a minute!
Have I mentioned that I don't sleep while my husband is gone? Yes. Have I also mentioned that one of said classy neighbors picked this week to install a pool? No. Oh my. Starting on Wednesday, every morning there has been large equipment running right outside my bedroom window by 7 am. Fun, right? What's more exciting is that these are the heavy drinkers who often have parties (not loud, just late). How much more fun is that going to make the summer for us? Ugh!
Thursday night finally came and I knew I only had one more night alone. Usually, I find comfort in that and can cat nap my way through the night. Oh but wait....not this time.
As I folded the 10 loads of laundry I had ignored since last week, I heard strange noises come from the front of the house. With a large kitchen knife in hand (that's all I had), I searched the house. Nothing! Every time I would step out of the bedroom, it would stop. The dogs were exhausted and unphased by it, which was odd since they often fuss and bark when a car door shuts a block away.
Needless to say, I stacked and piled and pushed furniture in front of all the doors. Yea, because nothing says safe like potentially blocking the exits for an intruder to leave if they are hiding in my house.
The noise never stopped! I never slept! Ugh!
This morning, I was digging in the mess of tools in the garage looking for the stapler. Ok, I know you are probably thinking that at this point I probably shouldn't be operating anything potentially dangerous, but that's just the kind of risk taker I am. Ha!
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a furry thing jump from a box. OY! The worst thing we've ever had in the garage is a mouse and a baby bird. This ain't no mouse. I don't know what it is, except furry.
No problem, I'll back my car out and turn my dog loose. She's part Cocker Spaniel and often hunts. She's got quite a record of dead mice, bunnies and birds. I knew she'd be all over it. I tried to get the little critter stirred up so she would jump right on it.
Nope! She plopped down on the concrete floor cocking her head from one side to another. I'm positive she was saying, "I'm tired. You kept me up all night long. You chase that stupid critter while I sit here and laugh at you."
Finally, my husband will be home sometime around midnight. Goodness, I cannot wait!
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