Today, November 6, marks the day of success. I have now "blogged" every day (except the first) of November. In addition, I have now "blogged" more in the month of November than I did in the entire first ten months of the year. Nice.
I've come to realize that my problem is prioritizing. I can't blame it all on my work-from-home job, though I'm sure that is part of it. At the end of the day, though, there are more than enough hours to raise my girls, do my job, clean my house, and fulfill my drive to create. There have to be, or I'm not going to make it through the next 18 years until Addie is on her way to the University of Notre Dame (or Cornell).
Oh, to master prioritizing.
Oh, to master getting out of bed at 5:45 a.m. to take my shower, get in some devos (at DeVos or in my big, comfy chair), blog a bit, and then make breakfast for the girls. That, of course, means prioritizing the end of my day--vegging in front of the TV, watching the news for the 10th time that day, or climbing into bed? It all depends on what my priorities are . . . vegging or becoming who I'm supposed to be.
I used to meet my Dear Writer Friend at DeVos for devos once a month. It wasn't really devos as much as outlining our goals--physical, spiritual, financial, emotional, creative, and professional. I found my notes the other day from our last meeting before DWF moved to the sunset. That was years ago. She's back now, and I'm no further on crossing those things off my list. Well, except for write a letter to/call Grandma once each week. She's in heaven now, so I'm exempt from that one.
So . . .
Physical. I need abs. And I have dozens and dozens of pounds to lose to be healthy. I want to be a runner some day.
Spiritual. I need to pray. More. Some. At all.
Financial. Thanks to Dave Ramsey, we have had some success here. There is still a long way to go, though. Gotta snowball.
Emotional. I need some space. Some time. Something for me. Tomorrow I should have time away. But I need to create that time with my friends, too. And some accountability to get it all in.
Creative. Blogging daily is a good start. How about that journal which shall be burned upon my death? (Really. I think I mastered that spell from reading through the Harry Potter series three times.) I have a lot of books on my shelf that need to be read, too. They're crying out for it, and so is my brain.
Professional. I need to develop a work schedule for each week and stick to it. There is much for me to learn to do my job well, so I should learn it. I also need to chat with Mom about the blogging (there it is again!) and other social networking she needs me to take on for her. Creativity in exchange for free child care? Works for me! And DWF just might get me on Twitter after all, though it my be as my mom.
So maybe success actually equals six, but five is a better start than I've made in a long, long time.
Friday, November 06, 2009
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Happy Unbirthday, Baby!
Today is the day we originally assigned as the birthday of our youngest children. When your labors are as predictable (short and late) as mine, you get to do just that: assign a birthday. Seems like this entire pregnancy had ideas other than predictable, though.
As we approached our due date--and assigned induction day--I had severe moments of anxiety, wondering what the initial unpredictability would bring. What would it be like to deliver twins, knowing that only one of them would leave the hospital with us? How would the birth certificate for the live child look? How would we explain it all to Ellie, to Meggie, to Addie? So many questions, all saved for the 5th of November.
The unpredictability deepened when my doctor said he would like to induce at 39 weeks instead of just after 40. That bumped the assigned birthday to October 27 and took 10 days from my predetermined timeline. I came to terms with that and busied myself with the laundry, nursery set up, and other little projects around the house.
Then, as unpredictability would have it, my water broke at midnight on October 21. As we rushed to the hospital (after about ten minutes of disbelief and confusion about the next step), we forgot so many things. The camera, last kisses for the girls, my pillow, pens for the scrapbook, anxiety about delivery . . . so much was brushed aside by the confusion of not knowing what was going on. As the night would dawn into morning and realization that the moment was here and Addie would pick their birthday after all, all that we had forgotten made itself known.
I wish I could put words to the matter-of-fact feelings mixed with deep sadness as I delivered Addison's placenta and Baby Zion all at once, with no effort and almost no awareness. Then to hear that Baby Zion's body had been absorbed and to watch them seal my beloved child--Addie's twin--into a plastic container to be sent in for testing . . . but there are no words. Just feelings as mixed as they were the day we learned that there had been two.
Today there were three beautiful girls in the van on the way to Addie's two-week checkup. There were three loud girls in the waiting room and three crying girls during the shot-giving portion of the checkup (H1N1 vaccines for the older two and Mommy). Addie slept through our shots, and the tears were mine at both Ellie's reaction and the awareness that though there were three, there should have been four. Forever there should have been four where there are three. This is our life. And it is a blessed life even when it doesn't make sense.
Today my third of four children is finally "full term." She is 7 lbs. 13 oz. and 20 inches long. She is healthy and growing and beautiful. And her life is richer for the time she spent with Baby Zion.
As we approached our due date--and assigned induction day--I had severe moments of anxiety, wondering what the initial unpredictability would bring. What would it be like to deliver twins, knowing that only one of them would leave the hospital with us? How would the birth certificate for the live child look? How would we explain it all to Ellie, to Meggie, to Addie? So many questions, all saved for the 5th of November.
The unpredictability deepened when my doctor said he would like to induce at 39 weeks instead of just after 40. That bumped the assigned birthday to October 27 and took 10 days from my predetermined timeline. I came to terms with that and busied myself with the laundry, nursery set up, and other little projects around the house.
Then, as unpredictability would have it, my water broke at midnight on October 21. As we rushed to the hospital (after about ten minutes of disbelief and confusion about the next step), we forgot so many things. The camera, last kisses for the girls, my pillow, pens for the scrapbook, anxiety about delivery . . . so much was brushed aside by the confusion of not knowing what was going on. As the night would dawn into morning and realization that the moment was here and Addie would pick their birthday after all, all that we had forgotten made itself known.
I wish I could put words to the matter-of-fact feelings mixed with deep sadness as I delivered Addison's placenta and Baby Zion all at once, with no effort and almost no awareness. Then to hear that Baby Zion's body had been absorbed and to watch them seal my beloved child--Addie's twin--into a plastic container to be sent in for testing . . . but there are no words. Just feelings as mixed as they were the day we learned that there had been two.
Today there were three beautiful girls in the van on the way to Addie's two-week checkup. There were three loud girls in the waiting room and three crying girls during the shot-giving portion of the checkup (H1N1 vaccines for the older two and Mommy). Addie slept through our shots, and the tears were mine at both Ellie's reaction and the awareness that though there were three, there should have been four. Forever there should have been four where there are three. This is our life. And it is a blessed life even when it doesn't make sense.
Today my third of four children is finally "full term." She is 7 lbs. 13 oz. and 20 inches long. She is healthy and growing and beautiful. And her life is richer for the time she spent with Baby Zion.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Surreal Wednesday
Two Wednesdays ago was one of the most surreal days of my life. I was due yesterday. I should have had a one day old today, but instead I have a two week old. Despite all my thoughts and plans, my water broke on Wednesday, October 21, at midnight. I spent that night in a delivery room receiving penicillin through an IV and delivered a healthy baby girl around 10:40 a.m. Then I spent the next week trying to comprehend that I was holding the baby in my arms instead of my womb.
In honor of that surreal day in late October, we will begin celebrating Surreal Wednesdays. Today's surreal moment:
Meggie meets Starbucks.
In honor of that surreal day in late October, we will begin celebrating Surreal Wednesdays. Today's surreal moment:
Meggie meets Starbucks.
You buy the kid one apple juice in a red holiday cup and suddenly she's too grown up to even come in the house when she's told.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Baby, don't ever let anyone cheapen you.
Let's get something out in the open right away: having a baby is never cheap.
There is research that puts the cost of raising a child near $200,000, not including college. It really is worth every penny, but that doesn't mean it isn't shocking. I'm due today, but our beautiful daughter decided to take it upon herself (or my Alaskan Seattle friend paid her off!) to arrive two weeks early. That means that yesterday, the eve of her "birth," we received our first of at least three bills related to her.
$1,729.70.
In August, just 11 short weeks before our expected arrival, BeauDon took a new job, which meant new insurance. Through the grace of God the former insurance carried us through the dreaded COBRA period and right up until the new insurance took effect on October 1. That saved us nearly $1,200 in out-of-pocket (and nonreimbursable) expenses. Whew. Dodged that bullet.
That said, the new insurance just isn't as good as the old. Say what you want about Former Job, but the coverage was decent. I do have to say that Current Job coverage is better than nothing (WAY better), but we do now have a $2,500 deductible. Then we have to pay 20% of our bills, up to another $2,500. Nobody wants to anticipate delivery of a newborn knowing it is likely they will be billed $5,000. Thank goodness for HSA accounts and Current Job's generous seed money in said account! Now that we have (at minimum) reached our deductible, everyone in the family is invited to get sick and/or need some sort of medical care. Commence all elective surgeries and medical treatment (ahem and sorry, BeauDon).
$1,729.70. Yeah. Even with the HSA, we're going to need a while to pay that off. (Baby girl, does anyone else think it's excessive to charge us $1,390.00 for the nursery you were in for less than two hours?)
This is only bill number one, you say? Of three, you say? And the next one will be more? That would be the true reason I don't get an epidural. I'm too Dutch to pay for it.
Ah, well. When we're all cold again next winter because our tax return had to pay you off instead of buy new windows, we'll just snuggle you extra tight, young one.
The silver lining:
Today's call to billing services revealed that our account has not yet been adjusted to reflect the discounted rate we're eligible for through our insurance company.
So, darling Addie Maye . . . never let anyone cheapen you. Except maybe the insurance company.
There is research that puts the cost of raising a child near $200,000, not including college. It really is worth every penny, but that doesn't mean it isn't shocking. I'm due today, but our beautiful daughter decided to take it upon herself (or my Alaskan Seattle friend paid her off!) to arrive two weeks early. That means that yesterday, the eve of her "birth," we received our first of at least three bills related to her.
$1,729.70.
In August, just 11 short weeks before our expected arrival, BeauDon took a new job, which meant new insurance. Through the grace of God the former insurance carried us through the dreaded COBRA period and right up until the new insurance took effect on October 1. That saved us nearly $1,200 in out-of-pocket (and nonreimbursable) expenses. Whew. Dodged that bullet.
That said, the new insurance just isn't as good as the old. Say what you want about Former Job, but the coverage was decent. I do have to say that Current Job coverage is better than nothing (WAY better), but we do now have a $2,500 deductible. Then we have to pay 20% of our bills, up to another $2,500. Nobody wants to anticipate delivery of a newborn knowing it is likely they will be billed $5,000. Thank goodness for HSA accounts and Current Job's generous seed money in said account! Now that we have (at minimum) reached our deductible, everyone in the family is invited to get sick and/or need some sort of medical care. Commence all elective surgeries and medical treatment (ahem and sorry, BeauDon).
$1,729.70. Yeah. Even with the HSA, we're going to need a while to pay that off. (Baby girl, does anyone else think it's excessive to charge us $1,390.00 for the nursery you were in for less than two hours?)
This is only bill number one, you say? Of three, you say? And the next one will be more? That would be the true reason I don't get an epidural. I'm too Dutch to pay for it.
Ah, well. When we're all cold again next winter because our tax return had to pay you off instead of buy new windows, we'll just snuggle you extra tight, young one.
The silver lining:
Today's call to billing services revealed that our account has not yet been adjusted to reflect the discounted rate we're eligible for through our insurance company.
So, darling Addie Maye . . . never let anyone cheapen you. Except maybe the insurance company.
Monday, November 02, 2009
For Wendy, who always seems to somehow know what is best for me
It's the dreaded guilt-inducing month yet again (already?!), and I failed miserably at it last year. One might wonder why I would ever give it a go again this year when my win-loss record rivals that of the Detroit Lions, but like the Lions I can be assured that I have faithful (to the point of eligibility for sainthood) fans in my corner. So, in honor of WMW, my committed inch-by-inch writer friend; our better-than-average elder and his beautiful wife; our lovely neighbor who is moving too soon; my favorite worship leader who always believes the Lions will play football that first Sunday in February; my hubby's former WW coworker who thinks I really am funny--or at least worth laughing at--and any cyber stalkers I don't know about, I give you my best efforts at posting every day this month except for the first.
(NOTE: Full disclosure statement--last year I blamed my lack of posting on my nearly full-time work schedule and my toddler and preschooler. While this year I have (naively) added a newborn into the mix, I also happen to have the entire month of November off. Thus, I lost the major part of my excuse and have added 2:00 a.m. feedings in as the perfect time to doze off or dream up witty blog entries. Or explore excuses for my failure at NaBloPoMo.)
As a tribute to last year's failure, I have decided to dedicate today's post to all the times (since November began) that I have meant well and, well, fell short in the final minutes of the game:
* My Fantasy Football team, Sassy Frass, had far too many Packers on it this week . . . normally that works for me, but this year my defense is no match for the grand ol' #4.
* It is day two of odd-even parking in this fair city--and my ninth annual effort at it--and I still can't remember which side I should use on which day.
* The "over easy" egg I made for my preschooler ended up closer to over hard than raw. She cried.
* I took aforementioned preschooler's "Yes, I want toast, Mom," to mean she actually wanted it toasted. She didn't. She cried.
* I left the newborn on the chair for a bit too long while trying to make said egg and toast. She cried. Then she stopped. I came out to find aforementioned preschooler holding her and rocking. Without supporting the baby's head. She meant well. I almost cried.
* Prior to newborn's most-recent feeding (about 1 hour late, according to the shrillness of her cry), I neglected to secure a cup for toddler to fill with her healthy ten-minutes-before-lunch snack of Cheese-its. She found a shoe.
Here's hoping that none of this rubs off on the baby wrap auction ending tomorrow morning. So far that thing is mine, but the hours to go make me fear my chances. Stupid eBay and getting all my hopes up only to steal the dream from me at the last second.
I'm sure there's more, but it's all slipped my mind for now. And the kids are a 1/2-hour late for their naps, which means there is apple pie calling my name. Ooh, and Halloween candy. One day down. How many more to go?
(NOTE: Full disclosure statement--last year I blamed my lack of posting on my nearly full-time work schedule and my toddler and preschooler. While this year I have (naively) added a newborn into the mix, I also happen to have the entire month of November off. Thus, I lost the major part of my excuse and have added 2:00 a.m. feedings in as the perfect time to doze off or dream up witty blog entries. Or explore excuses for my failure at NaBloPoMo.)
As a tribute to last year's failure, I have decided to dedicate today's post to all the times (since November began) that I have meant well and, well, fell short in the final minutes of the game:
* My Fantasy Football team, Sassy Frass, had far too many Packers on it this week . . . normally that works for me, but this year my defense is no match for the grand ol' #4.
* It is day two of odd-even parking in this fair city--and my ninth annual effort at it--and I still can't remember which side I should use on which day.
* The "over easy" egg I made for my preschooler ended up closer to over hard than raw. She cried.
* I took aforementioned preschooler's "Yes, I want toast, Mom," to mean she actually wanted it toasted. She didn't. She cried.
* I left the newborn on the chair for a bit too long while trying to make said egg and toast. She cried. Then she stopped. I came out to find aforementioned preschooler holding her and rocking. Without supporting the baby's head. She meant well. I almost cried.
* Prior to newborn's most-recent feeding (about 1 hour late, according to the shrillness of her cry), I neglected to secure a cup for toddler to fill with her healthy ten-minutes-before-lunch snack of Cheese-its. She found a shoe.
Here's hoping that none of this rubs off on the baby wrap auction ending tomorrow morning. So far that thing is mine, but the hours to go make me fear my chances. Stupid eBay and getting all my hopes up only to steal the dream from me at the last second.
I'm sure there's more, but it's all slipped my mind for now. And the kids are a 1/2-hour late for their naps, which means there is apple pie calling my name. Ooh, and Halloween candy. One day down. How many more to go?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A Mother's Intuition and a Father's Preparation
I got pregnant in February. It has never been hard for us to conceive--we've been blessed to get pregnant in the month that we have started trying for all three of my pregnancies. It's a blessing that not many woman get to enjoy.
So, knowing that we wanted our last two children close together, shortly after our youngest daughter's first birthday we conceived our "number last" child. During the early stages of pregnancy I struggle with nausea, tiredness, soreness, and many other ailments common to those early days. I also struggle with anxiety, wondering if the baby will be okay, if it will live, who it will look like, how it will fit in our family, what gender it will be . . . again, common to any newly-pregnant woman.
This time was a bit different. This time my cravings were different and some of my normal symptoms weren't there. This time my anxiety led me to check with friends and call the doctor's office. This time I just knew there was something wrong.
I explained those feelings away by referring to the postpartum depression I struggled with after the birth of our second daughter. I explained them away by chuckling at my belief that God could never give us only good, being afraid of what blessings He had for us, and knowing that the shoe would have to fall eventually. But they persisted. Even through the two checkups where we heard the heartbeat and I measured the right size, they persisted. Something was wrong and soon we would learn what--I just knew it.
Our one and only ultra sound was scheduled for June 16 at 2:45 p.m. As I tried to sleep on Monday night, I was plagued by dreams and anxiety that I haven't known for years. I woke early on Tuesday morning and laid in bed wishing, willing, praying, breathing away my anxiety. Nothing worked. I spent the day being quite productive in the office--it helped to keep my mind off the knots in my stomach--and left for my appointment at 2:30 p.m. Walking out of the office, I had the overwhelming sense that I would not return the same. I knew that our appointment that afternoon would change everything about our lives.
"Don't WE have a flair for the dramatic," I thought. Then I whispered a prayer that God would prepare us for whatever we would learn that afternoon.
Leaving the parking garage AFTER the appointment, I admitted to God that it would have been hard to be prepared for what we learned. But I thanked Him for doing it anyway.
We got called early for our ultra sound, and I settled in to the bed and the goop and prepared to see our baby for the first time. As the tech zoomed around, we caught a glimpse of Baby. She kept moving, and we saw Baby again. She said, "Is this your first ultra sound?" We said yes. Then she focused on Baby again, but I couldn't see its heart beating. Momentary panic. As focus became more clear, however, we saw a little heart beating away. 146 beats per minute. Strong, solid, consistent. Beautiful.
Then in a quiet voice, the tech said, "I see something else that I have to tell you. There's something here." I cannot express the terror that sets in at words like that. Then rationality: a hole in the heart, a problem with the brain, a missing limb . . . we can deal with these things.
I held my breath, and I'm sure Beau did, too, as we heard her say, "There is a twin, but it's heart isn't beating. It's much smaller, and it stopped growing. I'm sorry."
I'm sorry?!
We're having twins?
Our baby died?
How? Why?
Does this dead baby stay in me until I deliver?
I have to deliver it?!
Will the other baby be okay?
What would we have done with two?
Can I please go home now?
So many questions, and almost no answers. Even worse, so many conflicting feelings flooding my mind. Grief over the baby we lost. Joy over the baby that is there. Relief that we never knew there were twins and didn't have the chance to wrap our hearts around two babies. Pain. Fear. Regret.
Peace.
We were prepared, if you can be. I had known that something was wrong, so I was ready for it, even though I couldn't have dreamed up this reality. We had no reason to suspect twins, and the doctor had nothing but apologies to offer us. But we had more than that. We had peace. We had the knowledge that our beautiful baby--whose gender we may never know--is now Baby Zion, celebrating eternity in heaven with a Father who has always known its identity, its heart, its beauty.
The rest of the ultra sound was thankfully much less eventful. Except for gender, we got every glimpse, picture, and reassurance that we needed from Twin A. And every time the tech typed "Twin," my heart lurched. The true pain came when she needed to record the heart beat, or lack thereof, of Twin B. To watch her push record on a flat line and see our baby on the screen with its still heart . . . I have never known that pain. The true joy came after I got to go to the bathroom (a small joy in itself!), and she resumed the ultra sound on the healthy baby. Up until that point, the position had been wrong to get a picture of its heart. I laid back down, accepted the goop again, and settled in . . . she put the paddle on my stomach, and we were immediately rewarded with a beautiful four-chambered heart. I have never known that relief.
So here we sit. There is one healthy baby in my stomach, and it is kicking me regularly. That, in itself is a gift from God, because I normally only feel it every 2 or 3 days. It kicked me to sleep last night and is reminding me again this morning that life goes on. That I am loved and held and have beheld the true beauty of life--and death--in the presence of God. There is also one dead baby in my stomach, and its little body will remain unchanged while we monitor the growth of its twin. In 20 weeks I shall deliver them both. One will be tested, and the other will test us. One will live with God and in our hearts, the other will live with us and in our arms.
Someday what I have written here, and the kind thoughts we have received from our Family, will perhaps help our living twin to understand what it lost and what it gained in its 14 1/2 weeks shared with Baby Zion. It will be an entry to talk about heaven and eternity and how God carries us. Delivery day, baptism day, birthdays, the first day of kindergarten, graduation, wedding day . . . every day will be tempered with what could have been and what is. We will always wonder, yet we will always rejoice that our Zion is in eternity forever without ever having to spend a day living in sin and pain. To slip from its mother's tummy, from the love it was created with and our desire to have it with us, into a world with no more night is a beautiful thing. It's a sad thing, but it is joyous too.
My grandfather died in September of 1998. My grandmother died last October. My sister's father-in-law, who was like a dear uncle or extra grandfather to my own girls, died in January. Countless friends have lost babies they didn't get to hold. All of these people--these people we love and who loved us--were there to greet our Baby Zion on its arrival on a day in mid May. This is the first of his great grandchildren that my grandpa got to meet. There is comfort there. May they know true joy together until the day that we are greeted by them and can celebrate eternity the way we were made.
We are blessed.
So, knowing that we wanted our last two children close together, shortly after our youngest daughter's first birthday we conceived our "number last" child. During the early stages of pregnancy I struggle with nausea, tiredness, soreness, and many other ailments common to those early days. I also struggle with anxiety, wondering if the baby will be okay, if it will live, who it will look like, how it will fit in our family, what gender it will be . . . again, common to any newly-pregnant woman.
This time was a bit different. This time my cravings were different and some of my normal symptoms weren't there. This time my anxiety led me to check with friends and call the doctor's office. This time I just knew there was something wrong.
I explained those feelings away by referring to the postpartum depression I struggled with after the birth of our second daughter. I explained them away by chuckling at my belief that God could never give us only good, being afraid of what blessings He had for us, and knowing that the shoe would have to fall eventually. But they persisted. Even through the two checkups where we heard the heartbeat and I measured the right size, they persisted. Something was wrong and soon we would learn what--I just knew it.
Our one and only ultra sound was scheduled for June 16 at 2:45 p.m. As I tried to sleep on Monday night, I was plagued by dreams and anxiety that I haven't known for years. I woke early on Tuesday morning and laid in bed wishing, willing, praying, breathing away my anxiety. Nothing worked. I spent the day being quite productive in the office--it helped to keep my mind off the knots in my stomach--and left for my appointment at 2:30 p.m. Walking out of the office, I had the overwhelming sense that I would not return the same. I knew that our appointment that afternoon would change everything about our lives.
"Don't WE have a flair for the dramatic," I thought. Then I whispered a prayer that God would prepare us for whatever we would learn that afternoon.
Leaving the parking garage AFTER the appointment, I admitted to God that it would have been hard to be prepared for what we learned. But I thanked Him for doing it anyway.
We got called early for our ultra sound, and I settled in to the bed and the goop and prepared to see our baby for the first time. As the tech zoomed around, we caught a glimpse of Baby. She kept moving, and we saw Baby again. She said, "Is this your first ultra sound?" We said yes. Then she focused on Baby again, but I couldn't see its heart beating. Momentary panic. As focus became more clear, however, we saw a little heart beating away. 146 beats per minute. Strong, solid, consistent. Beautiful.
Then in a quiet voice, the tech said, "I see something else that I have to tell you. There's something here." I cannot express the terror that sets in at words like that. Then rationality: a hole in the heart, a problem with the brain, a missing limb . . . we can deal with these things.
I held my breath, and I'm sure Beau did, too, as we heard her say, "There is a twin, but it's heart isn't beating. It's much smaller, and it stopped growing. I'm sorry."
I'm sorry?!
We're having twins?
Our baby died?
How? Why?
Does this dead baby stay in me until I deliver?
I have to deliver it?!
Will the other baby be okay?
What would we have done with two?
Can I please go home now?
So many questions, and almost no answers. Even worse, so many conflicting feelings flooding my mind. Grief over the baby we lost. Joy over the baby that is there. Relief that we never knew there were twins and didn't have the chance to wrap our hearts around two babies. Pain. Fear. Regret.
Peace.
We were prepared, if you can be. I had known that something was wrong, so I was ready for it, even though I couldn't have dreamed up this reality. We had no reason to suspect twins, and the doctor had nothing but apologies to offer us. But we had more than that. We had peace. We had the knowledge that our beautiful baby--whose gender we may never know--is now Baby Zion, celebrating eternity in heaven with a Father who has always known its identity, its heart, its beauty.
The rest of the ultra sound was thankfully much less eventful. Except for gender, we got every glimpse, picture, and reassurance that we needed from Twin A. And every time the tech typed "Twin," my heart lurched. The true pain came when she needed to record the heart beat, or lack thereof, of Twin B. To watch her push record on a flat line and see our baby on the screen with its still heart . . . I have never known that pain. The true joy came after I got to go to the bathroom (a small joy in itself!), and she resumed the ultra sound on the healthy baby. Up until that point, the position had been wrong to get a picture of its heart. I laid back down, accepted the goop again, and settled in . . . she put the paddle on my stomach, and we were immediately rewarded with a beautiful four-chambered heart. I have never known that relief.
So here we sit. There is one healthy baby in my stomach, and it is kicking me regularly. That, in itself is a gift from God, because I normally only feel it every 2 or 3 days. It kicked me to sleep last night and is reminding me again this morning that life goes on. That I am loved and held and have beheld the true beauty of life--and death--in the presence of God. There is also one dead baby in my stomach, and its little body will remain unchanged while we monitor the growth of its twin. In 20 weeks I shall deliver them both. One will be tested, and the other will test us. One will live with God and in our hearts, the other will live with us and in our arms.
Someday what I have written here, and the kind thoughts we have received from our Family, will perhaps help our living twin to understand what it lost and what it gained in its 14 1/2 weeks shared with Baby Zion. It will be an entry to talk about heaven and eternity and how God carries us. Delivery day, baptism day, birthdays, the first day of kindergarten, graduation, wedding day . . . every day will be tempered with what could have been and what is. We will always wonder, yet we will always rejoice that our Zion is in eternity forever without ever having to spend a day living in sin and pain. To slip from its mother's tummy, from the love it was created with and our desire to have it with us, into a world with no more night is a beautiful thing. It's a sad thing, but it is joyous too.
My grandfather died in September of 1998. My grandmother died last October. My sister's father-in-law, who was like a dear uncle or extra grandfather to my own girls, died in January. Countless friends have lost babies they didn't get to hold. All of these people--these people we love and who loved us--were there to greet our Baby Zion on its arrival on a day in mid May. This is the first of his great grandchildren that my grandpa got to meet. There is comfort there. May they know true joy together until the day that we are greeted by them and can celebrate eternity the way we were made.
We are blessed.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
A Subtle Reminder.
"People, I love this country. It's the best Babylon on the face of this earth, but it's still Babylon. This is not the kingdom of God, and my ultimate allegiance belongs to Jesus and so does yours."
- Tony Campolo
- Tony Campolo
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Keeping Up Appearances
I honestly thought it would be more romantic than this . . . I'm not referring to marriage or motherhood, though in both instances life is a bit more changing diapers and washing dishes than lingering the days away on the beach or exploring foreign countries.
This 109-year-old farmhouse that is now in the city.
I pictured it as cozy and full of history. It is those those things, but it is a bit more dust and falling apart and cupboards smaller and shorter than reality demands.
I spent the better part of the past two days cleaning. The bleach smell on my hands and the cracking skin lead me to believe that it is likely a bad thing that I can literally count the times I've scrubbed those cupboards (six) and the time that I cleaned under the hood of the stove (yesterday) in the 8 years we've called this home. But there is a party at my house today, and in the interest of keeping up appearances, I have scrubbed cupboards and floors, forced my husband to recaulk the tub and the toilet, put away a month's pile of clothes in the girls' rooms, and sucked cobwebs out of windows, blinds, and crevices.
Come on in, company.
As I was scrubbing the kitchen cupboards, my mind was wondering to how silly it is that I clean and clean only when my house will be full of my casual acquaintances. It's nice to have friends that at least my house can be itself with.
But what about me? Don't I do the same for me when I'm about to walk out of my house? The things I say and the things I do are not always an accurate reflection of myself. It's often an act that I adopt in keeping up appearances. And those appearances aren't even for just the casual acquaintances. I told a friend how much I weigh the other day. She is the only one who knows besides my doctor, and he is bound by doctor/patient confidentiality.
I know it isn't just me, and I know it's important to adopt social skills in public even if I don't really have them in real life. The challenge is this: in a lot of ways I'm embarassed about who I really am.
Perhaps my only resolution for 2009 should be to get appearances and real life come more in line. Instead of resolving to lose10 20 at least 30 pounds this year or clean my house regularly, I should just resolve to be more real. Not that I shouldn't try to fix those things, but I shouldn't try to fix them just in keeping up appearances. If they embarass me so much that I'm frantic that someone might see them, perhaps I should try to fix them permanently. I just might save myself another four months with a counselor.
So, in the interest of not keeping up appearances:
* I hate exercising. I hate it so much that I just don't do it.
* I wasn't joking when I asked for a creative solution to my lack of self-discipline.
* I hate cleaning. Especially the dishes and the bathroom. Yuck.
* I LOVE food. In fact, I hate how much I love it. No. I don't even hate it. I love loving food.
* Candy is my weakness. Followed by peanut butter, ice cream, and mint. Oh, and red meat. And carbs. See what I mean?
* Sometimes I'd rather read "People" or "US Weekly" than some great work by Dostoevsky. And I'd generally rather discuss the latest celebrity gossip than said great work. Unless it's a David McCullough book . . . no, probably even then.
* I find it difficult to not spend money. Even when it's something I don't want.
* Most days I'd like to be a stay-at-home mom without doing the laundry, washing the dishes, cleaning, cooking, putting kids to bed . . . mostly just the stay-at-home part.
* I have to force myself to pray, and I can't remember the last time I did devotions.
{Deep breath.}
Okay. Now it's out there. Embarassing. Seriously.
Even this blog is judging me. I'm going to go call my therapist.
This 109-year-old farmhouse that is now in the city.
I pictured it as cozy and full of history. It is those those things, but it is a bit more dust and falling apart and cupboards smaller and shorter than reality demands.
I spent the better part of the past two days cleaning. The bleach smell on my hands and the cracking skin lead me to believe that it is likely a bad thing that I can literally count the times I've scrubbed those cupboards (six) and the time that I cleaned under the hood of the stove (yesterday) in the 8 years we've called this home. But there is a party at my house today, and in the interest of keeping up appearances, I have scrubbed cupboards and floors, forced my husband to recaulk the tub and the toilet, put away a month's pile of clothes in the girls' rooms, and sucked cobwebs out of windows, blinds, and crevices.
Come on in, company.
As I was scrubbing the kitchen cupboards, my mind was wondering to how silly it is that I clean and clean only when my house will be full of my casual acquaintances. It's nice to have friends that at least my house can be itself with.
But what about me? Don't I do the same for me when I'm about to walk out of my house? The things I say and the things I do are not always an accurate reflection of myself. It's often an act that I adopt in keeping up appearances. And those appearances aren't even for just the casual acquaintances. I told a friend how much I weigh the other day. She is the only one who knows besides my doctor, and he is bound by doctor/patient confidentiality.
I know it isn't just me, and I know it's important to adopt social skills in public even if I don't really have them in real life. The challenge is this: in a lot of ways I'm embarassed about who I really am.
Perhaps my only resolution for 2009 should be to get appearances and real life come more in line. Instead of resolving to lose
So, in the interest of not keeping up appearances:
* I hate exercising. I hate it so much that I just don't do it.
* I wasn't joking when I asked for a creative solution to my lack of self-discipline.
* I hate cleaning. Especially the dishes and the bathroom. Yuck.
* I LOVE food. In fact, I hate how much I love it. No. I don't even hate it. I love loving food.
* Candy is my weakness. Followed by peanut butter, ice cream, and mint. Oh, and red meat. And carbs. See what I mean?
* Sometimes I'd rather read "People" or "US Weekly" than some great work by Dostoevsky. And I'd generally rather discuss the latest celebrity gossip than said great work. Unless it's a David McCullough book . . . no, probably even then.
* I find it difficult to not spend money. Even when it's something I don't want.
* Most days I'd like to be a stay-at-home mom without doing the laundry, washing the dishes, cleaning, cooking, putting kids to bed . . . mostly just the stay-at-home part.
* I have to force myself to pray, and I can't remember the last time I did devotions.
{Deep breath.}
Okay. Now it's out there. Embarassing. Seriously.
Even this blog is judging me. I'm going to go call my therapist.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
A Year in Random Review
So 2008 is over, and we're three days in to 2009. If this year is anything like the last, then these three days might as well be three hundred for how fast this year will go.
I don't really get the whole "celebrate 'til you puke" at the sunset of a year or the sunrise of another. Even the worst year of my life--2001, which was also oddly the best--didn't provoke that sort of feeling in me, though there was hope that maybe "this year would be better than the last."
All that said, I do have the desire to somehow recap 2008 with a list of my significant discoveries from the year. Some even with links to demonstrate my internet savvy or perhaps just prove that I'm really not making these things up. Many of my discoveries were wonderful, some were a bit disappointing yet significant, others were rediscoveries, a few were discovered on the very last day possible, and most were actually discovered by others but noticed by me. In the end, electricity, Coca Cola Classic, and the internet are much the same (thanks for that last one, Al Gore).
And now for a tribute to those whose passing (regardless of the date) left an indelible mark on me in 2008. . .
Tim Russert
Brooke Astor
May Boatwright
Esther VanderMeer
Harvey Milk
Jesus Christ
Julie's cousin Joshua
I don't really get the whole "celebrate 'til you puke" at the sunset of a year or the sunrise of another. Even the worst year of my life--2001, which was also oddly the best--didn't provoke that sort of feeling in me, though there was hope that maybe "this year would be better than the last."
All that said, I do have the desire to somehow recap 2008 with a list of my significant discoveries from the year. Some even with links to demonstrate my internet savvy or perhaps just prove that I'm really not making these things up. Many of my discoveries were wonderful, some were a bit disappointing yet significant, others were rediscoveries, a few were discovered on the very last day possible, and most were actually discovered by others but noticed by me. In the end, electricity, Coca Cola Classic, and the internet are much the same (thanks for that last one, Al Gore).
"Forever" by Chris Brown
iPod Touch
Taylor Swift
Guitar Hero
Missing Grandma
The Favre-less Green Bay Packers
Ben Barnes
Harvey Milk
James Franco
Old Friends
New Friends
True Friends
Michael Buble
"Doubt"
". . . faith and desire and the swing of your hips . . ."
"I ache to remember all the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said"
A friend's baby born with spina bifida
John Mayer's cover of "Free Fallin'"
The twisted emotions of having a deployed soldier
Megan Leigh McDowell
Laughter
Amazing harmonies
Fighting children
Prince Caspian
Knock knock jokes from a three year old
Mrs. Astor Regrets, Meryl Gordon
Hope
Using cash
Death by Christmas tree
David Cook
"Jericho"
Facebook
"Fringe"
"Freaks and Geeks"
Seth Rogen
"I tried to be chill, but you're so hot that I melted . . ."
"Thunder" by Boys Like Girls
Post-partum Depression
Down Came the Rain, Brooke Shields
Edward, Bella, and Jasper {*SIGH*}
Beaver Island
Camping in a pop-up
The ER in Ludington
November 4, 2008
And now for a tribute to those whose passing (regardless of the date) left an indelible mark on me in 2008. . .
Tim Russert
Brooke Astor
May Boatwright
Esther VanderMeer
Harvey Milk
Jesus Christ
Julie's cousin Joshua
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Busyness gets in the way of the business
Church Meetings
Dishes
Laundry
Work Meetings
Cleaning
The revenue side of the budget
Bathing, cleaning, and feeding the girls
Writing
Playing in the snow
Exercise
Chatting with a friend
Reading
An online game of Scrabble
Catching up on a friend's blog
Honoring World AIDS Day
Keeping the Sabbath
Snuggling the girls
Collapsing in a chair at the end of the day, she sadly acknowledges that there is a lazy element to the busyness. But, it must be said, that is largely driven by the busyness.
Tomorrow. Please. Let tomorrow be a better day. Then, she thought, she will happily settle in to her sabbath lifestyle. For now she'll keep it in her heart.
Just because I was busy, please don't think I didn't think of you, dear friends. He knows your name, and your faces are written on my heart. One day your pain will be gone. One day we will be free. If I could keep you, if I could heal you, if I you were mine . . . carry on, my friends. Your strength, your courage, your smiles . . . Walk on.
{December 1 * World AIDS Day . . . Every Day * A day to care}
Dishes
Laundry
Work Meetings
Cleaning
The revenue side of the budget
Bathing, cleaning, and feeding the girls
Writing
Playing in the snow
Exercise
Chatting with a friend
Reading
An online game of Scrabble
Catching up on a friend's blog
Honoring World AIDS Day
Keeping the Sabbath
Snuggling the girls
Collapsing in a chair at the end of the day, she sadly acknowledges that there is a lazy element to the busyness. But, it must be said, that is largely driven by the busyness.
Tomorrow. Please. Let tomorrow be a better day. Then, she thought, she will happily settle in to her sabbath lifestyle. For now she'll keep it in her heart.
Just because I was busy, please don't think I didn't think of you, dear friends. He knows your name, and your faces are written on my heart. One day your pain will be gone. One day we will be free. If I could keep you, if I could heal you, if I you were mine . . . carry on, my friends. Your strength, your courage, your smiles . . . Walk on.
{December 1 * World AIDS Day . . . Every Day * A day to care}
Friday, October 31, 2008
Softly and Tenderly
My grandma died on Tuesday night. I wasn't there. To hear it told, though, and I have, over and over, it was beautiful. It's a lovely thing, to hear it over and over.
It really was beautiful and sweet, and Grandma got to say goodbye to everyone she loved and who loved her. We were first. On Sunday we stopped at the Hospice House to see her. She was there not because her death was imminent but because my parents were out of town (camping with us) and their house sprung a gas leak. Craziness.
Our visit on Sunday was also sweet and beautiful. She was wittier and livelier and more fun than she had been in a long time. She and Ellie played games with Ellie's cow, Betsy, and she was sassy with me, too. But even in the middle of all of that, she looked so sad. I wanted to climb in bed with her, but I didn't. I didn't, because for a moment I was that little girl again, afraid that she wouldn't want me there.
Grandma's death--her last few days, really--were filled with sweetness and beauty. That's a strange thing, because she wasn't always. People don't normally speak ill of the dead, and I won't do that either. I'll just be honest. My relationship with my grandma was challenging, and I was afraid of her until that last day. That last day, I sat there looking at her, and she was so sad and vulnerable . . . and beautiful. We didn't talk about our past, and we didn't talk much about the future. But I knew that she loved me and she knew that she loved me, and I loved her back. Most importantly, perhaps, I knew that I loved her back. With my kiss goodbye to her, there was closure. Though I didn't know it would be the last kiss she could give me back, I said all that I wanted to--all that I needed to--in that last kiss. And it was lovely.
Grief is an interesting thing. Though Grandma was 92, and I had joined the forces--Grandma included--praying each day that God would take her Home, it's still just a bit shocking. It's strange to think that when I go to my parents' house again, she won't be there. She won't ask us to lock the door before it is even shut behind us. She won't give popcorn to Ellie until I tell her to stop, only to have her switch to jelly beans or peanuts. She won't be there.
She's Home. And, in the end, that is the most beautiful thing about the whole bit.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portals he's waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.
Come home, come home;
ye who are weary come home;
earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
calling, O sinner, come home!
- "Softly and Tenderly," Will L. Thompson
Ellie went trick or treating with my niece Danielle tonight, so I sat with my sister. We handed out candy and watched a movie, but more than once one of us said, “I really miss Grandma.” It’s strange that I didn’t think about her every day before she died, and now I do. I know that will fade with time, but for now I remember wistfully or painfully or gratefully . . . mostly I just remember. Not all of the memories are wonderful, because we had a strange relationship, but she really was one of the most permanent fixtures in my life. She was always there. And now she’s not. And, as Ellie said yesterday, “I can’t see this heaven, where Nana is. It must be far, far away.” And then I think of Narnia. Every time.
It really was beautiful and sweet, and Grandma got to say goodbye to everyone she loved and who loved her. We were first. On Sunday we stopped at the Hospice House to see her. She was there not because her death was imminent but because my parents were out of town (camping with us) and their house sprung a gas leak. Craziness.
Our visit on Sunday was also sweet and beautiful. She was wittier and livelier and more fun than she had been in a long time. She and Ellie played games with Ellie's cow, Betsy, and she was sassy with me, too. But even in the middle of all of that, she looked so sad. I wanted to climb in bed with her, but I didn't. I didn't, because for a moment I was that little girl again, afraid that she wouldn't want me there.
Grandma's death--her last few days, really--were filled with sweetness and beauty. That's a strange thing, because she wasn't always. People don't normally speak ill of the dead, and I won't do that either. I'll just be honest. My relationship with my grandma was challenging, and I was afraid of her until that last day. That last day, I sat there looking at her, and she was so sad and vulnerable . . . and beautiful. We didn't talk about our past, and we didn't talk much about the future. But I knew that she loved me and she knew that she loved me, and I loved her back. Most importantly, perhaps, I knew that I loved her back. With my kiss goodbye to her, there was closure. Though I didn't know it would be the last kiss she could give me back, I said all that I wanted to--all that I needed to--in that last kiss. And it was lovely.
Grief is an interesting thing. Though Grandma was 92, and I had joined the forces--Grandma included--praying each day that God would take her Home, it's still just a bit shocking. It's strange to think that when I go to my parents' house again, she won't be there. She won't ask us to lock the door before it is even shut behind us. She won't give popcorn to Ellie until I tell her to stop, only to have her switch to jelly beans or peanuts. She won't be there.
She's Home. And, in the end, that is the most beautiful thing about the whole bit.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portals he's waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.
Come home, come home;
ye who are weary come home;
earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
calling, O sinner, come home!
- "Softly and Tenderly," Will L. Thompson
Ellie went trick or treating with my niece Danielle tonight, so I sat with my sister. We handed out candy and watched a movie, but more than once one of us said, “I really miss Grandma.” It’s strange that I didn’t think about her every day before she died, and now I do. I know that will fade with time, but for now I remember wistfully or painfully or gratefully . . . mostly I just remember. Not all of the memories are wonderful, because we had a strange relationship, but she really was one of the most permanent fixtures in my life. She was always there. And now she’s not. And, as Ellie said yesterday, “I can’t see this heaven, where Nana is. It must be far, far away.” And then I think of Narnia. Every time.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Voter fraud is alive and well.
So I still don't know which candidate should have my vote in November. I have listened to the speeches, watched them interact with their chosen Vice Presidential candidates, watched them with their families, blah, blah, blah. And I still don't know.
McCain=experience and perseverance
Obama=hope and change
McCain=reckless
Obama=inexperience
McCain=stiff and old
Obama=WAY liberal
What's a girl to do? I'm seriously considering selling my vote to the highest bidder. Not the candidate, mind you, or even anyone officially involved in the campaign. Nope. Just your average, every-day citizen who might want their candidate to win. So, commence bidding.
I'm really trying quite hard not to think about how many years back into voter reforms and such that this sends us. Maybe it's okay because no one is badgering me for my vote. Instead, I'm badgering them to pay me for my vote. Then I can use that money to fill up my gas tank or something.
Seriously, though. When politics are full of party lines and lies and rhetoric and lofty dreams and attacks and mockery, who is a girl to believe?
McCain=experience and perseverance
Obama=hope and change
McCain=reckless
Obama=inexperience
McCain=stiff and old
Obama=WAY liberal
What's a girl to do? I'm seriously considering selling my vote to the highest bidder. Not the candidate, mind you, or even anyone officially involved in the campaign. Nope. Just your average, every-day citizen who might want their candidate to win. So, commence bidding.
I'm really trying quite hard not to think about how many years back into voter reforms and such that this sends us. Maybe it's okay because no one is badgering me for my vote. Instead, I'm badgering them to pay me for my vote. Then I can use that money to fill up my gas tank or something.
Seriously, though. When politics are full of party lines and lies and rhetoric and lofty dreams and attacks and mockery, who is a girl to believe?
Thursday, August 07, 2008
I've Lept.
Go JETS!
Sorry, Packers. Bad move.
Rest assured, I do wish Aaron Rodgers the best, and I will be hoping for Jennings on my fantasy team. But I would also like a new jersey.
Sorry, Packers. Bad move.
Rest assured, I do wish Aaron Rodgers the best, and I will be hoping for Jennings on my fantasy team. But I would also like a new jersey.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Ready? Commence Breathing
He's back!
I must confess to being relieved. I thought the retirement was premature. I thought he had one of his best seasons last year. I thought they were one pass away from the Super Bowl, and they could do it again this season. They own our division. Sorry, Aaron. They do.
Normally I'm not a fan of people retiring and unretiring. If you're done, then you're done. But this whole thing sounded a bit shady to me from the beginning.
So now what? He doesn't have to be a Packer. I'm okay with that, I guess. They may have a good future in Aaron Rodgers, and I certainly wouldn't want to be Aaron and get thrown back onto the bench. But then what?
Oh, gosh. What if he's a Viking? THEN what would I do?!
I must confess to being relieved. I thought the retirement was premature. I thought he had one of his best seasons last year. I thought they were one pass away from the Super Bowl, and they could do it again this season. They own our division. Sorry, Aaron. They do.
Normally I'm not a fan of people retiring and unretiring. If you're done, then you're done. But this whole thing sounded a bit shady to me from the beginning.
So now what? He doesn't have to be a Packer. I'm okay with that, I guess. They may have a good future in Aaron Rodgers, and I certainly wouldn't want to be Aaron and get thrown back onto the bench. But then what?
Oh, gosh. What if he's a Viking? THEN what would I do?!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Journey Through the Valley - Part Two
There was a time not long ago when nearly every smile that crossed my face was fake. It was also a time when my toddler's voice or my newborn's cry brought shivers only duplicated by fingernails on a chalkboard. The ringing phone caused me to sink deeper into my chair, and I longed for someone else to take the children that looked like me but couldn't possibly be mine to bed so that I could be alone.
Today is a winding road
It's taking me to places that I didn't want to go
Today in the blink of an eye
I'm holding on to something
And I do not know why I tried
I tried to read between the lines
I tried to look into your eyes
I want a simple explanation
For what I'm feeling inside
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out
It was a dark time. I didn't know where I was or why, but I was quite certain that I would stay there forever. I couldn't figure out why I rarely felt connected to either child that I knew I loved . . . except when I did, and then it was obsessive. I was fine to let everyone, anyone, care for my girls . . . except when I wasn't, and then I was obsessive. I couldn't stay awake, but when I slept I couldn't rest. I was mean. I was ugly. And I didn't care a bit. About anything. And I figured no one else did either.
Except there were some who did, some who noticed. I thank God daily for those people. Without whom I would still be in my chair, not caring, going through the motions that I wished belonged to someone else. I wouldn't be me.
Postpartum depression. Really? Because I'm certain that only happens to other people. Depression is such a strong word. It doesn't really define me. But then again "a mental state characterized by a pessimistic feeling of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity" certainly sounds like me. Sadness? Check. Hopelessness? Check. Low self-esteem? Check. Sleep disturbances? Check. Exhaustion, emptiness, inability to enjoy things one previously enjoyed, social withdrawal, low energy, becoming easily frustrated? Check, check, check, check, check, and check.
Okay. Deep breath. Maybe it's true.
Today is a winding road, tell me where to start
And tell me something I don't know
Today I'm on my own, I can't move a muscle
And I can't pick up the phone, I don't know
And now I'm itching for the tall grass
And longing for the breeze
I need to step outside
Just to see if I can breathe
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out
It's interesting that Webster's defines depression as "a falling in of the surface; a sinking below its true place," because I think that there is nothing that describes it better. I felt like I wasn't myself, and I wasn't. I had truly sunk below my true place as a wife, a mother, a friend, a valued person.
Yeah, I'm walking on a tightrope
I'm wrapped up in vines, I think we'll make it out
But you just gotta give me time
Strike me down with lightning
Let me feel you in my veins
I wanna let you know how much I feel your pain
Today my smiles are genuine. Today my daughters' voices are beautiful. Today I remember how to laugh. When the days get bad, I remember that day lying on the bed in Mackinaw City when I laughed, really laughed, as I was being smothered in "tickle kisses" from my patient husband and my beautiful toddler. It was a long time in coming, and I know it wouldn't have come without medicine and therapy.
I never wanted to be a medicine taker. I hate the idea. Maybe I'll talk about it more in a post on a different day, but I'll confess to being scared, nearly panicked, about starting an antidepressant. But I knew that it might help lift me back up to my true place and I had to find a way out, so I did. And it remains one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Oh, Ellie and Meggie. We've come so far. You are my beautiful girls.
Your voice
[Is] the soundtrack of my summer
Do you know you're unlike any other
And you'll always be my thunder
[My girls], your eyes
Are the brightest of all the colors
I don't wanna ever love another
You'll always be my thunder
So bring on the rain
Oh, baby bring on the pain
And listen to the thunder
Song lyrics from "Thunder" by Boys Like Girls, quoted here for my daughters.
Today is a winding road
It's taking me to places that I didn't want to go
Today in the blink of an eye
I'm holding on to something
And I do not know why I tried
I tried to read between the lines
I tried to look into your eyes
I want a simple explanation
For what I'm feeling inside
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out
It was a dark time. I didn't know where I was or why, but I was quite certain that I would stay there forever. I couldn't figure out why I rarely felt connected to either child that I knew I loved . . . except when I did, and then it was obsessive. I was fine to let everyone, anyone, care for my girls . . . except when I wasn't, and then I was obsessive. I couldn't stay awake, but when I slept I couldn't rest. I was mean. I was ugly. And I didn't care a bit. About anything. And I figured no one else did either.
Except there were some who did, some who noticed. I thank God daily for those people. Without whom I would still be in my chair, not caring, going through the motions that I wished belonged to someone else. I wouldn't be me.
Postpartum depression. Really? Because I'm certain that only happens to other people. Depression is such a strong word. It doesn't really define me. But then again "a mental state characterized by a pessimistic feeling of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity" certainly sounds like me. Sadness? Check. Hopelessness? Check. Low self-esteem? Check. Sleep disturbances? Check. Exhaustion, emptiness, inability to enjoy things one previously enjoyed, social withdrawal, low energy, becoming easily frustrated? Check, check, check, check, check, and check.
Okay. Deep breath. Maybe it's true.
Today is a winding road, tell me where to start
And tell me something I don't know
Today I'm on my own, I can't move a muscle
And I can't pick up the phone, I don't know
And now I'm itching for the tall grass
And longing for the breeze
I need to step outside
Just to see if I can breathe
I gotta find a way out
Maybe there's a way out
It's interesting that Webster's defines depression as "a falling in of the surface; a sinking below its true place," because I think that there is nothing that describes it better. I felt like I wasn't myself, and I wasn't. I had truly sunk below my true place as a wife, a mother, a friend, a valued person.
Yeah, I'm walking on a tightrope
I'm wrapped up in vines, I think we'll make it out
But you just gotta give me time
Strike me down with lightning
Let me feel you in my veins
I wanna let you know how much I feel your pain
Today my smiles are genuine. Today my daughters' voices are beautiful. Today I remember how to laugh. When the days get bad, I remember that day lying on the bed in Mackinaw City when I laughed, really laughed, as I was being smothered in "tickle kisses" from my patient husband and my beautiful toddler. It was a long time in coming, and I know it wouldn't have come without medicine and therapy.
I never wanted to be a medicine taker. I hate the idea. Maybe I'll talk about it more in a post on a different day, but I'll confess to being scared, nearly panicked, about starting an antidepressant. But I knew that it might help lift me back up to my true place and I had to find a way out, so I did. And it remains one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Oh, Ellie and Meggie. We've come so far. You are my beautiful girls.
Your voice
[Is] the soundtrack of my summer
Do you know you're unlike any other
And you'll always be my thunder
[My girls], your eyes
Are the brightest of all the colors
I don't wanna ever love another
You'll always be my thunder
So bring on the rain
Oh, baby bring on the pain
And listen to the thunder
Song lyrics from "Thunder" by Boys Like Girls, quoted here for my daughters.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Journey Through the Valley - Part One
Something happened yesterday that has struck me and my family in a deeply personal way. A man, struggling with depression, allegedly (though he confessed, so there's nothing much alleged about it) entered a realty office in Muskegon, asked for his realtor, and fatally shot him. News reports vary on whether he was shot in the face, in the back of the head, or in the side of the head. Any way you look at it, it was at point blank range. And any way you look at it, the victim was a dad, a husband, a middle school youth leader.
And he was a realtor.
My mom, the realtor, is at work today. She was going to go in yesterday, but then Troy was shot, so she stayed home. My sister joked that my mom should borrow my dad's flak jacket from when he served in Iraq to go to work today. Mom said, "Over my face?"
There has been discussion surrounding the shooter, this Robert Johnson. He is a 73-year-old man who was angry over the declining housing market, which meant that he would lose money on the sale of his current house. He blamed Troy for that. So he (allegedly) shot him. Dead. A life ended. Hope ended. Because someone was angry. And depressed.
And that's where the discussion is now. Everyone who has something resembling an excuse to share prefaces it with, "I'm not condoning what he did . . ." And then they say something about the despair that encompasses those suffering from depression. I agree with that. Wholeheartedly. But he (allegedly) killed someone. And how many more depressed people are in Muskegon and maybe mad at my mom? Or maybe my pastor dad? Depression doesn't give you license to do what you want, consequences be damned.
So what is it? Is it stricter gun control laws? (I maintain that people who shoot other people don't care much if they get their guns illegally too). Is it metal detectors at the doors of all buildings? Is it working in pairs so that no one can blindside you? Or is it the community--each person's own community--making sure that people with mental illnesses get treatment?
I have postpartum depression. For about six weeks, I was deeper in the valley than I ever have been. Thankfully I have amazing friends who stepped in and told me they missed me and wanted me back. They helped me help myself. Because they're my friends. Because they love me. Because they love my girls and my husband. Now my depression was never psychosis, and I never thought about hurting myself or my children. Some people do, and if those thoughts and compulsions are like the other symptoms that accomapny depression, they truly are uncontrolable. My depression is being treated with medicine and therapy, and I'm back, now. Still journeying through the valley, but back.
What about Robert Johnson? He had family. He had someone. He had a community who should have seen him and helped him help himself. After he (allegedly) shot Troy, he ran to his former son-in-law's house. The ex-son-in-law turned him in and, while not speaking formally to the press, told someone that Johnson had been angry about the house and had been suffering from depression.
Let me get this straight. You knew? You knew that this man, who I'm sure is a lovely, lovely man when he is healthy, was depressed and you just watched? You didn't step in? And now one man is dead, and another is charged with premeditated murder. Two lives ended. Two families destroyed. A community shocked at the first murder in 20 years. A profession trying to figure out how to work without fear in a turbluent economy and falling market. Because of depression?
Depression is treatable. For some it involves inpatient treatment. For some it involves outpatient therapy. For some it involves antidepressants. But it's treatable. No one needs to die because of it.
So now as Troy's family makes plans to donate his organs and arrange a funeral, middle school children from a church youth group try to cope with the loss of a friend and mentor, a little boy and little girl try to understand that they will never see their father again, and I send my mom to work wishing that she could wear a military flak jacket, I have to wonder. Where were the people who loved Robert Johnson? Why didn't they step in before his depression drove him to do something that cannot be reversed? Something that cannot be fixed? Something that cannot be treated?
I wish they had. The VanderStelt family wishes they had. Roosevelt Park and the greater Muskegon community wishes they had. The Nexes realty company and the WMLAR group wishes they had. And I'm sure, in the end, Robert Johnson wishes they had.
It's a journey through the valley, and while it is your burden to carry, you cannot carry it alone. That's what community is for.
And he was a realtor.
My mom, the realtor, is at work today. She was going to go in yesterday, but then Troy was shot, so she stayed home. My sister joked that my mom should borrow my dad's flak jacket from when he served in Iraq to go to work today. Mom said, "Over my face?"
There has been discussion surrounding the shooter, this Robert Johnson. He is a 73-year-old man who was angry over the declining housing market, which meant that he would lose money on the sale of his current house. He blamed Troy for that. So he (allegedly) shot him. Dead. A life ended. Hope ended. Because someone was angry. And depressed.
And that's where the discussion is now. Everyone who has something resembling an excuse to share prefaces it with, "I'm not condoning what he did . . ." And then they say something about the despair that encompasses those suffering from depression. I agree with that. Wholeheartedly. But he (allegedly) killed someone. And how many more depressed people are in Muskegon and maybe mad at my mom? Or maybe my pastor dad? Depression doesn't give you license to do what you want, consequences be damned.
So what is it? Is it stricter gun control laws? (I maintain that people who shoot other people don't care much if they get their guns illegally too). Is it metal detectors at the doors of all buildings? Is it working in pairs so that no one can blindside you? Or is it the community--each person's own community--making sure that people with mental illnesses get treatment?
I have postpartum depression. For about six weeks, I was deeper in the valley than I ever have been. Thankfully I have amazing friends who stepped in and told me they missed me and wanted me back. They helped me help myself. Because they're my friends. Because they love me. Because they love my girls and my husband. Now my depression was never psychosis, and I never thought about hurting myself or my children. Some people do, and if those thoughts and compulsions are like the other symptoms that accomapny depression, they truly are uncontrolable. My depression is being treated with medicine and therapy, and I'm back, now. Still journeying through the valley, but back.
What about Robert Johnson? He had family. He had someone. He had a community who should have seen him and helped him help himself. After he (allegedly) shot Troy, he ran to his former son-in-law's house. The ex-son-in-law turned him in and, while not speaking formally to the press, told someone that Johnson had been angry about the house and had been suffering from depression.
Let me get this straight. You knew? You knew that this man, who I'm sure is a lovely, lovely man when he is healthy, was depressed and you just watched? You didn't step in? And now one man is dead, and another is charged with premeditated murder. Two lives ended. Two families destroyed. A community shocked at the first murder in 20 years. A profession trying to figure out how to work without fear in a turbluent economy and falling market. Because of depression?
Depression is treatable. For some it involves inpatient treatment. For some it involves outpatient therapy. For some it involves antidepressants. But it's treatable. No one needs to die because of it.
So now as Troy's family makes plans to donate his organs and arrange a funeral, middle school children from a church youth group try to cope with the loss of a friend and mentor, a little boy and little girl try to understand that they will never see their father again, and I send my mom to work wishing that she could wear a military flak jacket, I have to wonder. Where were the people who loved Robert Johnson? Why didn't they step in before his depression drove him to do something that cannot be reversed? Something that cannot be fixed? Something that cannot be treated?
I wish they had. The VanderStelt family wishes they had. Roosevelt Park and the greater Muskegon community wishes they had. The Nexes realty company and the WMLAR group wishes they had. And I'm sure, in the end, Robert Johnson wishes they had.
It's a journey through the valley, and while it is your burden to carry, you cannot carry it alone. That's what community is for.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Still Checking Closets
I've been thinking lately about Narnia. Not the films, though I am irresistably drawn to them. Not the books, either, which I read aloud to my husband over three years of road trips. I'm talking about the place itself. But there's really more to it than that even.
When I'm reading about Narnia or thinking about it, riveted in my seat after the credits are rolling or lying in bed wishing my closet opened to magical lands, I am filled with longing for a place like that. For walking with the Lion of Judah and losing myself in His wild mane. For the place where my heart is at ease and time flies but stands still at the same time. For Home.
The Pevensie children were called to and drawn to and created for a magical land. And once they'd tasted of it, they couldn't be content in this world. Except for one.
"Sire," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. "If I have read the chronicle aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?"
"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."
"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenver you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"
"Oh Susan!" said Jill. "She's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."
"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."
--The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis
I do that. I waste my time wanting to be somewhere or something other than what I am. And in doing that, I miss what I'm called to, drawn to, and made for. Narnia may not be in the back of my closet, and I may visit only in my dreams. But there is something about it that I can keep alive within me. I am allowed to hope and dream for a place of my own and find it in Him.
"Created for a place/I've never known/This is home/Now I'm finally where I belong/. . . I've been searching for a place of my own/Now I've found it/This is home" (Switchfoot, "This is Home" from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian)
My heart is not meant to live in this land. My heart wants to be Home. For me, now, it is a dream. A magical dream, but it is one that I can hold on to. It is one that I can share with other Narnia lovers and wishers and dreamers. Others who were made for more than this. Because in the end, even though Peter and Lucy and Edmund lived in this world, they longed for another. They held on to another. And one day, in the end, they were home to stay. "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." (Aslan, in The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis)
I don't know when my dream ends and my morning begins. There are days that I hope it is soon, and there are days that I hope I get to see my girls grow to love God and others and have children of their own to lead to Him. When I walk through a valley, I remember that this is not the end. This is the term, and my longing for Home is the dream right now. But one day, one day soon, really, the dream will end. I cannot wait for the day that God will hold my face in His hands, look into my eyes, and say, "The dream is ended: this is the morning. You are Home. This is your land."
But until then, Dearest One, I'll live. I'll live here and now. But you need to help me not waste any more days, forgetting what matters, forgetting that dreams can be real, wishing to be grown-up. While I'm here, though, know that I'm thinking of Home. I'm thinking of magical lands where time flies by while it stands still. Where I am a queen. That's what I was made for. And one day, I'll be there with you.
"It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy. "It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?"
"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan.
"Are--are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.
"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."
--The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis
Let me know You. And may my times with You in my dreams and in my Narnias help me to know You better here.
This post is lovingly dedicated to the Rings.
When I'm reading about Narnia or thinking about it, riveted in my seat after the credits are rolling or lying in bed wishing my closet opened to magical lands, I am filled with longing for a place like that. For walking with the Lion of Judah and losing myself in His wild mane. For the place where my heart is at ease and time flies but stands still at the same time. For Home.
The Pevensie children were called to and drawn to and created for a magical land. And once they'd tasted of it, they couldn't be content in this world. Except for one.
"Sire," said Tirian, when he had greeted all these. "If I have read the chronicle aright, there should be another. Has not your Majesty two sisters? Where is Queen Susan?"
"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."
"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenver you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"
"Oh Susan!" said Jill. "She's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."
"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."
--The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis
I do that. I waste my time wanting to be somewhere or something other than what I am. And in doing that, I miss what I'm called to, drawn to, and made for. Narnia may not be in the back of my closet, and I may visit only in my dreams. But there is something about it that I can keep alive within me. I am allowed to hope and dream for a place of my own and find it in Him.
"Created for a place/I've never known/This is home/Now I'm finally where I belong/. . . I've been searching for a place of my own/Now I've found it/This is home" (Switchfoot, "This is Home" from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian)
My heart is not meant to live in this land. My heart wants to be Home. For me, now, it is a dream. A magical dream, but it is one that I can hold on to. It is one that I can share with other Narnia lovers and wishers and dreamers. Others who were made for more than this. Because in the end, even though Peter and Lucy and Edmund lived in this world, they longed for another. They held on to another. And one day, in the end, they were home to stay. "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." (Aslan, in The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis)
I don't know when my dream ends and my morning begins. There are days that I hope it is soon, and there are days that I hope I get to see my girls grow to love God and others and have children of their own to lead to Him. When I walk through a valley, I remember that this is not the end. This is the term, and my longing for Home is the dream right now. But one day, one day soon, really, the dream will end. I cannot wait for the day that God will hold my face in His hands, look into my eyes, and say, "The dream is ended: this is the morning. You are Home. This is your land."
But until then, Dearest One, I'll live. I'll live here and now. But you need to help me not waste any more days, forgetting what matters, forgetting that dreams can be real, wishing to be grown-up. While I'm here, though, know that I'm thinking of Home. I'm thinking of magical lands where time flies by while it stands still. Where I am a queen. That's what I was made for. And one day, I'll be there with you.
"It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy. "It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?"
"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan.
"Are--are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.
"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."
--The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C.S. Lewis
Let me know You. And may my times with You in my dreams and in my Narnias help me to know You better here.
This post is lovingly dedicated to the Rings.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
I Check Closets for Narnia
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back when you call me
No need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never been this way before
All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to war
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it, too
Doesn't means that you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye
"The Call", Regina Spektor, from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
This song makes me weep.
Which then grew into hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back when you call me
No need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never been this way before
All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to war
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it, too
Doesn't means that you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye
"The Call", Regina Spektor, from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
This song makes me weep.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Pray. Without ceasing.
I spent the morning, frantically looking for any proof. Any proof would have worked, but I found nothing. So I prayed. I prayed that the friend I have living in China was not in the school that will prove to be a grave for many. I prayed that she made it out of her apartment. I prayed that she didn't even live in that part of China. I prayed. And I continued to look for her address, a note, a clue, anything.
Finally. Proof. The northern part is her home. Not the central part that saw the death of many of its youngest and brightest. Safe. I breathed in deeply, with gratitude.
And then I ceased praying.
But why? Just because I don't know them, are they any less? Do the daughters, sons, friends, family members of others matter less than those who are mine? No.
Dear Abba, be with these, our Brothers and Sisters, and those who are not. Give them safety this night as they struggle with pain from wounds physical and emotional. Give them breath. Give them peace. Give them hope. And give them You. Amen.
Finally. Proof. The northern part is her home. Not the central part that saw the death of many of its youngest and brightest. Safe. I breathed in deeply, with gratitude.
And then I ceased praying.
But why? Just because I don't know them, are they any less? Do the daughters, sons, friends, family members of others matter less than those who are mine? No.
Dear Abba, be with these, our Brothers and Sisters, and those who are not. Give them safety this night as they struggle with pain from wounds physical and emotional. Give them breath. Give them peace. Give them hope. And give them You. Amen.
Friday, May 09, 2008
400 Days--Part Two
Our four hundred days are over. In the end, it was less than 400 days and it wasn't as hard as we thought it would be. And yet every day was a tender one, with tears at the ready. We did get to talk on the computer quite a few times, Curly-haired Cutie remembered her grandpa with a passion, and She Who Is Named After Him was smiley to see him. Our reunion was tearful and joyful and giggly. Not to mention early in the morning.
All that said, it seems as if we are still waiting as I keep forgetting to take the yellow ribbon from my old oak pillar, and our National Guard Deployment flag is still in our window.
Here was our four hundred days:
* Three wedding anniversaries, including one for my parents
* Seven missed birthdays, because Soldier Dad was home for Grandma's and Brother-in-law's.
* One hurt birthday girl on a warm day in May when her mom neglected to call on her birthday, her dad was states away hadn't talked to her in nearly a month and still didn't call, and her sister was too busy to call.
* One pregnancy announcement, and seven subsequent doctor's visits with reports of the babe's growth
* Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day, Super Bowl, Valentine's Day (whatever), Easter. Oh, and Flag Day, which FunnyWriterMommy's husband thinks is important to include.
* Eleven Curly-haired Cutie's overnights at Grandma & Grandpa's without Grandpa
* Eleven dinners on the Tuesdays after the overnights
* She Who Is Named After Him's birth on Super Fat Tuesday
So much of my world was gone, but now he's back. And it's like he never left. But it's still good to have him back for many more birthdays and holidays and overnights and dinners and maybe another pregnancy announcement and birth.
He is such a good, good man. And we are so, so blessed.
All that said, it seems as if we are still waiting as I keep forgetting to take the yellow ribbon from my old oak pillar, and our National Guard Deployment flag is still in our window.
Here was our four hundred days:
* Three wedding anniversaries, including one for my parents
* Seven missed birthdays, because Soldier Dad was home for Grandma's and Brother-in-law's.
* One hurt birthday girl on a warm day in May when her mom neglected to call on her birthday, her dad was states away hadn't talked to her in nearly a month and still didn't call, and her sister was too busy to call.
* One pregnancy announcement, and seven subsequent doctor's visits with reports of the babe's growth
* Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day, Super Bowl, Valentine's Day (whatever), Easter. Oh, and Flag Day, which FunnyWriterMommy's husband thinks is important to include.
* Eleven Curly-haired Cutie's overnights at Grandma & Grandpa's without Grandpa
* Eleven dinners on the Tuesdays after the overnights
* She Who Is Named After Him's birth on Super Fat Tuesday
So much of my world was gone, but now he's back. And it's like he never left. But it's still good to have him back for many more birthdays and holidays and overnights and dinners and maybe another pregnancy announcement and birth.
He is such a good, good man. And we are so, so blessed.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Your feet will touch the soil of many countries.
Some time ago, another lifetime, really, my husband and a friend's husband got the crazy idea that we should pack up and move to South Africa. A dream come true. And yet, the dreamer friend and I knew it wasn't right. So we didn't. And it hurt.
Because God will use anything in front of us to speak to us, I got a good fortune to end my lovely dinner of Orange Chicken the night I knew we couldn't move. "Your feet will touch the soil of many countries." Peace. I knew that I knew that I knew. And it hurt.
It's time again to be a dreamer whose dreams get closed behind doors of reality and "not yet." But the dream doesn't have to die. I'll close it behind the door, and I'll extinguish the flame, leaving only an ember. When the time is right, perhaps He will fan the flames . . . because sometimes the dream never dies.
So, yes. My feet will touch the soil of many countries. And maybe some day I'll be the one packing up to move and explore a new city. Maybe some day I'll be the one visiting grad schools and making a different life for myself. Maybe some day I'll be the one on the book tour. For now, though, those dreams join South Africa behind a door that I can't afford to open.
Sometimes it still hurts.
But when I know, it doesn't matter that I can't see.
Isn't it just like the Lord to invite me
To put all my dreams in His hands
Forever releasing the grip that once held them
Forever surrendering my plans
And then when He's certain it's not born of man
He calls for the fire to rekindle again
And he askes me to know with my heart
What's not seen with my eyes
So the dream never dies.
-"When the Dream Never Dies," Child of the Promise
Because God will use anything in front of us to speak to us, I got a good fortune to end my lovely dinner of Orange Chicken the night I knew we couldn't move. "Your feet will touch the soil of many countries." Peace. I knew that I knew that I knew. And it hurt.
It's time again to be a dreamer whose dreams get closed behind doors of reality and "not yet." But the dream doesn't have to die. I'll close it behind the door, and I'll extinguish the flame, leaving only an ember. When the time is right, perhaps He will fan the flames . . . because sometimes the dream never dies.
So, yes. My feet will touch the soil of many countries. And maybe some day I'll be the one packing up to move and explore a new city. Maybe some day I'll be the one visiting grad schools and making a different life for myself. Maybe some day I'll be the one on the book tour. For now, though, those dreams join South Africa behind a door that I can't afford to open.
Sometimes it still hurts.
But when I know, it doesn't matter that I can't see.
Isn't it just like the Lord to invite me
To put all my dreams in His hands
Forever releasing the grip that once held them
Forever surrendering my plans
And then when He's certain it's not born of man
He calls for the fire to rekindle again
And he askes me to know with my heart
What's not seen with my eyes
So the dream never dies.
-"When the Dream Never Dies," Child of the Promise
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
rev·o·lu·tion
Moments earlier she was asleep on her father's chest. Blissfully oblivious to the state of affairs in the world or the significance of days on the calendar. Unaware that her shirt was purchased, by a friend, for a purpose higher than she. Unaware that she, too, was purchased, by a King, for a purpose higher than she.
Now she lies peacefully, practicing smiles. Still unaware of much of the world and her place in it. Behind her bright eyes are hopes of prompt meals and avoided baths. On her chest, one word. On her heart, one purpose.
A Tuesday earlier, her fourth, she laid cradled in the arms of her mother. Dozing, careless, blissful, oblivious, content. Her parents heard these words: "Every revolution that has ever been fought started in a room like this." (Ashley Scott as Emily Sullivan, Jericho 2:4 "Oversight")
How true they are. Nearly 2,000 years ago it was an Upper Room. More than 200 years ago it was a pub or a printing house. When and where will the next room be as a girl stands up a woman and calls for change? Brings about change? And what will be that change? {God, let it be peaceful.}
But how can a mother look in those bright eyes and see revolution? How can a mother see bright eyes that betray passion and heartache and danger and bold leadership? Can a mother then put aside personal fear and wishes for her daughter in order that her Father--her daughter's Abba--may fulfill His grand purpose in her little one? {God, keep her safe.}
Her sister is Grace. Her bright eyes find beauty. They betray joy and hope. She makes beauty out of ugly things.
But this one . . . her eyes say something else.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Black Tuesday
It's official. The day we always dreaded has finally arrived. Tonight I shall sleep in my jersey in honor of the greatest QB ever to grace (yes, grace) the gridiron. Sad, sad day indeed.
I shall miss you, my favorite.
I shall miss you, my favorite.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Difference a Week Can Make
One week ago today we were still waiting . . . and not so patiently. One week ago tomorrow, we were welcoming the newest member of our family. She's beautiful. Breathtaking. Incredible.
Megan Leigh was born at 2:24 p.m. on Tuesday, February 5. Fat Tuesday. Super Tuesday. It was a good day all around.
My labor with Megan was harder and a bit longer than with Ellie, but the delivery was actually a nice experience. I dilated from a 6 to a 10 in about five minutes, I had a few minutes reprieve, and I pushed through two contractions (four pushes in all) for less than five minutes. Then she was there. 19 1/2 inches long. 7 lbs. 12 oz. And I lost my heart again.
She looks almost exactly like her big sister did.
Megan Leigh was born at 2:24 p.m. on Tuesday, February 5. Fat Tuesday. Super Tuesday. It was a good day all around.
My labor with Megan was harder and a bit longer than with Ellie, but the delivery was actually a nice experience. I dilated from a 6 to a 10 in about five minutes, I had a few minutes reprieve, and I pushed through two contractions (four pushes in all) for less than five minutes. Then she was there. 19 1/2 inches long. 7 lbs. 12 oz. And I lost my heart again.
She looks almost exactly like her big sister did.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Soon She'll Kick You, Too
It's past time for an update on the impending birth of Baby #2 (formerly known as Breech Baby). Big Sister is TERRIBLY impatient for the arrival, and while FunnyWriterMommy appreciates the time to work and clean and (occasionally) rest, she hurts enough to be getting impatient, too.
It's not that I hurt. I'm just so sore. I was thinking that as I wastossing and turning flailing around like an overturned turtle around 3:30 this morning. "Gosh, I'm so sore that I can't wait until the baby is born. It will be so nice to be able to sleep flat on my stomach and whip around to my back or side at whim." I'll welcome all that other pain and soreness this time, just because it won't be in my lower back anymore.
Ellie, on the other hand, is just plain eager. The other day, she laid with her head on my stomach, rubbing absentmindedly with her hand. "When will we get to see Baby Meggie? We would have her by now if Dr. Dood wasn't in the way," she said wistfully. (Never question the mind of a two year old!) She has also been known to walk in to the room and say, "I just want to see her!" Mommy and Daddy do, too, honey. The sweetest two incidences happened this week (Monday and Thursday respectively): I woke Ellie up early so we could go to our doctor's appointment, and Ellie said, "Again?! Will Dr. Dood finally give us Baby Meggie?" Aww. Then yesterday Ellie picked up Megan's adorable little white Sunday dress, and I told her that we would put Megan in that and take her to church. Daddy asked, "Can we take Meggie to church with us?" Ellie jumped up and down and said, "And I'll hold her hand!" Seriously? Adorable.
As for the real update that extends beyond our eagerness (and slight anxiety at times), all systems are go for an early February arrival. Dr. Dood reported that it doesn't appear that we'll need to induce unless we go past Brett Favre's amazing Super Bowl victory on the 3rd. Instead, we just wait with bags packed and Eric & Julie's number on speed dial so that they can take Ellie while we go have a baby. Then, six glorious weeks to spend with my girls and not working . . . aside from dishes, meals, diapers (those things are small!!), naptimes, nursing, cleaning up toys, fending off jealousy with my amazing mothering skills, maintaining our potty training successes . . . but, come mid March I'll have to do all of that WHILE working. So these six weeks will be heaven.
By way of another update, I'm next on the new mother doting list. Congrats to the five down and best wishes to the five still to come. May I join the list before all of you. ;)
It's not that I hurt. I'm just so sore. I was thinking that as I was
Ellie, on the other hand, is just plain eager. The other day, she laid with her head on my stomach, rubbing absentmindedly with her hand. "When will we get to see Baby Meggie? We would have her by now if Dr. Dood wasn't in the way," she said wistfully. (Never question the mind of a two year old!) She has also been known to walk in to the room and say, "I just want to see her!" Mommy and Daddy do, too, honey. The sweetest two incidences happened this week (Monday and Thursday respectively): I woke Ellie up early so we could go to our doctor's appointment, and Ellie said, "Again?! Will Dr. Dood finally give us Baby Meggie?" Aww. Then yesterday Ellie picked up Megan's adorable little white Sunday dress, and I told her that we would put Megan in that and take her to church. Daddy asked, "Can we take Meggie to church with us?" Ellie jumped up and down and said, "And I'll hold her hand!" Seriously? Adorable.
As for the real update that extends beyond our eagerness (and slight anxiety at times), all systems are go for an early February arrival. Dr. Dood reported that it doesn't appear that we'll need to induce unless we go past Brett Favre's amazing Super Bowl victory on the 3rd. Instead, we just wait with bags packed and Eric & Julie's number on speed dial so that they can take Ellie while we go have a baby. Then, six glorious weeks to spend with my girls and not working . . . aside from dishes, meals, diapers (those things are small!!), naptimes, nursing, cleaning up toys, fending off jealousy with my amazing mothering skills, maintaining our potty training successes . . . but, come mid March I'll have to do all of that WHILE working. So these six weeks will be heaven.
By way of another update, I'm next on the new mother doting list. Congrats to the five down and best wishes to the five still to come. May I join the list before all of you. ;)
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Give me an "S"! Give me a "U"!
SUCCESS!!! It's a beautiful word . . . and it's amazing to see it written on your child's face.
Only 2 1/2 months after we started, we have it! We're POTTY TRAINED!!
Yay, Super Big Girl!
We felt like the moment was here, but it became clear this past weekend.
Just after Christmas: Thinking that we had a good long time with Trying to Be A Big Girl alone with Mommy during the long break, we decided to wear Big Girl Underwear. First attempt also included plastic pants. We peed. In our pants. And continued playing. Second attempt included only the Big Girl Underwear. And a puddle. The carpet can be cleaned, and no one can duplicate the look on I Really Want to Be a Big Girl's face when she puddled. "Take me to the bathroom!!" became a common refrain over the next few days.
Friday, January 4: Pull-ups on because we were en route to THE AIRPORT TO PICK UP SOLDIER BOMPA and then to lunch with the newly reunited family. Mommy didn't hope for too much on the potty front, so she even packed an extra pull-up. Ever-Eager To Surprise Girl asked to go with both Mommy and Daddy when they had to go to the bathroom, though she did head toward the "Big Girl Bathroom" instead of the "Big Boy Bathroom" in the restaurant when Daddy was walking with her. She surprised everyone at turning the correct direction when Daddy said, "Go to your left." (So she knows her directions?! Yes. Before she can potty consistently. Nice.)
Sunday, January 6: Celebrating Christmas at Bompa & Gramma's house . . . there is no way Big Girl Underwear is a good idea. We tried it. AND IT WORKED!!! But will it work without Mommy and Daddy around?
Monday, January 7: Oh, yes it will! Definitely Big Girl stayed dry for a one-hour car ride, all day long, and even cried when she woke up pottying in the middle of the night. WHOA.
Seriously. Clearly a Big Girl lives here.
P.S.
Monday, December 31: The whole family went to the doctor to get a small picture of our schedule for the next month as we checked on Breech Baby. The doctor poked and poked and happily declared that she is No Longer Breech Baby. Then, said baby head butted Mommy. She was still declared, "Good girl, Baby Meggie!" (by her big sister, no less!)
Only 2 1/2 months after we started, we have it! We're POTTY TRAINED!!
Yay, Super Big Girl!
We felt like the moment was here, but it became clear this past weekend.
Just after Christmas: Thinking that we had a good long time with Trying to Be A Big Girl alone with Mommy during the long break, we decided to wear Big Girl Underwear. First attempt also included plastic pants. We peed. In our pants. And continued playing. Second attempt included only the Big Girl Underwear. And a puddle. The carpet can be cleaned, and no one can duplicate the look on I Really Want to Be a Big Girl's face when she puddled. "Take me to the bathroom!!" became a common refrain over the next few days.
Friday, January 4: Pull-ups on because we were en route to THE AIRPORT TO PICK UP SOLDIER BOMPA and then to lunch with the newly reunited family. Mommy didn't hope for too much on the potty front, so she even packed an extra pull-up. Ever-Eager To Surprise Girl asked to go with both Mommy and Daddy when they had to go to the bathroom, though she did head toward the "Big Girl Bathroom" instead of the "Big Boy Bathroom" in the restaurant when Daddy was walking with her. She surprised everyone at turning the correct direction when Daddy said, "Go to your left." (So she knows her directions?! Yes. Before she can potty consistently. Nice.)
Sunday, January 6: Celebrating Christmas at Bompa & Gramma's house . . . there is no way Big Girl Underwear is a good idea. We tried it. AND IT WORKED!!! But will it work without Mommy and Daddy around?
Monday, January 7: Oh, yes it will! Definitely Big Girl stayed dry for a one-hour car ride, all day long, and even cried when she woke up pottying in the middle of the night. WHOA.
Seriously. Clearly a Big Girl lives here.
P.S.
Monday, December 31: The whole family went to the doctor to get a small picture of our schedule for the next month as we checked on Breech Baby. The doctor poked and poked and happily declared that she is No Longer Breech Baby. Then, said baby head butted Mommy. She was still declared, "Good girl, Baby Meggie!" (by her big sister, no less!)
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Another Year Is Dawning
I missed singing one of my favorite songs to close out 2007, so I'll share it here:
Another year is dawning!
Dear Father, let it be,
In working or in waiting,
Another year with Thee;
Another year of leaning
Upon Thy loving breast,
Another year of trusting,
Of quiet, happy rest.
Another year of mercies,
Of faithfulness and grace;
Another year of gladness
In the shining of Thy face;
Another year of progress,
Another year of praise,
Another year of proving
Thy presence all the days.
Another year of service,
Of witness for Thy love;
Another year of training
For holier work above.
Another year is dawning!
Dear Father, let it be
On earth, or else in heaven,
Another year for Thee.
2007 closed out so beautifully, meeting, embracing, and hugging old friends--and new ones in the form of a darling nearly one-year-old girl from Ethiopia & Oregon. It truly was a lovely ending to a hard and beautiful year.
It's interesting to stand on this side of 2008, the dawning of another year, and wonder what it will bring. To whom will we say goodbye this year? Whom will we greet with the wonder and celebration of new life? Whom will we treasure and draw closer than ever before, and from whom will we grow apart? There is certainly great comfort in knowing that whatever this year may bring, whether we face it with ourselves or loved ones on earth or else in heaven, it will truly be another year lived in the grace, wonder, awe, beauty, and tender arms of God.
A new year is nothing without New Year's Resolutions--the kind that will hopefully become new ways of life rather than something I chuckle about in twelve short months.
In the year of our Lord 2008, I resolve to:
1) Cook with more veggies (thank you Jessica Seinfeld and Deceptively Delicious)
2) Think--and speak--positively rather than critically
3) Potty train our toddler
4) Welcome our darling Megan into our home as she has already been welcomed in to our hearts
5) Cherish our time with both of our daughters--especially since one will be in school already in the fall
6) Pursue publishing something I wrote years ago and swore I would publish one day
7) Spend less money and pay off more debt
8) Make real progress toward living the life I was made for and looking like the One I love and Who loves me far more than I am capable of dreaming
9) Celebrate the quiet, happy rest of Sabbath--true Sabbath
Another year is dawning!
Dear Father, let it be,
In working or in waiting,
Another year with Thee;
Another year of leaning
Upon Thy loving breast,
Another year of trusting,
Of quiet, happy rest.
Another year of mercies,
Of faithfulness and grace;
Another year of gladness
In the shining of Thy face;
Another year of progress,
Another year of praise,
Another year of proving
Thy presence all the days.
Another year of service,
Of witness for Thy love;
Another year of training
For holier work above.
Another year is dawning!
Dear Father, let it be
On earth, or else in heaven,
Another year for Thee.
2007 closed out so beautifully, meeting, embracing, and hugging old friends--and new ones in the form of a darling nearly one-year-old girl from Ethiopia & Oregon. It truly was a lovely ending to a hard and beautiful year.
It's interesting to stand on this side of 2008, the dawning of another year, and wonder what it will bring. To whom will we say goodbye this year? Whom will we greet with the wonder and celebration of new life? Whom will we treasure and draw closer than ever before, and from whom will we grow apart? There is certainly great comfort in knowing that whatever this year may bring, whether we face it with ourselves or loved ones on earth or else in heaven, it will truly be another year lived in the grace, wonder, awe, beauty, and tender arms of God.
A new year is nothing without New Year's Resolutions--the kind that will hopefully become new ways of life rather than something I chuckle about in twelve short months.
In the year of our Lord 2008, I resolve to:
1) Cook with more veggies (thank you Jessica Seinfeld and Deceptively Delicious)
2) Think--and speak--positively rather than critically
3) Potty train our toddler
4) Welcome our darling Megan into our home as she has already been welcomed in to our hearts
5) Cherish our time with both of our daughters--especially since one will be in school already in the fall
6) Pursue publishing something I wrote years ago and swore I would publish one day
7) Spend less money and pay off more debt
8) Make real progress toward living the life I was made for and looking like the One I love and Who loves me far more than I am capable of dreaming
9) Celebrate the quiet, happy rest of Sabbath--true Sabbath
Friday, December 07, 2007
Thoughts from the East Side
Wow. November 8. I did very well on NaBloMo, don't you think? Amazing. It all went down hill when I went to take care of my grandma for a week when Mom was in Vegas. Grandma is 92 next month and an interesting bundle of the baggage my family carries daily. Then life got crazy when I got home.
(My apologies if this is the first time you're hearing some of this.)
November 16 -- dear friend had a lump removed from her breast
November 18 -- told Beau about friend's surgery (forgot to tell him before), and he reported to me that he found a lump on his back . . . felt said lump. It's big. And hard. And exactly what they tell you to look for in self exams.
November 20 -- found out that dear friend's tumor was cancerous . . . she walked through cancer 15 years ago and cannot have any more radiation. A visit with her oncologist would tell more.
November 22-24 -- Thanksgiving celebrations. Lovely, lots to be thankful for.
November 25 -- An excited Ellie woke up to see the tree full of lights and in our living room. "Daddy, look at that! There's green ones and red ones and yellow ones and blue ones and 'nother one green ones!" It almost makes up for the terrible twos which also hit this weekend.
November 26 -- Beau had his appointment. Likely a cyst, but can't tell without an ultra sound. Scheduled ultra sound for November 28.
November 27 -- Ellie got two timeouts and a spank . . . FROM THE BABYSITTER. Honestly, I can see her getting that stuff from me, but she is always good for the babysitter. Please let this be a short phase!
November 28 -- Beau had his ultra sound. Scheduled follow-up appointment for December 5. Also had congregational meeting at night. Grr for budgets and people who don't contribute to their church like they should. It's not like it's their money! Sheesh. Called dear friend when I got home to get a report from her oncologist. Double masectomy. Then six rounds of aggressive chemotherapy. Cried with friend, laughed with friend, listened, talked, enjoyed the fact that God gives us good friends and brings strong and amazing women into our lives.
December 3 -- found out from doctor that baby is currently in a breech position. This explains all of the pain I've been in--low baby and breech = ow, ow, ow!! He told me not to leave sleep over it (I told him I was--not from worry but from pain), but he also let me know what would happen if Breech Baby doesn't adjust her position. In four weeks, they will do an ultra sound to determine baby's definite position. In five weeks, they would do an external manipulation to try to coax Baby into head-down position. If it doesn't take or if she moves back (most do), they will schedule a c-section for the last week of January. Also, they do the external manipulation at the hospital, because occasionally women go in to labor during the procedure. Coming to terms with the fact that Baby could arrive any time between five weeks and nine weeks.
Later that night -- returned from moms' group to hear that my cousin's wife had their baby--about three weeks early. The baby was breech, so they'd scheduled a c-section for late this week. Her water broke on the 28th, though, so she called her husband at work and climbed into the bathtub so any leaking would not get all over her house. Five minutes later, her husband walked into the bathroom to find his wife carefully trying not to push any more than the foot out of her. Yes. The foot. My cousin called 911 and delivered his breech baby with the cord wrapped around her neck in their bathtub while their toddler was still home!! The paramedics arrived at their house just as Brian was looking for something to suction out the baby's nose. Now I'm losing sleep.
December 5 -- Beau's ultra sound inconclusive. Whatever it is will be removed on Friday (today), and doctor will send it in for biopsy if needed. Super.
December 7 -- Lump removed. It's a cyst. Praise God! It had gotten infected and came out in pieces (I'm trying not to imagine all of this), but it was definitely a cyst. During the suturing process, Beau "squirted the PA in the face (EW!)," so now he has to get an infectious diseases test. It's always something.
And that brings us to the current time. I'm going out for breakfast. I've earned it! Especially because for the moment our two year old is not terrible and Breech Baby isn't causing terrible pain.
(My apologies if this is the first time you're hearing some of this.)
November 16 -- dear friend had a lump removed from her breast
November 18 -- told Beau about friend's surgery (forgot to tell him before), and he reported to me that he found a lump on his back . . . felt said lump. It's big. And hard. And exactly what they tell you to look for in self exams.
November 20 -- found out that dear friend's tumor was cancerous . . . she walked through cancer 15 years ago and cannot have any more radiation. A visit with her oncologist would tell more.
November 22-24 -- Thanksgiving celebrations. Lovely, lots to be thankful for.
November 25 -- An excited Ellie woke up to see the tree full of lights and in our living room. "Daddy, look at that! There's green ones and red ones and yellow ones and blue ones and 'nother one green ones!" It almost makes up for the terrible twos which also hit this weekend.
November 26 -- Beau had his appointment. Likely a cyst, but can't tell without an ultra sound. Scheduled ultra sound for November 28.
November 27 -- Ellie got two timeouts and a spank . . . FROM THE BABYSITTER. Honestly, I can see her getting that stuff from me, but she is always good for the babysitter. Please let this be a short phase!
November 28 -- Beau had his ultra sound. Scheduled follow-up appointment for December 5. Also had congregational meeting at night. Grr for budgets and people who don't contribute to their church like they should. It's not like it's their money! Sheesh. Called dear friend when I got home to get a report from her oncologist. Double masectomy. Then six rounds of aggressive chemotherapy. Cried with friend, laughed with friend, listened, talked, enjoyed the fact that God gives us good friends and brings strong and amazing women into our lives.
December 3 -- found out from doctor that baby is currently in a breech position. This explains all of the pain I've been in--low baby and breech = ow, ow, ow!! He told me not to leave sleep over it (I told him I was--not from worry but from pain), but he also let me know what would happen if Breech Baby doesn't adjust her position. In four weeks, they will do an ultra sound to determine baby's definite position. In five weeks, they would do an external manipulation to try to coax Baby into head-down position. If it doesn't take or if she moves back (most do), they will schedule a c-section for the last week of January. Also, they do the external manipulation at the hospital, because occasionally women go in to labor during the procedure. Coming to terms with the fact that Baby could arrive any time between five weeks and nine weeks.
Later that night -- returned from moms' group to hear that my cousin's wife had their baby--about three weeks early. The baby was breech, so they'd scheduled a c-section for late this week. Her water broke on the 28th, though, so she called her husband at work and climbed into the bathtub so any leaking would not get all over her house. Five minutes later, her husband walked into the bathroom to find his wife carefully trying not to push any more than the foot out of her. Yes. The foot. My cousin called 911 and delivered his breech baby with the cord wrapped around her neck in their bathtub while their toddler was still home!! The paramedics arrived at their house just as Brian was looking for something to suction out the baby's nose. Now I'm losing sleep.
December 5 -- Beau's ultra sound inconclusive. Whatever it is will be removed on Friday (today), and doctor will send it in for biopsy if needed. Super.
December 7 -- Lump removed. It's a cyst. Praise God! It had gotten infected and came out in pieces (I'm trying not to imagine all of this), but it was definitely a cyst. During the suturing process, Beau "squirted the PA in the face (EW!)," so now he has to get an infectious diseases test. It's always something.
And that brings us to the current time. I'm going out for breakfast. I've earned it! Especially because for the moment our two year old is not terrible and Breech Baby isn't causing terrible pain.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
This IS my life
Sometimes I feel like I'm constantly waiting for my life to start. This isn't a new feeling; I'm plagued by it often. A conservative estimate figures that the average person spends more than three years of his or her life (three 365-day years!) waiting for things to begin. So how do you measure how long I have wasted waiting for my LIFE to begin?
But, when I look around, I see that my life has started. And it's a beautiful life--even in all of its ugliness.
* I am loved by an incredible God who sees in me things so beautiful that they make me cry.
* I have an amazing husband who also seems to think I'm better than I am.
* I have the loveliest daughter in the world (sorry, but it's true!) and another on the way . . . both of whom are special treasures entrusted to my husband and me by this God who loves and cherishes our little ones even more than we do. And who watches over them so carefully that even our parenting mistakes will not prevent our girls from changing their world.
* I finally have a job that I love, where I am a writer.
* My family is healthy, even in our dysfunction, and we love each other deeply. Poorly at times, but deeply nevertheless.
There is no reason, as I hold my life in my hands in this moment and gaze at it longingly and lovingly, to not see that it has begun. That even when it is dismal and dictated, it is still too brilliant to exchange for one that might seem easier or more free.
So what do I do? How do I LIVE in this moment? Switchfoot reminds me: "This is your life; are you who you wanna be?" If I could add one more thing to truly become who I want to be--even, dare I say it, who I am--I would call it a writer's life.
That's the life I want to live--a writer's life, fully embracing my dreams and my realities . . . my talents and my imperfections . . . my joys and my sorrows. I want to live this writer's life. And to do that, I need to stop waiting for something. This life is here to embrace. So embrace it I will.
Even when it hurts.
But, when I look around, I see that my life has started. And it's a beautiful life--even in all of its ugliness.
* I am loved by an incredible God who sees in me things so beautiful that they make me cry.
* I have an amazing husband who also seems to think I'm better than I am.
* I have the loveliest daughter in the world (sorry, but it's true!) and another on the way . . . both of whom are special treasures entrusted to my husband and me by this God who loves and cherishes our little ones even more than we do. And who watches over them so carefully that even our parenting mistakes will not prevent our girls from changing their world.
* I finally have a job that I love, where I am a writer.
* My family is healthy, even in our dysfunction, and we love each other deeply. Poorly at times, but deeply nevertheless.
There is no reason, as I hold my life in my hands in this moment and gaze at it longingly and lovingly, to not see that it has begun. That even when it is dismal and dictated, it is still too brilliant to exchange for one that might seem easier or more free.
So what do I do? How do I LIVE in this moment? Switchfoot reminds me: "This is your life; are you who you wanna be?" If I could add one more thing to truly become who I want to be--even, dare I say it, who I am--I would call it a writer's life.
That's the life I want to live--a writer's life, fully embracing my dreams and my realities . . . my talents and my imperfections . . . my joys and my sorrows. I want to live this writer's life. And to do that, I need to stop waiting for something. This life is here to embrace. So embrace it I will.
Even when it hurts.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Note to Self
Some days I feel like my entire life is dictated by what I have to do. Do I ever get to have a day where I can do what I want? Nothing more.
Beau said to me yesterday that he wants some say in how we spend our money. Me, too. It's dictated.
Today I'm watching Wild Toddler Boy while I try to squeeze in some work and laundry and cleaning and making dinner. It's the work that gets me. And that's why I have to watch Wild Toddler Boy. Because I need someone to watch Ellie while I'm at work one day a week. It's dictated.
I live in Michigan, when I wish I could greet the morning on the Wild Coast or the Historical Coast, but I have to live here where we have jobs and family and bills to pay. It's dictated.
What would my life be like if it wasn't dictated? Would I be wild? Would I be one who gives voice to dreams, notices little things, and makes otherwise impossible imaginings appear real? Or maybe that's why I want so desperately to be all of that. Because it's not dictated.
Beau said to me yesterday that he wants some say in how we spend our money. Me, too. It's dictated.
Today I'm watching Wild Toddler Boy while I try to squeeze in some work and laundry and cleaning and making dinner. It's the work that gets me. And that's why I have to watch Wild Toddler Boy. Because I need someone to watch Ellie while I'm at work one day a week. It's dictated.
I live in Michigan, when I wish I could greet the morning on the Wild Coast or the Historical Coast, but I have to live here where we have jobs and family and bills to pay. It's dictated.
What would my life be like if it wasn't dictated? Would I be wild? Would I be one who gives voice to dreams, notices little things, and makes otherwise impossible imaginings appear real? Or maybe that's why I want so desperately to be all of that. Because it's not dictated.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Day Two of What Should Be Day Five
Me again. Trying to rise up and meet WMW's challenge . . . it shouldn't really be this hard. I had about five posts in mind last night, and the time to write them, and the capability to not post them all on one day. It was tempting, but I'm trying hard to learn to overcome temptation. So here I am. With a blank page. And that d*@$ cursor again.
I'm watching the news, though it's hard to call it that. They do about two minutes of news once every hour. After that, it's mostly political agendas and stories about sensational activities. I have to check out CNN.com to find any real news. And thank goodness I have that insider in Iraq where I can get REAL news on the war.
The media is frustrating to me. It tells me what to think while only presenting one side of the story. Not only am I told what to think, but I'm also told what to feel about any given story. It's hard to imagine crying that hard over a dolphin, albeit a sad story, when we just ignore what is happening to children the world over. But the media and "celebrity" seem to be on the same page. So am I the one who's missing something?
And how do I keep my daughter from it all?
There's so much to protect her from:
* the monkey who visited her in her dreams on Friday night . . . and bit her!
* the heartbreak of having her cow snatched from her bed, all because he couldn't be washed and was getting gross after two years of love
* the fact that the monkey may come back, even though Mommy picked out this new cow (who could be washed) because the monkey doesn't like him
It's hard being a mom. No wonder God works so hard to try to convince us to stay away from sin . . . he understands the heartache it will cause, and He's desperate to protect us from it all. Any parent would be.
Heaven, honey. Heaven. That's Home. No dolphins will be slaughtered there, but no children will be neglected or violated or betrayed either. Oh, and only the good monkeys make it in. And both cows.
I'm watching the news, though it's hard to call it that. They do about two minutes of news once every hour. After that, it's mostly political agendas and stories about sensational activities. I have to check out CNN.com to find any real news. And thank goodness I have that insider in Iraq where I can get REAL news on the war.
The media is frustrating to me. It tells me what to think while only presenting one side of the story. Not only am I told what to think, but I'm also told what to feel about any given story. It's hard to imagine crying that hard over a dolphin, albeit a sad story, when we just ignore what is happening to children the world over. But the media and "celebrity" seem to be on the same page. So am I the one who's missing something?
And how do I keep my daughter from it all?
There's so much to protect her from:
* the monkey who visited her in her dreams on Friday night . . . and bit her!
* the heartbreak of having her cow snatched from her bed, all because he couldn't be washed and was getting gross after two years of love
* the fact that the monkey may come back, even though Mommy picked out this new cow (who could be washed) because the monkey doesn't like him
It's hard being a mom. No wonder God works so hard to try to convince us to stay away from sin . . . he understands the heartache it will cause, and He's desperate to protect us from it all. Any parent would be.
Heaven, honey. Heaven. That's Home. No dolphins will be slaughtered there, but no children will be neglected or violated or betrayed either. Oh, and only the good monkeys make it in. And both cows.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The Potty Training Diary
Day One
Assemble necessary items:
* Potty Chair
* Big girl underwear for shameless goalsetting
* Ample supply of pullups, featuring Dora and Sesame Street characters
* Star stickers
* Homemade potty chart (because why pay for one?!)
* Timer to remind us to potty every 30 minutes
Day Two
Scrap timer and just occasionally suggest we "try to potty"
Day Three
Add giant stack of favorite books to bathroom to encourage toddler to sit on toilet for more than ten seconds
Day Four
Realize that false hope is better than no hope at all
Day Five
Move big girl underwear out of dresser . . . acknowledge it will be a while; consider giving up all together
Day Six
Call both sets of grandparents to excitedly declare "I went potty four times!" Clarify that it is toddler we're talking about rather than Mommy and Daddy but admit that we do find ourselves announcing each visit with urgency and wondering why no one cheers us on.
Day Seven
Realize that four-potty-trip days don't qualify as any kind of hope
Day Eight
Agree with toddler that it's a waste of time to sit on potty reading when the cow chair is much more comfy
Day Nine
Wonder how parents have potty trained toddlers for centuries when yours clearly isn't going to catch on
Day Ten
Refigure budget to see if two sets of diapers will fit in; decide to give up eating in order to afford it all
Day Eleven
Sit in total shock and awe when toddler announces, "I have to ucky! Ucky on big girl potty!" and actually proceeds to pee-pee and poo-poo on said toilet. Wonder how Mommy got stuck cleaning out the potty afterwards. Also marvel at smile of pride on toddler's face and wonder how I could have considered giving up.
Assemble necessary items:
* Potty Chair
* Big girl underwear for shameless goalsetting
* Ample supply of pullups, featuring Dora and Sesame Street characters
* Star stickers
* Homemade potty chart (because why pay for one?!)
* Timer to remind us to potty every 30 minutes
Day Two
Scrap timer and just occasionally suggest we "try to potty"
Day Three
Add giant stack of favorite books to bathroom to encourage toddler to sit on toilet for more than ten seconds
Day Four
Realize that false hope is better than no hope at all
Day Five
Move big girl underwear out of dresser . . . acknowledge it will be a while; consider giving up all together
Day Six
Call both sets of grandparents to excitedly declare "I went potty four times!" Clarify that it is toddler we're talking about rather than Mommy and Daddy but admit that we do find ourselves announcing each visit with urgency and wondering why no one cheers us on.
Day Seven
Realize that four-potty-trip days don't qualify as any kind of hope
Day Eight
Agree with toddler that it's a waste of time to sit on potty reading when the cow chair is much more comfy
Day Nine
Wonder how parents have potty trained toddlers for centuries when yours clearly isn't going to catch on
Day Ten
Refigure budget to see if two sets of diapers will fit in; decide to give up eating in order to afford it all
Day Eleven
Sit in total shock and awe when toddler announces, "I have to ucky! Ucky on big girl potty!" and actually proceeds to pee-pee and poo-poo on said toilet. Wonder how Mommy got stuck cleaning out the potty afterwards. Also marvel at smile of pride on toddler's face and wonder how I could have considered giving up.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Seasons of Life
It's an interesting thing, life. We go through times, or seasons, where people often shrug off what we're feeling by saying, "Eh, it's a season of life. Enjoy it. It won't last long."
Here I am, only 30, and I feel like I've been through a million seasons. Some that weren't worth enjoying and others that have left behind memories I'll cherish forever. On second thought, I think that all of them have left behind at least ONE memory worth cherishing. Even if it is just how we got the heck out of there alive!
And here we find ourselves in some new seasons.
Young Family: There have been three, and soon there will be four. That's a crazy thing to think about and a big adjustment to make. With it come joys and triumphs . . . and heartaches. We had a great time camping, until Ellie fell out of the trailer and landed on her face. No real damage, but some real trauma--for Ellie because her cookie broke; for Mommy because my Ellie was lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps. We peed on the big girl potty. After three attempts, a minute amount actually came out! Yay! Real progress!!
Another thing that comes with this is being in the "child-bearing" season of life. Between August 2007 and May 2008, I know more than 15 people having babies!!
Adult Child: Even though I am the youngest in my family, somehow a lot seems to fall to me . . . my grandma (91 years old) lives with my mom. Since Dad is in Iraq, every time my realtor mom has to be out of town, Ellie and I pack up our lives and move to Mom's to stay with Grandma. The inevitable conversations about what to do with Grandma or about Grandma also fall to me. As does camping in October. It works, but it's more than awkward. I'd like to not be an adult child anymore.
Here I also grieve my father's absence. It's hard to keep in touch, but maybe that's because I'm lazy. I know it is no indication of my feelings for my dad or the degree of my missing him. He'll be home in January, and I know we'll cherish each moment we have. But I also know that he'll leave again until April. He won't meet Megan until she is 2 1/2 months old. That is hard. I also grieve my mom. She misses him so desperately, and her reflections on it don't match up with her actions toward it. My inclination is to withdraw from the whole situation . . . but I owe Ellie more than that somehow. I owe myself and my parents more than that, too.
The "Wedding" Season: I thought we were past this . . . and we were, for our college friends and such. We entered this season again, though, because I worked in youth ministry for four years. That saw three lovely ladies through four years of high school . . . through driving, dating, prom, graduation, college, and into adulthood. Amber is getting married March 15. Then she's moving to Oregon (another reason to visit!!). Sarah is getting married July 12. Then she's moving to grad school in Boston, NYC, Connecticut, or some other distant locale that would LOVE to be my family's vacation destination. Jillian is getting married at the end of September. Then she is staying in West Virginia--a long drive, but a lovely spot to see. The significance with these weddings is that we are no longer asked to be groomsmen, ushers, or bridesmaids. Instead, we're invited to serve as Master and Mistress of Ceremonies(!) for Sarah and Jillian, and Ellie is invited to be a flower girl for Jillian. Craziness. See how the seasons overlap?
I'm sure there are more. For instance, I can add At-home Mom, and Beau can soon (hopefully) add Grad School Student. In the mean time, we're just trying to figure out what these seasons look like for us, how to get out of some of them quickly or with our sanity, and how we can afford the others.
Growing up is strange. But it's also lovely. I'm glad to be in a place that I wasn't five years ago. The knowledge is great, and the progress is essential. It's also interesting to think of what labels we'll give our seasons five years from now. In all of GOd's wisdom, we can't identify those seasons yet. We don't know where the joys will come in or where the heartache will come in. All we know for certain is that we are loved. By many. And we are carried when we need it, and we carry when they need it.
And that's the greatest beauty.
Are you going through a dry spell
I was there awhile ago
Now I've come to a place where the rain falls
Where the trees bear fruit and grow
Where I find a refuge in my God
It's a place of surrender I know
I look at God and see what I want to be
He looks at me and sees His own
Seasons change
And then they pass
No way to know how long they'll last
I'd love to know the reason why
But God knows
Seasons change
- Seasons Change, Crystal Lewis
Here I am, only 30, and I feel like I've been through a million seasons. Some that weren't worth enjoying and others that have left behind memories I'll cherish forever. On second thought, I think that all of them have left behind at least ONE memory worth cherishing. Even if it is just how we got the heck out of there alive!
And here we find ourselves in some new seasons.
Young Family: There have been three, and soon there will be four. That's a crazy thing to think about and a big adjustment to make. With it come joys and triumphs . . . and heartaches. We had a great time camping, until Ellie fell out of the trailer and landed on her face. No real damage, but some real trauma--for Ellie because her cookie broke; for Mommy because my Ellie was lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps. We peed on the big girl potty. After three attempts, a minute amount actually came out! Yay! Real progress!!
Another thing that comes with this is being in the "child-bearing" season of life. Between August 2007 and May 2008, I know more than 15 people having babies!!
Adult Child: Even though I am the youngest in my family, somehow a lot seems to fall to me . . . my grandma (91 years old) lives with my mom. Since Dad is in Iraq, every time my realtor mom has to be out of town, Ellie and I pack up our lives and move to Mom's to stay with Grandma. The inevitable conversations about what to do with Grandma or about Grandma also fall to me. As does camping in October. It works, but it's more than awkward. I'd like to not be an adult child anymore.
Here I also grieve my father's absence. It's hard to keep in touch, but maybe that's because I'm lazy. I know it is no indication of my feelings for my dad or the degree of my missing him. He'll be home in January, and I know we'll cherish each moment we have. But I also know that he'll leave again until April. He won't meet Megan until she is 2 1/2 months old. That is hard. I also grieve my mom. She misses him so desperately, and her reflections on it don't match up with her actions toward it. My inclination is to withdraw from the whole situation . . . but I owe Ellie more than that somehow. I owe myself and my parents more than that, too.
The "Wedding" Season: I thought we were past this . . . and we were, for our college friends and such. We entered this season again, though, because I worked in youth ministry for four years. That saw three lovely ladies through four years of high school . . . through driving, dating, prom, graduation, college, and into adulthood. Amber is getting married March 15. Then she's moving to Oregon (another reason to visit!!). Sarah is getting married July 12. Then she's moving to grad school in Boston, NYC, Connecticut, or some other distant locale that would LOVE to be my family's vacation destination. Jillian is getting married at the end of September. Then she is staying in West Virginia--a long drive, but a lovely spot to see. The significance with these weddings is that we are no longer asked to be groomsmen, ushers, or bridesmaids. Instead, we're invited to serve as Master and Mistress of Ceremonies(!) for Sarah and Jillian, and Ellie is invited to be a flower girl for Jillian. Craziness. See how the seasons overlap?
I'm sure there are more. For instance, I can add At-home Mom, and Beau can soon (hopefully) add Grad School Student. In the mean time, we're just trying to figure out what these seasons look like for us, how to get out of some of them quickly or with our sanity, and how we can afford the others.
Growing up is strange. But it's also lovely. I'm glad to be in a place that I wasn't five years ago. The knowledge is great, and the progress is essential. It's also interesting to think of what labels we'll give our seasons five years from now. In all of GOd's wisdom, we can't identify those seasons yet. We don't know where the joys will come in or where the heartache will come in. All we know for certain is that we are loved. By many. And we are carried when we need it, and we carry when they need it.
And that's the greatest beauty.
Are you going through a dry spell
I was there awhile ago
Now I've come to a place where the rain falls
Where the trees bear fruit and grow
Where I find a refuge in my God
It's a place of surrender I know
I look at God and see what I want to be
He looks at me and sees His own
Seasons change
And then they pass
No way to know how long they'll last
I'd love to know the reason why
But God knows
Seasons change
- Seasons Change, Crystal Lewis
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Being a Mom and Embarking on New Adventures
I've been awake for four hours so far today. That doesn't count the times I woke up while I meant to be sleeping. It's been a busy four hours, and Ellie has cried for almost all of them. There was a peaceful hour before she woke up, but then all hell--and runny noses--seems to have broken loose. I don't know what brought it on.
My head finally was aching so badly that I carried her upstairs and shut her in her room. And now I feel terrible about it. It's not like I used a dog kennel or anything like that. Her room is lovely--complete with a pink bean bag, bumble bee bookends, an empty diaper box that doubles as a boat, a comfy big-girl bed, a CD player, and a box of Kleenex that has been emptied one by one onto the floor too many times to result in smooth Kleenexes. And I brought books up with us. But I still feel awful. I just couldn't deal with the crying anymore. Does that make me a bad mom?
Maybe her problem is the fact that Liam is here today. She stays with him on Tuesdays while I work, and I watch him on Wednesdays while his mom enjoys a day of peace alone. If three crazy cats and a loud dog qualify as alone. Anyway, Ellie melted down last week Wednesday, too. She hit, she pushed, she cried, she whined, she screamed, and she horded toys. She doesn't like to share. She's going to eat Baby Megan, isn't she? Or lock her up in a dog kennel.
Thank God we don't have a dog.
In other news, we're camping this weekend. Clearly we're insane. At least Grandma found a nice camper for us all to use. Tomorrow, Ellie and Mommy will drive to meet "Bamma Binga" in way-too-cold-and-rainy Ludington where we'll enjoy four days and three nights on the coast of the Great Lake that looks like an ocean on stormy days. Did I mention the storm we're supposed to get tomorrow? Yeah. Clearly we're crazy. At least the camper has a TV and VCR. Plus I'm bringing cookies.
Then, next week we embark on Mission Potty Training. Clearly I'm insane.
By the way, if my daughter grows up to be as rude as the president of the United States is, I'm buying a dog kennel for her.
My head finally was aching so badly that I carried her upstairs and shut her in her room. And now I feel terrible about it. It's not like I used a dog kennel or anything like that. Her room is lovely--complete with a pink bean bag, bumble bee bookends, an empty diaper box that doubles as a boat, a comfy big-girl bed, a CD player, and a box of Kleenex that has been emptied one by one onto the floor too many times to result in smooth Kleenexes. And I brought books up with us. But I still feel awful. I just couldn't deal with the crying anymore. Does that make me a bad mom?
Maybe her problem is the fact that Liam is here today. She stays with him on Tuesdays while I work, and I watch him on Wednesdays while his mom enjoys a day of peace alone. If three crazy cats and a loud dog qualify as alone. Anyway, Ellie melted down last week Wednesday, too. She hit, she pushed, she cried, she whined, she screamed, and she horded toys. She doesn't like to share. She's going to eat Baby Megan, isn't she? Or lock her up in a dog kennel.
Thank God we don't have a dog.
In other news, we're camping this weekend. Clearly we're insane. At least Grandma found a nice camper for us all to use. Tomorrow, Ellie and Mommy will drive to meet "Bamma Binga" in way-too-cold-and-rainy Ludington where we'll enjoy four days and three nights on the coast of the Great Lake that looks like an ocean on stormy days. Did I mention the storm we're supposed to get tomorrow? Yeah. Clearly we're crazy. At least the camper has a TV and VCR. Plus I'm bringing cookies.
Then, next week we embark on Mission Potty Training. Clearly I'm insane.
By the way, if my daughter grows up to be as rude as the president of the United States is, I'm buying a dog kennel for her.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
The Lofty Task of Motherhood
I came across this today: " 'Salvation' isn't just about me, BTW. It's good news for the people around me, too, when I live as Jesus taught. His way of living restores relationships, sets injustices right, frees me from anxiety and slavery to money, for instance, and is GREAT news for the most vulnerable people in my life, when I try to live in a way that brings the Kingdom to Earth, as it is in Heaven." (see comments)
It strikes me that, as a mother, "salvation" truly changes the way that I raise my children. It changes the way that I think about, treat, care for my unborn daughter, and it changes the way that I discipline, love, potty train my oldest daughter. It changes the way I live my life. It has to. And it truly does have to be good news--for me, yes, but for everyone around me.
I love the way the author, in his comment above explains salvation--by grace, through faith, not works--to an admitted nonChristian who inquired about how this relevant gospel changes our lives . . . and brings about good works without requiring them. I want to save this forever and share it with my little girls when they ask why we go to church every Sunday. Ellie, Meg, it isn't about making our lives richer or seeing our friends or complaining about how weak the coffee is . . . it's about learning how to make OUR salvation GREAT news for the people we meet every day. For our friends, for our enemies, for our families, for our neighbors, and for the most vulnerable people in our lives.
Does being a Christian have an impact on my parenting? Does being a Christian have an impact on the television I watch? On the jobs I take? On the job I do at the job I took, or the way I talk about my friends or my pastor or my coworker, or the way I spend my money? What about the way I vote and what issues make me angry? It damn well better. But maybe it isn't being a Christian that does it . . . maybe it's "being saved" that does it. Because I'm "saved," my whole life needs to change . . . and it needs to change for the better. Because if my neighbors hate to see me coming, then it surely isn't good news. And I heard once that if it isn't good news, then it isn't the Good News . . . for anybody.
It strikes me that, as a mother, "salvation" truly changes the way that I raise my children. It changes the way that I think about, treat, care for my unborn daughter, and it changes the way that I discipline, love, potty train my oldest daughter. It changes the way I live my life. It has to. And it truly does have to be good news--for me, yes, but for everyone around me.
I love the way the author, in his comment above explains salvation--by grace, through faith, not works--to an admitted nonChristian who inquired about how this relevant gospel changes our lives . . . and brings about good works without requiring them. I want to save this forever and share it with my little girls when they ask why we go to church every Sunday. Ellie, Meg, it isn't about making our lives richer or seeing our friends or complaining about how weak the coffee is . . . it's about learning how to make OUR salvation GREAT news for the people we meet every day. For our friends, for our enemies, for our families, for our neighbors, and for the most vulnerable people in our lives.
Does being a Christian have an impact on my parenting? Does being a Christian have an impact on the television I watch? On the jobs I take? On the job I do at the job I took, or the way I talk about my friends or my pastor or my coworker, or the way I spend my money? What about the way I vote and what issues make me angry? It damn well better. But maybe it isn't being a Christian that does it . . . maybe it's "being saved" that does it. Because I'm "saved," my whole life needs to change . . . and it needs to change for the better. Because if my neighbors hate to see me coming, then it surely isn't good news. And I heard once that if it isn't good news, then it isn't the Good News . . . for anybody.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
400 Days
It's not really that long. It's not the end of the world. It's not forever.
But it is a really long time.
In 400 Days, my daughter went from inside me to walking around and talking. She learned to smile, laugh, sit up, roll over, fall asleep on her own, feed herself, play, talk, walk, run, make up songs, tell jokes . . .
In the next 400 Days, she'll likely be joined by a baby brother or sister (a sister, if you ask her!), maybe she'll learn to potty in the toilet (Mommy's wishful thinking!), she'll turn two, and she'll learn a million more words, jokes, and motions for nursery rhymes and songs.
It's not the end of the world. It's not forever. But it's a long time to miss your grandpa . . . and my daddy.
Be proud of your grandpa, young one. He is going to a place where he'll be in danger . . . where he'll be learning new things and "playing" new games. There will be new people . . . many with guns, many with bombs and IEDs. But they'll be people, sweet thing, and that's why your grandpa is going. Grandpa will live a life no one should have to, and he really will be one of the safest people there. My darling daughter, I don't know if he'll come home. There are no promises. But I do know that the soldiers there--mommies, daddies, grandmas, grandpas, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, sons, daughters--will be lucky to have the man that we are lucky to have. For the next 400 Days you will know your grandpa only through technology. Through email and through webcams. For the next 400 Days Mommy will not curse technology again. Except when it doesn't work. Except when Mommy can't bring Grandpa into your living room for you to love and tell jokes to and sing songs together. Except if that tape erases, and we lose his stories.
My love, I wish that I could make this different. I'm sorry that you have to say goodbye for longer than you imagined. I'm sorry that your sweet "Bompa" will miss the next 400 Days and that you will wonder where he is and why Mommy is sad sometimes. I'm sorry that I can't promise he'll come back to us just because we tie a yellow ribbon on our porch and pray as hard as we can. Just know that Chaplain Bierenga loves you more than he can say. And that he'll do all he can to come back to you and hug you and swing you onto his shoulder and whisper in your ear.
Until then, 400 Days isn't so long. Really. Really?
But it is a really long time.
In 400 Days, my daughter went from inside me to walking around and talking. She learned to smile, laugh, sit up, roll over, fall asleep on her own, feed herself, play, talk, walk, run, make up songs, tell jokes . . .
In the next 400 Days, she'll likely be joined by a baby brother or sister (a sister, if you ask her!), maybe she'll learn to potty in the toilet (Mommy's wishful thinking!), she'll turn two, and she'll learn a million more words, jokes, and motions for nursery rhymes and songs.
It's not the end of the world. It's not forever. But it's a long time to miss your grandpa . . . and my daddy.
Be proud of your grandpa, young one. He is going to a place where he'll be in danger . . . where he'll be learning new things and "playing" new games. There will be new people . . . many with guns, many with bombs and IEDs. But they'll be people, sweet thing, and that's why your grandpa is going. Grandpa will live a life no one should have to, and he really will be one of the safest people there. My darling daughter, I don't know if he'll come home. There are no promises. But I do know that the soldiers there--mommies, daddies, grandmas, grandpas, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, sons, daughters--will be lucky to have the man that we are lucky to have. For the next 400 Days you will know your grandpa only through technology. Through email and through webcams. For the next 400 Days Mommy will not curse technology again. Except when it doesn't work. Except when Mommy can't bring Grandpa into your living room for you to love and tell jokes to and sing songs together. Except if that tape erases, and we lose his stories.
My love, I wish that I could make this different. I'm sorry that you have to say goodbye for longer than you imagined. I'm sorry that your sweet "Bompa" will miss the next 400 Days and that you will wonder where he is and why Mommy is sad sometimes. I'm sorry that I can't promise he'll come back to us just because we tie a yellow ribbon on our porch and pray as hard as we can. Just know that Chaplain Bierenga loves you more than he can say. And that he'll do all he can to come back to you and hug you and swing you onto his shoulder and whisper in your ear.
Until then, 400 Days isn't so long. Really. Really?
Friday, April 13, 2007
It's time. It has to be.
I need to go on a trip. I'm feeling like I need a sunset or a suntan or just a change of scenes. I'm a mommy, but I still need to write and dream and be. It's easy to put that aside in favor of making sure that She writes and dreams and is.
Is there really any way that can happen unless she sees it somewhere though? I don't think so.
So it's up to me.
I have an obligation.
I wonder if I'm up to the task. When She looks at me, I can tell that She thinks I am. So . . . (deep breath) Rowling unveiled the beautiful and mysterious and perfect Harry Potter with a million kids at home right? I should be able to write down at least ONE of the stories in my head.
Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
I need to do it for me. Otherwise I'll never make it through.
Is there really any way that can happen unless she sees it somewhere though? I don't think so.
So it's up to me.
I have an obligation.
I wonder if I'm up to the task. When She looks at me, I can tell that She thinks I am. So . . . (deep breath) Rowling unveiled the beautiful and mysterious and perfect Harry Potter with a million kids at home right? I should be able to write down at least ONE of the stories in my head.
Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
I need to do it for me. Otherwise I'll never make it through.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Brave
There is so much about me that is less than I hoped it would be. When I dreamed about my life, I dreamed of Oregon or Washington, D.C., or Boston or Cape Town. That was before I discovered that I don't really like Boston, but that can't be held against me. When I dreamed about my life, I weighed less, and I looked just a bit different. When I dreamed about my life, I didn't do what I do for a living, even if my living is with a really cool, important, and flexible job.
Somewhere along the way I settled for the rut I fell into because settling was easier than climbing. So I sit. And I dream. And the life I dream of doesn't look much like the life I live. The people are the same, but the places and the sights are so, so different.
But sometimes it just isn't enough. Sometimes I want reality to look just a bit more like my dreams . . . all because the short girl dancing in my living room quite often doesn't stop until she's danced across my heart.
This is the best thing that I've ever done. I keep expecting it to get old, but it doesn't. Every day is better than the one before it, even when I struggle to find time to fit my less-than-dream job in between the tears and the "cackuhs" and the mountains of laundry that fill my basement. There are no bonbons, but there are cackuhs and djoooce. And I wouldn't take a dumb old bonbon anyway. I'd take these temper tantrums over any of those.
So it's for her that I try. It's for her that I fit the job and the laundry in. It's for her that I try.
So long status quo
I think I just let go
You make me want to be brave
The way it always was
Is no longer good enough
You make me want to be brave.
- "Brave" Nichole Nordeman
It may look ugly, but she sure makes me want to try.
Somewhere along the way I settled for the rut I fell into because settling was easier than climbing. So I sit. And I dream. And the life I dream of doesn't look much like the life I live. The people are the same, but the places and the sights are so, so different.
But sometimes it just isn't enough. Sometimes I want reality to look just a bit more like my dreams . . . all because the short girl dancing in my living room quite often doesn't stop until she's danced across my heart.
This is the best thing that I've ever done. I keep expecting it to get old, but it doesn't. Every day is better than the one before it, even when I struggle to find time to fit my less-than-dream job in between the tears and the "cackuhs" and the mountains of laundry that fill my basement. There are no bonbons, but there are cackuhs and djoooce. And I wouldn't take a dumb old bonbon anyway. I'd take these temper tantrums over any of those.
So it's for her that I try. It's for her that I fit the job and the laundry in. It's for her that I try.
So long status quo
I think I just let go
You make me want to be brave
The way it always was
Is no longer good enough
You make me want to be brave.
- "Brave" Nichole Nordeman
It may look ugly, but she sure makes me want to try.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Imagine
I'd like to rewrite that glorious song that John Lennon sang so beautifully. Imagine. Imagine. Really do it, sweet Ellie. Really imagine a world where things make sense.
I had the privilege of being born into a world without AIDS. A world without the horrors and the 40 million orphans and the children too old for orphanages who have to sell their bodies on the streets. For food. So they get AIDS and die a quiet death alone where no one even notices. When I was young, unsafe sex maybe got you pregnant or, at worst, got you a disease that made you sterile. Sterile has nothing on dead.
Yet another thing to try to explain to my daughter. And I don't know what's harder to explain:
Why women and children are dying in alarming numbers
or
Why we don't do anything about it
God. It's so hard to be a parent on days like this. In worlds like this.
But it's the most amazing, awe-inspiring, and humbling privilege ever. So, sweet Ellie. Yes. You were born into a world with AIDS. But maybe, just maybe, someday you will live in a world without it.
Happy World AIDS Day, sweet baby girl.
I had the privilege of being born into a world without AIDS. A world without the horrors and the 40 million orphans and the children too old for orphanages who have to sell their bodies on the streets. For food. So they get AIDS and die a quiet death alone where no one even notices. When I was young, unsafe sex maybe got you pregnant or, at worst, got you a disease that made you sterile. Sterile has nothing on dead.
Yet another thing to try to explain to my daughter. And I don't know what's harder to explain:
Why women and children are dying in alarming numbers
or
Why we don't do anything about it
God. It's so hard to be a parent on days like this. In worlds like this.
But it's the most amazing, awe-inspiring, and humbling privilege ever. So, sweet Ellie. Yes. You were born into a world with AIDS. But maybe, just maybe, someday you will live in a world without it.
Happy World AIDS Day, sweet baby girl.
Monday, September 11, 2006
With a heavy heart
It's hard to know what kind of world it is that welcomed my baby girl almost one year ago today. When you birth a child, you birth with it high hopes for life and joy and passion and change. You birth with it hopes for eternal innocence, even while you know that true innocence doesn't exist for even a day.
For a while my due date was September 11. At the time, I insisted that it would have been okay with me. It would have been thumbing my nose at terrorists who tried to claim that day as theirs. It would have been proof that life really does go on, even on the most terrible day in so many of our memories. God chose to give my love another birthday, and now September 15 is the day that life and joy and passion and change was born. So we'll celebrate on Friday. Today we celebrate something different.
I'm grateful to have a one year old on the fifth anniversary of September 11. I'm grateful that I don't have to try to summarize September 11, 2001, and the events of that horrible day and year for this child whom I so desperately crave one more brief moment of innocence. I'm grateful that I can hug this squirming bundle and steal a kiss through my tears and know that there is hope, even in the midst of grief that still feels raw. And not just for that day but for that year. That year when the world felt like it couldn't go on turning for the sheer weight of it. That year when every phone call seemed to bring with it more bad news. That year when every beat of my heart longed for Home.
Praise God for good friends. For Family. For the hints of Home that they are. We wouldn't have lived without them. And praise God for wee babies that we can look at and love and cherish now five years later.
Which brings me to today. A day when I carried a heavy heart around in addition to my already heavy diaper bag and purse and an increasingly heavy almost one year old. I think, though, that when I looked in to her eyes this morning, I caught a glimpse of innocence. So I guess I owe it to her to do my grieving and show her how to do the same. I guess I owe it to her to carry that heavy heart and show her how Family lessens the burden. I guess I owe it to her to say "I love you" when I mean I'm sorry and show her that the sorrys don't matter because it's love that keeps us there. I guess I owe it to her to claim the beauty of today and celebrate her innocence.
I'll have a six year old on the tenth anniversary, and maybe that will be the time to begin to open the door. But on the fifteenth anniversary, she'll be eleven. And then sixteen when we celebrate again. And that's the year that we'll open the time capsule. Pretty close to fifteen years from today. Maybe that will be the time. Maybe she'll grasp it all a bit more then. Maybe by then the wars will be over and the horrors will stay on TV instead of creeping in our doors. Maybe by then we'll be Home. But if we aren't, I hope I can figure out how to tell her everything.
As Bono sang in remembering five years ago today while at the Superbowl the next winter, "It's a beautiful day." It is. And it was. That's what I remember the most clearly about that day. Just how gorgeous the bright blue sky was. It was a beautiful day, even though it didn't look so much like it. Sometimes you have to look a bit below the surface to see the true beauty. So if you look, you can see it. And maybe, somehow, we can keep just a bit of that innocence.
For a while my due date was September 11. At the time, I insisted that it would have been okay with me. It would have been thumbing my nose at terrorists who tried to claim that day as theirs. It would have been proof that life really does go on, even on the most terrible day in so many of our memories. God chose to give my love another birthday, and now September 15 is the day that life and joy and passion and change was born. So we'll celebrate on Friday. Today we celebrate something different.
I'm grateful to have a one year old on the fifth anniversary of September 11. I'm grateful that I don't have to try to summarize September 11, 2001, and the events of that horrible day and year for this child whom I so desperately crave one more brief moment of innocence. I'm grateful that I can hug this squirming bundle and steal a kiss through my tears and know that there is hope, even in the midst of grief that still feels raw. And not just for that day but for that year. That year when the world felt like it couldn't go on turning for the sheer weight of it. That year when every phone call seemed to bring with it more bad news. That year when every beat of my heart longed for Home.
Praise God for good friends. For Family. For the hints of Home that they are. We wouldn't have lived without them. And praise God for wee babies that we can look at and love and cherish now five years later.
Which brings me to today. A day when I carried a heavy heart around in addition to my already heavy diaper bag and purse and an increasingly heavy almost one year old. I think, though, that when I looked in to her eyes this morning, I caught a glimpse of innocence. So I guess I owe it to her to do my grieving and show her how to do the same. I guess I owe it to her to carry that heavy heart and show her how Family lessens the burden. I guess I owe it to her to say "I love you" when I mean I'm sorry and show her that the sorrys don't matter because it's love that keeps us there. I guess I owe it to her to claim the beauty of today and celebrate her innocence.
I'll have a six year old on the tenth anniversary, and maybe that will be the time to begin to open the door. But on the fifteenth anniversary, she'll be eleven. And then sixteen when we celebrate again. And that's the year that we'll open the time capsule. Pretty close to fifteen years from today. Maybe that will be the time. Maybe she'll grasp it all a bit more then. Maybe by then the wars will be over and the horrors will stay on TV instead of creeping in our doors. Maybe by then we'll be Home. But if we aren't, I hope I can figure out how to tell her everything.
As Bono sang in remembering five years ago today while at the Superbowl the next winter, "It's a beautiful day." It is. And it was. That's what I remember the most clearly about that day. Just how gorgeous the bright blue sky was. It was a beautiful day, even though it didn't look so much like it. Sometimes you have to look a bit below the surface to see the true beauty. So if you look, you can see it. And maybe, somehow, we can keep just a bit of that innocence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)