I'm trying something new. My entire life (well, for as far back as I can remember) I have always been afraid. The first fear I can remember having was that my Great Grandmother, who was in the hospital, dying of leukemia, would turn into a monster when I came into the room. I was 4. The next one I remember vividly was that one or both of my eyes would fall out. That was about 1st grade. The next was at about 2nd grade (maybe it was 1st?), and I was deathly afraid of appendicitis. That one lasted for years. At 10...I was afraid of a nuclear holocaust. That lasted for several months, then came the fear that I would get cancer. Some radio show I heard in the car said there was a woman who went to a funeral where the deceased had died of cancer. Someone accepted Christ at that funeral. The person witnessing this wished God would give her cancer so souls could be saved at her funeral. She got her wish. About the cancer, at least, I don't know about the souls. That shook me to my core. At the tender age of 10, I had heard for the first time some seriously misguided person say to be careful what you said/prayed for, because God might give it to you.
As an adult, I know that is completely bogus,and that according to scripture "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (James 1:17, NIV) and that God has plans for me which do not entail doing me harm: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11), and yet, that fear's never really left me. It changed a part of who I was. I became a walking ball of nerves and fear, worry and anxiety.
I had my first panic attack at about the age of 7 or 8, and anytime I was left with my maternal set of Grandparents, if we had to go out to eat, I would have panic attacks. The panic attacks subsided for many years, until, at the age of 21, I had at least one panic attack a day for a week. I couldn't work, I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I went to my doctor and they put me on medications. They worked. I've switched medications a couple of times since then, but even medication can't make you stop worrying. It keeps the panic attacks at bay, and the depression is gone, which is great.
Lately, though, I've been obsessing over a few fears that I just can't seem to rectify. Is this baby going to be REALLY big? Will I need a C-Section? What if I get postpartum depression for a 3rd time? My psychiatrist said he would recommend ECT if that were to happen, so now I'm worried about whether or not he's a hack. My son is having some behavioral issues, and my other one is too lazy to talk unless forced. Is it something I did? Am I raising a sociopath?? I could go on and on, but I won't anymore.
Like I said, I'm trying something new. How about instead of letting my fear consume me, I take control (by the authority God has given me as one of His children) over that fear? How about instead of obsessing over things I have no control over anyway, I just pray about it, and trust that God does indeed have plans for hope and a future for me, and not plans to harm me?? How about I quit talking the talk and actually start walking the walk? How about I take a good look at the Word of God, and receive it as such? It really angers me how much time I have allowed myself to squander away, worrying about things I cannot change, instead of going to the only One who can change things!
Well, no more. I may have to turn these fears over to God hundreds of times per day, but I am not removing Him from the equation. That is what I've been doing, every time I have tried to "fix" things I couldn't control, or worried over things I couldn't predict...I was trying to do things in my own strength, forgetting that He is my strength. He is my peace. He is my joy. He is my source.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Third Time Around...How Could I Have Forgotten All of This????? Archive > chloe8100's Blog
The Third Time Around...How Could I Have Forgotten All of This????? Archive > chloe8100's Blog
Posted using ShareThis
A couple of blog entries I wrote on www.whattoexpect.com early on in my pregnancy. Didn't really keep up with it, so I thought I would merge it with this blog. Have a look, if you feel inclined...
Posted using ShareThis
A couple of blog entries I wrote on www.whattoexpect.com early on in my pregnancy. Didn't really keep up with it, so I thought I would merge it with this blog. Have a look, if you feel inclined...
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Adventures in Parenting, Episode 2: Girls Do Not Have Penises!
I'm not quite sure how to start this. The beginning is probably a good place to start, but, it's just so...awkward. Oh, I guess I should let those of you who have a sensitivity to TMI that this may be one of those blog entries that you don't want to read. I'm pretty much an open book, but not everyone is like that, so if you are at all offended by the mention of genitalia, don't continue to read. But, then again, if the title to this blog entry didn't tip you off, you're not going to listen to me anyway. So...here goes...
As I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out of the shower late this morning, I heard a young voice say, in a very alarmed tone, "Mama, where's your penis????" (oh look, there's a question I never thought I would have to answer, let alone hear!) My first instinct was to grab a towel, cover my nakedness, and remind my older son (aged 5) to KNOCK, PLEASE, and then just ignore his inquiry as to my absentee male appendage. I did not want to have this conversation right now.
You see, every time my elder son learns a new word, he makes a song out of it. If it doesn't get much of a reaction, he moves on, but if it warrants a response ("Jack, please don't sing about butts at the dinner table/Church/to your grandmother over the phone!") it could go on for months. When he learned the word "penis" he made sure to tell everyone at Church he had one. *sigh* So, rather than explain to him how girls are different from boys (and risk having him walk up to every little girl at Church and ask to see their princess parts for comparison, or worse, regale them in song with every word he can think of that rhymes with vagina), I decided to pretend I hadn't heard him ask.
I should have known better. Jack is just like me in so many ways, and one of those ways in which we are alike is that when we ask a question, we expect, nay, demand a response. I could have said,"I don't know", but then he would have initiated a search and rescue mission the likes of which the world has never seen in order to reunite his dear mother with her tragically misplaced penis. I can see it now, out playing with his friends he would tell one of their mothers, "My mommy's penis is missing. Have you seen it?", and at Church "Um, you know, Father, my Mom lost her penis. Pray that she finds it soon. I'm afraid she won't be able to pee"...and word would spread like wildfire throughout the state that Jack's Mommy was some sort of sexually deviant freak. Oh Lord...I really had no choice but to answer the question. Our little exchange went something like this:
"I don't have one." Trying to sound matter of fact and make this as boring as possible.
"You DON'T??!" He sounded incredulous.
"Erm...no." I was hoping this would be the end of it.
"Where did it go?" No such luck.
"Nowhere. I never had one."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a girl."
"Well, my friend Katie (changed the name to protect the innocent) has one."
"No, honey, she doesn't."
"Why?"
"Because she's a girl, too."
"Oh. (Insert awkward pause here) Mom?"
"uh-huh?"
"How does she pee?" Oh, Jesus, save me!
"Girls have parts that help them to pee."
"How do they pee without a penis?"
"Girls have different parts from boys, but they can still pee."
"Okay...um, Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" I am really getting uncomfortable, here. Where's something shiny to wave around when you need it??
"What parts do they have?"
Aw, damn! I thought I had dodged a bullet, but apparently I was mistaken. *sigh*
"Girls have what is called a vagina."
"That's a silly word!" He giggles, and goes downstairs to play with his cars. End conversation. I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was unconsciously holding throughout this exchange. I'm seriously lucky I didn't pass out.
So there are no lyrics for "Ode to the Vagina" yet, but I'll keep you all posted.
Yeah...once again, I don't really have a scripture reference for this one. If you can think of one, don't tell me, I don't want to know!
As I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out of the shower late this morning, I heard a young voice say, in a very alarmed tone, "Mama, where's your penis????" (oh look, there's a question I never thought I would have to answer, let alone hear!) My first instinct was to grab a towel, cover my nakedness, and remind my older son (aged 5) to KNOCK, PLEASE, and then just ignore his inquiry as to my absentee male appendage. I did not want to have this conversation right now.
You see, every time my elder son learns a new word, he makes a song out of it. If it doesn't get much of a reaction, he moves on, but if it warrants a response ("Jack, please don't sing about butts at the dinner table/Church/to your grandmother over the phone!") it could go on for months. When he learned the word "penis" he made sure to tell everyone at Church he had one. *sigh* So, rather than explain to him how girls are different from boys (and risk having him walk up to every little girl at Church and ask to see their princess parts for comparison, or worse, regale them in song with every word he can think of that rhymes with vagina), I decided to pretend I hadn't heard him ask.
I should have known better. Jack is just like me in so many ways, and one of those ways in which we are alike is that when we ask a question, we expect, nay, demand a response. I could have said,"I don't know", but then he would have initiated a search and rescue mission the likes of which the world has never seen in order to reunite his dear mother with her tragically misplaced penis. I can see it now, out playing with his friends he would tell one of their mothers, "My mommy's penis is missing. Have you seen it?", and at Church "Um, you know, Father, my Mom lost her penis. Pray that she finds it soon. I'm afraid she won't be able to pee"...and word would spread like wildfire throughout the state that Jack's Mommy was some sort of sexually deviant freak. Oh Lord...I really had no choice but to answer the question. Our little exchange went something like this:
"I don't have one." Trying to sound matter of fact and make this as boring as possible.
"You DON'T??!" He sounded incredulous.
"Erm...no." I was hoping this would be the end of it.
"Where did it go?" No such luck.
"Nowhere. I never had one."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a girl."
"Well, my friend Katie (changed the name to protect the innocent) has one."
"No, honey, she doesn't."
"Why?"
"Because she's a girl, too."
"Oh. (Insert awkward pause here) Mom?"
"uh-huh?"
"How does she pee?" Oh, Jesus, save me!
"Girls have parts that help them to pee."
"How do they pee without a penis?"
"Girls have different parts from boys, but they can still pee."
"Okay...um, Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" I am really getting uncomfortable, here. Where's something shiny to wave around when you need it??
"What parts do they have?"
Aw, damn! I thought I had dodged a bullet, but apparently I was mistaken. *sigh*
"Girls have what is called a vagina."
"That's a silly word!" He giggles, and goes downstairs to play with his cars. End conversation. I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was unconsciously holding throughout this exchange. I'm seriously lucky I didn't pass out.
So there are no lyrics for "Ode to the Vagina" yet, but I'll keep you all posted.
Yeah...once again, I don't really have a scripture reference for this one. If you can think of one, don't tell me, I don't want to know!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Adventures in Parenting...The Entire Neighborhood!
This week my 5 year old son is on Spring Break. God bless Spring Break. I despise Spring Break. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy spending time with my children, really, I do. I'm just not fan of shrieking, screeching fights breaking out between a 5 and 3 year old before 7 AM over one specific toy, or refusals to use a public restroom unless I "promise not to flush" until they are outside the restroom...even though I'm not the one who had to go, or my older son (the 5 year old):
bringing EVERY bleeding, crying neighborhood child who has fallen off his or her bike/scooter/skate board to our door, even though their mothers are home, because "my Mama's got a red cross card in her wallet", or bringing home every neighborhood child he wants to play with so he can give them whatever kind of goodies we have in the house (I'm an advocate of sharing, but if the kids are hungry, their Moms are home, they should go eat lunch...I am not the neighborhood lunch wagon), or my son coming in every 5 minutes asking for more snacks/drinks for his friends (and can he give so-and- so the spiderman cup?), or my son coming in every 15 minutes or so because someone knocked him down, or called him a name, or wouldn't play with him (probably because after the 2nd snack for 5 children [4 of whom are not my own], I said no, two is plenty).
I'm also not a fan of being deemed the judge for disputes between neighborhood children. It goes something like this:
*Clairessa is sitting peacefully in front of the TV, watching Desperate Housewives, contemplating how much her ribs hurt because of her burgeoning pregnant belly, when, for about the 800th time within the space of 2 hours, the doorbell rings...incessantly, punctuated by knocks on the door. She hefts herself off the couch with great effort, comes to the door and is bombarded with the story of woe from one child, while the alleged offender stands there, shaking their head, and frequently interrupting with exclamations of, "Nuh-uh!" and "You're lying!" Why they come to her, she's not sure, because THESE KIDS HAVE PARENTS, AND THEY'RE HOME!!!!*
Help me out here. These kids live in fear of my reprimands, but mooch food, and come tattling on each other to me for some of the pettiest things I have ever heard. So...is it just that they don't feel like going inside to consult with their own parents, or...???? I am truly mystified.
I love children, and I believe they are all gifts from the Lord, but I also believe that parents need to be responsible for the upbringing of their own children, and I despise the "it takes a village" philosophy. I honestly want as little "village" interference as possible! No, it does not take a village, it takes a parent who pays attention and is not willing to put up with shenanigans, a parent who is willing to discipline in love, not anger (which I'll admit, I often struggle with). Am I just being cranky about other people's kids, or what?
Sorry, can't think of a scripture that really applies to this particular entry. If you can think of one, post the scripture and reference in the comments section below.
Thanks for reading!
bringing EVERY bleeding, crying neighborhood child who has fallen off his or her bike/scooter/skate board to our door, even though their mothers are home, because "my Mama's got a red cross card in her wallet", or bringing home every neighborhood child he wants to play with so he can give them whatever kind of goodies we have in the house (I'm an advocate of sharing, but if the kids are hungry, their Moms are home, they should go eat lunch...I am not the neighborhood lunch wagon), or my son coming in every 5 minutes asking for more snacks/drinks for his friends (and can he give so-and- so the spiderman cup?), or my son coming in every 15 minutes or so because someone knocked him down, or called him a name, or wouldn't play with him (probably because after the 2nd snack for 5 children [4 of whom are not my own], I said no, two is plenty).
I'm also not a fan of being deemed the judge for disputes between neighborhood children. It goes something like this:
*Clairessa is sitting peacefully in front of the TV, watching Desperate Housewives, contemplating how much her ribs hurt because of her burgeoning pregnant belly, when, for about the 800th time within the space of 2 hours, the doorbell rings...incessantly, punctuated by knocks on the door. She hefts herself off the couch with great effort, comes to the door and is bombarded with the story of woe from one child, while the alleged offender stands there, shaking their head, and frequently interrupting with exclamations of, "Nuh-uh!" and "You're lying!" Why they come to her, she's not sure, because THESE KIDS HAVE PARENTS, AND THEY'RE HOME!!!!*
Help me out here. These kids live in fear of my reprimands, but mooch food, and come tattling on each other to me for some of the pettiest things I have ever heard. So...is it just that they don't feel like going inside to consult with their own parents, or...???? I am truly mystified.
I love children, and I believe they are all gifts from the Lord, but I also believe that parents need to be responsible for the upbringing of their own children, and I despise the "it takes a village" philosophy. I honestly want as little "village" interference as possible! No, it does not take a village, it takes a parent who pays attention and is not willing to put up with shenanigans, a parent who is willing to discipline in love, not anger (which I'll admit, I often struggle with). Am I just being cranky about other people's kids, or what?
Sorry, can't think of a scripture that really applies to this particular entry. If you can think of one, post the scripture and reference in the comments section below.
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
47 Days to Delivery
God help me, I'm not sure I'll make it. My navel is already protruding, I am HUGE (I've already gained about 30 lbs, and if I'm careful to only gain a pound a week for the next 3 weeks, and then the 1 1/2 lbs - 2 lbs per week the last 4 weeks, I can expect to have gained a total of 36-38 lbs. AAAAHHHHH!!!!!! No matter how hard I try (which, admittedly, isn't very hard. Pregnancy is my excuse to not deny myself anything I want to eat), I simply cannot stay within that recommended 25 lbs - 35 lbs range! It is so frustrating.
I'm concerned I may outgrow some of my maternity tops. My belly is already gigantic, and it keeps growing. Every time I go into the doctor and he measures the height of my fundus, I always measure one week bigger than where I am gestationally. Some of my blouses are looking a bit short. There is no greater maternity fashion faux pas than having the panels of your maternity bottoms show. Except maybe having your belly peek out from underneath the shirt. God forbid!
I am carrying a violent fetus. He kicks me mercilessly in the ribs, inside the curve of my hip bones, and somewhere near the vicinity of other vital organs such as the kidneys & liver. Watching my belly move is like that scene from Aliens. At any moment you expect my belly to spontaneously rip open, and some sinister, hideous creature to emerge. Definitely no time for an epidural! LOL
I honestly do not remember pregnancy being this miserable. I know I was pretty uncomfortable for my other two pregnancies, but I do not recall this level of sheer malaise. I have a theory regarding this: I've heard it said you forget the pain of labor. HA! NO, you DON'T! It just becomes completely worth it when, for the first time, you finally get to hold that precious little life you've been carrying inside you in your arms. The pain isn't forgotten, it just becomes unimportant.
Now, pregnancy woes, you forget! If anyone remembered what being pregnant was really like, NO ONE would do it to themselves more than once! I mean, seriously...who among us woke up one day thinking, 'I do believe I would like to vomit at least once a day for the next 3 months, and while I'm doing that, I may as well be so exhausted that I literally fall asleep sitting up at my desk, or standing...in the shower! My breasts really ought to hurt so badly that I long for a mastectomy, but so unusually large and firm that my husband can't resist staring and trying to cop a feel. Maybe I could have mild to moderate acne, as well. Just a thought. After that 3 months is up, I'm thinking it would be awesome to start gaining weight (in another 3 month installment). A LOT of it! I should have disgusting cravings like sardine and peanut butter sandwiches, and I should crave all of the fattiest foods! Yeah, in fact, going shopping for circus tents which they call shirts and parachutes they call dresses sounds like a gas! Speaking of gas, I think I'll take up farting for the next 6 months! Of course I won't be able to poop, but I'll be able to outfart my husband in the middle of the night when he thinks I'm asleep & it's okay to let one rip. Now, after that 3 month installment, the fun really begins...I'm going to wake up 5-6 times a night to pee! Oh, and I'm going to drink lots of water to (hopefully) help with the wicked constipation I've got going on because of the horse pill vitamins & iron tablets I have to take, so I will be the office restroom's most frequent visitor. To add to this crap-tastic experience, every time I cough, sneeze, or have a good laugh, I should pee involuntarily. Sex should be inconvenient to maneuver, and enjoyable sex nearly impossible to achieve. I want to feel fat and embarrassed by the size of my...everything. I also need to be attacked from the inside by my expected offspring. My ribs should be a jungle gym, my bladder a trampoline, my kidneys a punching bag. Sign. Me. Up. THIS IS GOING TO ROCK!!!!!'
Yeah...I know none of that was on my mind when I thought of having a baby. I thought of cute little baby toes and cuddling, and first smiles and of all the wonderful moments that come with Motherhood. But I never thought of hemorrhoids, or mood swings that were better than any Disneyland ride! I never thought of those "painless" (HA!) Braxton Hicks contractions that would send me to the ER countless times thinking I was miscarrying or in preterm labor...or of that first incredible ultrasound when, for the first time, I would see my child's heart beating, reinforcing my belief that life begins in the womb. All joking and complaining aside, I never thought of the overwhelming love I would feel from the moment I saw the plus sign on the home pregnancy test, never thought of the unbridled joy & excitement at feeling my baby's first little kicks and flutters. Pregnancy is a long and arduous journey, but the end result is so worth the discomfort.
"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." Psalm 139:19 (NIV)
I'm concerned I may outgrow some of my maternity tops. My belly is already gigantic, and it keeps growing. Every time I go into the doctor and he measures the height of my fundus, I always measure one week bigger than where I am gestationally. Some of my blouses are looking a bit short. There is no greater maternity fashion faux pas than having the panels of your maternity bottoms show. Except maybe having your belly peek out from underneath the shirt. God forbid!
I am carrying a violent fetus. He kicks me mercilessly in the ribs, inside the curve of my hip bones, and somewhere near the vicinity of other vital organs such as the kidneys & liver. Watching my belly move is like that scene from Aliens. At any moment you expect my belly to spontaneously rip open, and some sinister, hideous creature to emerge. Definitely no time for an epidural! LOL
I honestly do not remember pregnancy being this miserable. I know I was pretty uncomfortable for my other two pregnancies, but I do not recall this level of sheer malaise. I have a theory regarding this: I've heard it said you forget the pain of labor. HA! NO, you DON'T! It just becomes completely worth it when, for the first time, you finally get to hold that precious little life you've been carrying inside you in your arms. The pain isn't forgotten, it just becomes unimportant.
Now, pregnancy woes, you forget! If anyone remembered what being pregnant was really like, NO ONE would do it to themselves more than once! I mean, seriously...who among us woke up one day thinking, 'I do believe I would like to vomit at least once a day for the next 3 months, and while I'm doing that, I may as well be so exhausted that I literally fall asleep sitting up at my desk, or standing...in the shower! My breasts really ought to hurt so badly that I long for a mastectomy, but so unusually large and firm that my husband can't resist staring and trying to cop a feel. Maybe I could have mild to moderate acne, as well. Just a thought. After that 3 months is up, I'm thinking it would be awesome to start gaining weight (in another 3 month installment). A LOT of it! I should have disgusting cravings like sardine and peanut butter sandwiches, and I should crave all of the fattiest foods! Yeah, in fact, going shopping for circus tents which they call shirts and parachutes they call dresses sounds like a gas! Speaking of gas, I think I'll take up farting for the next 6 months! Of course I won't be able to poop, but I'll be able to outfart my husband in the middle of the night when he thinks I'm asleep & it's okay to let one rip. Now, after that 3 month installment, the fun really begins...I'm going to wake up 5-6 times a night to pee! Oh, and I'm going to drink lots of water to (hopefully) help with the wicked constipation I've got going on because of the horse pill vitamins & iron tablets I have to take, so I will be the office restroom's most frequent visitor. To add to this crap-tastic experience, every time I cough, sneeze, or have a good laugh, I should pee involuntarily. Sex should be inconvenient to maneuver, and enjoyable sex nearly impossible to achieve. I want to feel fat and embarrassed by the size of my...everything. I also need to be attacked from the inside by my expected offspring. My ribs should be a jungle gym, my bladder a trampoline, my kidneys a punching bag. Sign. Me. Up. THIS IS GOING TO ROCK!!!!!'
Yeah...I know none of that was on my mind when I thought of having a baby. I thought of cute little baby toes and cuddling, and first smiles and of all the wonderful moments that come with Motherhood. But I never thought of hemorrhoids, or mood swings that were better than any Disneyland ride! I never thought of those "painless" (HA!) Braxton Hicks contractions that would send me to the ER countless times thinking I was miscarrying or in preterm labor...or of that first incredible ultrasound when, for the first time, I would see my child's heart beating, reinforcing my belief that life begins in the womb. All joking and complaining aside, I never thought of the overwhelming love I would feel from the moment I saw the plus sign on the home pregnancy test, never thought of the unbridled joy & excitement at feeling my baby's first little kicks and flutters. Pregnancy is a long and arduous journey, but the end result is so worth the discomfort.
"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb." Psalm 139:19 (NIV)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Temporary Home
I'm listening to the song "Temporary Home" by Carrie Underwood right now. It's a very poignant song, beautifully written, and very spiritual. It couldn't be more appropriate for what my extended family and I are going through right now. My Uncle has recently been sent home from the hospital and assigned to hospice care. It's been a long road that has brought us to a (seemingly) large precipice.
Last year, doctors discovered a tumor and he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Surgery was performed to remove the tumor, and chemotherapy was prescribed even though the doctors were fairly certain they had removed all of the malignant tissues. After several months of treatment, He was pronounced cancer free. Around Christmas (or shortly thereafter) he began to have some of the same symptoms again, and was becoming very dehydrated. Eventually he was hospitalized again, and they discovered the cancer was back. The doctors believed that another round of chemo would make him sicker and more miserable than he already was, and only had about a 15% chance of working if he did decide to go that route. He decided to forgo the treatment, and was sent home and assigned to hospice care. It's a difficult thing to accept.
He and my Dad have been very close for as long as I can remember. He's always been a safe haven for me, and I know, for many of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I've literally never known life without him. He's changed my diapers, heard some of my first words, and actively listened to my childhood chatter as though it were vitally important. In my teen years, he was one of the few adults I trusted enough to confide in. I knew his love was a constant, I knew his arms were always open for me to run into anytime I needed. I knew he was a person who prayed for me daily, and I knew that no matter how mad he was at me from time to time, his love overshadowed whatever anger he had toward me. Now, as an adult, he has listened patiently to me talk about love, marriage, conflicts with my parents (we all have them, people!), discipline of children, conflicts with my husband (why, why, why, oh why is my family always on my husband's side? Could it be I'm that unreasonable? No...that can't be it! ), work, money, politics, and even my relationship with God. I'm losing one of my best friends. Truly. He's too young to be dying, but that is exactly what is happening.
I feel cheated, because I can't be there in his final days. If he isn't suffering (which he tells me he isn't), I hope he's able to hold on long enough to meet Andrew (our baby due next month), and hold him. It would mean so much. He's met and held and played with my other two boys. He so enjoyed them and the little mini vacation he had when we flew him out here, and he was a wonderful house guest. I'm so glad we were able to get him out here 3 years ago (it's been that long) when he was healthy and able to get around. We had so much fun...and he wore me out! A couple of days before he left, I took him to Waikiki, and we walked all over hell and creation. I had a charlie horse in the back of my leg the next day, and the old coot didn't complain of so much as a sore back! I'm glad I could create those memories so I could remember him the way he'd want to be remembered: happy, fun, active, passionately devoted to family, and full of life.
Saying goodbye (really, "see you later" since I know where he's going, and I strive every day to be deserving of going to the same place when my time comes) to him is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Getting sober was easier (staying sober, too!), because I know that if I work a program of honesty, continue to keep my side of the street clean, continue to seek God's face, & work with others, God will keep me sober. I can seek God's face all I want for my Uncle's healing (and I do believe in Divine Healing), but if it's his time to go, there is nothing I can do to change God's mind. Please pray for my family, my Uncle, and me, as we walk this journey together. The road is rough, but we know paradise lays ahead for our dear loved one, and we will meet again one day.
"Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies." John 11:25
Last year, doctors discovered a tumor and he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Surgery was performed to remove the tumor, and chemotherapy was prescribed even though the doctors were fairly certain they had removed all of the malignant tissues. After several months of treatment, He was pronounced cancer free. Around Christmas (or shortly thereafter) he began to have some of the same symptoms again, and was becoming very dehydrated. Eventually he was hospitalized again, and they discovered the cancer was back. The doctors believed that another round of chemo would make him sicker and more miserable than he already was, and only had about a 15% chance of working if he did decide to go that route. He decided to forgo the treatment, and was sent home and assigned to hospice care. It's a difficult thing to accept.
He and my Dad have been very close for as long as I can remember. He's always been a safe haven for me, and I know, for many of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I've literally never known life without him. He's changed my diapers, heard some of my first words, and actively listened to my childhood chatter as though it were vitally important. In my teen years, he was one of the few adults I trusted enough to confide in. I knew his love was a constant, I knew his arms were always open for me to run into anytime I needed. I knew he was a person who prayed for me daily, and I knew that no matter how mad he was at me from time to time, his love overshadowed whatever anger he had toward me. Now, as an adult, he has listened patiently to me talk about love, marriage, conflicts with my parents (we all have them, people!), discipline of children, conflicts with my husband (why, why, why, oh why is my family always on my husband's side? Could it be I'm that unreasonable? No...that can't be it! ), work, money, politics, and even my relationship with God. I'm losing one of my best friends. Truly. He's too young to be dying, but that is exactly what is happening.
I feel cheated, because I can't be there in his final days. If he isn't suffering (which he tells me he isn't), I hope he's able to hold on long enough to meet Andrew (our baby due next month), and hold him. It would mean so much. He's met and held and played with my other two boys. He so enjoyed them and the little mini vacation he had when we flew him out here, and he was a wonderful house guest. I'm so glad we were able to get him out here 3 years ago (it's been that long) when he was healthy and able to get around. We had so much fun...and he wore me out! A couple of days before he left, I took him to Waikiki, and we walked all over hell and creation. I had a charlie horse in the back of my leg the next day, and the old coot didn't complain of so much as a sore back! I'm glad I could create those memories so I could remember him the way he'd want to be remembered: happy, fun, active, passionately devoted to family, and full of life.
Saying goodbye (really, "see you later" since I know where he's going, and I strive every day to be deserving of going to the same place when my time comes) to him is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Getting sober was easier (staying sober, too!), because I know that if I work a program of honesty, continue to keep my side of the street clean, continue to seek God's face, & work with others, God will keep me sober. I can seek God's face all I want for my Uncle's healing (and I do believe in Divine Healing), but if it's his time to go, there is nothing I can do to change God's mind. Please pray for my family, my Uncle, and me, as we walk this journey together. The road is rough, but we know paradise lays ahead for our dear loved one, and we will meet again one day.
"Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies." John 11:25
Sometimes Letting Go is Harder Than Holding On
All I can say is WOW. Who knew seemingly harmless resentments (BTW, there is no such thing as a harmless resentment, I've discovered) from childhood could affect my marriage/family today? I certainly didn't.
As some of you know, my childhood wasn't easy. My parents did the best they could with what they had, and they loved me unconditionally. They instilled in me a love and devotion to God that I can only hope to pass on to my children. I never went without a meal, my shoes always fit, I always had clothes and a roof over my head. If I had questions, they got answered, if they didn't know the answer to a tough question (and it couldn't be looked up), we'd pray and ask God for the answer (granted, God doesn't have to explain everything to us, but I don't think He gets offended when we ask). They took (sometimes dragged) me (kicking & screaming, pouting & whining) to Church where we were very active members in regular attendance. We were always pretty poor, and I can remember the shame the three of us felt at being financially less fortunate, but, overall, considering what many people (even in this country) have to go through daily, life wasn't as hard as we thought it was. God, in His faithfulness, always provided.
All that being said, no parent is perfect and God knows, we've all made our mistakes (I know I have! Don't think I've done anything unfair to my kids today, but it's only half past 10 AM...the day is yet young). If I were a normal person, I would be able to let go of the resentments much more easily. But, alas, I am far from being normal (just ask my friends!) and I am so fond of my grudges. I hold on to them as though they are my electric blanket and I am standing in the middle of the Artic buck naked. The surge of anger is empowering. Somewhere deep down, I feel like if I stay angry, I can never be hurt in that way again. The fact is, I've held on to these things for so long that I've allowed them to affect present relationships.
I so despised the traditional gender roles in my household growing up (thinking they were unfair) that I very often dig in my heels and only clean house when I feel like it. Not when my husband asks me (very nicely, I might add) to, but only when it can no longer be avoided. My house isn't gross or unhealthy, but it isn't picked up or presentable, either. Anyway, I only recently came to this realization, and it's been the same fight for 6 years between my husband and I. He and I don't have the same set of roles in the household that my parents had when I was growing up, we are not the same people my parents are, and yet I bristle at the very idea of any man telling me what to do. I really want to get rid of these resentments and let go of the bitterness I'm so jealously guarding, but I'm struggling with my ability to give them up to God. I know this is the Holy Spirit working in me, telling me "it's time", I just don't know the next step to take from here. So, back to my knees I go. I get the best answers there, anyhow.
"For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6
As some of you know, my childhood wasn't easy. My parents did the best they could with what they had, and they loved me unconditionally. They instilled in me a love and devotion to God that I can only hope to pass on to my children. I never went without a meal, my shoes always fit, I always had clothes and a roof over my head. If I had questions, they got answered, if they didn't know the answer to a tough question (and it couldn't be looked up), we'd pray and ask God for the answer (granted, God doesn't have to explain everything to us, but I don't think He gets offended when we ask). They took (sometimes dragged) me (kicking & screaming, pouting & whining) to Church where we were very active members in regular attendance. We were always pretty poor, and I can remember the shame the three of us felt at being financially less fortunate, but, overall, considering what many people (even in this country) have to go through daily, life wasn't as hard as we thought it was. God, in His faithfulness, always provided.
All that being said, no parent is perfect and God knows, we've all made our mistakes (I know I have! Don't think I've done anything unfair to my kids today, but it's only half past 10 AM...the day is yet young). If I were a normal person, I would be able to let go of the resentments much more easily. But, alas, I am far from being normal (just ask my friends!) and I am so fond of my grudges. I hold on to them as though they are my electric blanket and I am standing in the middle of the Artic buck naked. The surge of anger is empowering. Somewhere deep down, I feel like if I stay angry, I can never be hurt in that way again. The fact is, I've held on to these things for so long that I've allowed them to affect present relationships.
I so despised the traditional gender roles in my household growing up (thinking they were unfair) that I very often dig in my heels and only clean house when I feel like it. Not when my husband asks me (very nicely, I might add) to, but only when it can no longer be avoided. My house isn't gross or unhealthy, but it isn't picked up or presentable, either. Anyway, I only recently came to this realization, and it's been the same fight for 6 years between my husband and I. He and I don't have the same set of roles in the household that my parents had when I was growing up, we are not the same people my parents are, and yet I bristle at the very idea of any man telling me what to do. I really want to get rid of these resentments and let go of the bitterness I'm so jealously guarding, but I'm struggling with my ability to give them up to God. I know this is the Holy Spirit working in me, telling me "it's time", I just don't know the next step to take from here. So, back to my knees I go. I get the best answers there, anyhow.
"For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Minivan Madness
First let me start off by saying I've always been a bit of an image obsessed rebel. As soon as I moved out of my parents house I started to get piercings (okay, piercING...I almost fainted after the navel, and every time I looked at it for a couple of weeks, so I decided maybe piercings weren't the best way for me to tick my parents off), cut my hair into a mohawk, died my hair an array of different colors, including maroon, purple, black, and green (though the last one was not on purpose), and dressed in predominantly black clothing (the black clothing thing lasted about a month before image obsession kicked into high gear and I HAD to buy something that was an actual color...pink.) Well, it's been quite some time since I've been 19/20 (let's not talk about how long it's been, shall we? It's a bit painful.), and, I am still an image obsessed rebel.
With the advent of our 3rd child (due next month), I had to let go of yet another way I rebel against the suburbanite housewife norm...I had to fully concede to myself and to another van-aphobic (my husband) that we were powerless over being prolific, and this had made our life (at least the transportation part of it) unmanageable. It was high time we got a minivan. I was loathe to even consider the very idea (told my dear husband when we were dating that if he ever wanted a divorce, to simply utter the word "minivan" when I was within earshot) for many years. With gas prices the way they are ($3.36 p/gallon here, people!) and the cost of maintaining, let alone buying an SUV with a 3rd row of seating, I had two choices...1)bankrupt our growing family with a $600 p/month car payment and a $300 p/month gasoline expense because I'm too cool to drive anything less than a tricked out SUV with a giant engine, OR 2)Suck it up and get a used minivan with a decent array of features and (hopefully) better gas mileage than the monstrous SUV's I prefer. So, the search began.
I am relentless once an idea has taken hold. I have never been able to let go of anything without teeth and claw marks (and quite possibly a little blood) on it. So, I searched craigslist for hours every day, trying to find the perfect vehicle for the perfect price, and then contemplating how I would negotiate the price to something so absurdly low that I would walk away from the dealership smiling, and the car salesman would curl up into the fetal position and suck his thumb when I left. 1st dealership I went to, they wanted 16K for a minivan that was admittedly, very nice, but I was not paying that for a 5 year old vehicle w/over 70K miles on it. I don't care if it had just about every feature known to man! I offered 13,500. No deal. 14k. Nope. Alright, so I left. If they could be that inflexible, so could I!
Next dealership I went to, they wanted 16 K for a 3 year old vehicle with 45K miles. Okay, I'll admit I'm cheap, but I offered 12,500, but, come on, it was a Hyundai! No deal. 13K. Nope. 13,500. Nope. 13,750. Nope. 14K. They were pretty positive they could "give" me the vehicle for that amount. So I had my husband take a look. He liked it. Didn't so much care for the price, but it was within the budget, so we were about to go forward when...the 2nd in command sales manager says his boss really wasn't happy with the 14K figure, and was it possible we could be more flexible. Uh, no. Bluebook for the thing is about 13,500 -15,500, so 14 was more than fair, considering it was the mid grade model. Oh wait! We have one we just listed for 12K! It's still decent, it has 66K miles, and it's the base model, same year, though. *Clairessa rolls her eyes, shakes her head, sighs* Okay, let's have a look. It looked great for 12K. Needed to be redetailed badly, but it was alright. I would have been okay with driving it. Until...my husband turned the key in the ignition. Oh. Dear. Lord. It was the sound of a thousand nuns running their fingernails down a chalkboard, it was what evil must sound like to those who know it's voice. I turned to my husband and just said, "No." and got out of the car. They sent someone out to take a look and see what the problem was, and they said it was the power steering. Call me ignorant, but why would power steering have anything to do with that noise since it started as soon as my husband had turned the dang key?? He wasn't steering.
Whatever. Went to another dealership. They had advertised an 04 minivan at a decent price, so, off we went. We get there, and the salesman tells us he can't find it on their lot. Um, what?? How do you lose a car???? Especially one which is obviously in your inventory because you were advertising it! We looked at a few cars, all ridiculously overpriced (but I've become a real cheapskate since becoming pregnant with a 3rd child), and left to look at another car down the street @ another dealership. I had been lusting after this vehicle for about a week, and was really excited because I knew as soon as my husband took a look and test drove it, I would be riding home in my tricked out minivan, better than any SUV. Well, it had sold just hours before we got there. I wanted to cry. By this time I was ready to just buy a triple stroller and walk everywhere. I had had it with cars, dealerships, and scheister car salesman (not all of them are scheisters, I'm just sayin', I had had my fill of them)!
I gave up the search for all of a day, and then I was off and running again. Like I said, it's really difficult to dislodge an idea from my skull once it's already in there. So, on my way to another dealership two days ago, I saw a newly opened dealership, whose company has a good reputation, and for good reason. In fact, my first car was made by them, and it's still going strong. I swung in their parking lot, told them the abbreviated version of my sob story (this is the unabridged version), and I only had to look at one vehicle to know that this was the one. We bought it that day.
I love it, love it, love it! I really wanted to hate it, because I don't want to admit to myself or anyone else that I'm old enough to drive a minivan, but...THIS THING ROCKS!!! It's a 2006 Dodge Grand Caravan SXT. 50K miles, power seats, am/fm/cassette/cd, triple climate control, dual power sliding doors, stow and go seating, 3 (count 'em...3) LATCH spots, cruise control, power steering, adjustable pedals (great for us short pregnant ladies with the watermelon gut who couldn't reach the pedals without mashing their bellies against the steering wheel, otherwise), digital compass, digital external thermometer, 2 auxillary power outlets, tons of storage...have I mentioned this thing is awesome?! Oh, and we got it for less than 16K!
God has a way of working things out, and I am really grateful for His timing. Now, if I could just get myself to get out of His way, so He could work these things out, I wouldn't have been so ridiculously stressed these last couple of weeks. I'm humbled by how He continues to bless me in spite of how I demonstrate a lack of Faith. Thank you, Jesus.
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28
With the advent of our 3rd child (due next month), I had to let go of yet another way I rebel against the suburbanite housewife norm...I had to fully concede to myself and to another van-aphobic (my husband) that we were powerless over being prolific, and this had made our life (at least the transportation part of it) unmanageable. It was high time we got a minivan. I was loathe to even consider the very idea (told my dear husband when we were dating that if he ever wanted a divorce, to simply utter the word "minivan" when I was within earshot) for many years. With gas prices the way they are ($3.36 p/gallon here, people!) and the cost of maintaining, let alone buying an SUV with a 3rd row of seating, I had two choices...1)bankrupt our growing family with a $600 p/month car payment and a $300 p/month gasoline expense because I'm too cool to drive anything less than a tricked out SUV with a giant engine, OR 2)Suck it up and get a used minivan with a decent array of features and (hopefully) better gas mileage than the monstrous SUV's I prefer. So, the search began.
I am relentless once an idea has taken hold. I have never been able to let go of anything without teeth and claw marks (and quite possibly a little blood) on it. So, I searched craigslist for hours every day, trying to find the perfect vehicle for the perfect price, and then contemplating how I would negotiate the price to something so absurdly low that I would walk away from the dealership smiling, and the car salesman would curl up into the fetal position and suck his thumb when I left. 1st dealership I went to, they wanted 16K for a minivan that was admittedly, very nice, but I was not paying that for a 5 year old vehicle w/over 70K miles on it. I don't care if it had just about every feature known to man! I offered 13,500. No deal. 14k. Nope. Alright, so I left. If they could be that inflexible, so could I!
Next dealership I went to, they wanted 16 K for a 3 year old vehicle with 45K miles. Okay, I'll admit I'm cheap, but I offered 12,500, but, come on, it was a Hyundai! No deal. 13K. Nope. 13,500. Nope. 13,750. Nope. 14K. They were pretty positive they could "give" me the vehicle for that amount. So I had my husband take a look. He liked it. Didn't so much care for the price, but it was within the budget, so we were about to go forward when...the 2nd in command sales manager says his boss really wasn't happy with the 14K figure, and was it possible we could be more flexible. Uh, no. Bluebook for the thing is about 13,500 -15,500, so 14 was more than fair, considering it was the mid grade model. Oh wait! We have one we just listed for 12K! It's still decent, it has 66K miles, and it's the base model, same year, though. *Clairessa rolls her eyes, shakes her head, sighs* Okay, let's have a look. It looked great for 12K. Needed to be redetailed badly, but it was alright. I would have been okay with driving it. Until...my husband turned the key in the ignition. Oh. Dear. Lord. It was the sound of a thousand nuns running their fingernails down a chalkboard, it was what evil must sound like to those who know it's voice. I turned to my husband and just said, "No." and got out of the car. They sent someone out to take a look and see what the problem was, and they said it was the power steering. Call me ignorant, but why would power steering have anything to do with that noise since it started as soon as my husband had turned the dang key?? He wasn't steering.
Whatever. Went to another dealership. They had advertised an 04 minivan at a decent price, so, off we went. We get there, and the salesman tells us he can't find it on their lot. Um, what?? How do you lose a car???? Especially one which is obviously in your inventory because you were advertising it! We looked at a few cars, all ridiculously overpriced (but I've become a real cheapskate since becoming pregnant with a 3rd child), and left to look at another car down the street @ another dealership. I had been lusting after this vehicle for about a week, and was really excited because I knew as soon as my husband took a look and test drove it, I would be riding home in my tricked out minivan, better than any SUV. Well, it had sold just hours before we got there. I wanted to cry. By this time I was ready to just buy a triple stroller and walk everywhere. I had had it with cars, dealerships, and scheister car salesman (not all of them are scheisters, I'm just sayin', I had had my fill of them)!
I gave up the search for all of a day, and then I was off and running again. Like I said, it's really difficult to dislodge an idea from my skull once it's already in there. So, on my way to another dealership two days ago, I saw a newly opened dealership, whose company has a good reputation, and for good reason. In fact, my first car was made by them, and it's still going strong. I swung in their parking lot, told them the abbreviated version of my sob story (this is the unabridged version), and I only had to look at one vehicle to know that this was the one. We bought it that day.
I love it, love it, love it! I really wanted to hate it, because I don't want to admit to myself or anyone else that I'm old enough to drive a minivan, but...THIS THING ROCKS!!! It's a 2006 Dodge Grand Caravan SXT. 50K miles, power seats, am/fm/cassette/cd, triple climate control, dual power sliding doors, stow and go seating, 3 (count 'em...3) LATCH spots, cruise control, power steering, adjustable pedals (great for us short pregnant ladies with the watermelon gut who couldn't reach the pedals without mashing their bellies against the steering wheel, otherwise), digital compass, digital external thermometer, 2 auxillary power outlets, tons of storage...have I mentioned this thing is awesome?! Oh, and we got it for less than 16K!
God has a way of working things out, and I am really grateful for His timing. Now, if I could just get myself to get out of His way, so He could work these things out, I wouldn't have been so ridiculously stressed these last couple of weeks. I'm humbled by how He continues to bless me in spite of how I demonstrate a lack of Faith. Thank you, Jesus.
"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28
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