1. Grr. Insurance companies. Grr. That is all.
2. I told my kids they could have screen time ALLLLL DAAAAAY (!!!!!) for this special holiday day ... as long as they get their work done first. Clean their bedroom floors. Put away their laundry. Tidy the toy room. 20 minutes of homework.
So, basically, they probably won't have any screen time all day. But they are very upbeat about the whole thing, because I've made such a generous offer.
Yes, I am an awesome mother.
3. I traveled down the main road in town at about seven miles per hour yesterday and felt like a totally reckless driver. The roads were pure ice. Is it March yet?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
I'm Dreaming of a Painfree Endodontic Surgical Pre-Christmas
... or, if the title doesn't express my feelings perfectly, I'm dreaming of all the things that could potentially go wrong during my endodontic surgery today. Elijah said to me, "Mom, it sure would be sad if you died after your surgery was done."
Yes, Elijah, it would be very sad. We will try to avoid accidental death caused by unanticipated side-effects of an oral surgery gone wrong. At all costs.
I'm pretty sure people don't die at the endodontist's office nearly as often as they feel like they're dying. If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that I actually screamed in the endodontist's chair last Saturday, and here is a hint for you: if you are at an endodontist ... on a SATURDAY ... you will probably scream in pain before you leave. I'm just sayin'.
And if you are then scheduled to go back and see him two days later for a surgery, you might just dream of how you'll probably die before the day is done, too. If you have a good imagination, which, unfortunately, I do.
At this point in the confusing narrative, I'm thinking this blog has become Downersville, USA. My last blog entry was titled "BLOOD" and talked about how I see my son's silent screaming face of pain every time I close my eyes.
I know, I know. Merry *#%& Christmas from my family to yours.
It isn't all that bad. Other than the overwhelming anxiety of whether my choice to do oral sedation was brilliant or just one more complication that will probably lead to my early demise, I'm feeling pretty good! Lots of little Christmas blessings:
(1) My new dentist, whom I have never even met face-to-face, is a really decent guy and talked me through two days of trying the conservative approach before we gave up and had to do an emergency endodontist visit. He was a real life-saver.
(2) After two days of pure agony, the pain medications and steroids and antibiotics and oral rinses and ice packs and prayers and the endodontic visit-from-heck to drain my face really got me feeling like myself again. Just in time to sing with the church Christmas choir, which is important to me. Six Christmases ago, I was so set on singing with the church choir at Christmas time that I pushed my pregnant-with-twins body too far and ended up on bed rest. It would have happened sooner or later anyway, so it was worth it.
(3) I'm inclined to think this is God's way of forcing me to take care of my dental problems because this is the perfect time to do this. We haven't used any of our dental benefits much this year, so they should pay close to their full portion on this. We have a $2500 max that they will pay, and in two weeks that will reset so I can address any other dental issues. Yea, hooray? Also, I've already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on our health insurance so they are covering my multitude of prescriptions 100%. So this little emergency might end up costing me less than $1,000. Maybe. Better than the alternative. Also, because of Christmas break, there are lots of people available to help me with child care and driving the drugged lady around.
So there you have it, lots of little silver linings. I'm going to be feeling grateful for these things while trying to tame the anxiety beast and while sucking a liquid diet through a straw for the holidays.
I still have my sense of humor intact, so life must be okay.
Yes, Elijah, it would be very sad. We will try to avoid accidental death caused by unanticipated side-effects of an oral surgery gone wrong. At all costs.
I'm pretty sure people don't die at the endodontist's office nearly as often as they feel like they're dying. If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that I actually screamed in the endodontist's chair last Saturday, and here is a hint for you: if you are at an endodontist ... on a SATURDAY ... you will probably scream in pain before you leave. I'm just sayin'.
And if you are then scheduled to go back and see him two days later for a surgery, you might just dream of how you'll probably die before the day is done, too. If you have a good imagination, which, unfortunately, I do.
At this point in the confusing narrative, I'm thinking this blog has become Downersville, USA. My last blog entry was titled "BLOOD" and talked about how I see my son's silent screaming face of pain every time I close my eyes.
I know, I know. Merry *#%& Christmas from my family to yours.
It isn't all that bad. Other than the overwhelming anxiety of whether my choice to do oral sedation was brilliant or just one more complication that will probably lead to my early demise, I'm feeling pretty good! Lots of little Christmas blessings:
(1) My new dentist, whom I have never even met face-to-face, is a really decent guy and talked me through two days of trying the conservative approach before we gave up and had to do an emergency endodontist visit. He was a real life-saver.
(2) After two days of pure agony, the pain medications and steroids and antibiotics and oral rinses and ice packs and prayers and the endodontic visit-from-heck to drain my face really got me feeling like myself again. Just in time to sing with the church Christmas choir, which is important to me. Six Christmases ago, I was so set on singing with the church choir at Christmas time that I pushed my pregnant-with-twins body too far and ended up on bed rest. It would have happened sooner or later anyway, so it was worth it.
(3) I'm inclined to think this is God's way of forcing me to take care of my dental problems because this is the perfect time to do this. We haven't used any of our dental benefits much this year, so they should pay close to their full portion on this. We have a $2500 max that they will pay, and in two weeks that will reset so I can address any other dental issues. Yea, hooray? Also, I've already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on our health insurance so they are covering my multitude of prescriptions 100%. So this little emergency might end up costing me less than $1,000. Maybe. Better than the alternative. Also, because of Christmas break, there are lots of people available to help me with child care and driving the drugged lady around.
So there you have it, lots of little silver linings. I'm going to be feeling grateful for these things while trying to tame the anxiety beast and while sucking a liquid diet through a straw for the holidays.
I still have my sense of humor intact, so life must be okay.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Blood
Blessed with as much "creative genius" (aka anxiety disorder) as I am, I can never guess what my nightmares will be made of.
Until today.
Now, every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing: blood.
And a hole in the side of my oldest son's face. And a look of horror on the rest of it.
Blood. Hole. Pain.
This is not how I wanted my week to start: my son running downstairs in hysterics, blood streaming down his face, covering his hands. I tell myself I'm exaggerating, that it wasn't that bad. After all, there isn't any blood on the carpet--just a few wide swashes on the staircase where he steadied himself as he ran down to me.
I am trying not to lose my cool over the fact that I had repeatedly told him to stop what he was doing, get his socks and shoes on, and come down to breakfast. I am trying to forget the way his teeth chattered and his eyes screamed out to me when he was getting pricked over and over with a needle to get numbed up. I am trying to forget the look on his younger brother's face when the emergency room nurse uncovered the wound so we could all see it.
I am trying to block all of it out, but there it is every time I close my eyes.
One game of "tag." One sharp table corner. Five stitches (or seven, depending on who you ask). One Mom who hates blood and is still feeling faint. One impulsive little boy who may have, but probably didn't, learn some constructive life lesson from all of this.
Until today.
Now, every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing: blood.
And a hole in the side of my oldest son's face. And a look of horror on the rest of it.
Blood. Hole. Pain.
This is not how I wanted my week to start: my son running downstairs in hysterics, blood streaming down his face, covering his hands. I tell myself I'm exaggerating, that it wasn't that bad. After all, there isn't any blood on the carpet--just a few wide swashes on the staircase where he steadied himself as he ran down to me.
I am trying not to lose my cool over the fact that I had repeatedly told him to stop what he was doing, get his socks and shoes on, and come down to breakfast. I am trying to forget the way his teeth chattered and his eyes screamed out to me when he was getting pricked over and over with a needle to get numbed up. I am trying to forget the look on his younger brother's face when the emergency room nurse uncovered the wound so we could all see it.
I am trying to block all of it out, but there it is every time I close my eyes.
One game of "tag." One sharp table corner. Five stitches (or seven, depending on who you ask). One Mom who hates blood and is still feeling faint. One impulsive little boy who may have, but probably didn't, learn some constructive life lesson from all of this.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Miscellaneous 11/2010
(1)
Dear Utah drivers,
I've heard a rumor that it's bad manners to speed up and close the gap when somebody turns on his or her turn signal. In fact, I witnessed this a week ago. In Colorado, they actually SLOW DOWN and MAKE ROOM for you. Crazy, huh?
XOXO, a disgruntled driver
(2)
The good news about my trip to see my physiatrist was ... wait, I had it. Let me think.
Oh yeah, the good news was that there is no permanent nerve damage yet. The bad news, though? Pretty bad for me. The carpal tunnel surgery two years ago was a failure and will have to be re-done. And the left wrist is much, much worse now so it needs to be done as well. Nobody does the endoscopic (easy to recover from...) kind of surgery anymore. It's all the horrible kind that I had done. The recovery was so bad. So bad. I am almost in tears remembering it and knowing I have to do it all again.
But hey, no permanent damage yet, so there's that chance that maybe the next surgery will take and I'll have my hands back.
(3)
Sorry, not in a super positive mood right now. Try me tomorrow.
(4)
This was not the best week for me to set goals for a healthier lifestyle. I'm stressed and I want me some chocolate.
But I want me some less body fat, too, so too bad.
(5)
First ever attempt at wontons? Pure awesome. Think this is not in line with #4 (healthier lifestyle)? Nope. The way I will lose weight is by having a larger variety in my diet and having delicious foods at meal times so I don't binge all day between meals. I refuse to feel guilty about the wontons. Or the sesame chicken. (Yum.) I ate it with brown rice instead of white rice, so ... good? (And I don't fry the chicken. I just use chicken breast strips or shredded chicken and put the sesame glaze over it...) The Asian salad was amazing. We're doing this meal again next week. Fo sho.
(6)
I think I'm getting sick. I had a headache all day and my eyes hurt. Allergies? A cold? I don't know. But I feel bone tired and only about 50% present mentally.
Not a good time to blog.
A perfect time to blog.
(7)
People say that it's all about the pictures on the blog, ya know?
I know, right?
Have you ever thought about how to punctuate that phrase:
* I know. Right?
* I know, right?
* I know! Right?
It makes no sense when it's written down. I know, right?
Oh yeah, so pictures. Here you go. To appease the yearning masses longing for, err, I don't know. I'm tired. (Can you pinpoint the moment in this blog entry where I turned off the computer for a couple hours, then picked it up to continue later... tired-er and loopy-er? Betcha can.)
Here is something even goofier than my current writing mood. Twins are the best:
No, they're not identical. But they're both adorable.
(8)
I'm pretty sure society is going to heck. I just opened up CNN and their main headline reads, "What do dogs think about?"
Down below, really small, reads a headline, "Scientists capture antimatter atoms."
Argh. We don't need to read novels about dystopian cultures. Just gotta check CNN for proof that we're living in an age of irrationalismness. Uhh... Yes, did I mention I'm ti-red? Tired.
Dear Utah drivers,
I've heard a rumor that it's bad manners to speed up and close the gap when somebody turns on his or her turn signal. In fact, I witnessed this a week ago. In Colorado, they actually SLOW DOWN and MAKE ROOM for you. Crazy, huh?
XOXO, a disgruntled driver
(2)
The good news about my trip to see my physiatrist was ... wait, I had it. Let me think.
Oh yeah, the good news was that there is no permanent nerve damage yet. The bad news, though? Pretty bad for me. The carpal tunnel surgery two years ago was a failure and will have to be re-done. And the left wrist is much, much worse now so it needs to be done as well. Nobody does the endoscopic (easy to recover from...) kind of surgery anymore. It's all the horrible kind that I had done. The recovery was so bad. So bad. I am almost in tears remembering it and knowing I have to do it all again.
But hey, no permanent damage yet, so there's that chance that maybe the next surgery will take and I'll have my hands back.
(3)
Sorry, not in a super positive mood right now. Try me tomorrow.
(4)
This was not the best week for me to set goals for a healthier lifestyle. I'm stressed and I want me some chocolate.
But I want me some less body fat, too, so too bad.
(5)
First ever attempt at wontons? Pure awesome. Think this is not in line with #4 (healthier lifestyle)? Nope. The way I will lose weight is by having a larger variety in my diet and having delicious foods at meal times so I don't binge all day between meals. I refuse to feel guilty about the wontons. Or the sesame chicken. (Yum.) I ate it with brown rice instead of white rice, so ... good? (And I don't fry the chicken. I just use chicken breast strips or shredded chicken and put the sesame glaze over it...) The Asian salad was amazing. We're doing this meal again next week. Fo sho.
(6)
I think I'm getting sick. I had a headache all day and my eyes hurt. Allergies? A cold? I don't know. But I feel bone tired and only about 50% present mentally.
Not a good time to blog.
A perfect time to blog.
(7)
People say that it's all about the pictures on the blog, ya know?
I know, right?
Have you ever thought about how to punctuate that phrase:
* I know. Right?
* I know, right?
* I know! Right?
It makes no sense when it's written down. I know, right?
Oh yeah, so pictures. Here you go. To appease the yearning masses longing for, err, I don't know. I'm tired. (Can you pinpoint the moment in this blog entry where I turned off the computer for a couple hours, then picked it up to continue later... tired-er and loopy-er? Betcha can.)
Here is something even goofier than my current writing mood. Twins are the best:
No, they're not identical. But they're both adorable.
(8)
I'm pretty sure society is going to heck. I just opened up CNN and their main headline reads, "What do dogs think about?"
Down below, really small, reads a headline, "Scientists capture antimatter atoms."
Argh. We don't need to read novels about dystopian cultures. Just gotta check CNN for proof that we're living in an age of irrationalismness. Uhh... Yes, did I mention I'm ti-red? Tired.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Breaking the Cycle of Codependent Behavior
All shades of drama/trauma at my house tonight when our eight-year-old had a total meltdown. He's so sensitive. So fragile. So tender. Life just breaks him down so easily and he cracks into a million pieces.
Everything turned out well for the little guy eventually with renewed self-esteem and hope for the future.
...and yet...
I noticed something slightly alarming.
In his big, big heart, he exclaimed, "I wish I could just give the whole world something!" He also bemoaned how sad it is that there is war in the world and he wish he could make it all go away. This kid really feels like he has the whole world on his shoulders. All the pain hurts him personally. And he wants to make everything all better.
...which kinda reminds me...
Being co-dependent is kinda something he's been surrounded by his whole life, and I am starting to worry that he's looking outward for validation, rather than inward. We had a huge talk about self-worth and how it never changes even if we get a little banged up and bruised. (Thanks, Studio 5, for the great segment about that!) And the next thing he talks about is ... serving other people. Which is cool. It's great. He has a huge heart. But the goal of our conversation was to get him looking inward at the amazing person he is, not looking outward to ways he can get that validation from other people.
How do you tell your little guy that if he doesn't start looking out for #1, he'll never be able to serve other people? How do you tell him that he's got to be more self-reliant without becoming more selfish? That he needs a better sense of self-preservation? That he can't depend on serving other people to create an identity for himself? All that without turning him into a narcissistic little toad?
Seems like such a "cute" little problem, doesn't it? It's not as harmless and endearing as it sounds, though, and it breaks my heart. I need this little guy to look inside and love what he sees instead of trying to see his worth reflected from other people's opinion of him.
Ack. It gets complicated. Quickly.
Service: thumbs up! Hooray!
Co-dependent loss of self while trying to control other people through seemingly-innocent acts of service: Boo! No!
It was probably in my mind. The kid just has a huge heart. But I fret and want to make sure that heart doesn't get broken. My head hurts. Time for bed. I'll make sense of this morning.*
* Forget about all this during the rush of getting kids to school and driving the carpool, only to remember it next time there is a self-esteem meltdown.
Everything turned out well for the little guy eventually with renewed self-esteem and hope for the future.
...and yet...
I noticed something slightly alarming.
In his big, big heart, he exclaimed, "I wish I could just give the whole world something!" He also bemoaned how sad it is that there is war in the world and he wish he could make it all go away. This kid really feels like he has the whole world on his shoulders. All the pain hurts him personally. And he wants to make everything all better.
...which kinda reminds me...
Being co-dependent is kinda something he's been surrounded by his whole life, and I am starting to worry that he's looking outward for validation, rather than inward. We had a huge talk about self-worth and how it never changes even if we get a little banged up and bruised. (Thanks, Studio 5, for the great segment about that!) And the next thing he talks about is ... serving other people. Which is cool. It's great. He has a huge heart. But the goal of our conversation was to get him looking inward at the amazing person he is, not looking outward to ways he can get that validation from other people.
How do you tell your little guy that if he doesn't start looking out for #1, he'll never be able to serve other people? How do you tell him that he's got to be more self-reliant without becoming more selfish? That he needs a better sense of self-preservation? That he can't depend on serving other people to create an identity for himself? All that without turning him into a narcissistic little toad?
Seems like such a "cute" little problem, doesn't it? It's not as harmless and endearing as it sounds, though, and it breaks my heart. I need this little guy to look inside and love what he sees instead of trying to see his worth reflected from other people's opinion of him.
Ack. It gets complicated. Quickly.
Service: thumbs up! Hooray!
Co-dependent loss of self while trying to control other people through seemingly-innocent acts of service: Boo! No!
It was probably in my mind. The kid just has a huge heart. But I fret and want to make sure that heart doesn't get broken. My head hurts. Time for bed. I'll make sense of this morning.*
* Forget about all this during the rush of getting kids to school and driving the carpool, only to remember it next time there is a self-esteem meltdown.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Like Today
...and then there are days like today.
Clean the house? Nope.
Take time to write? Huh-uh.
Exercise? Yawn.
Sing? La-la-la. There you go. That's all I got.
Have trouble sleeping last night? Check.
Clean the house? Nope.
Take time to write? Huh-uh.
Exercise? Yawn.
Sing? La-la-la. There you go. That's all I got.
Have trouble sleeping last night? Check.
Monday, November 01, 2010
Priorities
Write.
Sing.
Exercise.
Clean the house.
I can choose two, or, on a good day, three before I melt into zombie mode.
Today, I finished chapter six of my chapter book ("Fight for the Galaxy!" ... named by the son for whom I am writing it) and did a bunch of research so I know where the next few chapters are heading (to the asteroid belt, naturally, which will be emotionally trying for all the characters). I exercised for 45 minutes. I did a bit of singing.
Zombie mode, here I come. It's not even 3 p.m. so I may have time for a bit of cleaning later on. (Eden is just stirring from her nap, so it won't happen right away!) If so, I am super woman. If not, I welcome exhaustion with open arms.
Sing.
Exercise.
Clean the house.
I can choose two, or, on a good day, three before I melt into zombie mode.
Today, I finished chapter six of my chapter book ("Fight for the Galaxy!" ... named by the son for whom I am writing it) and did a bunch of research so I know where the next few chapters are heading (to the asteroid belt, naturally, which will be emotionally trying for all the characters). I exercised for 45 minutes. I did a bit of singing.
Zombie mode, here I come. It's not even 3 p.m. so I may have time for a bit of cleaning later on. (Eden is just stirring from her nap, so it won't happen right away!) If so, I am super woman. If not, I welcome exhaustion with open arms.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Halloween! Hmph!
A group of kids came to my door, yelling "Trick or Treat!" Treats were duly dispensed. Then out of the back of the crowd, a kid came forward and yelled, "Gimme candy!"
I pulled the bowl back and said, rather good-naturedly, "Nope! You have to say 'trick or treat' first!"
The kid turned his nose in the air, made an angry noise and stomped away. What??
That pretty well summarizes my complaint with the rising generation. And I'm afraid my kids are probably not immune to the disease of Modern Americana Entitlement. Heaven help us all.
I pulled the bowl back and said, rather good-naturedly, "Nope! You have to say 'trick or treat' first!"
The kid turned his nose in the air, made an angry noise and stomped away. What??
That pretty well summarizes my complaint with the rising generation. And I'm afraid my kids are probably not immune to the disease of Modern Americana Entitlement. Heaven help us all.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The Right Person.
My family is a jumble of personalities, strings that get tangled up in chaos.
Somehow, Eden is the person who takes all those strings and ties them together. She is the perfect personality to make our family a cohesive whole.
I'm still in awe.
She can handle the loud, in-your-face adoration of three older brothers. She hardly blinks as they maul her with kisses and hugs and "burping," which is little more than hitting her on the back. She just smiles at them, coos and takes it.
When it's quiet and she has somebody's attention, she loves to coo loudly and be heard. But when she's in a group of people, she prefers to sit and listen. She doesn't (usually) interrupt to be heard. She already inherently gets the idea of listening, talking, listening, talking.
Yeah, she's pretty chill. But still she enjoys life. She does more than enjoys it. She savors it. When you hand her a toy, you'll see that she brings her hand together oh-so-gently. Each finger is manipulated with thought and deliberation.
Her brothers DEVOUR the goodness of the world. Eden savors it, gently and joyfully.
She is an example to me and I learn from her every day. I want to grow up to be just like she is right now.
Somehow, Eden is the person who takes all those strings and ties them together. She is the perfect personality to make our family a cohesive whole.
I'm still in awe.
She can handle the loud, in-your-face adoration of three older brothers. She hardly blinks as they maul her with kisses and hugs and "burping," which is little more than hitting her on the back. She just smiles at them, coos and takes it.
When it's quiet and she has somebody's attention, she loves to coo loudly and be heard. But when she's in a group of people, she prefers to sit and listen. She doesn't (usually) interrupt to be heard. She already inherently gets the idea of listening, talking, listening, talking.
Yeah, she's pretty chill. But still she enjoys life. She does more than enjoys it. She savors it. When you hand her a toy, you'll see that she brings her hand together oh-so-gently. Each finger is manipulated with thought and deliberation.
Her brothers DEVOUR the goodness of the world. Eden savors it, gently and joyfully.
She is an example to me and I learn from her every day. I want to grow up to be just like she is right now.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
My favorite time of the year
January is delicious. After all the excitement of the holidays, it is nice to have the children back in school and recover my daily routine. My home becomes my kingdom again. The snow on the ground is still crystal white and I can dream of cross-country skiing.
The winter wonderland becomes a cold, hard winter by the time February comes around. But that's okay because February is birthday month. Three birthdays to celebrate, three cakes, three flavors of ice cream, lots of presents and many smiles. February is lovely.
The comes March. The sun peeks out of from the winter haze. The bravest flowers awaken to say hello. March is heavenly.
April, April, April. You gave me a daughter. My paradise on earth. My Eden. You gave me my marriage. You give me sunshine and perfect weather and tulips. April is my delight.
May is Memorial Day and the first barbecue of the summer and the opening of outdoor swimming pools. May is a happy month.
June brings smiles to my children as they begin their summer vacation. It is flowers and flags. June ain't half bad.
July! My birthday, 4th of July, Pioneer Day, snow cones dripping down my chin. Children with sticky popsicles and ice cream cones and lots of red, white and blue. July rocks.
August. Deep breath. School is in session, folks, and Mom can breathe again. Summer was fun--no doubt--but there is more to life than fun. Like having time to be me: writing, exercising, reading and nibbling chocolate while the baby sleeps. August is divine.
Those months are all wonderful. But they got nothin' -- nothin' at all -- on Autumn!
SEPTEMBER! I peek out my front door, wincing from the memory of heat that baked my skin a month before, but there is only the gentle kiss of cooler weather. I smile. All is well in the world. A rainy day, clouds in the sky, red leaves and pure heaven. September, I love you with all my heart.
OCTOBER! You are a celebration of perfect weather! You are a celebration of imagination as Halloween time nears! You are the beginning of the holiday season and I think I just might have a cup of hot cocoa before the month is done. Ahhhhctober.
NOVEMBER! I could itemize my Thankfulness but wouldn't that be so cliche for this month? I am grateful for November, nonetheless.
DECEMBER! Sleigh bells ring, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Snowflakes keep fallin' on my head. I'm dreaming of a White Christmas.
And it's a Wonderful Life, folks. Every month. Every year.
I woke up this morning and exercised my body and fed my spirit and felt the Autumn chill in the air and fell in love with life all over again. Then Eden woke up and smiled and cooed and I put a book in her hands and I swear she pretended to read it. She would look at the page, then coooo goooo laaa baaa, then look at me and grin, then do the whole thing again.
And I said a prayer: "Dear God, thank you for giving me one more day with this sweet child."
Every day is a gift. Go outside and enjoy your Autumn.
The winter wonderland becomes a cold, hard winter by the time February comes around. But that's okay because February is birthday month. Three birthdays to celebrate, three cakes, three flavors of ice cream, lots of presents and many smiles. February is lovely.
The comes March. The sun peeks out of from the winter haze. The bravest flowers awaken to say hello. March is heavenly.
April, April, April. You gave me a daughter. My paradise on earth. My Eden. You gave me my marriage. You give me sunshine and perfect weather and tulips. April is my delight.
May is Memorial Day and the first barbecue of the summer and the opening of outdoor swimming pools. May is a happy month.
June brings smiles to my children as they begin their summer vacation. It is flowers and flags. June ain't half bad.
July! My birthday, 4th of July, Pioneer Day, snow cones dripping down my chin. Children with sticky popsicles and ice cream cones and lots of red, white and blue. July rocks.
August. Deep breath. School is in session, folks, and Mom can breathe again. Summer was fun--no doubt--but there is more to life than fun. Like having time to be me: writing, exercising, reading and nibbling chocolate while the baby sleeps. August is divine.
Those months are all wonderful. But they got nothin' -- nothin' at all -- on Autumn!
SEPTEMBER! I peek out my front door, wincing from the memory of heat that baked my skin a month before, but there is only the gentle kiss of cooler weather. I smile. All is well in the world. A rainy day, clouds in the sky, red leaves and pure heaven. September, I love you with all my heart.
OCTOBER! You are a celebration of perfect weather! You are a celebration of imagination as Halloween time nears! You are the beginning of the holiday season and I think I just might have a cup of hot cocoa before the month is done. Ahhhhctober.
NOVEMBER! I could itemize my Thankfulness but wouldn't that be so cliche for this month? I am grateful for November, nonetheless.
DECEMBER! Sleigh bells ring, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Snowflakes keep fallin' on my head. I'm dreaming of a White Christmas.
And it's a Wonderful Life, folks. Every month. Every year.
I woke up this morning and exercised my body and fed my spirit and felt the Autumn chill in the air and fell in love with life all over again. Then Eden woke up and smiled and cooed and I put a book in her hands and I swear she pretended to read it. She would look at the page, then coooo goooo laaa baaa, then look at me and grin, then do the whole thing again.
And I said a prayer: "Dear God, thank you for giving me one more day with this sweet child."
Every day is a gift. Go outside and enjoy your Autumn.
Photo courtesy of Heather Clark Photography.
More fabulous photos to come!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Homework
It's the Eve of Destruction, by which I mean my son has a huge homework assignment due tomorrow .. and he has barely started. It's past his bedtime and he probably has a couple hours of work to do. He couldn't fall asleep until after midnight last night and had to wake up early.
One of us is tired and cranky about the situation. And it is not him.
I am wondering if he is learning anything while I bail him out and hold his hand through this assignment. Probably. He's probably learning things like ...
"If I wait long enough, Mom will do my homework for me!"
...or...
"Gosh, Mom really does get cranky in the evenings..."
My oldest is in an accelerated learning program this year and the learning curve is steep for both of us. I just hope we learn the right kinds of lessons. And soon.
One of us is tired and cranky about the situation. And it is not him.
I am wondering if he is learning anything while I bail him out and hold his hand through this assignment. Probably. He's probably learning things like ...
"If I wait long enough, Mom will do my homework for me!"
...or...
"Gosh, Mom really does get cranky in the evenings..."
My oldest is in an accelerated learning program this year and the learning curve is steep for both of us. I just hope we learn the right kinds of lessons. And soon.
Friday, September 17, 2010
In Which I Am Profoundly and Irreversibly Screwed Up
It all started several years back. It had been one of those days and I vented my frustration the way I normally did: blogging it out. I took pride in the honesty and rawness of my blog. True Confessions. That summed it up.
Then it happened. One of my neighbors posted on her own blog, ranting about people who are weak and can't handle their emotions and ... I don't remember the details but it was clear she was talking about me. The things she said could not be coincidental. She seemed to avoid me at church from then on and when we talked, she didn't look me in the eyes anymore.
I wanted to scream: "Just because you're so strong doesn't mean everybody in the world can be, too! You should be grateful for the strength you have instead of ridiculing those of us who are depressed and unhappy and profoundly screwed up!"
But I didn't. Because I was completely traumatized by the fact that she was probably right. I should be stronger. I shouldn't complain. I should buck up, young camper, and stop being negative about life. But I was lost, oh so lost, at that point in my life.
One of my friends recently said, "Wow, you really put it all out there on your blog." My reply was: no, no I don't. I don't post anything that would embarrass or harm those I care for. And the things in my life that matter the most are locked away so deeply inside that nobody knows about them, not one soul.
Years passed. The anxiety increased over how I was presenting myself to the world. Is this an accurate representation of who I am? Do I present a fair view of my life? Yes. No. I don't know.
I resolved to stop whining and being negative and cut the snark in half. This is slightly unfortunate because the original readers of this blog enjoyed the snark. They liked how I made them laugh and how they could say, "Yeah, that's exactly what I think ... but I'd never actually say it." I was their Mormon Housewife Sitdown Comedian of sorts.
But that had to stop. The snark was unhealthy. It was negative. And really, I'm actually a relatively happy and optimistic person deep down. I hate negativity. The snark was my way of flushing the negativity out of my system so I could return to the happy-go-lucky Juliana. (As my friend Josh once said, "You're like the drunk chick that everyone wants to hang out with ... except you never drink." That's me, all right. Idiotically cheerful and clueless. At least that's the social part of me. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, I am another beast altogether, which is why I enjoy socializing so much.)
I still stand by my reduction of sarcasm here on the blog because I'm a very kind person and mocking human frailty just doesn't sit right with me. But there were other things that went by the roadside, foremost the honesty, little by little. I was freaked out about all the various people reading this blog: family, friends, neighbors, people from high school that I haven't seen in almost 15 years, ecclesiastical leaders, professional connections, that random guy from Mormon Bachelor Pad--how in the world did he end up here?
Holy moley! How could I write anything that would please all those varied connections? Somebody was bound to be bored or confused or embarrassed on my behalf. So I wrote less and less often. I hardly wrote at all during my pregnancy because I just didn't have a lot of upbeat, cheerful things to say and I didn't want to be accused of ingratitude.
I miss my blog. I'm trying to write a novel right now and it's just not satisfying to me like blogging is. This, to me, is so much more creative for some reason. No rules. No "you can't do that in that genre." No worries of whether or not an editor will agree with my stylistic decisions. Just my voice and my life, through the lenses of my creativity.
The solution is obvious: stop worrying about what everybody else thinks, Juliana! Just be yourself! You're great just the way you are! Be true to who you are, deep down inside, or you'll never be happy!
The problem is, I don't actually like being laughed at. Ridiculed. Looked down on. And sometimes, as important as it is to "be yourself," life is more complicated than that. Other people's opinions matter, and if you make a bad impression, you miss out on cool things. You don't get invited. You are overlooked. People laugh you off as too socially awkward. And that hurts.
Still, I'm pretty much guaranteed to be a social outcast anyway, so I may as well enjoy myself here. This blog entry is proof of my commitment to be more honest, heaven forbid. I'm not really sure I have the nerve for it. But we'll see what happens. If it doesn't work out, I'll polish up my social networking skills, create a new identity for myself and start a new blog elsewhere while this one gathers dust. Because being honest is not just telling the bad stuff--there are a lot of amazing things about me that I never blog about because I don't want to appear full of myself. This blog is, and will increasingly be, a work in progress. Much like yours truly.
Then it happened. One of my neighbors posted on her own blog, ranting about people who are weak and can't handle their emotions and ... I don't remember the details but it was clear she was talking about me. The things she said could not be coincidental. She seemed to avoid me at church from then on and when we talked, she didn't look me in the eyes anymore.
I wanted to scream: "Just because you're so strong doesn't mean everybody in the world can be, too! You should be grateful for the strength you have instead of ridiculing those of us who are depressed and unhappy and profoundly screwed up!"
But I didn't. Because I was completely traumatized by the fact that she was probably right. I should be stronger. I shouldn't complain. I should buck up, young camper, and stop being negative about life. But I was lost, oh so lost, at that point in my life.
One of my friends recently said, "Wow, you really put it all out there on your blog." My reply was: no, no I don't. I don't post anything that would embarrass or harm those I care for. And the things in my life that matter the most are locked away so deeply inside that nobody knows about them, not one soul.
Years passed. The anxiety increased over how I was presenting myself to the world. Is this an accurate representation of who I am? Do I present a fair view of my life? Yes. No. I don't know.
I resolved to stop whining and being negative and cut the snark in half. This is slightly unfortunate because the original readers of this blog enjoyed the snark. They liked how I made them laugh and how they could say, "Yeah, that's exactly what I think ... but I'd never actually say it." I was their Mormon Housewife Sitdown Comedian of sorts.
But that had to stop. The snark was unhealthy. It was negative. And really, I'm actually a relatively happy and optimistic person deep down. I hate negativity. The snark was my way of flushing the negativity out of my system so I could return to the happy-go-lucky Juliana. (As my friend Josh once said, "You're like the drunk chick that everyone wants to hang out with ... except you never drink." That's me, all right. Idiotically cheerful and clueless. At least that's the social part of me. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, I am another beast altogether, which is why I enjoy socializing so much.)
I still stand by my reduction of sarcasm here on the blog because I'm a very kind person and mocking human frailty just doesn't sit right with me. But there were other things that went by the roadside, foremost the honesty, little by little. I was freaked out about all the various people reading this blog: family, friends, neighbors, people from high school that I haven't seen in almost 15 years, ecclesiastical leaders, professional connections, that random guy from Mormon Bachelor Pad--how in the world did he end up here?
Holy moley! How could I write anything that would please all those varied connections? Somebody was bound to be bored or confused or embarrassed on my behalf. So I wrote less and less often. I hardly wrote at all during my pregnancy because I just didn't have a lot of upbeat, cheerful things to say and I didn't want to be accused of ingratitude.
I miss my blog. I'm trying to write a novel right now and it's just not satisfying to me like blogging is. This, to me, is so much more creative for some reason. No rules. No "you can't do that in that genre." No worries of whether or not an editor will agree with my stylistic decisions. Just my voice and my life, through the lenses of my creativity.
The solution is obvious: stop worrying about what everybody else thinks, Juliana! Just be yourself! You're great just the way you are! Be true to who you are, deep down inside, or you'll never be happy!
The problem is, I don't actually like being laughed at. Ridiculed. Looked down on. And sometimes, as important as it is to "be yourself," life is more complicated than that. Other people's opinions matter, and if you make a bad impression, you miss out on cool things. You don't get invited. You are overlooked. People laugh you off as too socially awkward. And that hurts.
Still, I'm pretty much guaranteed to be a social outcast anyway, so I may as well enjoy myself here. This blog entry is proof of my commitment to be more honest, heaven forbid. I'm not really sure I have the nerve for it. But we'll see what happens. If it doesn't work out, I'll polish up my social networking skills, create a new identity for myself and start a new blog elsewhere while this one gathers dust. Because being honest is not just telling the bad stuff--there are a lot of amazing things about me that I never blog about because I don't want to appear full of myself. This blog is, and will increasingly be, a work in progress. Much like yours truly.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Inner Debate
You call yourself an author?
Yes, yes I do.
What kind of writer are you? The kind that doesn't write?
I furrowed my brow.
She continued mercilessly. Yeah, that's it. An writer that doesn't write.
I write, I muttered angrily.
299 words per week? And every week is the first chapter of some new project? That's not writing. That's just playing around.
She was baiting me and I resisted the temptation to give her a snarky response. Snark is my specialty. She wasn't going to let me off the hook, though, so she pushed me. She reached her arms out and pushed me.
I stumbled.
This is the funny part: the stumble. Because the entire conversation was an inner dialogue with me and my Writing Conscience. It began about 30 minutes ago when I could have sworn I saw Brandon Mull (the NYT bestselling author of the Fablehaven series) dropping off kids at my elementary school. Impossible. Is my brain playing tricks on me? Or is my inner writer demanding attention?
Fine. She had my attention. She started arguing with me. I wanted to go shopping. She wanted to get home immediately to get in some time writing. She won that debate but she knew I'd get distracted with housework or crafting or blogging ... ahem.
So she pushed me. Taunting me with maliciously accurate insults first. Then she reached out her arms and pushed me. Granted, my writing conscience is made of Imaginary Friend (err, enemy?) Vapor and an inner shove should be painless. So why did I stumble?
This is getting ridiculous. Tripped up by my own imagination.
There's a lesson there and I'd love to stick around and learn it, but I gotta go. I have some novels to pen.
Yes, yes I do.
What kind of writer are you? The kind that doesn't write?
I furrowed my brow.
She continued mercilessly. Yeah, that's it. An writer that doesn't write.
I write, I muttered angrily.
299 words per week? And every week is the first chapter of some new project? That's not writing. That's just playing around.
She was baiting me and I resisted the temptation to give her a snarky response. Snark is my specialty. She wasn't going to let me off the hook, though, so she pushed me. She reached her arms out and pushed me.
I stumbled.
This is the funny part: the stumble. Because the entire conversation was an inner dialogue with me and my Writing Conscience. It began about 30 minutes ago when I could have sworn I saw Brandon Mull (the NYT bestselling author of the Fablehaven series) dropping off kids at my elementary school. Impossible. Is my brain playing tricks on me? Or is my inner writer demanding attention?
Fine. She had my attention. She started arguing with me. I wanted to go shopping. She wanted to get home immediately to get in some time writing. She won that debate but she knew I'd get distracted with housework or crafting or blogging ... ahem.
So she pushed me. Taunting me with maliciously accurate insults first. Then she reached out her arms and pushed me. Granted, my writing conscience is made of Imaginary Friend (err, enemy?) Vapor and an inner shove should be painless. So why did I stumble?
This is getting ridiculous. Tripped up by my own imagination.
There's a lesson there and I'd love to stick around and learn it, but I gotta go. I have some novels to pen.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Water's Embrace
Preparing food. Cleaning the house. Preventing fist fights. So many responsibilities as a stay-at-home mother. Most of my time feels like a whirlwind of children demanding and needing and requiring and asking and pressuring and begging and whining. I carry them and their needs in my arms. They are young. They are fragile. They need me in so many ways.
... but sometimes I want to be carried, too. I want to relax and let the burdens slip away. Last night, after a very long day of children whining and demanding and needing, I slipped away for a couple hours to have a date with my oldest son. We went to a swim party where he went down the water slide 15 times and I floated around the lazy river.
Carry me, lift me, support me, water.
I needed that.
... but sometimes I want to be carried, too. I want to relax and let the burdens slip away. Last night, after a very long day of children whining and demanding and needing, I slipped away for a couple hours to have a date with my oldest son. We went to a swim party where he went down the water slide 15 times and I floated around the lazy river.
Carry me, lift me, support me, water.
I needed that.
Friday, August 20, 2010
New School Year's Resolutions
So here's where we are right now.
I'm a writer who doesn't write.
I'm a singer who doesn't sing.
I'm a lover of the outdoors who spends all her time inside.
I'm an organization freak whose house is pure clutter.
In other words, I'm a lady with an anxiety disorder that is spinning out of control. My life is chaos. I've tried my hardest to make all these problems go away by consuming chocolate, but for some reason that isn't helping. I'm baffled. I'm going to have to try something else.
Deep breath.
I realize that I'm scared of commitment. Yesterday was a big day for three of my friends. They committed to things and it was strangely coincidental that all three of them reached huge milestones on the same day. It has forced me into some painful introspection about my own lack of ambition.
Both of my writers' group colleagues finished their novels yesterday. It's either an amazing coincidence or proof of what a good, supportive writers' group can do. Then I woke up this morning to realize that another friend of mine reached her 365th day of blogging every day. She committed to write on her blog every single day for a year and she did it.
And I immediately felt inadequate: "What have you done in the last year, Juliana?" Luckily, the self-pity lasted about a nanosecond as I remembered what I've done:
I can't complain about my accomplishments, and yet ... yet, I know I'm not doing my best. I waste time, I lose my temper with my kids and I'm eating myself to death, literally. This isn't the person I want to be and next week is time for me to shape up.
Let's be honest, folks: January 1st isn't the time for New Year's Resolutions. The time when mothers everywhere can get their lives under control is the first day their kids go back to school. We love 'em. We adore 'em. But they take a lot of time and energy and that makes other things difficult. Things like writing. And exercising. And cleaning. And cooking. And not pulling our hair out.
So I'm making some New School Year's Resolutions and I think Moms everywhere should join in!
The pregnancy is over (holy crap, I'm glad--that was hard). I'm almost four months postpartum so the recovery from the c-section is over. The summer is almost over so I am resolved to spend every morning doing the things that are most important before doing the fun stuff. (Fun stuff like blogging.. ahem.. As I said, starting next week...)
I have a list of chores to do before the kids get off to school (empty the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, clean a bathroom, make the bed) and I am adding in some new items: I will write every day. Preferably working on both my creative writing and my blogging every day, but we'll see what happens. I will keep singing even though I'm not taking voice lessons right now. I will exercise, ermm, many days. Most days? I'd love to say every day, but see above comments about fear of commitment. It's hard to commit to things you've failed at in the past. But I'll try to figure this thing out.
I think that if I can keep up those commitments, I'll be able to deal with the other things that are really bothering me, like how hard it is for me to keep my cool with my kids. The anxiety will go down and life will be happy again.
What are your New School Year's resolutions?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Cloudy, with a chance of rain ...
I love rain. And I live in a desert. So when I see storm clouds brewing, I hope for rain but don't expect it to materialize. It usually just blows over. It's happened so many times that I have started to just assume that is what would happen.
Ha.
The weather, we reasoned, would be perfect for a trip to Thanksgiving Point Gardens. Last time, the thermometer hit 100 degrees and I was parched. So today, weather in the 80's and a chance of rain sounded great ... assuming those rain clouds never materialized.
I packed up the kids, grabbed a couple nephews and my Mom (who is going back to work tomorrow, so it was a sort of last-minute, last-chance fling) and headed to the gardens. This'll be great, we thought, as long as it doesn't rain.
We got out of the car, paid our admission and stepped into the splendor of ... dropping temperatures and ominous clouds. I really wanted to show off how beautiful this spot of earth is. It's a true untapped treasure in my valley and I just love this place.
Here is what we learned: outdoor gardens are best-suited for dry weather. We were about 10-15 minutes from shelter when I was faced with a choice: head farther into the gardens and hope for good luck or turn back and head for safety. I was so sad at the thought of spending money and seeing nearly none of the gardens and coming all that way for nothing, but the responsible mother in me sighed and said, "Let's turn back."
Just in time, too. The first fat raindrops were already falling and by the time we hit shelter by some restrooms, I was pretty drenched. We crowded onto a big bench and held two umbrellas open in front of us. Thank heaven for those umbrellas!
The fat raindrops turned into a steady stream of water. Then the hail started dropping at our feet and wind blew water in sheets before our eyes. In a matter of minutes, the cobblestone pathway in front of us was flooded with an inch of rain water and my son was making comments about God promising not to flood the earth and kill everyone again, right, Mom?
 |
| Taken from my cell phone |
We should have been miserable, but I couldn't help laughing. This is what we looked like: eight drenched puppies sheltered behind two huge, rainbow-colored umbrellas in the middle of a flood. We made quite a picture, I know, because a few minutes later a truck appeared out of nowhere and rescued us.
I hopped right into a truck with a strange man and felt no qualms about it. He drove me to my van and led me back to my little group of stranded children. It was a grand time. When I returned the umbrellas, I heard the staff asking each other if those crazy people by the bathrooms had been rescued yet. Yes, yes they had.
We drove over to the deli and had lunch with a bunch of other soggy folks. We had ice cream. Then we went back to my car to find blue skies and warm weather. We decided to try the children's area at the gardens and headed back that direction. When we got there, the kids stomped in the water and got more drenched than they had been in the storm. And that seemed just about perfect to me. A wonderful farewell to summer.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Timing
Timing is everything.
We saw a car show and made an impulsive decision to stop and walk around. I got my thrills staring into the pristine interior of a Jaguar E-type, a car which makes my brain go gooey and my knees go weak. If I could have a crush on a car, it would be the Jaguar E-type. We saw a Model T. We saw a Lotus, which I'm not sure is cool but is lodged in my brain as "interesting."
We had a grand time.
And then, only then, did I notice my five-year-old walking around in only one shoe.
Classy, Juliana. Really classy.
All in all, it's probably good that I didn't notice Shoeless 'Lije until halfway through the car show because the kids had fun and I got a thrill of pleasure seeing the Jag. The cars were classy, even if I was not.
We saw a car show and made an impulsive decision to stop and walk around. I got my thrills staring into the pristine interior of a Jaguar E-type, a car which makes my brain go gooey and my knees go weak. If I could have a crush on a car, it would be the Jaguar E-type. We saw a Model T. We saw a Lotus, which I'm not sure is cool but is lodged in my brain as "interesting."
We had a grand time.
And then, only then, did I notice my five-year-old walking around in only one shoe.
Classy, Juliana. Really classy.
All in all, it's probably good that I didn't notice Shoeless 'Lije until halfway through the car show because the kids had fun and I got a thrill of pleasure seeing the Jag. The cars were classy, even if I was not.
Friday, August 06, 2010
Threee Months ... and Still Crafting
I'm becoming a girlie girl. Apparently it was in me all along, just waiting to appear at the right moment. Of course, my version of girlie is still based on blue jeans and white t-shirts, but we're adding a bit more style to them now.
I blame it all on having doubled the amount of estrogen in the house. Eden is just so gosh-darn cute in her girlie stuff. She needs it because, really, all babies just look like babies. Not boys. Not girls. Just babies. Until you put them in boyish or girlish clothing and make them look the part. And I've waited so long to have another girl in the house, she will look like a girl, thank you very much.
Here she is at three months wearing last night's project, an organza flower headband. Who knew it could be so much fun to burn fabric?
I blame it all on having doubled the amount of estrogen in the house. Eden is just so gosh-darn cute in her girlie stuff. She needs it because, really, all babies just look like babies. Not boys. Not girls. Just babies. Until you put them in boyish or girlish clothing and make them look the part. And I've waited so long to have another girl in the house, she will look like a girl, thank you very much.
Here she is at three months wearing last night's project, an organza flower headband. Who knew it could be so much fun to burn fabric?
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wouldn't I?
Dear children,
There are certain things you should never say to your mother.
Yesterday, we learned that one of these things is: "YOU WOULDN'T DARE!!!" when your Mother threatened consequences for your slovenly habits.
You learned that Mom does dare. She dares to take away your favorite clothing, pack away all your toys that were strewn about the floor, unplug the Wii, change your passwords on the computer accounts, and give you each one bowl of dry cereal and a cup of water for dinner.
Oh, yes, children: Mother dares.
What lesson would you like to learn today?
Love, Mom
There are certain things you should never say to your mother.
Yesterday, we learned that one of these things is: "YOU WOULDN'T DARE!!!" when your Mother threatened consequences for your slovenly habits.
You learned that Mom does dare. She dares to take away your favorite clothing, pack away all your toys that were strewn about the floor, unplug the Wii, change your passwords on the computer accounts, and give you each one bowl of dry cereal and a cup of water for dinner.
Oh, yes, children: Mother dares.
What lesson would you like to learn today?
Love, Mom
Thursday, July 08, 2010
hand and soul
eden :: delight
my hands
brown, dried out, cracking and weather-worn
your hands
white, smooth, pure
open palms learning to reach and grasp with meaning & intention
my soul
broken and repaired, scratched and healed, happy yet weary
your soul
innocent, pure, unscathed
open heart learning to reach with love & hope
together
two hands united in loving touch, gripping one another, simultaneously soothing
two souls lifting each other to a higher, better place
my hands
brown, dried out, cracking and weather-worn
your hands
white, smooth, pure
open palms learning to reach and grasp with meaning & intention
my soul
broken and repaired, scratched and healed, happy yet weary
your soul
innocent, pure, unscathed
open heart learning to reach with love & hope
together
two hands united in loving touch, gripping one another, simultaneously soothing
two souls lifting each other to a higher, better place
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Fallin' to Pieces
My friend Karen--who is much more than a friend: a role model, a support, a rock--records a new song every week and shares it on her blog every Monday.
This week, when I'm feeling stretched in too many directions and worn thin, her song choice was very appreciated. Music can be so therapeutic.
Breakeven
Thanks, Kaz.
This week, when I'm feeling stretched in too many directions and worn thin, her song choice was very appreciated. Music can be so therapeutic.
Breakeven
Thanks, Kaz.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Days like today
I could give you two dozen reasons why I ought to be annoyed, unhappy, frustrated, depressed and generally giving up.
Some days are like that.
But there is one reason why I can't give in to the bitter feelings that are knocking on the door: I want to be happy and if I don't choose it, it won't happen.
So today we choose to switch into survival mode and breathe deeply and laugh, laugh, laugh at how life can be.
Some days are like that.
But there is one reason why I can't give in to the bitter feelings that are knocking on the door: I want to be happy and if I don't choose it, it won't happen.
So today we choose to switch into survival mode and breathe deeply and laugh, laugh, laugh at how life can be.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Location, location, location
The week Eden was born, my husband received an email from a fabulous company, inviting him to interview with them. Unfortunately, although the company is considered one of the best in the world to work for, they don't have any offices nearby. It really got me thinking about life, especially about convenience vs. deliberate action.
My life right now is very convenient. It's comfortable. Is that a good thing? Or am I missing out on personal growth by sticking with the status quo? I feel like the time for adventure and relocating is probably pre-children. Especially pre-grade school.
My oldest son overheard us talking about what life would be like in southern California or Silicon Valley or Seattle or Colorado and was not happy. He has made it very, very clear that he doesn't want to move anywhere. He is comfortable. Life is good for him. He has friends and just got accepted into a great new school program for 3rd grade. Would it be selfish to take him away from that? Would it make his anxieties and worries (which are already an enormous burden for someone so young) unbearable?
...or....
Would it be like "coming home" when we never knew what we were missing? Would it be like finding that comfortable little niche of the world that makes our hearts feel happy? As much as I love the convenience and comfort of my life in Utah, I don't really love my area itself. Our "main street" is a stretch of one-story, grey cinder-block buildings with enormously ugly marquees in front with large power lines overhead and no greenery in sight. Ugh. It would be nice to live in a city that was planned out and had great character.
It's too much for me to think about. I have a newborn baby that won't let me sleep until midnight and three crazy, wild boys who are awake at 6:15 a.m. every morning. Life is so tiring right now and I am NOT thriving.
...but would I thrive somewhere else? Or just drown completely?
Life is confusing.
My life right now is very convenient. It's comfortable. Is that a good thing? Or am I missing out on personal growth by sticking with the status quo? I feel like the time for adventure and relocating is probably pre-children. Especially pre-grade school.
My oldest son overheard us talking about what life would be like in southern California or Silicon Valley or Seattle or Colorado and was not happy. He has made it very, very clear that he doesn't want to move anywhere. He is comfortable. Life is good for him. He has friends and just got accepted into a great new school program for 3rd grade. Would it be selfish to take him away from that? Would it make his anxieties and worries (which are already an enormous burden for someone so young) unbearable?
...or....
Would it be like "coming home" when we never knew what we were missing? Would it be like finding that comfortable little niche of the world that makes our hearts feel happy? As much as I love the convenience and comfort of my life in Utah, I don't really love my area itself. Our "main street" is a stretch of one-story, grey cinder-block buildings with enormously ugly marquees in front with large power lines overhead and no greenery in sight. Ugh. It would be nice to live in a city that was planned out and had great character.
It's too much for me to think about. I have a newborn baby that won't let me sleep until midnight and three crazy, wild boys who are awake at 6:15 a.m. every morning. Life is so tiring right now and I am NOT thriving.
...but would I thrive somewhere else? Or just drown completely?
Life is confusing.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Cherished Moments of Youth. (Ha. Ha.)
Ahh those moments of youth, so cherished, so remembered. Those mistakes that we look back on fondly and chuckle over--moments of mortification turned humorous anecdote.
Like the time I put on lightweight khaki pants that were a wee bit snug and, when I heard an ominous stretching sound and looked in the mirror to see if they'd torn, saw only a slightly worn seam but no tear. So I kept wearing them for hours. Went to the store. Saw family. Then at night took them off, turned them over to inspect and discovered a ripped seam that was many (many) inches long. I had been wearing pants torn open and exposing my undies to the world for hours.
So humorous.
Or at least it will be someday. Not today. Because that happened yesterday.
But yes, someday I'll have a good, long chuckle about my struggles to fit back into normal clothes after my most difficult pregnancy. Some days I feel so young, so childish, so unpolished. Still so much to learn.
Ha ha?
Like the time I put on lightweight khaki pants that were a wee bit snug and, when I heard an ominous stretching sound and looked in the mirror to see if they'd torn, saw only a slightly worn seam but no tear. So I kept wearing them for hours. Went to the store. Saw family. Then at night took them off, turned them over to inspect and discovered a ripped seam that was many (many) inches long. I had been wearing pants torn open and exposing my undies to the world for hours.
So humorous.
Or at least it will be someday. Not today. Because that happened yesterday.
But yes, someday I'll have a good, long chuckle about my struggles to fit back into normal clothes after my most difficult pregnancy. Some days I feel so young, so childish, so unpolished. Still so much to learn.
Ha ha?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Words words words
Words are wonderful things. Tonight I am not "sad" but woebegone, lugubrious and melancholy.
By definition, these words are synonyms, yet each word tastes slightly different on the tongue. Of all the flavors of sadness, tonight belongs to melancholy. I am not depressed. Nor am I despondent. I am melancholy. You can throw in a touch of somber and a hint of glum. Stir them together and you can taste the exact flavor of my mood.
I spent far too many hours reading the cheapest kinds of words while I was on bed rest recently. Cheap words are flat, lifeless ... like stale white bread, they have no flavor or substance. I like words that cost me a moment's hesitation--processing, feeling, understanding the subtle implications of why that particular word may have been chosen.
I love old, boring, slow-moving novels because they spend more time feeding my soul than stuffing the greedy tastebuds of a bored mind. I couldn't help myself when I was on bed rest--my brain took a 10-week vacation and refused to process anything but the simplest of words, so I read the simplest of books.
Yesterday morning, I sat staring through the light and dark contrast of my window blinds, wondering if I would ever rediscover my love of literature after feeding myself on the sugar and spice of young adventure novels. I thought sadly that perhaps there are times in life when we discover we have simply changed and lost a taste for what we previously valued. I thought perhaps I'd never truly enjoy E. M. Forster or Charles Dickens ever again.
Then, as I sat brainlessly scanning the saved programs on my DVR a few hours later, I settled on a recording of Hamlet that my husband had recorded. It was brilliant. Beautiful. Emotional. The flow of Shakespeare's words filled me up and awakened something that had been lying dormant.
I feel as if I'm coming home to myself after months of mental drudgery and cognitive coma. And even if I'm feeling mournful and melancholy right now, it feels good to be able to express it with just the right words.
By definition, these words are synonyms, yet each word tastes slightly different on the tongue. Of all the flavors of sadness, tonight belongs to melancholy. I am not depressed. Nor am I despondent. I am melancholy. You can throw in a touch of somber and a hint of glum. Stir them together and you can taste the exact flavor of my mood.
I spent far too many hours reading the cheapest kinds of words while I was on bed rest recently. Cheap words are flat, lifeless ... like stale white bread, they have no flavor or substance. I like words that cost me a moment's hesitation--processing, feeling, understanding the subtle implications of why that particular word may have been chosen.
I love old, boring, slow-moving novels because they spend more time feeding my soul than stuffing the greedy tastebuds of a bored mind. I couldn't help myself when I was on bed rest--my brain took a 10-week vacation and refused to process anything but the simplest of words, so I read the simplest of books.
Yesterday morning, I sat staring through the light and dark contrast of my window blinds, wondering if I would ever rediscover my love of literature after feeding myself on the sugar and spice of young adventure novels. I thought sadly that perhaps there are times in life when we discover we have simply changed and lost a taste for what we previously valued. I thought perhaps I'd never truly enjoy E. M. Forster or Charles Dickens ever again.
Then, as I sat brainlessly scanning the saved programs on my DVR a few hours later, I settled on a recording of Hamlet that my husband had recorded. It was brilliant. Beautiful. Emotional. The flow of Shakespeare's words filled me up and awakened something that had been lying dormant.
I feel as if I'm coming home to myself after months of mental drudgery and cognitive coma. And even if I'm feeling mournful and melancholy right now, it feels good to be able to express it with just the right words.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Momifier
Fell asleep after a couple hours of baby tears. Realized this little easy-to-soothe baby is actually an easy-for-MOM-to-soothe baby. She refuses to be soothed or fed by her father, which we figured out after I tried to go to bed early to catch up on some lost sleep. Around midnight, I realized in tears that this little girl will accept no substitute for the Momifier. (See, it's like Mom + Pacifier....)
I'm half flattered to finally have a child who is a real Mama's Girl and half terrified that I will never leave the house alone ever again.
Woke up this morning to the sound of Elijah throwing up in the bathroom. Second time this week. No symptoms of illness other than a first-thing-in-the-morning vomit. Huh.
So has it been a bad day? Baby getting more difficult to soothe and a barfing five-year-old?
Nope.
Someone near and dear to me underwent surgery today in a crucial step in the process of in-vitro fertilization. As I read about all the shots and medicine and doctor's visits and expenses, I cried for her. Parenting is so hard--even before you are a parent, for some people. Pregnancy is so hard--even before you are pregnant, for some people.
I want to get in the car and drive away from here to be with this person, just so I can buy her flowers and show up on her doorstep with a great big, tangible symbol of my love. But I can't, so I sit here and send text messages and positive vibes. And I hug my slightly-more-temperamental-than-before baby and feel grateful for all the goodness of life, especially the hope that the IVF will work and there will be another new baby to love sometime next year.
I'm half flattered to finally have a child who is a real Mama's Girl and half terrified that I will never leave the house alone ever again.
Woke up this morning to the sound of Elijah throwing up in the bathroom. Second time this week. No symptoms of illness other than a first-thing-in-the-morning vomit. Huh.
So has it been a bad day? Baby getting more difficult to soothe and a barfing five-year-old?
Nope.
Someone near and dear to me underwent surgery today in a crucial step in the process of in-vitro fertilization. As I read about all the shots and medicine and doctor's visits and expenses, I cried for her. Parenting is so hard--even before you are a parent, for some people. Pregnancy is so hard--even before you are pregnant, for some people.
I want to get in the car and drive away from here to be with this person, just so I can buy her flowers and show up on her doorstep with a great big, tangible symbol of my love. But I can't, so I sit here and send text messages and positive vibes. And I hug my slightly-more-temperamental-than-before baby and feel grateful for all the goodness of life, especially the hope that the IVF will work and there will be another new baby to love sometime next year.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Baby Love
~ My new baby, Eden, arrived a couple weeks ago on a date that was void of mathematical poetry or numerical beauty. The day was, however, one of the most beautiful days of my life. ~
Watching my husband's car pull out of the driveway into the rain. My emotions flood me.
I'm not ready for this. Just me and four children. Four children. Four.
And now my husband is pulling away from the house, leaving just me and my surgery incision to care for the kids. I'm not sure which is flowing faster--the raindrops outside or my tears inside. The decision to become a parent is always a scary one, one which overwhelms me and turns my world upside down.
So I guess you could say the whole nurturing and mothering thing has never come to me automatically. It's an acquired skill. I adore my family with all my heart and I am--finally--really, truly happy to be a stay-at-home Mom with ambitions that swirl all around raising a happy family. Amazing that I've finally gotten there, left previous ambitions along the roadside and winked at the possibilities of other ambitions that are waiting down the road. Right here on the journey, I am happy.
I'll tell you a secret: happiness is not always independent of being really, really scared and overwhelmed. Happiness does not preclude being totally freaked out.
I have learned for myself that we are sometimes closest to God when we are in way over our heads. And we cannot grow spiritually bigger unless we are stretched. And I am happier when I am growing and becoming a better person. That doesn't mean the process is comfortable, though. It hurts.
So right now I'm home alone with my kids for the first time since baby arrived a couple weeks ago. It's finally hitting me that a year ago I was really THRIVING in my life. And now I'm back to SURVIVING. It's really painful to realize the full impact of what that means--the sacrifices, the family upheaval, the emotional ups and downs. It's pretty heavy.
It's pretty exciting, too. And miraculous. And it's taking all my willpower to not run into the bedroom to go stare at my new little baby, Eden. She's a delight. A heaven on earth. I cry every day as I stare down into her innocent face.
In the middle of the night, I awoke to her hungry cry and thought, "I cannot sit up. I cannot feed her. Too tired. Too hard. I can't do it." Of course, I did it. And then my husband swaddled her up to go back to her bed and I should have been grateful to get back to sleep, but I asked him to hand her to me. Just to say goodnight one more time. And I couldn't let go. We just stared at each other. I smiled at her inquisitive eyes and tiny, pursed lips. She stared at me and I told myself she's liking what she sees. I hope that's true.
So that's the story of my new life. My old life is buried behind months of bed rest and sleep deprivation and pregnancy blah. I haven't been Juliana for a long time, now. It hurts to miss the old me that had freedom to go shopping without kids or visit friends or do paper-crafting or, of course, blog more regularly. Now those things are the precious little bits that I have to fit into a world of baby chaos.
And somehow, as I type this, it's okay. It's okay to be overwhelmed by my crazy life and it's okay to feel inadequate--that's all part of the process.
Four kids. Wow. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go.
Watching my husband's car pull out of the driveway into the rain. My emotions flood me.
I'm not ready for this. Just me and four children. Four children. Four.
And now my husband is pulling away from the house, leaving just me and my surgery incision to care for the kids. I'm not sure which is flowing faster--the raindrops outside or my tears inside. The decision to become a parent is always a scary one, one which overwhelms me and turns my world upside down.
So I guess you could say the whole nurturing and mothering thing has never come to me automatically. It's an acquired skill. I adore my family with all my heart and I am--finally--really, truly happy to be a stay-at-home Mom with ambitions that swirl all around raising a happy family. Amazing that I've finally gotten there, left previous ambitions along the roadside and winked at the possibilities of other ambitions that are waiting down the road. Right here on the journey, I am happy.
I'll tell you a secret: happiness is not always independent of being really, really scared and overwhelmed. Happiness does not preclude being totally freaked out.
I have learned for myself that we are sometimes closest to God when we are in way over our heads. And we cannot grow spiritually bigger unless we are stretched. And I am happier when I am growing and becoming a better person. That doesn't mean the process is comfortable, though. It hurts.
So right now I'm home alone with my kids for the first time since baby arrived a couple weeks ago. It's finally hitting me that a year ago I was really THRIVING in my life. And now I'm back to SURVIVING. It's really painful to realize the full impact of what that means--the sacrifices, the family upheaval, the emotional ups and downs. It's pretty heavy.
It's pretty exciting, too. And miraculous. And it's taking all my willpower to not run into the bedroom to go stare at my new little baby, Eden. She's a delight. A heaven on earth. I cry every day as I stare down into her innocent face.
In the middle of the night, I awoke to her hungry cry and thought, "I cannot sit up. I cannot feed her. Too tired. Too hard. I can't do it." Of course, I did it. And then my husband swaddled her up to go back to her bed and I should have been grateful to get back to sleep, but I asked him to hand her to me. Just to say goodnight one more time. And I couldn't let go. We just stared at each other. I smiled at her inquisitive eyes and tiny, pursed lips. She stared at me and I told myself she's liking what she sees. I hope that's true.
So that's the story of my new life. My old life is buried behind months of bed rest and sleep deprivation and pregnancy blah. I haven't been Juliana for a long time, now. It hurts to miss the old me that had freedom to go shopping without kids or visit friends or do paper-crafting or, of course, blog more regularly. Now those things are the precious little bits that I have to fit into a world of baby chaos.
And somehow, as I type this, it's okay. It's okay to be overwhelmed by my crazy life and it's okay to feel inadequate--that's all part of the process.
Four kids. Wow. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Wrong Reason
There are good, healthy, normal reasons to want to deliver your baby. Things like going into labor. That would be a perfectly rational reason to say, "Gosh I hope the baby comes soon."
Then there is me. My other children have birthdays that are, for lack of a better phrase, mathematically beautiful. The numbers all line up with numerical harmony oozing out of them. They almost bring a tear to my eye.
I was hoping this baby would come on 04/14/10 because it has a beautiful rhythm to it when you say the numbers in procession. No luck (and all for the best.) With time running out, I am trying to find more dates filled with mathematical poetry. 04/26 would be acceptable. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this because you're all as OCD about numbers as I am, right? Of course right. 0+4+2=6. Voila! Not too bad. We can make an equation out of it. Just disregard the year.
On the same note, 04/31 would also be acceptable since 4=3+1. 04/28 is acceptable since 4x2=8. I wonder if 427 or 429 are prime? It wouldn't be much, but it would be okay.
05/05 would make me cry geeky tears of joy since we could add the year into the equation: 5+5=10. How marvelous!
But there is one number that is inescapably beautiful: 04/24/10. It just sounds nice with the repeating four. Zero-four-two-four. Nice! But this birth date can also be an equation (including the year!) because 0+4+2+4=10! Doesn't it make you want to just stare at those numbers all day? (If you're not sensing a large dose of self-mockery, please ... please ... please readjust your expectations of this blog.)
However, that's only a day away and the chances are that my numerically poetic day won't be The Day. But I can still wish and hope. It's completely the wrong reason to wish myself into labor, but I challenge any of you to sit around on bed rest for nearly 10 weeks without your brain doing funny things to you. Perhaps this proof of mental boredom alone is a good reason to wish this baby here sooner rather than later.
Then there is me. My other children have birthdays that are, for lack of a better phrase, mathematically beautiful. The numbers all line up with numerical harmony oozing out of them. They almost bring a tear to my eye.
I was hoping this baby would come on 04/14/10 because it has a beautiful rhythm to it when you say the numbers in procession. No luck (and all for the best.) With time running out, I am trying to find more dates filled with mathematical poetry. 04/26 would be acceptable. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this because you're all as OCD about numbers as I am, right? Of course right. 0+4+2=6. Voila! Not too bad. We can make an equation out of it. Just disregard the year.
On the same note, 04/31 would also be acceptable since 4=3+1. 04/28 is acceptable since 4x2=8. I wonder if 427 or 429 are prime? It wouldn't be much, but it would be okay.
05/05 would make me cry geeky tears of joy since we could add the year into the equation: 5+5=10. How marvelous!
But there is one number that is inescapably beautiful: 04/24/10. It just sounds nice with the repeating four. Zero-four-two-four. Nice! But this birth date can also be an equation (including the year!) because 0+4+2+4=10! Doesn't it make you want to just stare at those numbers all day? (If you're not sensing a large dose of self-mockery, please ... please ... please readjust your expectations of this blog.)
However, that's only a day away and the chances are that my numerically poetic day won't be The Day. But I can still wish and hope. It's completely the wrong reason to wish myself into labor, but I challenge any of you to sit around on bed rest for nearly 10 weeks without your brain doing funny things to you. Perhaps this proof of mental boredom alone is a good reason to wish this baby here sooner rather than later.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Remembering
I think I forgot a lot of things this week. I am grateful to be pregnant, but I think I forgot exactly how miraculous it is for me. It happened naturally and exactly when I wanted it to happen. That's never happened before. I was incredulous and excited and nervous and shocked when I saw that positive result. I was sure that it wasn't real. I was certain I was going to miscarry. It was too good to be true.
But it was true. It's still sinking in because it is so surreal.
And then there's the whole issue of gender. I mean, I really wanted a girl. I said it didn't matter... but it did. I have always known #4 was the end of the pregnancy road for me and I really, really hoped I'd finally have a girl. It was my last chance. The first time the ultrasound tech said it was a girl, I was ecstatic ... but wary. When I had an ultrasound a few weeks later, I asked, "Is it still a girl?" I still couldn't believe it.
This whole process has been a gift from heaven. Like manna... a miracle.
And then I got miserable. And ungrateful. And took it all for granted. And just wanted to be done with pregnancy so I could see this child and hold her in my arms instead of my abdomen. I spent an emotional week cursing everybody in sight for how miserable I felt.
Then four things happened that eventually, slowly, progressively broke down my ingratitude and helped me find my happy place again.
(1) My husband reminded me that things happen for a reason. He reminded me that maybe the obstetrician wasn't trying to ruin my life but may actually be inspired to let my pregnancy last a little longer. (I cringe to actually talk about religion on my blog because I don't want to open this space up to anti-religious sentiment in the comment section, but that's a fear I need to get over. My religion is an integral part of who I am and I hope people can respect that.)
When he said that, I was still feeling hurt and angry about how my OB had treated me earlier in the day but it resonated true and I admitted that to myself ... if not to my husband.
(2) My nurse, who is coincidentally a neighbor and co-religionist and somebody I now consider a friend, sympathized with how miserable I was and told me she'd experienced some similar feelings. Then she said quietly, "I just needed to remember who was in control and let Him handle it." I cried because I clearly wasn't feeling all faithful and close to God and willing to let Him be in control.
I WANTED CONTROL. And I was in tears because my OB had just taken it away from me.
Again, her words resonated true, not only on a religious level but on a "Hey, Juliana--remember how you have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and worry too much about everything? Why not be all c'est la vie and Qué será, será and Let it Be?" I needed to just let go and find trust.
(3) I started to think about what my obstetrician had said to me (cruelly and insensitively as it seemed to be phrased.) "You're just driving yourself crazy and you need to be ecstatic about going to 39 weeks." I was so mad. I am not choosing anxiety attacks and unhappiness.
Right?
Well, yes and no. I can't control my anxiety level right now very well. It's a physical thing for me that is a part of my genetic makeup. I can keep it well reigned-in when I'm not pregnant with exercise or, if it gets bad, medication. Both are out of the picture right now so my coping strategies are very limited.
But on the other hand, yes. I'm a grown adult and I can take deep breaths and at least cope better than I have been coping. I can't make it go away, but I can at least limit how much it influences me.
That's one thing I do have control over.
(4) Most importantly, fate gave me the spiritual guidance I needed in the form of this week's Gospel Doctrine lesson. Since I haven't been to church in two months, I've been trying to stay current on our Old Testament study from home. This was the perfect lesson for me this week.
After being freed from slavery (not a minor blessing--a major one), the Israelites were starving. So they were sent manna--a gift straight from heaven. Again, not a minor blessing. A major one. (You know, not starving.) After eating this nonstop, however, the people grew tired of it. They wanted something more. They started lusting after a change of meal plans. I can't blame them. Honestly. I think I'd probably go a little crazy, too. I probably relate well since I haven't cooked my own meal in two months and I am lusting for my own style of food a little bit, too.
The Lord was displeased. It reminds me of a scripture in the LDS Doctrine & Covenants: "And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments." The Israelites had lost sight of the fact that they were eating MANNA FROM HEAVEN after being FREED FROM SLAVERY.
Kind of like how I am EXPECTING A BABY GIRL after being FREED FROM INFERTILITY.
You know, not a minor blessing. A major one.
And as much as I hate to imagine the wrath of God kindled against me... I had to admit, He was probably displeased with me under the circumstances. For a good reason. My attitude started to change. I stopped worrying about when things would happen. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. My Braxton-Hicks contractions started getting stronger and I realized I might get to experience some parts of the Female Experience that I'd never experienced before. Like real contractions. Or my water breaking. Or actually going into labor. Or feeling my baby settle down lower into my abdomen. Or a dozen other little things that are not usually considered "blessings" unless you're a woman who has always wondered what those last few weeks of pregnancy are like and never known. Or a woman who has actually been a little sad not to know what a real contraction feels like. (Just one or two would be fine... and THEN we can do the c-section, a'ight?)
The coming weeks are no longer this crazy, unhappy thing to be endured. They are a time of wonder and excitement, not knowing what will happen next because anything is possible. I might get pre-eclampsia and deliver tomorrow. Or I might go all the way to end without experiencing any labor pains. Or my water might break or I might actually go into labor on my own. Wouldn't THAT be strange?
And now that I've had time to process everything and digest and get a little more perspective, I'm thrilled to go to 39 weeks because it'll be a time of endless possibilities. And I'm grateful (again) for my gift from heaven.
But it was true. It's still sinking in because it is so surreal.
And then there's the whole issue of gender. I mean, I really wanted a girl. I said it didn't matter... but it did. I have always known #4 was the end of the pregnancy road for me and I really, really hoped I'd finally have a girl. It was my last chance. The first time the ultrasound tech said it was a girl, I was ecstatic ... but wary. When I had an ultrasound a few weeks later, I asked, "Is it still a girl?" I still couldn't believe it.
This whole process has been a gift from heaven. Like manna... a miracle.
And then I got miserable. And ungrateful. And took it all for granted. And just wanted to be done with pregnancy so I could see this child and hold her in my arms instead of my abdomen. I spent an emotional week cursing everybody in sight for how miserable I felt.
Then four things happened that eventually, slowly, progressively broke down my ingratitude and helped me find my happy place again.
(1) My husband reminded me that things happen for a reason. He reminded me that maybe the obstetrician wasn't trying to ruin my life but may actually be inspired to let my pregnancy last a little longer. (I cringe to actually talk about religion on my blog because I don't want to open this space up to anti-religious sentiment in the comment section, but that's a fear I need to get over. My religion is an integral part of who I am and I hope people can respect that.)
When he said that, I was still feeling hurt and angry about how my OB had treated me earlier in the day but it resonated true and I admitted that to myself ... if not to my husband.
(2) My nurse, who is coincidentally a neighbor and co-religionist and somebody I now consider a friend, sympathized with how miserable I was and told me she'd experienced some similar feelings. Then she said quietly, "I just needed to remember who was in control and let Him handle it." I cried because I clearly wasn't feeling all faithful and close to God and willing to let Him be in control.
I WANTED CONTROL. And I was in tears because my OB had just taken it away from me.
Again, her words resonated true, not only on a religious level but on a "Hey, Juliana--remember how you have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and worry too much about everything? Why not be all c'est la vie and Qué será, será and Let it Be?" I needed to just let go and find trust.
(3) I started to think about what my obstetrician had said to me (cruelly and insensitively as it seemed to be phrased.) "You're just driving yourself crazy and you need to be ecstatic about going to 39 weeks." I was so mad. I am not choosing anxiety attacks and unhappiness.
Right?
Well, yes and no. I can't control my anxiety level right now very well. It's a physical thing for me that is a part of my genetic makeup. I can keep it well reigned-in when I'm not pregnant with exercise or, if it gets bad, medication. Both are out of the picture right now so my coping strategies are very limited.
But on the other hand, yes. I'm a grown adult and I can take deep breaths and at least cope better than I have been coping. I can't make it go away, but I can at least limit how much it influences me.
That's one thing I do have control over.
(4) Most importantly, fate gave me the spiritual guidance I needed in the form of this week's Gospel Doctrine lesson. Since I haven't been to church in two months, I've been trying to stay current on our Old Testament study from home. This was the perfect lesson for me this week.
After being freed from slavery (not a minor blessing--a major one), the Israelites were starving. So they were sent manna--a gift straight from heaven. Again, not a minor blessing. A major one. (You know, not starving.) After eating this nonstop, however, the people grew tired of it. They wanted something more. They started lusting after a change of meal plans. I can't blame them. Honestly. I think I'd probably go a little crazy, too. I probably relate well since I haven't cooked my own meal in two months and I am lusting for my own style of food a little bit, too.
The Lord was displeased. It reminds me of a scripture in the LDS Doctrine & Covenants: "And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments." The Israelites had lost sight of the fact that they were eating MANNA FROM HEAVEN after being FREED FROM SLAVERY.
Kind of like how I am EXPECTING A BABY GIRL after being FREED FROM INFERTILITY.
You know, not a minor blessing. A major one.
And as much as I hate to imagine the wrath of God kindled against me... I had to admit, He was probably displeased with me under the circumstances. For a good reason. My attitude started to change. I stopped worrying about when things would happen. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. My Braxton-Hicks contractions started getting stronger and I realized I might get to experience some parts of the Female Experience that I'd never experienced before. Like real contractions. Or my water breaking. Or actually going into labor. Or feeling my baby settle down lower into my abdomen. Or a dozen other little things that are not usually considered "blessings" unless you're a woman who has always wondered what those last few weeks of pregnancy are like and never known. Or a woman who has actually been a little sad not to know what a real contraction feels like. (Just one or two would be fine... and THEN we can do the c-section, a'ight?)
The coming weeks are no longer this crazy, unhappy thing to be endured. They are a time of wonder and excitement, not knowing what will happen next because anything is possible. I might get pre-eclampsia and deliver tomorrow. Or I might go all the way to end without experiencing any labor pains. Or my water might break or I might actually go into labor on my own. Wouldn't THAT be strange?
And now that I've had time to process everything and digest and get a little more perspective, I'm thrilled to go to 39 weeks because it'll be a time of endless possibilities. And I'm grateful (again) for my gift from heaven.
Monday, April 12, 2010
ecstatic.
It should be illegal for an OB to tell a patient, "I won't make you go past 38 weeks" and then tell her two weeks later, "Oh, we can do an amnio before that if you want to deliver sooner" and then tell her "It'll be a real victory to get one more week out of you" and then after the week from Hades tell her, "No, no... you are going to 39 weeks unless you become toxemic." [Toxemic read as "deathly ill."]
I was up in the middle of the night with such a severe anxiety attack from my elevated blood pressure that I told my husband in tears, "I just can't do this anymore. I can't make it another week. I don't know how I can make it to tomorrow..." When I lay in bed, the room is silent except for the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. I can feel my entire body move with every thump-thump-thump. I know it is melodramatic (sorry, see previous wording about anxiety attack) but I just feel like I'm going to have a heart attack and die any moment.
I feel sick. I'm scared. The baby has the cord around the neck--but only once, so I am not supposed to worry about it. My amniotic fluid level has gone from 19 to 15 to 8 in the last few weeks. But I'm not supposed to worry about it. My blood pressure is really unstable, but instead of giving me a prescription for a BP medication, I've been told that I now have to spend most of my time in bed. Doing what? Other than having constant anxiety attacks? For weeks?
Last week, he told me I'd have an ultrasound [edit: oops, I mean amniocentesis] this week and now he says the specialist I see tomorrow "might be talked into it."
People keep telling me there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but this tunnel is evil and magical and keeps growing longer the farther I walk into it. Don't tell me "it'll be worth it" or "hang in there, it's almost over." I know that. I've done this before and it was worth it. That's why I am doing it again even though I'm pretty sure I'm going insane.
After my appointment, I decided to give in to those feelings of depression that started building, because, as I told my husband, "Depression is far preferable to anxiety at this point." Unfortunately, I've become too **** emotionally resilient in the last few years and the depression started to lift almost immediately.
I wonder if anybody has invented depressant medication. Not anti-depressant .... I need stuff that'll make me depressed because when I'm depressed, I don't care about anything. When I'm anxious, I care about everything. EVERYTHING. Last night in the middle of the night, I told my husband I was tempted to have him go find a large rock and just knock me unconscious because it was unbearable. Today the doctor told me I'm "driving myself crazy" and I need to stop it. Yeah.... I'm TRYING to have constant anxiety attacks because they're so ****** fun. He told me I need to be "ecstatic about going to 39 weeks."
What do you think? Is this blog entry ecstatic enough?
I was up in the middle of the night with such a severe anxiety attack from my elevated blood pressure that I told my husband in tears, "I just can't do this anymore. I can't make it another week. I don't know how I can make it to tomorrow..." When I lay in bed, the room is silent except for the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. I can feel my entire body move with every thump-thump-thump. I know it is melodramatic (sorry, see previous wording about anxiety attack) but I just feel like I'm going to have a heart attack and die any moment.
I feel sick. I'm scared. The baby has the cord around the neck--but only once, so I am not supposed to worry about it. My amniotic fluid level has gone from 19 to 15 to 8 in the last few weeks. But I'm not supposed to worry about it. My blood pressure is really unstable, but instead of giving me a prescription for a BP medication, I've been told that I now have to spend most of my time in bed. Doing what? Other than having constant anxiety attacks? For weeks?
Last week, he told me I'd have an ultrasound [edit: oops, I mean amniocentesis] this week and now he says the specialist I see tomorrow "might be talked into it."
People keep telling me there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but this tunnel is evil and magical and keeps growing longer the farther I walk into it. Don't tell me "it'll be worth it" or "hang in there, it's almost over." I know that. I've done this before and it was worth it. That's why I am doing it again even though I'm pretty sure I'm going insane.
After my appointment, I decided to give in to those feelings of depression that started building, because, as I told my husband, "Depression is far preferable to anxiety at this point." Unfortunately, I've become too **** emotionally resilient in the last few years and the depression started to lift almost immediately.
I wonder if anybody has invented depressant medication. Not anti-depressant .... I need stuff that'll make me depressed because when I'm depressed, I don't care about anything. When I'm anxious, I care about everything. EVERYTHING. Last night in the middle of the night, I told my husband I was tempted to have him go find a large rock and just knock me unconscious because it was unbearable. Today the doctor told me I'm "driving myself crazy" and I need to stop it. Yeah.... I'm TRYING to have constant anxiety attacks because they're so ****** fun. He told me I need to be "ecstatic about going to 39 weeks."
What do you think? Is this blog entry ecstatic enough?
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Nice People Rule/Dear Iceberg
Dear Iceberg Drive Inn,
It is refreshing to meet somebody who does customer service right. I am stuck at home 95% of the time on pregnancy bed rest, bored and frustrated. Last night, the frustration became unbearable and I decided I'd succumb to a little sugar therapy. I sent my husband out to buy me a large Iceberg shake (cookies & cream, of course) while he was running errands.
You can imagine how I waited anxiously to hear him return with the silky, sugary goodness. You can also imagine how sad I was when he came home and said, "Apparently the car before me in line was the last one before they closed for the night." He got there right at 10:00 p.m. and was one car-length too late. He offered to go find me something else, but it was 10:30 p.m. and time to give up... reluctantly.
I awoke this morning feeling chipper and optimistic... but still craving that shake. The only problem? I'm stuck at home on bed rest. Alone. I had a medical appointment at 9:00 a.m. and when I left at 10:00 a.m., I thought I'd check out the hours on your drive-thru--just in case you opened early. My hopes were not high and I felt frustrated when I couldn't find any hours posted on your front door.
Feeling embarrassed, I swung into the drive-thru anyway to see if anybody was there. Nope. Not a sound. But as I swung around the corner, I spotted a cheerful employee leaning out of the drive-thru window to talk to me. He told me they opened in 10 minutes and I was welcome to wait a little while.
"I'm not sure if I should wait," I explained. "I'm on bed rest and really need to get home as soon as I can. I'm just on my way home from an appointment..." Then I told him about my husband coming by at 10 o'clock the night before and he cheerfully and sympathetically offered to get me my food early, even though things weren't all set up yet. I placed my order and he filled it quickly.
As I drove home with the sweet taste of ice cream in my mouth, the universe turned itself right-side-up and I relaxed. Sugar therapy is dangerous, but sometimes it's worth the extra calories.
And it tastes even better when it's served up with a kind smile and thoughtful gesture from an accommodating employee.
Thank you.
Juliana
It is refreshing to meet somebody who does customer service right. I am stuck at home 95% of the time on pregnancy bed rest, bored and frustrated. Last night, the frustration became unbearable and I decided I'd succumb to a little sugar therapy. I sent my husband out to buy me a large Iceberg shake (cookies & cream, of course) while he was running errands.
You can imagine how I waited anxiously to hear him return with the silky, sugary goodness. You can also imagine how sad I was when he came home and said, "Apparently the car before me in line was the last one before they closed for the night." He got there right at 10:00 p.m. and was one car-length too late. He offered to go find me something else, but it was 10:30 p.m. and time to give up... reluctantly.
I awoke this morning feeling chipper and optimistic... but still craving that shake. The only problem? I'm stuck at home on bed rest. Alone. I had a medical appointment at 9:00 a.m. and when I left at 10:00 a.m., I thought I'd check out the hours on your drive-thru--just in case you opened early. My hopes were not high and I felt frustrated when I couldn't find any hours posted on your front door.
Feeling embarrassed, I swung into the drive-thru anyway to see if anybody was there. Nope. Not a sound. But as I swung around the corner, I spotted a cheerful employee leaning out of the drive-thru window to talk to me. He told me they opened in 10 minutes and I was welcome to wait a little while.
"I'm not sure if I should wait," I explained. "I'm on bed rest and really need to get home as soon as I can. I'm just on my way home from an appointment..." Then I told him about my husband coming by at 10 o'clock the night before and he cheerfully and sympathetically offered to get me my food early, even though things weren't all set up yet. I placed my order and he filled it quickly.
As I drove home with the sweet taste of ice cream in my mouth, the universe turned itself right-side-up and I relaxed. Sugar therapy is dangerous, but sometimes it's worth the extra calories.
And it tastes even better when it's served up with a kind smile and thoughtful gesture from an accommodating employee.
Thank you.
Juliana
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Preparing
I remember my first pregnancy. The insomnia really took me by surprise. After baby was born, somebody said, "I think the insomnia in pregnancy is God's way of preparing us for the shock of not sleeping after baby comes."
It made sense on some level and I realized that pregnancy on a whole is nature's--if not God's--or is there any difference?--way of preparing us for parenthood. The sleepless nights, the bad health, the emotional ups and downs--they're just one big reminder that your life is no longer your own. You've made the decision to lay down your life for your child and hope to some day come out of the chrysalis of parenthood as a stronger, more beautiful person. Some day.
Strangely, I didn't have insomnia while pregnant with the twins. You'd think I'd need all the preparation I could get for the transition of going from one child to three children. In retrospect, my biggest problems the year the twins were born had nothing to do with the twins. They had easy temperaments and were very forgiving, even if the logistics of feeding and diapering two newborns was overwhelming.
So what is up with the insomnia this time around? It makes my first-pregnancy insomnia seem insignificant. It was an annoyance, but this is just unbearable. I worry that this is a sign. A sign that this baby will not be mellow like the twins were. That my life is about to get its' biggest shakeup yet. That the challenges of raising three children are insignificant compared to life with four.
I can't help it. I am telling myself that God is not trying to send me a warning. Right? I mean, that would just be cruel, right? Unless... unless... unless I really need to be prepared for the maelstrom that is about to touch ground in Juliana-land. Like... a baby with Down Syndrome? A baby with severe physical limitations like, I don't know, no mouth? A baby whose personality brings new meaning to the term "a child only a mother could love"?
I think about how I already love this little child and cannot wait to gently touch my finger to her soft, newborn cheek and hold her tiny, fragile body next to my shoulder. I think about all the promises of the future--seeing her mature and become a beautiful girl, a young woman, a bride, a mother of my grandchildren. And I think I would do anything for her, whatever her limitations are. But what if those limitations immediately send those dreams crashing to earth?
I don't dwell on this often. It's just a passing thought and gives me little anxiety. But it reminds me to be grateful for everything around me now--not just the solid blessings of health and prosperity and three beautiful children that make me laugh out loud every day, but for the hopes and promises that make the future worth facing.
The skies are blue and it's going to be a beautiful day.
It made sense on some level and I realized that pregnancy on a whole is nature's--if not God's--or is there any difference?--way of preparing us for parenthood. The sleepless nights, the bad health, the emotional ups and downs--they're just one big reminder that your life is no longer your own. You've made the decision to lay down your life for your child and hope to some day come out of the chrysalis of parenthood as a stronger, more beautiful person. Some day.
Strangely, I didn't have insomnia while pregnant with the twins. You'd think I'd need all the preparation I could get for the transition of going from one child to three children. In retrospect, my biggest problems the year the twins were born had nothing to do with the twins. They had easy temperaments and were very forgiving, even if the logistics of feeding and diapering two newborns was overwhelming.
So what is up with the insomnia this time around? It makes my first-pregnancy insomnia seem insignificant. It was an annoyance, but this is just unbearable. I worry that this is a sign. A sign that this baby will not be mellow like the twins were. That my life is about to get its' biggest shakeup yet. That the challenges of raising three children are insignificant compared to life with four.
I can't help it. I am telling myself that God is not trying to send me a warning. Right? I mean, that would just be cruel, right? Unless... unless... unless I really need to be prepared for the maelstrom that is about to touch ground in Juliana-land. Like... a baby with Down Syndrome? A baby with severe physical limitations like, I don't know, no mouth? A baby whose personality brings new meaning to the term "a child only a mother could love"?
I think about how I already love this little child and cannot wait to gently touch my finger to her soft, newborn cheek and hold her tiny, fragile body next to my shoulder. I think about all the promises of the future--seeing her mature and become a beautiful girl, a young woman, a bride, a mother of my grandchildren. And I think I would do anything for her, whatever her limitations are. But what if those limitations immediately send those dreams crashing to earth?
I don't dwell on this often. It's just a passing thought and gives me little anxiety. But it reminds me to be grateful for everything around me now--not just the solid blessings of health and prosperity and three beautiful children that make me laugh out loud every day, but for the hopes and promises that make the future worth facing.
The skies are blue and it's going to be a beautiful day.
Monday, March 08, 2010
One Perfect Day
Have you noticed that today is a perfect, beautiful day?
I noticed when I drove AWAY from my house for my doctor's appointment. I noticed it when I saw the blue skies and the silky, white clouds and smelled the clean air. I noticed it when the air around me was just the right temperature--not hot, not cold.
I noticed when I laughed with the nurses and told them how grateful I was to be out of the house. I noticed when the doctor waited patiently for my questions and gave me all the answers I wanted. I noticed when he said I won't go past 38 weeks (hooray!) and I realized that's less than two months away!
I noticed how today is perfect when I asked my OB if I could go to Sunday dinner at my Mom's house this week and he said YES! (He hesitated only slightly before answering.) I noticed again when I asked if he'll let me go for a car ride once a week and he said YES! I noticed when I told him my frustrations of how random things seem to make my blood pressure go up and he said reassuringly "that's just the nature of the disease" and to just keep doing my best.
I noticed when I had an ultrasound done right after my appointment with the obstetrician and I was startled to see a little, blurry face peeking at me from inside the womb. A face! Eyes, nose, beautiful little lips... and little fists curled up next to that beautiful face. I noticed when I felt her suddenly kicking me and then saw the little legs moving on the screen. Perfection!
I noticed when they measured her and all the measurements were exactly on track for my due date.
I noticed how beautiful today is as I walked the few feet into the hospital for my non-stress test and saw that beautiful blue sky again. I noticed my legs moving and working and I thought, "Hey, some day I'll be able to exercise again and I won't feel like a cripple my whole life." Optimism made the day beautiful.
I noticed how beautiful life is when I laid down in labor and delivery and my baby's heart rate was great and my blood pressure went way down as I laid in the hospital bed--no cares, no responsibility and in the exact place I want to be if anything is going wrong.
I noticed my beautiful nurse's smile and happiness and then an image flitted through my head and I could see her face with red, swollen eyes. I remembered that dreadful night before the twins were born and I somehow had to say to her, "You know, being here reminds me of the night before my twins were born. The woman before me died."
The recognition was instant and she said she remembered me now. "I was your nurse that night," she said. She told me that she had gone to my doctor and asked him--pled with him?--to delay my c-section until the next morning. It had all been too, too much for them already that day.
"Usually our job here is so wonderful," she said. "So much happiness. But then sometimes..."
I apologized for bringing up a bad memory and she said sincerely it was fine. She had been thinking about that night recently and wondering if it had been four years ago? Or five? My twins are five now. Enough said. I noticed how beautiful life is when she and I realized we're neighbors! She lives only a few houses away from my first house, which is just a quarter mile from where I live now. We chatted about common acquaintances and felt connected.
I noticed how beautiful life was when I considered how fragile life is--and how lucky I am to be alive and have a new life growing inside me. A beautiful little life about to begin.
I noticed when I took the long route to my car, walking around the doctor's office instead of through the building. I noticed the green, waxy tops of tulips that will grow, bloom and wilt while I am on bed rest. Once every week, I can leave my house for my weekly appointment and see the change. How beautiful.
I noticed when I sat in the driver's seat of my car and felt that gentle vrooom of acceleration that reminded me of how alive I really am. I smiled and remembered how much I love acceleration and speed, even though my life now is all about taking a break and slowing down. Next Monday, I'll feel that thrill of acceleration again as I make my way back to the office. How divine.
Life is beautiful. And today is a perfect day. Do you feel it yet?
I noticed when I drove AWAY from my house for my doctor's appointment. I noticed it when I saw the blue skies and the silky, white clouds and smelled the clean air. I noticed it when the air around me was just the right temperature--not hot, not cold.
I noticed when I laughed with the nurses and told them how grateful I was to be out of the house. I noticed when the doctor waited patiently for my questions and gave me all the answers I wanted. I noticed when he said I won't go past 38 weeks (hooray!) and I realized that's less than two months away!
I noticed how today is perfect when I asked my OB if I could go to Sunday dinner at my Mom's house this week and he said YES! (He hesitated only slightly before answering.) I noticed again when I asked if he'll let me go for a car ride once a week and he said YES! I noticed when I told him my frustrations of how random things seem to make my blood pressure go up and he said reassuringly "that's just the nature of the disease" and to just keep doing my best.
I noticed when I had an ultrasound done right after my appointment with the obstetrician and I was startled to see a little, blurry face peeking at me from inside the womb. A face! Eyes, nose, beautiful little lips... and little fists curled up next to that beautiful face. I noticed when I felt her suddenly kicking me and then saw the little legs moving on the screen. Perfection!
I noticed when they measured her and all the measurements were exactly on track for my due date.
I noticed how beautiful today is as I walked the few feet into the hospital for my non-stress test and saw that beautiful blue sky again. I noticed my legs moving and working and I thought, "Hey, some day I'll be able to exercise again and I won't feel like a cripple my whole life." Optimism made the day beautiful.
I noticed how beautiful life is when I laid down in labor and delivery and my baby's heart rate was great and my blood pressure went way down as I laid in the hospital bed--no cares, no responsibility and in the exact place I want to be if anything is going wrong.
I noticed my beautiful nurse's smile and happiness and then an image flitted through my head and I could see her face with red, swollen eyes. I remembered that dreadful night before the twins were born and I somehow had to say to her, "You know, being here reminds me of the night before my twins were born. The woman before me died."
The recognition was instant and she said she remembered me now. "I was your nurse that night," she said. She told me that she had gone to my doctor and asked him--pled with him?--to delay my c-section until the next morning. It had all been too, too much for them already that day.
"Usually our job here is so wonderful," she said. "So much happiness. But then sometimes..."
I apologized for bringing up a bad memory and she said sincerely it was fine. She had been thinking about that night recently and wondering if it had been four years ago? Or five? My twins are five now. Enough said. I noticed how beautiful life is when she and I realized we're neighbors! She lives only a few houses away from my first house, which is just a quarter mile from where I live now. We chatted about common acquaintances and felt connected.
I noticed how beautiful life was when I considered how fragile life is--and how lucky I am to be alive and have a new life growing inside me. A beautiful little life about to begin.
I noticed when I took the long route to my car, walking around the doctor's office instead of through the building. I noticed the green, waxy tops of tulips that will grow, bloom and wilt while I am on bed rest. Once every week, I can leave my house for my weekly appointment and see the change. How beautiful.
I noticed when I sat in the driver's seat of my car and felt that gentle vrooom of acceleration that reminded me of how alive I really am. I smiled and remembered how much I love acceleration and speed, even though my life now is all about taking a break and slowing down. Next Monday, I'll feel that thrill of acceleration again as I make my way back to the office. How divine.
Life is beautiful. And today is a perfect day. Do you feel it yet?
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Dreams
I dreamt that I was in the car with my Mom and somebody else who I can't remember--it was an ex-husband of somebody I know and I just remember feeling like he was creepy. We were on our way to Salt Lake and hadn't made it to the freeway when I remembered I'm on bed rest and shouldn't be going anywhere. I expressed this concern to my Mom, who disregarded it and told me she had to run some other errands while we were there.
I realized this would require considerable walking and demanded in a fit of passion that she stop the vehicle and let me out of the car. She refused, so I waited until a red light and hopped out the door. Realizing that walking up the long hill we were at was equally bad for my blood pressure, I proceeded to go up the street anyway until I came to a hospital.
I went in and found a phone outside labor and delivery. I called my in-laws and regretfully told them the story, feeling guilty about putting my Mom in such a negative light. They agreed to come pick me up. A nurse then came out and asked what was going on, so I told her my story. She walked away and then came back a few minutes later with a dressing gown, telling me they were going to admit me. I argued with her and she explained all the reasons why I ought to be seen.
That somehow fizzled out, however, and I found myself wandering down the hall, which was filled with children. There was some activity going on, because women were in all the rooms doing fun activities and handing out cookies to people who walked past. I thankfully ate a cookie, watching all the children around me. Eventually, my mother-in-law found me and I realized I had forgotten that she was coming at all.
The dream changed and I as entered her car, my Mother was driving again. She shush'd me and took me to her house, where they had planned a surprise baby shower. Only about five people had shown up and I felt guilty that they had planned a baby shower for my baby girl that nobody wanted to attend. It was awkward, especially realizing that my Mom's earlier shenanigans had been some prelude to trying to surprise me with this party. The dream ended. Thankfully.
I wonder why I remember some dreams. This one was so strange, but realistic, that I felt there is something I haven't figured out here. Something to do with my fears and anxieties. My insecurities. I wondered what Freud would make of it. Then I wondered what my brother-in-law, the psychologist, would make of it.
A few hours later, I was sitting here at my spot on the couch watching "Music and the Spoken Word." I was thinking about how cluttered my house was and had one of those thoughts of, "How would I feel if the Savior walked in and saw me like this?" I thought about Mary and Martha and realized I would just listen. My house is what it is right now through nobody's fault.
Then, in my imagination, I was asking Him what I need to be doing. Asking for direction. Guide me.
He told me I already know what my sins and weaknesses are and I should work on those.
This was all my imagination--nothing more at all--but I was surprised at how quickly that list of sins and weaknesses came to mind. I realized that I don't need visitations or dreams or anything else to remind me of the direction my life needs to be heading. It's all right here, ready to be understood, as soon as I open my mind and close my pride.
I realized this would require considerable walking and demanded in a fit of passion that she stop the vehicle and let me out of the car. She refused, so I waited until a red light and hopped out the door. Realizing that walking up the long hill we were at was equally bad for my blood pressure, I proceeded to go up the street anyway until I came to a hospital.
I went in and found a phone outside labor and delivery. I called my in-laws and regretfully told them the story, feeling guilty about putting my Mom in such a negative light. They agreed to come pick me up. A nurse then came out and asked what was going on, so I told her my story. She walked away and then came back a few minutes later with a dressing gown, telling me they were going to admit me. I argued with her and she explained all the reasons why I ought to be seen.
That somehow fizzled out, however, and I found myself wandering down the hall, which was filled with children. There was some activity going on, because women were in all the rooms doing fun activities and handing out cookies to people who walked past. I thankfully ate a cookie, watching all the children around me. Eventually, my mother-in-law found me and I realized I had forgotten that she was coming at all.
The dream changed and I as entered her car, my Mother was driving again. She shush'd me and took me to her house, where they had planned a surprise baby shower. Only about five people had shown up and I felt guilty that they had planned a baby shower for my baby girl that nobody wanted to attend. It was awkward, especially realizing that my Mom's earlier shenanigans had been some prelude to trying to surprise me with this party. The dream ended. Thankfully.
I wonder why I remember some dreams. This one was so strange, but realistic, that I felt there is something I haven't figured out here. Something to do with my fears and anxieties. My insecurities. I wondered what Freud would make of it. Then I wondered what my brother-in-law, the psychologist, would make of it.
A few hours later, I was sitting here at my spot on the couch watching "Music and the Spoken Word." I was thinking about how cluttered my house was and had one of those thoughts of, "How would I feel if the Savior walked in and saw me like this?" I thought about Mary and Martha and realized I would just listen. My house is what it is right now through nobody's fault.
Then, in my imagination, I was asking Him what I need to be doing. Asking for direction. Guide me.
He told me I already know what my sins and weaknesses are and I should work on those.
This was all my imagination--nothing more at all--but I was surprised at how quickly that list of sins and weaknesses came to mind. I realized that I don't need visitations or dreams or anything else to remind me of the direction my life needs to be heading. It's all right here, ready to be understood, as soon as I open my mind and close my pride.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Happiness Now
As I started to drift into the I'm-in-solitary-confinement blues yesterday, I realized I needed to get a grip. So I latched onto the memory of my plane trip home from Berlin last summer. I was so anxious to see my children that it almost hurt. Every moment I was away from them started to feel unbearable and I thought that there was nothing in life that would matter if I could just be with them again.
I know, crazy. I spent the previous four and a half years desperate for a chance to get away from the little darlin' ones. Sometimes your wish has to be granted before you realize you actually want something more.
Since then, I've been on a mental voyage to a place that has changed my life. I have finally arrived: I'm happy to be a stay-at-home Mom. Thrilled, in fact. Who would have thought this of me?
My husband asked me last night if I'd like to get back to school to start my graduate degree in the next year or two, if I could find a program that let me take things at a slow pace. No way. I could change my mind, of course, but I think I'd rather wait five or ten years. My heart is here. I'm satisfied to spend time staring into my kids' eyes (true love, every time), baking cookies and spending hours paper-crafting valentines that are really not that much better than the store-bought ones.
So as I laid in bed feeling imprisoned and restless, I remembered how it felt to be somewhere other than home. It felt great and I'd go again in a heartbeat, but it also hurt to be away from this crazy place called home. This is where I'll come back to. This is where my heart will always be. And even if I'm stuck here for two more months without so much as a peek at the encroaching spring, I would rather be imprisoned here than anywhere else in the world.
Safe in the arms of those I love. Safe in the laughter of my children. Blessed with happiness from above. This is where I belong.
I know, crazy. I spent the previous four and a half years desperate for a chance to get away from the little darlin' ones. Sometimes your wish has to be granted before you realize you actually want something more.
Since then, I've been on a mental voyage to a place that has changed my life. I have finally arrived: I'm happy to be a stay-at-home Mom. Thrilled, in fact. Who would have thought this of me?
My husband asked me last night if I'd like to get back to school to start my graduate degree in the next year or two, if I could find a program that let me take things at a slow pace. No way. I could change my mind, of course, but I think I'd rather wait five or ten years. My heart is here. I'm satisfied to spend time staring into my kids' eyes (true love, every time), baking cookies and spending hours paper-crafting valentines that are really not that much better than the store-bought ones.
So as I laid in bed feeling imprisoned and restless, I remembered how it felt to be somewhere other than home. It felt great and I'd go again in a heartbeat, but it also hurt to be away from this crazy place called home. This is where I'll come back to. This is where my heart will always be. And even if I'm stuck here for two more months without so much as a peek at the encroaching spring, I would rather be imprisoned here than anywhere else in the world.
Safe in the arms of those I love. Safe in the laughter of my children. Blessed with happiness from above. This is where I belong.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Friendships
Friendships.
Some start with a great whirlwind of discovery, shared secrets and the comfort of mutual understanding. These seem to leave in a whirlwind, too, but of mistrust and disappointment.
Some start with a mutual warmth--but patience. Sometimes these fade slowly and easily away, no pain and no regret. And sometimes these build day by day until you realize that you have built a solid foundation of shared experiences and understanding. These are friendships to treasure.
Some start with a wariness that is almost tangible. I think this is how one of my greatest friendships started. We were thrown together and the tension was sometimes palpable. Sometimes we would work side by side without speaking to each other. And when we were around other people, you would assume we were total strangers.
Years later, I realized that if we had seen each other at our worst and learned to be friends, this was a friendship that would last. And it has, through ups and downs and good times and bad times. Sometimes we are sarcastic and cutting to each other--and it genuinely hurts. But I know that we'll get over it. We'll move on. Because we have faith in each other to stand back up when we fall down.
I've learned to be cautious of friendships that start with heat--they will likely go down in flames. (Of course, I might surprise myself one day with a Phoenix Friendship--out of the ashes, so to speak.) So I treasure friendships that are warm and comfortable and just right. And I've learned to be patient with friendships that start a little chilly. Patience before rewards.
Some start with a great whirlwind of discovery, shared secrets and the comfort of mutual understanding. These seem to leave in a whirlwind, too, but of mistrust and disappointment.
Some start with a mutual warmth--but patience. Sometimes these fade slowly and easily away, no pain and no regret. And sometimes these build day by day until you realize that you have built a solid foundation of shared experiences and understanding. These are friendships to treasure.
Some start with a wariness that is almost tangible. I think this is how one of my greatest friendships started. We were thrown together and the tension was sometimes palpable. Sometimes we would work side by side without speaking to each other. And when we were around other people, you would assume we were total strangers.
Years later, I realized that if we had seen each other at our worst and learned to be friends, this was a friendship that would last. And it has, through ups and downs and good times and bad times. Sometimes we are sarcastic and cutting to each other--and it genuinely hurts. But I know that we'll get over it. We'll move on. Because we have faith in each other to stand back up when we fall down.
I've learned to be cautious of friendships that start with heat--they will likely go down in flames. (Of course, I might surprise myself one day with a Phoenix Friendship--out of the ashes, so to speak.) So I treasure friendships that are warm and comfortable and just right. And I've learned to be patient with friendships that start a little chilly. Patience before rewards.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Memories of Pregnancies Past
1. Going in for a routine checkup at Labor & Delivery. The nurse took my BP, her eyes got huge and she rushed from the room, grabbed the supplies she needed and stuck an IV in me immediately. I wonder what the number was. I felt annoyed.
2. My doctor showing up unexpectedly at another of those L&D appointments after I'd been waiting hours to be released. "You're gonna have a baby today!" Shock. The whole world turned upside down in a good, but very stunning, way.
3. "We'll take you in to the operating room for your c-section in about an hour. They're just finishing up another patient right now." An hour passed and the nurse returned, slightly agitated. "It'll be a little longer." An hour later, I started to wonder why any woman would be in the operating room for 2+ hours for a routine c-section? Another hour later and the nurses eyes were red and swollen. My feelings of elation and happy expectation were suddenly gone as I worried about the stranger a few rooms away.
My obstetrician eventually came in and said gently, "Can we do it in the morning? Everyone here is emotionally frayed and I can promise you'll get better medical attention from them tomorrow." Later he told us that a medical student, who had been there to observe, wanted to choose a new career after what he had just seen.
We read the news article the next day about the woman who had died in childbirth with unstoppable hemorrhaging. The baby survived.
I was the next patient in that operating room at 8:00 a.m. There were no signs of blood anywhere. I tried not to think about it.
4. The first--very loud--cry and my doctors both saying, "It's a boy!" simultaneously. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard since we knew his lungs weren't quite mature.
5. The silence that followed the birth of my twins. "Are they out??? Are they okay???" I asked nervously. "Oh yeah, everything is fine." So much personality in that lack of crying. In retrospect, that silence was as beautiful as the first reassuring cry from my first child.
6. Staring at my tummy--trying not to stare at my tummy--and thinking, "Staples? Seriously... staples? What am I? Some kind of office document?"
7. Wondering if laughter or crying would tear my stomach back open. I tried so hard not to move at all, because it all felt so wrong to see that gash across my mid-section.
8. Despite that, loving the simplicity of c-sections.
9. Holding my newborn son in my arms.
10. Holding two newborn sons in two arms with nobody in the room to help me put them down again. The first of many, "What in the world do I do now?" moments as the mother of multiples.
2. My doctor showing up unexpectedly at another of those L&D appointments after I'd been waiting hours to be released. "You're gonna have a baby today!" Shock. The whole world turned upside down in a good, but very stunning, way.
3. "We'll take you in to the operating room for your c-section in about an hour. They're just finishing up another patient right now." An hour passed and the nurse returned, slightly agitated. "It'll be a little longer." An hour later, I started to wonder why any woman would be in the operating room for 2+ hours for a routine c-section? Another hour later and the nurses eyes were red and swollen. My feelings of elation and happy expectation were suddenly gone as I worried about the stranger a few rooms away.
My obstetrician eventually came in and said gently, "Can we do it in the morning? Everyone here is emotionally frayed and I can promise you'll get better medical attention from them tomorrow." Later he told us that a medical student, who had been there to observe, wanted to choose a new career after what he had just seen.
We read the news article the next day about the woman who had died in childbirth with unstoppable hemorrhaging. The baby survived.
I was the next patient in that operating room at 8:00 a.m. There were no signs of blood anywhere. I tried not to think about it.
4. The first--very loud--cry and my doctors both saying, "It's a boy!" simultaneously. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard since we knew his lungs weren't quite mature.
5. The silence that followed the birth of my twins. "Are they out??? Are they okay???" I asked nervously. "Oh yeah, everything is fine." So much personality in that lack of crying. In retrospect, that silence was as beautiful as the first reassuring cry from my first child.
6. Staring at my tummy--trying not to stare at my tummy--and thinking, "Staples? Seriously... staples? What am I? Some kind of office document?"
7. Wondering if laughter or crying would tear my stomach back open. I tried so hard not to move at all, because it all felt so wrong to see that gash across my mid-section.
8. Despite that, loving the simplicity of c-sections.
9. Holding my newborn son in my arms.
10. Holding two newborn sons in two arms with nobody in the room to help me put them down again. The first of many, "What in the world do I do now?" moments as the mother of multiples.
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