Today, I went to the Dr. with Dynamite for my thirty-six week appointment. The waiting room was filled with all kinds of pregnant women and their other halves, not to mention a few little munchkins running around.
Now, many of you may not know this, but I have a mole under my right arm. For reasons I'll never understand, my kids have all taken turns being fascinated by it. They want to touch it, talk about it; they have a slight obsession with my mole.
As we were sitting in the crowded room, Dynamite looks at me and belts out, "I wanna see you hole!" Well, I was a little perplexed trying to understand what hole exactly he was talking about. Again, "Mommy, I wanna see you hole!" Ahhh, yes, the mole.
This was a situation where had I tried to shush him, he would've grown more persistent. So, I acquiesced to his demand. With bright red cheeks, I slightly raised my arm so that he could look at the object of his desire. And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he squeals with delight, "I KISS YOU HOLE, MOMMY!"
And with that, he planted one right on my mole. As he pulled away, he looked up at me with the biggest toothy grin you can imagine. As though to say, "Mommy, I just love you hole"
Lovely. People ducked their heads in empathetic embarrassment, but couldn't help but covertly snicker.
Reason #132 why I should get a sitter when I go to the Doctor.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
A Funeral and a Breath of Fresh Air
One of my dad's best friends died this week. His name was Fred and he died of cancer.
I stood next to my dad this morning at the funeral service and we sang, "Jesus, you call me friend". And under my dad's breath, I heard him mouthe the words, "Yes, Lord, a friend that sticks closer than a brother". I believe that Fred was one of those friends for my dad, and he takes solace in the fact that his Lord says he is also.
As I stood next to my dad, I felt a sense of strength rise up inside of me. My dad's a pretty tough guy. Not in the sense that he has a membership to Powerhouse. Rather, he's been through a lot in his life and never admits defeat. He's a fighter.
As a little girl, when my dad would pick me up from school after working at the trucking company, I would run to him hoping that everyone would realize this was my dad! Not all kids' dads have grease on their shirts; my dad was a hard worker! Do you see the way he smiles at me and scoops me up? He adores me, for crying out loud!
As a teenager, I put my dad through hell. And yet, whenever we would have dinner with his friends or he would introduce me to someone, he would always talk about my achievements...the good that I was doing. He would make me feel good about myself when I didn't have a whole lot of reasons to.
When I am with my dad, a feeling of invincibility fills me. A feeling of pride. A give-me-what-you-got-world because I'm stronger than you are feeling. And all this stems from knowing that I've got someone unconditionally in my corner.
When I see my dad hurt, I hurt. His eyes were glassy this morning and I know that he was fighting back the tears. But when I see the way he perseveres, I am filled with hope and a desire to live. Not just exist.
And by the way, I think my dad and I said five words to each other this morning and exchanged a hug.
So, that's what I was left thinking about...how I want to affect others. How I want to be remembered and talked about. How I want to bless the lives of those I interact with.
And that we have the opportunity to be that friend who sticks closer than a brother right along with the Big Kahuna (I think he smiles when I call him this, so I won't apologize).
Sunday, May 22, 2011
A Space to Call My Own
For Mother's Day, my husband got me a sign to hang on the door that says, "Welcome to the Nut House". I have been eyeing something along those lines for a while because it captures the craziness of our lives.
Author, Jodi Piccoult, says in one of her books that every life has a song...a melody that captures the rhythm of how we live.
Which makes me reminisce about a time when life was not so busy. I was twenty-one years old and on a three month trip to Italy. I have a dear friend who lives there and had gone to visit her and her family for a second time.
Upon my arrival, she ushered me in to a very compact what-used-to-be closet. They had made the room in to a bedroom with a little fold down cot. The space probably measured five feet by eight feet. It was smaller than my current bathroom, which, let me tell you, is really small!
When you walked in to this space, the bed/cot was immediately to the right and you had to climb a ladder to get in to it. To the left was a bare shelf where I could store any books and/or journals, including my Italian Dostoevsky novel that I was attempting to read (a very lofty undertaking...I should have started out with The Poky Little Puppy).
I unpacked my suitcase and felt peaceful. Without the clutter of life. This was my space. And I treasured it.
Fast forward to today. I've gone from single to a family of five and a half. I am maintaining t-ball and baseball schedules, volunteering at the kids' school, date nights with my hubby, etc. Life is just plain, wonderfully busy.
And so, when I saw Toni Morrison, Nobel and Pulitzer Prize winner, on Oprah talking about how everyone needs their own space, my ears perked up. My own space? You're talking to a woman who uses the bathroom with a kid on her lap half the time (we're having some separation issues).
I began to fantasize about this space. I started looking through Ikea catalogues at cheap desks. I wanted to create a space to do my writing and work on picture albums. And you'll never guess what happened. As I was driving home yesterday, I spotted a beautifully handcrafted desk at a garage sale for twenty dollars. I immediately pulled over and laid my claim to that precious piece of furniture that meant so much more to me than the wood itself. It represented something to call my own. A place to create and dream.
So as I sit here in my roughly five by eight foot space, I am reminded that you don't have to be single to have your own little corner. You just have to create it for yourself. Thank you, Toni, for the inspiration.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Me wearing my heart on my sleeve...again...
Today has been a day of emotion:
As I looked at my husband straightening my son's tie for his first communion, I had the thought, "We are not newbies anymore". Our kids are growing up. I am the one that new moms are asking for advice (there is no reasoning for this and I make no admonitions of having any of it figured out). I was filled with a recognition of the time that has passed and all that we have been through. We are stronger for our struggles.
I watched my eight year old receive the Eucharist for the first time. He is becoming a young man. He is sorting things out and recognizing that there are good and bad choices. He is daily on the threshold of new experiences and hard knocks. He sees first hand that the good guy doesn't always win and "fair" is not always the title-holder at the end of the day. I felt a sense of pride at watching my son take another step in life's journey.
I also received a phone call that was greatly disturbing. One filled with about twenty years full of hurt that I could never have understood as a child and know that it's not my role to understand as an adult. Anger is a sad thing to watch fester. And as I listened I felt a deep sadness for this person, and a surrender of trying to "fix things". Sometimes it just it what it is.
A neighbor came to tell me that his father who "did all the wrong things" had died. He (my neighbor) couldn't sleep at night thinking of his father in regard to "the after-life". When the ones we love leave us behind, it also makes us very aware of our own mortality...the choices we've made, the people we want to become. If we really believe in forgiveness and mercy and love...all that stuff we profess to believe. I felt appreciation for his raw emotion and the things that bring us to our knees when no one else ever knows.
This may seem like a rambling of sorts, but what I really wanted to put down in words is the stuff of life. In the waking of a day, the emotions that come out run the entire gamut.
Joy and pain. Strength and weakness.
And I guess, really, what Super-boy celebrated today encompasses all of that. The suffering, and the rising from the ashes. The loneliness and the embrace. And I think, regardless of what you believe, that's something we all can relate to.
As I looked at my husband straightening my son's tie for his first communion, I had the thought, "We are not newbies anymore". Our kids are growing up. I am the one that new moms are asking for advice (there is no reasoning for this and I make no admonitions of having any of it figured out). I was filled with a recognition of the time that has passed and all that we have been through. We are stronger for our struggles.
I watched my eight year old receive the Eucharist for the first time. He is becoming a young man. He is sorting things out and recognizing that there are good and bad choices. He is daily on the threshold of new experiences and hard knocks. He sees first hand that the good guy doesn't always win and "fair" is not always the title-holder at the end of the day. I felt a sense of pride at watching my son take another step in life's journey.
I also received a phone call that was greatly disturbing. One filled with about twenty years full of hurt that I could never have understood as a child and know that it's not my role to understand as an adult. Anger is a sad thing to watch fester. And as I listened I felt a deep sadness for this person, and a surrender of trying to "fix things". Sometimes it just it what it is.
A neighbor came to tell me that his father who "did all the wrong things" had died. He (my neighbor) couldn't sleep at night thinking of his father in regard to "the after-life". When the ones we love leave us behind, it also makes us very aware of our own mortality...the choices we've made, the people we want to become. If we really believe in forgiveness and mercy and love...all that stuff we profess to believe. I felt appreciation for his raw emotion and the things that bring us to our knees when no one else ever knows.
This may seem like a rambling of sorts, but what I really wanted to put down in words is the stuff of life. In the waking of a day, the emotions that come out run the entire gamut.
Joy and pain. Strength and weakness.
And I guess, really, what Super-boy celebrated today encompasses all of that. The suffering, and the rising from the ashes. The loneliness and the embrace. And I think, regardless of what you believe, that's something we all can relate to.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Feel the burn...
"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world". ~C.S. Lewis
Think back to a time of tremendous pain in your life. I'm not talking about life's little inconveniences. Or even things that are very frustrating, but more of an irritation than anything. I'm talking about deep loss. Grief. When the ache feels like too much for you to bear.
I think I can count the number of times I've felt that kind of sadness on one hand.
And yet, when I think back to those times, there was a sense of feeling. Not just skipping through the day oblivious to the world around me. It has been during those times that my friendships have become deeply rooted...that I have bared my vulnerable soul to those around me and have been either kicked or embraced. It has been during these times when I have been made acutely aware of what is real and what is false.
The pain is, at times, what lets us know that we are alive. Human.
I don't like to hurt, or to be hurt. But I do like the healing that comes during and after. Sometimes we need more than a whisper to drag us out of bed.
Think back to a time of tremendous pain in your life. I'm not talking about life's little inconveniences. Or even things that are very frustrating, but more of an irritation than anything. I'm talking about deep loss. Grief. When the ache feels like too much for you to bear.
I think I can count the number of times I've felt that kind of sadness on one hand.
And yet, when I think back to those times, there was a sense of feeling. Not just skipping through the day oblivious to the world around me. It has been during those times that my friendships have become deeply rooted...that I have bared my vulnerable soul to those around me and have been either kicked or embraced. It has been during these times when I have been made acutely aware of what is real and what is false.
The pain is, at times, what lets us know that we are alive. Human.
I don't like to hurt, or to be hurt. But I do like the healing that comes during and after. Sometimes we need more than a whisper to drag us out of bed.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Why I got kicked out of the club...
When I read this blog, I saw ME written all over it. I also posted this link on my facebook site, so you may have already read it.
But in case you haven't, the gist is that this girl felt like when she became a christian, she had joined a club in which you acted and thought a certain way. No need to tap in to your own gut feelings about things, it's all been laid out for you. This is how we think, act, feel, dress, believe. Wow, could I relate.
Most of you know that I went to a christian college for my first two years of school. While I met a lot of wonderful people, I began to subscribe to the idea that if I wanted to be a part of "the club", I had to be someone other than who I was.
I tried this for a while. I wore ankle length dresses. I probably said things like, "Oh, sugar!" when I was upset. I only hung out with people who were also part of this crowd. I was very holy, indeed....
Until I felt like I was going to suffocate.
The pressure weighed down on me until I couldn't bear it any longer. I was eighteen and I started smoking, drinking, doing all the things that were absolutely not allowed in "the club". And while I didn't like that lifestyle, it felt good to yell at the top of my lungs, "I will not conform to your feathered bangs and your 10:00 curfew!!". I began to despise "the club".
For years, I had a hot/cold relationship with the whole church idea. Then I got married, had children, etc. and seriously re-joined "the club". This time, I would be perfect. I would do and say all of the right things. I would homeschool my children, buy organic food, wear jean jumpers and little make-up. Surprisingly...but not...those old feelings came back to haunt me. I was going to die of suffocation.
And so, I had to figure out some hard and life-giving lessons:
-Jesus came for the sinners, not the saints.
-I am valuable because I was created with human dignity, and not because of all the "good things" that I do. Because I was created in the image of God, himself.
-I am not perfect, nor will I ever be, and that is okay. I am flawed and remarkably human.
-I am not likeable because a group of people deems me so, but because I like myself at the end of the day.
-I'm sick of trying to please others and only need to worry about what Jesus thinks (and as Jamie points out in her blog, Jesus was a non-conformist. He was always pissing people off and served only one purpose: bringing glory to his Father in heaven).
-You can be yourself and love Jesus. You can be yourself and please Jesus. You must be yourself.
I like make-up...a lot. I get highlights. I donated my jean jumpers. I put my kids in school because it was what was best for us. I sometimes use words that are inappropriate (and for some reason, find it exceedingly funny when others do, as well). I like trashy magazines that fill me in on celebrity gossip. And I have a whole laundry list more of things that others might judge me for.
And yet, in all of this, I feel that I have found a happy place. I like me and I know that despite my wariness of "the club", God thinks I'm alright too.
But in case you haven't, the gist is that this girl felt like when she became a christian, she had joined a club in which you acted and thought a certain way. No need to tap in to your own gut feelings about things, it's all been laid out for you. This is how we think, act, feel, dress, believe. Wow, could I relate.
Most of you know that I went to a christian college for my first two years of school. While I met a lot of wonderful people, I began to subscribe to the idea that if I wanted to be a part of "the club", I had to be someone other than who I was.
I tried this for a while. I wore ankle length dresses. I probably said things like, "Oh, sugar!" when I was upset. I only hung out with people who were also part of this crowd. I was very holy, indeed....
Until I felt like I was going to suffocate.
The pressure weighed down on me until I couldn't bear it any longer. I was eighteen and I started smoking, drinking, doing all the things that were absolutely not allowed in "the club". And while I didn't like that lifestyle, it felt good to yell at the top of my lungs, "I will not conform to your feathered bangs and your 10:00 curfew!!". I began to despise "the club".
For years, I had a hot/cold relationship with the whole church idea. Then I got married, had children, etc. and seriously re-joined "the club". This time, I would be perfect. I would do and say all of the right things. I would homeschool my children, buy organic food, wear jean jumpers and little make-up. Surprisingly...but not...those old feelings came back to haunt me. I was going to die of suffocation.
And so, I had to figure out some hard and life-giving lessons:
-Jesus came for the sinners, not the saints.
-I am valuable because I was created with human dignity, and not because of all the "good things" that I do. Because I was created in the image of God, himself.
-I am not perfect, nor will I ever be, and that is okay. I am flawed and remarkably human.
-I am not likeable because a group of people deems me so, but because I like myself at the end of the day.
-I'm sick of trying to please others and only need to worry about what Jesus thinks (and as Jamie points out in her blog, Jesus was a non-conformist. He was always pissing people off and served only one purpose: bringing glory to his Father in heaven).
-You can be yourself and love Jesus. You can be yourself and please Jesus. You must be yourself.
I like make-up...a lot. I get highlights. I donated my jean jumpers. I put my kids in school because it was what was best for us. I sometimes use words that are inappropriate (and for some reason, find it exceedingly funny when others do, as well). I like trashy magazines that fill me in on celebrity gossip. And I have a whole laundry list more of things that others might judge me for.
And yet, in all of this, I feel that I have found a happy place. I like me and I know that despite my wariness of "the club", God thinks I'm alright too.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
To Plan or Not to Plan
So, today is day four of the kids being on Easter vacation. We have planned a lot of entertaining/stimulating activities for them. For example, on Monday we just met a friend of mine at McDonald's and let the kids run and wear their little selves out.
On Tuesday, I took the kids to the movie theater to see "Rio". I haven't been to the theater in probably three years. I didn't figure in that almost everyone is out for spring break, not jut my kids, and we ended up sitting in the second row. My neck was crooned at a ninety degree angle for the duration of the movie, but the kids were thrilled.
Yesterday, I had my 28 week baby check-up and a hair appointment, so the kids hung out with my mom, dh and the babysitter all day.
This morning, I had planned on taking them to the science museum, but Super-boy has had a nasty cough for the last couple of days. At about 9:30, everyone was driving each other crazy. They were fighting over a bugle that I very calmly stuffed in the garbage after one child went after the other with it and it was thrown hitting the chandelier. No, our house is not typically that out of control, but it can escalate quickly.
All three children then began to cry and I had the anxious impulse to get everyone ready and get them the heck out of the house. But why?? Why do I so often feel the need to entertain my children and plan to the enth degree instead of letting them find things for themselves to do?
I believe it's because I really loathe disorder. I hate it when the kids are tearing through the house and getting all kinds of stuff out. It's easier for me to take them out and/or plan, plan, plan. Planning is not a bad thing, but I really do think it can be detrimental to their ability to be creative and think of things for themselves to do.
Today, I cut out tv because I felt like it was affecting their behavior negatively. So, here we are at 12:00 p.m. with no tv, no stimulation and no mom trying to direct their activities. What does it look like? Well, Dynamite is downstairs playing with his trains. Cindy-lou Who is making greeting cards and Super-boy is sitting on the couch next to the radio with a big smile on his face listening to Disney songs. And I'm blogging.
It's a pretty picture, one I'd like to re-create...but without creating it, if you get my drift.
Can you share your experience with me as far as what is a healthy balance in planning/not planning activities for your kids? How often do you plan a big outing (i.e. zoo, science center, etc.)? How capable do you think your kids are of thinking of things to do without your assistance?
Thanks for your responses!
On Tuesday, I took the kids to the movie theater to see "Rio". I haven't been to the theater in probably three years. I didn't figure in that almost everyone is out for spring break, not jut my kids, and we ended up sitting in the second row. My neck was crooned at a ninety degree angle for the duration of the movie, but the kids were thrilled.
Yesterday, I had my 28 week baby check-up and a hair appointment, so the kids hung out with my mom, dh and the babysitter all day.
This morning, I had planned on taking them to the science museum, but Super-boy has had a nasty cough for the last couple of days. At about 9:30, everyone was driving each other crazy. They were fighting over a bugle that I very calmly stuffed in the garbage after one child went after the other with it and it was thrown hitting the chandelier. No, our house is not typically that out of control, but it can escalate quickly.
All three children then began to cry and I had the anxious impulse to get everyone ready and get them the heck out of the house. But why?? Why do I so often feel the need to entertain my children and plan to the enth degree instead of letting them find things for themselves to do?
I believe it's because I really loathe disorder. I hate it when the kids are tearing through the house and getting all kinds of stuff out. It's easier for me to take them out and/or plan, plan, plan. Planning is not a bad thing, but I really do think it can be detrimental to their ability to be creative and think of things for themselves to do.
Today, I cut out tv because I felt like it was affecting their behavior negatively. So, here we are at 12:00 p.m. with no tv, no stimulation and no mom trying to direct their activities. What does it look like? Well, Dynamite is downstairs playing with his trains. Cindy-lou Who is making greeting cards and Super-boy is sitting on the couch next to the radio with a big smile on his face listening to Disney songs. And I'm blogging.
It's a pretty picture, one I'd like to re-create...but without creating it, if you get my drift.
Can you share your experience with me as far as what is a healthy balance in planning/not planning activities for your kids? How often do you plan a big outing (i.e. zoo, science center, etc.)? How capable do you think your kids are of thinking of things to do without your assistance?
Thanks for your responses!
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