Since our family has grown, we are no longer 4 Big Heads, but thanks to little Esther's big head, we have grown to five. So, please relocate our adventures to FBH (five big heads) at http://5bigheads.blogspot.com/.
Hope to see you there!
What is the deal? I went to bed late and exhausted from a day of kid, kid, kid, work, kid, kid, kid. Why am I awake at 4am with no hopes of getting back to sleep? I have no idea, so I start to pray. I can't even keep my mind still long enough to form a thought to pray. Then I start to pray that my mind will be still. Then I forget that, apologize to the Big Guy for my inability to stay in the moment and hop out of bed for some water. Apparently ice water doesn't soothe ones innards to go night-night. In fact, now I am wondering how I will survive this Wide Eyed Wednesday on little to no sleep. Not ONE of my children, dogs, or husbands are awake (I know I typed husbands in the plural...it is the compound and always keep 'em guessin'). So, I write....I order a pair of shoes (insomniacs must be broke), I work, I read my email, I try to solve world peace and created a new business idea. What's next? Coffee I say...lots and lots of coffee and possibly a round of sweat on the treadmill...if I don't collapse in pure exhaustion on my walk back to my room. Crud-I just heard a noise....big house, big noise....dodododo (insert creepy movie soundtrack here). In case noise comes after me, I love you all and I better click the publish button so my last bit of craziness can change the world in print form. Oh Happy Day!
I realize today is election day and everyone is wrapped up with their moral and ethical voting duty and now glued to cnn, fox, or comedy central for the latest update. I am in my too small "Advocate Mom" shirt with my lovehandles hanging out and my paris ooh laa laa jammy bottoms with open bags of Captain Crunch cereal and Nestle Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips...enough said. All week my girls asked me who I was going to vote for, all week I told them I don't know and then when I grabbed my last registration notice I realized that I forgot to update my address. CRAP!!! I called the office, they said it would be a provisional vote and may or may not be counted. Where are my brain cells, did the 6 month old take them all or will anything of value be found when the fog clears? POSSIBLY THE BIGGEST ELECTION OF THE CENTURY AND MY VOTE MIGHT NOT COUNT?? Whatever....
So then since I am tired of watching the election that I may not have a voice in anyway, I say to my cold suffering hubby-let's see whats on the DVR. We do...it's Grey's Anatomy from last week and the opening scene is the lesbian wannabe drs and one of them is describing how she is so gay. Then, my 7 year old walks in the room and I have NO idea how long she's been there. What in the world? I remember the worst thing we couldn't watch on tv as kids was Married with Children and now Peg Bundy is playing the "old lady" of a biker bad boy leader in Sons of Anarchy. What is going to be on tv when my kids are thirtysomething? As if the lesbian gone bad scene wasn't enough, then pigs got stabbed, and a 10 yr olds organs got laid out and frozen. I paused it to grab the snacks (Wilbur getting stabbed was more than I could handle without chocolate) and haven't seen the end, but why can't I look away? I went to a state university...I'm not naive to the whole "experimenting" of college (not that I tried it), but I just don't know why the writers had to take it there. I am not surprised, I'm a little disgusted and I know I don't have to watch, but McDreamy and McSteamy draw me in weekly. It sucks to be middle aged and have a favorite show turn too naughty and then you have to bore others by ranting about it....I hope Wilbur lives....
I am an aunt! My sister had her first baby-a girl-Kiah Mary on our mom's birthday, October 30th. Everyone is healthy and good. I spoke to my sister yesterday and gave her permission to have her call me Aunt Susie. I am so not a Susie, but I grew up with everyone in my family calling me that....don't call me that unless we exchange blood. The Susie part comes with several memories for me, how my dad used to sing wake up little Susie every morning....the 3rd grade boy who treacherously called me Susie Sponge (it was the 80's people). Susie to me connotates an easy going, chunky kid who just wanted to get along with everyone. I still want to get along, but I will pass on the chunky. I think when you're an auntie, you get to be the fun playful interim parent....so Susie would be appropriate I guess. Meet me....Aunt Susie and welcome baby Kiah to our crazy world of dysfunctional survival where giggles abound-we are glad you are here!
We are in a post-candy haze and thoroughly enjoyed our bundle of trick-or-treaters that journeyed up our darkened walkway. Thanks to my husbands genius, full size candy bars were given to middle schoolers and older and I do believe the word will get out next year and we may have to double up on the King Size stash. My waistline is in a love/hate relationship with the big bowl of leftovers and I am trying to use it as my own personal reward system, but have resorted to diving in without the earning part of it (don't judge me...).
So, as we recover and get ready for our week of much anticipated celebration (James' birthday and Esther's finalization), I have been "haunted" (excuse the pun) by several things, but this morning especially is one of being invisible. There has been an email going around called the Invisible Mother (or something like that) and I could relate, but being that I am a mom of high functioning autism, I tend to explain what I am doing for all my kids, as I'm doing it. Not to get the credit that may be deserved, but to explain the step by step logic of the social situations, chores, communications with teachers and coaches, etc. For that reason I don't always feel like an invisible mom. What I did have hit me over the head this morning is that I have somehow become a ghost of my former self. I am not what I thought I was going to be. I thought I was going to be a dr....I don't do needles. I thought I was never going to be married....I'm 15 years in. I thought Utah would be the LAST place on earth I would ever live....2 years in. I thought I would have my parents walking in relationship with me through my adult life.....not the case. I thought I was a handful.....I am.
That last one is the one that's getting me on this rainy Sunday morning, as my family walks out to go to church without me and the baby....I'm a handful.
I have met "handful" people several times in my life and it has been disguised in different forms of talks too much, doesn't follow social cues, borders on stalking, doesn't listen, angry, bitter...you get the drift.
I have been angry, I have been bitter, I may talk too much and not be the best listener, but I didn't think I truly bought into the concept of me being a handful until I was wiping stinging tears from my eyes on the toilet this morning and thinking I am a handful.
I think satan lies. I know that's an obvious statement, but I truly think he pushes and pushes until we, as believers, buy into his lie. I have bought in. Not only have I bought in, but I banked the house, my marriage, my relationships....me on this lie. It's one I have heard my whole life..."Good luck with that one-she's a handful" was the response of someone close to me to my new fiance. I played and continue to play the role of handful because that's what I know. That's how I was labeled (along with a lot of other things I'm sure), but what if that's not ok anymore? How does one break a pattern of buying into a lie that prevents them from embracing the happiness in front of them? How does one give up the expectations that a "handful" person holds over those around them? Why are there so many times that I can't see myself as God sees me and only feed on the unwarranted feelings that plague me?
I realize the gift that being a "handful" brings as well. It means when a school district tries to withhold services from your child, you make sure the district superinterdent and all those below know that you know your childs rights and you won't be rolling over....you are an advocate. It means that when you see a kid that you don't know hitting another child on pick up from school that you pull your car over, roll down your window, tell them to knock it off, and get their mom's phone number...waiting there until the mom can come pick up the offender.....you defend the helpless. It means when you order your steak well done and it comes back mooing, you send it back....even though you know you're risking retaliation from the cook....you are fair and want what you ordered and paid for. It means throwing all social correctness to the wind in choosing to become a transracial family because it's not only the right thing to do, but it became the only ONLY thing to do....I love...I am an advocate.
A flamboyant chunky red head that likes to make people smile should not be seeing herself as invisible. The confidence displayed in an advocacy situation needs to be applied within...instead I'm crumbling and unsure of my decisions and walking around hurt and angry at a time when my soul should be rejoicing for the week ahead. I instead go to bed with a headache pounding the needs of those around me and wake up with a stomach ache knowing I have to face it all again. Alone in my role of handful, I blame those closest for their lack of esp and begin to resent their presence and ignorance of the burdens I carry. Let the pity party begin...do you hear violins? Don't cry for me Utah begins to play as I look at myself in the mirror I see not a powerful Godly woman, but a broken, lonely, too busy, too distracted, complaining, misunderstood shadow of the person I want to be. "I'm done" does not even begin to describe the doneness I am with that person in the mirror. I have somehow lost myself in the shuffle to soccer practices and have excuses a mile long as to why I can't find me.
The challenge comes in the one word I hate the most....balance. How to bring out the best qualities of a "handful" without resonating in the nastiness of the unworthy lies that satan whispers to me as my head bounces on the toilet paper roll in a fit of frustration and insight that brings me to my knees. All I heard is he was right, you are a handful...you are a burden....you cause chaos...they would be better off without you. Enter string quartet....
As much as that is true in a lot of things, I have to let go of the label. It has me bound up and isn't that where satan wants me? Bound up....ineffective....invisible.....
A simple Halloween weekend where the biggest trick will be me navigating my way through this.......my treat I'm hoping will be more fulfilling relationships with those I love.
Happy Halloween!
I really don't have much to say, but am tired of seeing Code Orange everytime my blog comes up.
Remember after 911 and still sometimes today at the airport we have the colors indicating the level of terror threat? When those began to pop up everywhere, my reaction was...duh!!! I grew up in smog central Riverside County California where color codes were an every day news occurance in letting us know if we could safely step outside for a brisk walk or if an oxygen tank was recommended. Since we lived in a one step in the grave retirement community, it was usually the latter. Speaking of one step in the grave, does anyone else think it's inappropriate for 2nd graders to be making R.I.P. tombstones with made up peoples names and info on them????? I almost yanked my kids into home school today.....then I came to my senses....due to code orange.
Someone asked how I was today. I have this bad habit of saying one thing...the right thing....the thing I think people want me to say.....the thing that will allow me to continue going to bible study at my church and not get my children completely ostracized in this community, while all the while having a COMPLETELY different reaction/answer/conversation going on in my head. Kind of like that Zack guy on the tv show Scrubs, but without the big hair (because I'm going bald). It really is sad when a guy has nicer hair than you. So, back to the innocent question of how I was today. I said fine, I asked how that person was, I tried to concentrate, but as I was bending over to get the baby's barf catcher out of the diaper bag in the bottom of the stroller, I felt this twinge. We all know it....I was a human wine bottle and my cork was slowly slipping out. You get the drift. As if I needed this, I have a baby, she poops a lot, she throws up a lot, she talks a lot during group meetings....I adore her and wish I could be as open with my bodily functions and chatter. So as I was politely trying to listen to how this other person was, I was SCREAMING in my mind-CODE ORANGE! CODE ORANGE! Terror (AKA Tampax) levels high....leakage imminent. And that my friends is why I always say pad up. Especially during tp season...pad up. BTW-how did our fine friends at Tampax decide what color to label the levels of absorption? Always is always green no matter if the wings look like a Boeing 500...always green....no discrimination. Not Tampax though, they got crafty....I personally think it was a man because if a woman would have done it they would all be in the one color that takes off the 10 pounds of bloating....black. Tampax black...period.
This is the view this morning at 7am as I stumbled to let the dogs in. The first snow of the season. It seems that the Utah way is to skip a season in between. For example, last week we were almost 90, today's high will be 38 (if we're lucky). Sore throats be darned, winter is here. We had to scramble yesterday to even find long sleeve shirts and some semblance of a coat. BUT it is beautiful and the kids screamed in the yard of the compound as they ran out in their pj's (don't judge) and the 100 pound lab was trying to eat it all. He may have an eating disorder (again, don't judge). So, when I finally got the courage to open the sliding glass door to the arctic wind to let the dogs in, we had a problem. The 7 pound Maltipom was having waaay too much fun....or so I thought. She wouldn't come to me and as she ran to the wrong porch steps, into the concrete, to my horror I realized she couldn't see! She has CLUMPS of snow stuck to her fur that made for an unsightly blinder! The poor baby was BLIND! By the way, her hearing must not be too great either because it took her a long time to get her bearings and follow my voice. I now know how little dogs don't survive in the wilderness....frosty the snowballs disorient them as they keep trying to scrape the clumps off, more gather. Not the smartest Maltese in the Pom....but we don't judge and a good warm bath did just the trick. She may be scarred for life and we may need to pull her hair in a pony tail before her next trek. Aaaah, the joys of snow....
So, the test results came back negative-THANK GOD! When the relief set in, I then became obsessed with then why am I still dizzy. Is it possible it's something more?
In the 90's they had this show, Herman's Head. I LOVED that show. I LOVED the fact that they divided this guys head into different people talking, reacting...living. That is how, on most days, I am....divided reactions, wanting to be doing one thing when I'm doing something else, feeling high, feeling low...talking to myself, etc. No, I'm not crazy (although I do think that is in the eye of the beholder or your spouse), but I do have moments where I think that a weeks stay in a padded room with no cell phones or kids asking where their soccer socks are and why I didn't pack their sweatshirt (am I the only one who can find outerwear?) would be of great value to me.
So, part of my head, like most of us, is filled with resonating thoughts and images of our parents. That part of mine is a little jacked up, but when the newly turned 7 year old called my mom to thank her for her bday gift, I was quick to grab the phone and relay my woes. Her response was poignant to me. She asked if I was stressed...I scoffed at that. I told her we had the 2nd and final post placement interview with the social worker, I told her I'm doing my best to juggle my job with the demands of a growing family, I told her the renters were moving into our daybreak home and how are we ever going to manage this new mortgage? I laid it all out there and what she said to me was this. She asked me to think back to the first few months when the older girls came home from the hospital. She asked me to remember how that felt for me, what kind of stressors, what kind of "not enough"ness was brought out. Then she said this is part of your process with E. It's a little delayed and coming in bits and pieces, but when it comes, it comes. She reminded me of my worth. She reminded me that I am teaching these girls to love themselves and to know what that looks like (even though I am at times petrified as to what they are seeing from me).
I feel like my body has betrayed my emotions. Emotions can be hidden, for a time, and I guess mine was done hiding. I am not feeling much better, but I am at least grateful that she helped me identify that this is, in fact, part of my process and it's up to me to find ways to change it if I don't like it.....to that, I say, Chunky Monkey Yoga anyone?
Do I dare....? Chubby chicks in spandex...the image continues....although I could go fully clothed in a snowsuit so they wouldn't know if that bulge was me or the suit. Snowsuit Yoga...sweatin' to the chakras. Namaste.
So, I've missed bible study, mops, and life in general these past couple days due to an overwhelming bout of dizziness and disorientedness. No bueno. That was in the middle of a stomach flufest and Aunt Flo decided to join the party. There were no hats and blowers, just a messy redhead. Apparently it takes almost crashing the car to say "yes please" to the next available appointment at the drs. So, we had a chat. Wasn't a fantastic chat and blood was drawn....not his. Tonight as I'm typing this, I feel old. The gratitude I was feeling in my last post has dissipated in an anxiety ridden haze of "what if". I feel like my efforts to take care of myself the past 2 and a half years may have been futile. Darn the gene pool.....I am hating those with no allergies, those without back problems, those that are naturally thin. I am, in this moment, a hater. It's not personal, if you are one of those, it's my own struggle, my own road to walk, whatever it may or may not be. I just typed the words, isn't God good...all the time in my other blog and I am now choosing to say yes, no matter what phone call I get tomorrow, yes. My hope has to be in Him, not in this mole ridden face of mine or in my hubby's goatteed jaw or in the know it all doc. My hope has to be in what I know is true....God is good, all the time. My reaction(s) to my circumstance is just that...my emotion, my reaction. He doesn't change, I do.
Ok-so those things are so easy to type and that's what I really want to believe, act, and be. Truth is I'm scared, I'm trying not to worry, and I'm at least grateful I've made an effort to prevent some health things from happening, but it may not have been enough....that's my fear....that I'm not enough, what I do isn't enough, I am not enough. How do I get over this...the I'm not enoughness? Especially when I live in a culture that it seems women wear silent veils that resonate this theme. I don't want to be like that. I want to trust that all will be ok, I don't want to go from happy to panic in 3 seconds flat. I guess it's a choice. It's maturity in my relationship with Christ, but I want to be real and voice my vulnerabilities in the hopes that it will allow others to do the same, but also because it will eat me alive if I keep it in. I realize this is somewhat of a ramble blog. Let's face it...ramble blogs happen. I feel better, you may be confused, but the authentic jaggedness of my thoughts, feelings, and emotions have always been consistent in their inconsistencies. So, as I try to remember where I left my pillow, I pray that my reactions will not require a tranquilizer and will update when I get the test results back.
This blogging thing truly is cheaper than a therapist....with less feedback and prescription meds. Whoever thought of this thing should be making millions.
How many times has that question been asked of us and what is the first thing we do? We chuckle, we smirk, we giggle, we outright get the loudest laugh we can out so that we can be composed enough to handle whatever's coming our way. I wish this was being asked of me last night, but nooooo......I was the one asking. When you are the asker, you are humbled, you are embarassed, you are sometimes laughing hysterically yourself. I was definitely the asker and I was hoping that in my confiding my accidental stupidity I would get some help with the cleanup....I was wrong. I am actually having to hold myself back from saying EXACTLY what happened, but these things were combined.....a toilet, fresh urine, and a pair of scissors (the little ones from the grooming kit). Enough said. So, as I was warm water diving to retrieve those little boogers, I thought to myself-how old am I? How did this happen? Could I flush them and not get caught? After the retrieval, I used half a bottle of bath and body Pumpkin Cinnamon creme soap to try and alleviate my overactive germfest brain and somehow figure out how to clean them. So, this morning as I re-live the experience in this blog, I can now say for sure that it is MUCH better to be asked this question than to be the one asking it.
Promise not to laugh? But of course......
This is my $1.50 Wal-Mart clearance special that seems to be a must have for a tile ridden home. As I put them on this morning to race around sterilizing and making bottles, feeding the older girls breakfast, switching a load of forgotten-soon to be molding towels (don't judge me), and sipping at a too hot for a McDonald's styrofoam cup of coffee, I think of others who have adorned "house shoes" before me. My first memory of them was when I was a little girl and my Great Grandma Chapman (who died at 90something, she always lied about her age so I'm really not sure how old she was-and had 1 hair left on her wig ridden head-oh if I could be so lucky) was in the tile kitchen cooking up bacon for my pipe toting great-grandpa and all 5 of us in the Cade clan. It was a small kitchen and her feet were so tiny in those house shoes, I could see her bunions (of which she would pay us kids a nickel if we would rub them, that was obviously how I developed my issue with germs). I remember her toothless grin before she put her teeth in, yes she was bald and toothless....my future looks so very bright.....and said "Good Morning Susie, do you want some bacon and eggs this morning?" You know I did....especially before I had to rub those toes...a nickel went a long way in the late 70's!
My other fond experience with the concept of house shoes is my girlfriend Annie. She also had a tile ridden home and I could never figure out why she would be wearing these funky slipperish things all day and not have her feet hurt. She wore them when she hosted bunco, she wore them when she hosted our "wannabe weight watchers meetings", she slipped out of them when I kidnapped her for a Denny's night in the middle of her last minute packing the night before she was to leave on a major vacation. Her house shoes accompanied her in all her many chores and I especially remember my surprise as she took her huge garbage bag out in them (mine is left for my burly hubby to take care of, but she did her own).
So, these simple, cheapo shoes that I never knew I needed have now become my reminder of a couple extraordinary women I've had the pleasure of spending time with and now I have my own. There's pressure to perform in them. There are legacies to be left behind in them (as I tripped over them in my soon to be 7 year olds room this morning). I hope I can live up to my own expectations of what a house shoe adorning woman should be. A simple pair of slippers...or are they?
Today is Thursday, but it feels like a Monday. Today is the first day that I have been left alone (with Esther) after a summer of company from the tonsil healing older girls, visit from my mom, and having James home to help with moving prep. Today I braved the drive to the 20 minute drop off line at the older girls new Charter school....by myself....without having a morning cup of coffee. I made it, they made it, and as I saw them pulling at their knee socks and yelling back at me, Don't worry, I have my lunchpail! I sighed a sigh of gratitude that they had their lunch, but more than that a sigh of wow- I can do this, of wow-another school year in full swing, of wow-they look so grown up in their uniforms!
As I opened the door to come into our house of ready to move boxes, I am grateful for the time I had with them this summer, the cancelled vacation that forced us to get creative and play Twister in the middle of the living room floor, the fighting, the giggles, the loss of two front teeth. Summer is leaving, we can feel the weather changing, and so my spirit is changing with it. I have had a sense of loss this week, of saying goodbye to a home we have enjoyed, of saying goodbye to first and second graders and newborn clothes and hello to second and third graders and 3 to 6 months outfits. Could everyone please freeze and stop growing? The fluidity of life weighs on me like an anchor at sea and yet the waves propel me to continue, to show up and be the best I can be in the moment and to embrace the next season with joy.
Today is Labor Day. Truly, this past week, every day has been labor day as we have busily tried to pack up the current house and get the girls rooms painted, carpeted, and wipe down the year of dust and dead spiders in our repo beauty. My husband is a work horse. No job, including contact paper, is too miniscule or beneath him to attack like a new program on the computer. He does it and does it well. So, when I called him from the first of many trips to Home Depot this weekend to find out what else we needed, I hear him say Hold on a sec and I heard the phone drop...that was it. He never called me back, a good solid 15 minutes went by before my stalking him with incessant phone ringing prompted him to pick up and tell me what was going on. Unbeknownest to me, he was passed out on the floor that entire time! I digress. Apparently, in his quest to multitask as he began to steam clean the carpets he had turned on the tub to fill it so he could clean it out. That was an hour and a half before my phone call. The reason he was on the floor is because he slipped on wet tile. The wet tile that was a whole master bedroom away from the tub. WE WERE FLOODED!!!!! We have not even moved into the compound as of yet and we were already experiencing the sogginess of flooding. It was everywhere! When he picked up the phone for me, in between children hiding in the electrical aisle (I hate Home Depot) and laughing hysterically when I can't find them, he asked me to buy a small wet/dry vac, that the steam cleaner couldn't pull it all up. So, I do. I come home to admire the flood and an hour later we both realize that this is beyond us. We called the Utah Disaster Kleenup (AKA UDK). The UDK is running some kind of racket, similar to the mob, where when people are in dire need, they rake them over the coals until their pockets are empty and they have given them their first born. Thank goodness we beg, borrowed, and pleaded for a homeowners insurance policy which MIGHT cover the damage (of not one room, but two-but whose counting?) and that is where the thousand dollar deductible comes to play. My poor husband who had nothing but FANTASTIC intentions felt terrible and I was at a crux in fighting my how could this happen reaction. I looked at him and I said, first-I'm glad it wasn't me or the kids. Second, I might need to go work at Starbucks. Third, anything I do from here on out that costs us cash, will not be held against me. I told him I was trying hard to practice thousand dollar grace, that it could have happened to anyone, but last night when he accidentally dumped his ice water on his crotch, I laughed til I almost peed and told him it looked like another flood hit him. The water jokes are endless, but thankfully, so is the grace (and the 10 turbine fans that are currently blowing the carpets dry:)). So, we will not be having a welcome to our compound party until the "towels have been left in the washer for a week" smell has dissipated. Thousand dollar grace....the gift that keeps on giving.
As I read my other bloggers reports, it seems as if half of them are either leaving Utah, looking to leave Utah, left Utah, or going through something bigger than them while in Utah. Utah has this weird boomerang effect feeling that does not allow you to be here unaffected. So, last week my girlfriend (who gets to live where its warm) sent me a magnet with that great phrase, Stressed backwards spells Desserts. It arrived just in time to spend a week on the fridge mocking me as I spooned fat free cool whip into a Pampered Chef 1 cup measuring bowl, mixed with chocolate chips, and sometimes a dab of you guessed it, Hershey's syrup. I'm not proud of this concoction, but it does save me the calories of eating ice cream, and seems to do the trick. Stressed does not begin to describe what has been going on in the Nelson house. After a summer of tonsils and house looking, we kept asking God to pave the way for a home that would give us a little more space and a yard, and less of a drive for James to get through another winter of commuting. We put in a handful of offers on several newer homes and the door kept getting closed. Each time it closed, I thought great we're done and then shapow-I'd see another home that looked fun to go check out and I'd call our wonderful realtor to trek down from Layton to come let us in to another fun filled day of frozen coffees, poopy diapers, and whining kiddos in the 100 degree weather complaining that they didn't want to go into another house. We love our home here in Daybreak. We are so very blessed to have had great friends help us with our basement, guide us in our decisions on what colors, how to design it, etc. It's new. The house that God chose to not shut the door on, is not. It's completely not what I expected us to go for, it's not anything like what we have now, in fact, it is a beautiful mess. If my insides were drawn into a house plan, that would be this. We know it doesn't make sense, but we are drawn. We are scared to rent out our current home, but thank you to all who have prayed with us, we have renters! So, with all the anxiety that comes with taking a financial risk, change of environments, school, etc. we are official owners of what I have affectionately nicknamed as "The Compound" and will be moving Sept. 6th to Draper. This home will be a work in progress for the next 30 years, but we are grateful for the space and the shorter drive for James. I will post pictures soon, but if you see me at Harmon's reaching for the fat free Cool Whip, don't judge.....I'm stressed and it's dessert!
Ever since arriving to Utah, I'm not gonna lie, I've been looking for a way out. I'm cold in the winter, too hot in the summer, there's no beach, etc. When God paved the way to bring Esther and our family together, I thought this is why we came to Utah. Of course we came because we thought we were done with California and were looking for better job opportunities for James, those are all the "second things", but I wanted to find the spiritual meat, the true reasoning for plopping us in a place where so often I feel like a visitor in an episode of the Twilight Zone. So, again, after Esther (A.E.) I thought thank you God now get us out of here. The thing is, my husband, he loves his job (a job is a job, but he has a great one) and he grew up in this culture and is able to relate to his peers in a way that I can't. Could it be possible that God is not done with us here? I have been chewing on that since March. God has shut the door on any other job opportunities, He has opened our hearts to have relationships with people that I would never have been available for before, in hindsight in our 2 years here, He has provided exactly what we need. So now what? What is the crossroads? The crossroad hinges on what to do with however long we have here. Where to invest our time, our energies, where does He want our focus. That's a hard thing to answer when I feel like our selfish desires and all too true sounding self justifications are competing for the truth. I want to want what God wants for us here....I think. If I am being truthful, I want to run and hide first, be done with the harsh reality of where we've landed, and then kind of embrace His plan. So, in dealing with this I've been reading the PAPA Prayer by Larry Crabb and am coming to realize that my wants will come in line with His wants when I am relating to God first and not considering all the "seconds" above my relationship with Him. I can say that, but I'm having a hard time laying it all down. Surrender seems to be the straw that is breaking this camel's back. Surrendering the seconds, the job, the house, the relationships with friends that are now broken, what church we do or don't attend, what school my kids go to, finalizing an adoption....lay it down, right next to the hershey's. Lay it down and move forward to the firsts that He has waiting, the eternal firsts. Lay it down.
When the 6 and 8 year old were toddlers and James had a 3 hour commute in his black Geo Metro (he's 6 foot 4-enjoy the visual), I remember the sinking feeling I would get in my tummy as he would kiss my sleepy head at 5am and turn to wave goodbye from our bedroom door. Three hours on the 15 or the 91 California freeways is not considered the safest trek. Now we are down to a 45-60 minute commute to Provo and I haven't had that sinking feeling in a VERY long time...until this morning. I don't know if it's a feeling of being left behind with kids and laundry piles, knowing that he is off to a busy day of problems, meetings, and lunches. He loves his job, I struggle with all of mine. I don't know if it's that combined with unmentionable fears of my high school sweetheart waving goodbye as he innocently hums a ditty about how people love his yellow jeep (he's a morning person) as I am frantically trying to catch the spit up before it rolls down my back. I guess it's both of these things and just the uncertainty of how do I do this every day? How do I entertain 3 kids, get things done in the home, referee the fighting over Marble Run? Left behind, waving goodbye....doing the best I can with the resources I have to be the best mom and wife I can be and trying not to fill this hole with anything less than what is true. I'm a good mom, some days I'm fantastic. Just because my paycheck may come in crumbs off the table (if only I was paid a dollar for every one-now who would make more?) that doesn't define my worth. My worth is found in the important things, in the bowls of oatmeal, in the diaper changes, in the tickle times. In the aw mom, why do we have to read, it's summer? I'm the bad guy today hoping that the investment brings little rewards along the way to a huge payday when I see 3 young women who are happy with who God made them to be and can have the security of knowing they had a mom who invested, a mom who loved, and a mom who cared enough to enforce the important things. Today the husband is waving goodbye, tomorrow it will be one or all of them and for today I choose to be present, to find joy in our days together, and have the courage to smile and whisper I love you when it is time to wave back.
Nothing to say, Everything to say. I have been somewhat dormant on my posts for a while. I seem to be stuck in this nothing vs. everything paradox that has me swirling like toilet water flushing. I don't want to go down the drain and say everything that is going on in my head, but if I say nothing my insides will begin to rot like the underside lid of a Texaco mens room.
Where is the balance? Where is the Glade foo-foo spray?
Do I only feel good, choosing joy when things are going in my favor? Truthfully, yes. When I want to lie to myself and others, no.
I found myself typing my husband an email the other day. I was in bed. It was 2 in the afternoon.
Within the hormonal pmsing onslaught of fears, expectations, more fears, etc. I found myself typing, "I was not meant for this life. I was meant to be something spectacular." Wow. Read that again. Have you been there?
Today as I was cleaning off my desk for the 900th time looking for that 1 post-it I still couldn't find, I found a half read copy of my favorite magazine, Relevant. I needed to recycle it so I could move along (I am a self proclaimed, recovering pack rat), but something told me to flip through it. I listened. Within it I found an article by a pastor whose close friend had died and she apparently had a zest for life unknown by most. His whole point to the article and a point well taken, was that God intends to give us life in the full, life abundant (John 10:10) and that this woman embraced that life and lived it to the fullest. Those words...full, abundant, they don't affect me, they are ho-hum in my warm and fuzzy vocab category. But he went on. He continued by saying that word abundant what it truly means is extraordinary, overflowing, unusual.....something unexpected maybe? Those are words that get me going, get my blood pumping. They define our adoption experience, our autism journey, our life in Utah, our marriage of almost 15 years (to the same person:)). God wants me, He wants us to be spectacular, which is why when I am not living my most abundant life where He has placed me, I get bitter, I write long emails from my comforter to my spouse, I eat chocolate syrup from the can (I know I can't be the only one). So, how do I choose joy, in the emptiness of this life? I think about this question: What do I want people to say about me when it's all said and done? Then act. I get busy, I make it happen. I love. I giggle. I cry. I write. Ho-hum is not what is in His design. I am spectacular. You are spectacular. Get out of bed. Put down the Hershey's. Be abundant.
Well, we are one week into this whole recovery from tonsil surgery thing and as I pinch myself to make sure I'm still a viable human, I can hear the 88th episode of Spongebob blaring in the basement. When the girls were little and all their little playmates in California would watch Spongebob, I was adamant-absolutely not! NO Spongebob anything, not even gifts (similar to my current claim on Bratz dolls and Hannah Montana, although they sometimes watch her show now, but I won't buy her products-little girls hardly have a chance to be little and enjoy being girls, let alone dressing them as young women...I digress and I'm not judging anyone who enjoys these things for their kids, this is just our perspective...again, digression). Back to Spongebob. So, as I'm sweating off my gluten free, high sodium dinner of last night, I begin to pay attention to this Spongebob phenomena and I heard the word Stupid at least 5 times and there was some pirate ghost thing that kept turning into other creatures, it looked like a horror cartoon, no wonder I outlawed back in the day. I asked the 8 year old if she thought it was scary and she hoarsely replied I've seen it before mom. Well, that didn't answer my question, but since words and swallowing are scarce I left it at that and refilled the Gatorade fridge. So, as they are apparently reveling in the face of unlimited cartoons, popsicles, and electrolytes in their hydrocodone haze, I think about how far we've come. No longer toddlers, but Spongebob watchers I have. Not that I'm convinced as to its value, but sometimes tonsillectomy survival comes in the shape of a square.....
I thought I was going to be able to dictate the happenings of the T-cubed recovery, but exhaustion is a fickle beast. We laughed this morning when we looked at the newborn and she was the only one who looked rested, laughing at her left fist, as the rest of us are trying to unpeel our eyelids from many nights of interrupted sleep.
I would first like to ask a question of all people addicted to Hydrocodone which have caused an unusually time consuming epidemic of drivers license info taking down, questioning eyebrow lifts from the pharmacist upon refilling, and we are now to the point where we are changing places we are refilling to help decrease the potential accusation factor. What are you people thinking? The silly drug doesn't even make my kids sleep. It does however cause a crazed look in their eyes and ferocious appetites-something I can relate to monthly.
Yesterday was the worst it has been on the recovery side of things. Chloe awoke throwing up blood, Rory cried and ate nothing but 2 bites of mashed potatoes, and I began to feel the walls closing in on me. Like a chicken in a coop, a lioness in her cage at the zoo, the feeling of if one more person whines, cries, says mom, asks for a popsicle, or lets the puppy out of her pen to poop on the floor I may lose it.
So, at 2pm, I filled their ice collars, tied them on, got some bottled waters, put a new movie on in the car, packed the diaper bag, and we drove. I don't even remember where we drove, but our gas tank says we went somewhere. We looked like an on the road circus show and I was the emcee. The whining still continued-for a bit. Then all of a sudden Esther started crying and I looked and Chloe had FINALLY gone to sleep, but landed on her little foot. Both girls slept, they slept like they'd never slept before. Forget the Hydrocodone, the car does a better job than the drug of choice. Today, they seem a little more like themselves, but hazy...again, a look I can relate to.
Day 5-Don't remember the last time they brushed their teeth, am grateful I remembered mine. They have showered and are in clean clothes, I have not and am not. The cartoons have become boring, the video games are causing WWF in the living room, and we are officially out of the Orange gatorade. Nine more days of this? Lord help me!
Yesterday, after we blazed through our first post placement visit with the social worker, we piled into the car to the Southtowne Surgical Center in Sandy to meet Dr. Peterson and the wonderful staff awaiting to poke, slice, and prod our baby girls to remove their tonsils. The day before I was on the phone with the nurse telling her I didn't think the 6 year old should have them taken out, that now she was exhibiting cold/allergy symptoms and that the risk seemed too great. Frankly, I was scared. The 8 year old has had strep 9 times in the last year. She's been on antibiotics an average of every 6 to 8 weeks. That is not a good thing for a growing girl. I was resigned to her having them pulled. The 6 year old, on the other hand, had 2 cases confirmed and 1 over the phone-your sister has it, you have symptoms and your in Oregon-call in case. She was the one that when the dr looked at her, said it's up to you, I recommend it, but it's really up to you. Both of them were up to me. How do you say yes please, please risk their little brains and bodies under anesthesia and put me into a state of emotional turmoil at the thoughts of all the risks that this "routine" surgery has to offer. Yes please, but wait, don't let me sign up once, let me risk BOTH of my children. Are they on crack? Am I on crack? Let me tell you, by the end of yesterday, I was wishing for the crack. Not necessarilly the drug, but maybe a big one in the earth that I could politely Lipton Ice Tea plunge into and disappear for the next little while. No crack of either kind came. What did come was an unexpectedly calm 6 year old who held the anesthesiologists hand with her bubble gum flavored nose piece for sedation in her other hand. She just walked off with him, so trusting, turned to wave bye mom I love you as I turned my head to cry. I wanted to run after her and change my mind soooo badly, but I didn't. I was distracted by the recently sedated screams of the 8 year old that she did not want to go and she was scared. How do you comfort your child when you're scared too? As James kept saying, you suck it up, suck it up. So, I plastered my suck it up face on and kept putting my fingers through her hair as we watched Charlotte make the webs that saved the pig from being the centerpiece of the Christmas table. The whole time I'm thinking I want to save my little innocent creature from this chopping block that they keep calling "routine". I didn't. I sucked it up. She sucked it up. We all did. Rory came out of her anesthetic coma the same way she went in, willingly. Unfortunately, Chloe did also and when they finally let me in the room to see her, she was shivering, there was blood everywhere and she was crying for me. My heart was breaking, but again, suck it up. She had ripped her IV out in her flailing for consciousness and in turn, her airways became constricted and they had to administer some kind of breathing treatment after she coughed out more blood than what looked to be normal. She was ok, but we had to wait a very long time to leave.
So, we're home now. They're medicated on the dime-it's time for another round. I'm the barkeep of this popsicle/ice cream tavern and duty is calling.
Day 1-the cartoons are still interesting, the breath still stinks, they're still in their pj's from yesterday, and the ice cream is still a novelty. Only 13 more days to go....Happy Summer!
Today I spent approx 3 hours taking the older girls to the ENT specialist (2 hours of that was waiting in the waiting room doing just that-waiting). Once we finally received the dreaded, "If it were me, I'd take them out" from the man behind the miner flashlight apparatus claiming to have some kind of degree allowing him to cut a chunk of pink out of my baby girls' throats, we got to the elevator. My cooped up kids raced to see who could push the button first, the big one won the first race. Then, it was off to see who could push the button in the elevator to the correct floor. The 6 year old won that race and because she had maintained all of her orneriness for the ENTIRE morning, she laughingly, accidentally pushed all 4 buttons. Normally that would have been a chuckle with a soft reminder as to we're late and need to get to school. In walks Ma & Pa Keller, looking like they've spent most of their last years inside this hospital building, and as I'm laughingly scolding the 6 year old, this old man points at Rory and says YOOOUUUUU, Are we taking a tour? I thought fast (on only 1 cup of coffee and gluten free for 1 week and counting) and said yep, we're seeing how many floors we can stop on before we get to number 1. They thought that was hilarious and here we stop on floor 2 and pick up Ma & Pa Version 2 who weren't sure if they could squeeze on with the oxygen tank and all, but made it on. I thought we were out of the clear when all of a sudden Old Man 1 blurts out, "I don't know why people don't take the time to vote for their school board representatives. That's where most of our darned (it is Utah) tax money goes!!" Ma #2 with the air hose in her nose starts nodding her agreement and says a you betcha!! I began to nervously look around for a way to prevent Pa #2 from sitting on my newborn as well as trying to avoid eye contact with Old Man 1 hoping he wasn't blaming me having school aged children for his outrageous tax issue. A riot in the elevator began in my mind-I was armed with a stroller and knew how to use an oxygen tank if needed. I had this whole scenario going on in my head when DING (elevator bell)! Saved by the bell! I can't wait until I'm old enough to blurt out my random opinion while possibly wetting my Depends and have people my age nod in agreement and not care if they did or didn't agree. Here's to you Old Man 1-darn that school board....
A couple weeks ago we had a studio session with a photographer. This week he contacted us to say Esther's birth announcements were ready, an innocent phone call, an exchange of information....so I thought. His initial contact came via email which asked me to call him to arrange pick up and payment. I did this. On the land line phone. Glued to my computer as I was doing 9,000 other things. Normally this isn't a problem. Enter husband. Enter husband after a full meal of Mexican food. Now I'm not one to throw a person under the bus, especially one that will possibly have to wipe me in my old age, but I thought he was coming in to the office to lay on the futon. So, I dialed. I began my conversation with a hi, this is Susan returning your email, when is a good time to....BRRMMPPPHHH...squeak, FRRFRRFRRRMMMPPHHH, squeak, PPPPAAAAHHHRRRMMMPPPHHH, squeak....what the heck? Enter God forsaken, rotting smell of the universe. I did not know what to say...I was distracted, I was laughing to the point I couldn't see, it was beyond funeral laughter, it was there was no way on earth he did not hear that-laughter!!! What if he thinks it's me??? Why won't my husband take the phone from me as I'm laughingly, weavingly, passing it to him, trying to leave the room for a breath of fresh air?? He hung me out to dry...at least a good 20, loooonnggg seconds elapsed full of garbled laughing before I could hysterically make inhaled words of apology and hurriedly write down an address to meet him. GOOD GRIEF!! Then I had to apologize, via email of course, for fear that he would think it was the way he said he was grouting his bathroom, and hope and pray he did not hear the loudest, most inappropriate FART I have, in my 15 years with this man, ever heard!! What could I say?? I fibbed and told him something I can't remember now and his response (via email of course) was yeah, that was a "different" phone call. WOW! Different, you betcha, wrong is more like it, but I'll take different.
Today was S-day. Similar to D-day minus the bombs and death thing. It was the day of Esther's first shots. As I took before and after pictures of her brown naked buddha belly as we awaited the dreaded needles, I thought of how this innocent body whose only intrusion up to this point has been the cold sterile light of a birthing room, how I, as her mother, in following drs instructions, was somehow betraying her. It was awful, it was necessary? It seemed barbaric. Yes, I've done it before. Yes, I have other children and yes, I felt a similar tug at my heart with them. For Esther though, with so much already taken away from her at such a young age, I feel a different form of responsibility. That's why we went for it and that's why I cried. I actually had hot tears and smeared mascara and snottingly apologized to the nurse as to my wussiness. She understood. Our dear, resilient Esther. De-flowered by society's medicines, done to protect...a have to, but still a betrayal of innocence as if I had poked her myself. The first poke surprised her, the second and third pissed her off to the point of a loud shriek known by all mothers that follow these rules. My hug consoled and the loud sniffing and hot tears could no longer be distinguished between hers and mine. Mother obeyed, newborn betrayed.
You know you have a newborn when you look down at your shirt and it is covered in formula from a can exploding upon opening and you're grateful since it's hiding the barf stain.
You know you have a newborn when you take her to her first set of pictures and she pees and pukes on the overpriced prop and you respond with, "Don't worry-I have wipes, they get everything out!"
You know you have a newborn when you lay down on your bed and a suckyface (pacifier) pokes your ear only to roll over onto another one in your back.
You know you have a newborn when you walk in and out of 8 rooms in your house and see a receiving blanket draped across an item of furniture in each one.
You know you have a newborn when you lay down to go to bed at 10:30 pm to fall asleep to Leno, only to be startingly awoken by a scream resembling something out of a bad horror movie.
You know you have a newborn when you finally get to go to sleep to the sound of the static of a baby monitor and you are trying to convince yourself that they are ocean waves.
You know you have a newborn when you say, "Did you wash your hands?" 10 times a day to grown people asking to hold your little one.
You know you have a newborn when instead of your atm receipt giving you your account balance, it only says B R O K E in big letters.
You know you have a newborn when once an insomniac, sleep comes as fast as drool drips from your thirsty dogs jaw.
You know you have a newborn when you know where all Starbucks locations are for not only your caffeine fix, but for their never ending supply of hot water to heat the last minute bottle and use their cleaner than average diaper changing table while you're out and about.
You know you have a newborn when going to bed with your spouse is just that, going to bed.
I've titled this blog Something Unexpected and we have received THE most unexpected gift on May 6th in the form of a new baby girl! Esther Marley was greeted by her big sister's artwork on the driveway and she turned 6 weeks old yesterday. I've been struggling with our camera, so as they say in first grade, you get what you get and don't throw a fit.....meet Esther......
As many of you know as of today, we've been home from Texas for exactly one week. Many things have happened in that week.
1. My mom came on Friday, a trip previously planned before Esther (aka ppbe).
2. The girls went off track on Friday for 3 weeks and they've decided they hate (yes, they said hate) the day camps and in their anti-camp rebellion have told me they'd rather stay home and work on homework than go there. (There goes my sanity)
3. We got home and the puppy that we didn't abandon is apparently going to be a medium to large size dog as her maltipom booty doubled while I was gone. (I think we were duped on her breeding info)
4. We spent the first 48 hours of our arrival taking apart furniture that we had just moved into the guest room (which is now Esther's room) moving it out and into a different room (I had to promise an EXCELLENT Father's Day gift in return for the sweat labor)
5. Many people have partnered together to bring us many meals (and as Chloe reminds me-gifts) in helping us transition with our newest addition-we've enjoyed taste testing everyone's kitchens and are grateful to feel like an audience member of Emeril.
6. Our weekly housekeepers came on Monday and when they left I noticed chips in our red paint and half of the dining room table dust ridden as well as under the candle holder.
AND that, my friends, is why I miss Maria. Maria was the main housekeeper at our stint at the La Quinta in Texas. She was accomodating, puntual, and proficient in my language-all signs of an excellent relationship of mess maker and mess cleaner. This post is for you Maria, may all your days off be restful and may all the duvet covers unzip snag free. Missing you friend...
10. Paper thin walls that allow me to hear the guy next door coughing (and doing other things I can't post about).
9. USA today for free every morning.
8. Flat screen tv in room (it's pathetic when the morning paper ranks lower than the tv)
7. Microwave
6. Mini-Fridge
5. Awesome Air Conditioning
4. The mini coffee maker that supposedly makes 4 cups of coffee, but I can apparently throw it down in 2.
3. Fitness center that I started out doing for an hour, but now Esther wakes up 30 minutes into it screaming...
2. Breakfast (including fresh delivered breakfast burritos) served from 6 to 9am, which I'm racing to get to at 8:59 after a rough all nighter.
1. Housekeeper named Maria who brings me extra bags to seal up my banana peels and Esther's poops so she doesn't gag when she comes in every morning. God Bless Maria!
You know you're in the sticks when.....you go to see a movie and you ask the cashier if they are sure that it only costs $2.25!!!! I could not believe it!!!! I asked him if he was sure....he looked at me like I had 8 heads. Seriously though, I saw a brand new movie-What Happens in Vegas with Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz for less than the price of what I paid for my small popcorn!!! Granted, the air conditioner was a swamp cooler....granted, I had to pat down my seat to make sure there was no needles in it....granted, my shoes stuck to the floor, but holy cow!!!! It was great!!! Great movie, Esther's first (I saved the ticket stub), great date movie, depending on your date.....
So, if any of you have had a chance to check in with my blogs as of late, you will notice I have removed the link to our fundraiser. We have decided to no longer pursue it and want to thank each and every one of you that supported our growing our family through this adoption fundraiser. If you have read the adoption blog, you already know that we have a new baby girl, Esther Marley, and she is GORGEOUS! I will be posting pictures as soon as I get back home, we aren't sure when that will be. I have to write about this number 3 thing as it pertains to not only growing our family to 3 beautiful girls at the age of 33, but I want to be able to print this off for her baby book since when we picked her up she was exactly 3 weeks and 3 days old. Not only that, but after we left the hotel room where we met her and the social workers and signed off on all the paperwork, I asked James to pray a prayer of thanksgiving and protection over little Esther in the parking lot. It was THE sweetest, most loving prayer I have ever heard, and I wish I would have recorded it. The point is that after we got her settled in the little infant car seat, we pulled out of the parking lot at exactly, you guessed it-3:33pm. What is the deal with these 3's? I love seeing where they'll pop up next...I'll keep you posted if they come in extreme form again.....
"I'm done" does not even begin to describe the frustration of spending my entire Sunday morning in the Urgent Care. Sadie wasn't there to greet us and check us in, but the fish tank was a friendly reminder of our last excursion there. Poor Chloe. She woke up screaming saying her throat hurt and I knew it was going to be one of those days. As I'm typing my own throat is hurting and I just finished another round of antibiotics for a continuing sinus infection. I do realize the ramifications of all these drugs, all this illness. Could it possibly be the fact it was 80 degrees one day and the next 40? My gut told me bacteria and infection was on its way. It looks like the ENT specialist needs to get his bulbs and gag sticks ready cuz the Nelson girls are on their way....
Puppies! If they weren't so darned cute no one would buy them! The 8 year old is learning a lot from this bearded lady she calls Gumball. This morning at breakfast as this furball was jumping up and down, over and over, waiting for another marshmallow from the overfilled bowl of Barbie cereal (don't judge me) to fall on the floor, I hear the 8 year old tell her in a low, calm, but firm voice DOWN! Another bite got shoved in and the bearded lady jumped up again, I hear DOWN GUMBALL! Then, I hear my favorite gap-toothed laugh, so I come in to see what tricks this circus freak (not Chloe,but the puppy) is up to. I walk in and the 8 year old says watch this mom. I watch as an over-sugared ball of fur jumps up to beg for a sucrose snack. Then, I watch as the 8 yr old tells her DOWN! Lo and behold this 4 legged creature sat down!! I said, wow, she really sat down! Yep, I know says the 8 year old, she's getting trained mom, I like it when she listens to me! When she said that all I heard was TEACHABLE MOMENT, TEACHABLE MOMENT-jump on it stat....so, I asked her how it felt when her pup listened to her and she said good. I said how do you think I feel when you listen to me, she said good! I said yup, I do, and how do you think I feel when you don't listen to me? She said, like a second grader that doesn't want to do her homework-not good? ABSOLUTELY!!! NOT GOOD!!! She's getting trained!! I'm getting trained!! Teachable moments-stat. Next time we'll have the discussion of what the sugar does to the bearded lady and how that might not be the best choice to have for breakfast....I know you're wondering who bought it for her, but let's be honest, those marshmallows ARE tasty.....
As I'm thawing out from an extremely cold morning of sitting sideline cheering on my girls at their soccer games, I'm amazed at how capable, how big, and how talented they are. Rory scored her very first goal this morning and I'd have pictures, but it's that second kid syndrome. We didn't even have a cell phone to snap a shot. It went something like this.....Rory took on this other little kid, got the ball, kicked it up field, and scoooorrreee!! It was very exciting and when she got subbed out, we high fived her, and congratulated her. Her response is what puts me in a state of awe. It went something like, "I knew I could do it mom, I got my first goal. I run faster than that whole other team." I think the cocky part at the end is from her dad, but confidence like this at 6 is something that I don't remember having, especially in an athletic capacity. The neat thing is she has it in all aspects, school, sports, bible verses, crafts, etc. She knows she may not always be the best and recognizes when other people are good at something (that comes from me), but what impresses me is her ability to not be intimidated by those around her. You go girl! is what I kept shouting today! You go girl, that's my baby! Ok, I'm a little tearful now, I'd better stop dwelling, but darnnit these "firsts" are flying by us with lightening speed and I'm so grateful that God has entrusted us to raise this little blondie who never ceases to amaze me and remind me of what's truly important. BTW-she wants me to tell everyone they won, actually they creamed them 5 to 2, but who's counting?
What if there really was no rice available?
What if every day were Earth Day?
What if tv went off the air or was made illegal and we all had to read to know what was going on?
What if we were chipped at birth like puppies and could be scanned?
What if that could be of use when we had too much to drink and were found with a roll of toilet paper in our hands wandering up and down our friends driveway mumbling something about having to use the bathroom?
What if clothes were disposable and therefore laundry would be a thing of the past?
What if American kids went to school Mon-Sat for 10 hrs a day, would we be the ones getting picketed to free Tibet?
What if those FLDS kids that are in foster homes learn what life could be like outside the compound?
What if there were no cell phones?
What if we had to order our meals in calories instead of by numbers?
What if we really are living in the Matrix? Did they have rice?
*Why does it snow in April in Utah?
*Why, when apparently this does happen, are there tank tops, shorts, and bathing suits for sale in our stores? Is it to tease us into thinking we MIGHT have 2 days of warm weather in a row?
*Why do people who live in a place where it snows 6 months out of the year buy the tiniest cars they can find....especially when the average family has 4 kids.....compare that to California, where the birth rate is similar to China and everyone's running people over with a miniature tank that has 4 wheel drive (just in case...you never know)?
*Why do people forward emails that were forwarded to them and that's the only way you know they are alive, but rarely write their own thoughts and send them (you know who you are!)?
*What is up with NBC's All American Summer campaign? It reeks of desperately boring. NBC should stand for No Body Cares. Bad ratings anyone?
*What is up with Ellen Degeneres' obsession/countdown to David Beckham's appearance? I thought she didn't like men....maybe that's not true? Doubtful....
*When you're staring at a computer, typing, and someone walks in the room and starts to talk to you, why do they think you heard them?
*What is going on with Days of Our Lives? Will Patch cheat on Kayla with his psycho ex? Will Kayla actually give birth and will it be his? How did Sami have twins by 2 daddy's? Does she get 2 chicken sandwiches, one from each baby's daddy? That could ruin a Biggest Loser diet FOR sure!
Today was an insane day schedule wise, tomorrow promises more of the same. So, after a short day at school, a hair cut, a quick trip to Target, a coffee date, dental appts, and Carl's Jr playland for dinner my 8 year old was at her max. So much so that as we're racing to get shin guards and cleats on for soccer practice, she's in the back seat talking about how bad her stomach hurts. She keeps saying it over and over until I threaten to turn the car around and go back home. She insists she's fine and I tell her if it still hurts when we get home I'll give her some children's Mylanta. What? she says. I say again Mylanta. She says, mom you know I can't take yours or other people's medicine. I tell her it's not mine, it's the name of the medicine. She says I know it's the name, but you said it's yours and I can't take it. Her sister even got in on it saying the name of the pill is not Lanta, it's Mylanta. The 8 year old again retorted, I can't take your medicine either Rory!!! Now frustrated tears were beginning to form as I tried to explain that it wasn't anyone's Lanta or anyone else's medicine. This classic who's on first? conversation got me to the point of laughter that I couldn't see to drive. In her frustration, she finally yelled at me, it's not funny mom, I know it's yours and I can't take it. Geez Louise!!! There you have it, it's not My-Lanta, it's now Her-Lanta, or Your-Lanta. Whatever you call it, the stuff works! Misunderstandings are a part of all relationships and even though her feelings were hurt since her all knowing mother was visibly crying with laughter at her insistence (mother of the year nomination ONCE AGAIN) that she couldn't take My-Lanta, I'm appreciative that she felt safe enough in our relationship to express herself and that even though she figured out when I showed her the name on the box of meds, that it was ok to have a chuckle at her expense. If only some grown ups I know (myself included) could be so graceful and accepting at times of misunderstandings....aaah, a world of Mylanta, creamy mint tasting rivers of ecstasy.
"Thank you for calling After Hours First Care, this is Sadie" is how my night began last night. Ummmm yeah, How late are you guys open and do you have an X-ray machine on site? I replied. And we're off. Girls out of the shower, scantily clad nighties (when did the 8 yr old get so tall her night gown barely covers her bottom?). Put on your robes, I shouted, we're going to the Urgent Care. I was girl down. Excruciating pain in my left elbow accompanied with headache, neckache, earache, you name it-it ached. Me and my medical degree had been googling my symptoms for most of the afternoon to the point of convincing myself I was having a heart attack. That, then lead to an outrageously hyperventilating session of panic onset with the 110 pound lab howling at me to breathe. Big Game was of course running late from work and when I finally did speak to him, he told me to call the dr. I did. And through tears of anxiety driven emotion, he finally said to me, you could have gout (isn't that an 1850's disease?) or gastroentinitis. Ok, well then, as the pains shot through some more and my hubby loudly telling me why do we have insurance then, just go, the girls and I piled into the Armada and I politely turned the movie on and asked them not to talk to me. We arrive, we check in, we're told 45 minutes, relax. You relax first Sadie, I thought. She was actually a very nice girl, very Utah. This time allowed me to survey my surroundings. There was the little boy brought in by his dad with some kind of feverish red cheeks and a cough. He was sitting right by the fish tank, which of course my girls wanted to look at, and I'm sure some germs were exchanged in that process! There was the lady holding her back (whose husband didn't lock the door when he went to the bathroom and I walked in on later, but I digress), another lady with a hobble, and then in walks Grandpa Joe with his grandson whose grand entrance included loudly pointing to Hot Sadie at the front desk and in an "I've survived WW2 so I can talk as loud as I want to voice" he tells his grandson, she's too young for me and too old for you, isn't that a shame? Why yes it is Grandpa Joe. Grandson Bobby was mortified or turned on, I couldn't tell. As 45 minutes turned into a 2 hour wait, I saw a very prego lady enter, some teenager with her mom (probably a case of mono), and another boy with his dad. It looked like football injury day at the urgent care. The pregger changed chairs so she wouldn't have to watch Grandpa Joe wolf down an Astroburger while trying to blow his nose without vomiting. I, of course, had a grandstand seat across from him the entire time. He began to grow on me, similar to a wart. He truly cared about his grand-boy and was proud his chin was split open by number 88 and told him through a french fry chew, he'd have to learn to be tougher. By the end of my stay in the waiting area, he had me convinced. It must have been a full moon, I don't know, but I could relate to Grandson Bobby's mortification when the dr looked at me like I had 8 heads as he diagnosed me with tennis elbow and a sinus infection. Good times Dr. Sean. I felt like an idiot, told him about the googling, and he asked me if I'd like some prozac. Welcome to Utah, where Prozac can be distributed by your Starbucks Barista as you await your double tall Machiatto. I told him no, I'd take Xanax instead. His bald head winked at me when he laughed. No, really. As my elbow aches in typing this I think of those I spent last night with and smile. We're all connected, we're all the same. Hot Sadie, Nurse newly married with the shiny ring, and Dr. Sean. Thank you urgent care for leaving the light on and good luck with number 88 next time grandson Bobby. Be well.
