Herman's Head

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.

Reactionary Bliss

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.

Happy 7th Birthday Rory!

I'm trying not to tear up, but as my tall cold toed baby girl crawled into bed with me 20 minutes before the alarm was set to go off, I could NOT believe 7 years ago today I was given two things. The first, was obvious, a 10 lb beautiful baby girl. The second was a new chance at life, after they revived me on the operating table and I awoke to James' tear stained face of relief that I had finally decided to wake up. Since that day, I have tried to embrace EVERY day. Pms days, bad balding hair days, grumpy kids days....all of it, I don't want to miss any of it. So, as I was hanging streamers and decorating her door for her birthday last night I said a prayer of thanks for this little girl who teaches me more about who I am as a person than I could ever have imagined and thanked God again for allowing me to be here to hang the streamers.

Happy birthday Rory! I love you!

Promise Not to Laugh?

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......

House Shoes

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?

BFFF

No this isn't the usual texting acronym.....this is Bare Floor From Flood. The UDK found mold under the giganto entryway and the super ugly, but apparently most expensive laminate squares have been removed and we've been looking at the bare concrete floor for over a week now. With that comes lots of thoughts, most having to be curbed by $1000 grace, but what we decided to do was before they put down the new flooring was to have the kids write down people or things close to them that they pray for and James and I wrote some of our favorite scriptures and thoughts. This is a little sampling of what evolved.

Since I can't figure out how to get the text above the pictures, I'll explain. Vixie is Chloe's first cool thing from her new school (http://www.providencehall.com/), she's a snail. She actually killed the first one, but took it to her teacher, who kindly fibbed, said she sprinkled some water on it and tada...new Vixie! Gotta love not crushing spirits teaching techniques!

Steven Curtis Chapman's 5 year old daughter was tragically killed by his son (http://www.stevencurtischapman.com/) and we've been following and praying for the family as we follow their journey on KLOVE (http://www.klove.com/).

The gentleman we hired to put in our small fence got a blood clot in his leg and lung, almost met his maker, and Rory apparently heard all the conversations and it was on her mind. She said she prayed for him and wants him under our flooring (not literally, just his story)!

I love that all of these things will be part of the foundation of this building we are so grateful to call home AND I love how the fam came together to focus on how we can make a not so fun situation into an opportunity to bond!

Mommy Blues...Sort Of

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.

Thousand Dollar Grace

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.