Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Sadie declared she was going to love on our dog, Bobo. He is an outside dog with one eye who really deserves his own post. Old, faithful, slightly nasty, Bobo.

Anyway, she came inside and asked for a snack. I said - sure, but make sure you wash your hands. She came back to ask if she could have the "bad mommy snack du jour" Yogos. I saw that her hands were wet, but I had a feeling no soap had been applied. She was standing in the door frame and put one hand on the white painted frame. Here is the conversation:

"Sadie, did you wash your hands?"
"Yes."
"Did you use soap?"
"No, but I am the only one who will touch my Yogos."

I love her qualifier. At least she doesn't want to get anyone else sick, but is ok with making herself sick. At this point she moved away from the door frame. There was this nasty little muddy imprint left on my white painted door frame.

See, Sadie, that is why you need to use soap!

On another note...if you have never purchased Yogos for your kids...DON'T! I only bought them because they were at Aldi's and appeared to be a good price. They taste disgusting, but my kids would lie, cheat and steal to get them. I don't want to think about the nutritional value...or lack thereof.

God's flashlight

I read this today in another blog I frequent. It was about his children:


I'm stunned and humbled seeing the pure goodness that radiates from these small things that sprang from my wife's body and introduced me to the person that I'm supposed to be. It's like someone pressure washed all of the dreck from a few pieces of my personality, put them together with many more pieces of my wife's personality and then repackaged it into a living reminder of that there are good things in the world.


What struck me was the writer's statement that his children introduced him to the person that he is supposed to be. How true I have found this to be. To that end I would say that they have introduced me to the person I really am. In general, it is not a pretty sight.


I have long said that my children have brought all of my sin to the forefront - the proverbial 'slammed by a mack truck,' if you will. Acted-out anger, impatience, selfishness are showcased like a very bad junior high talent show that keeps repeating itself - ad nauseum. When I look at the bigger picture, I find I can add anxiety and worry as they go about their day with out me in their physical presence. Don't even get me started about my control issues! That was the specific purpose of one of my children.


How many times have I become extremely irritable because I have not gotten MY way - what I feel like I (key word) DESERVE. Hmmmm - sound familiar?!?! Sounds like a statement that my own children could make and I am supposed to be the adult, the parent, the one who instructs. At least I can say that I no longer stomp my feet in a fit of anger...well, actually, that would be a lie. I last stomped my feet and threw myself on my bed when I realized Jay had picked out and was already painting Ethan's nursery mint green instead of celadon green. Chalk that one up to hormones, plain and simple.


Instead of temper tantrums, I have become the MASTER of justification. OR should I say I can excuse any of my sinful behaviors with a wave of my hand. I am the parent, they are the children - end of story. Hmpf. But lately, God has brought me back under the examination light. The last three months have been a particularly tough time of evaluation. Pain, but good pain, I often say.

To evaluate each and every response with "die to self," has been an extremely difficult exercise and one that at times I feel is completely futile. To put aside the exhaustion, the emotional waste, the frazzled-ness, the lack of ME that my life holds on a continuous and consistent basis is well...painful. And let me be very, very clear - I fail more often than I succeed.

However, I do see some fruits of my labor. Slow changes, improvements, a better relationship with my kids. And although I can't say that their behavior has reached perfection, I see a change in my reaction to them. And, really, isn't that why God's light shines - to change me and draw me closer to Him?

6 word memoir update

J and I had a conversation regarding my cell phone or mobile phone (pick your terminology). It was a conversation that always begins with the same statement..."You would have known if you had your phone...insert sentence ending from the following:
1. on
2. with you
3. charged up.

I am adult, on most accounts. However, the mobile phone has reduced me to a child. I can't keep up with it, I can't keep it charged and I certainly can't be expected to have it with me AT ALL TIMES.

Jay just clips it to him daily- actually, I think he is now a part of that subculture that alters their body (i.e. Lizard Man). He could become Cell Phone Man. If it weren't for upgrades I think he would have it surgically attached. He feels naked if he doesn't have it with him which I can only liken to jewelry for us. Seriously, which one is more important? Ladies?

So this twice weekly conversation ensues with the never-ending threat of having my phone turned off. I have actually begged for this to happen at one point because I just don't like the pressure of the mobile phone rules. Always on. Always charged. Always with you.

Long ago, I discovered my limits regarding responsibility. Ask my mom. I lost countless library books as a child, left lunches on the counter, forgot tennis rackets on game days, etc. And as an adult, it is not uncommon for me to completely miss scheduled dental appointments, double book events, etc. The pinnacle of this, which most of you know, is when I ACCIDENT LY left one of my kids at home (post to come - DON'T CALL DSS). Knowing this, J still thinks I am capable of owning a mobile phone. So, who just who is the irresponsible one here?

Therefore, my response to the mobile phone conversation we have been through a million times is to hang my head and say that I will try better next time -like a child.

Not knowing of the 6-word challenge, Jay responded by saying, "This should be your life statement, Kelsey:"

"I will, when my phone's charged."

Ha!

Focused Talent

Today, my mom took Gray, Sadie and me to see the local community theater's production of "High School Musical." On the way to meet my mom and Gray, Sadie began singing. It was the sweetest sound. I didn't know this song was part of her limited repertoire. A soft and very in-tune voice sang, "Here comes the sun...ado-do-do-do. Here comes the sun - ado-do-do-do. It's all right." She sang straight to my prideful heart.

Onto the show...I must be one of the few parents who is not well versed in the High School Musical saga or songs. I have not seen the movie. I can only liken its popularity to the movie of my generation...GREASE. Surprisingly, HSM is quite innocent in compared to the pregnancy scare and the innocent-turned-prostitute story line of GREASE. What were our parents thinking????

All in all, this performance of HSM was a great show with an incredible amount of talent. We all enjoyed it a lot. During the show, I looked over at Sadie who was absolutely glued to the performers (except for one incident referenced below). I thought - wow - she could be on that stage one day. She has such a pretty, velvety voice - prideful heart growing. What talent - she could be a star. And then...she made her best effort to clap to the songs along with the rest of the audience. I had no idea that some one could not hear the beat to a song as obviously as she didn't. Amazing. How can someone sing, in-tune, and then be completely void of rhythm, slapping hands together in such a spasmoid fashion? Isn't it supposed to be like Ebony and Ivory - side by side in perfect harmony? Prideful heart deflated and back to reality.

Ok - so when I try to describe my children to other people, it is tough to describe Sadie and her idiosyncrasies. Seriously, the child truly marches to the beat of her own drummer. This is where she became completely side-tracked at the show. We had popcorn in a typical red and white box - who knew they served this during the musical? Anyway, somewhere during middle of the second act, she finished up the box. She was frustrated by the end of the box because it was the foldable kind and she kept losing popcorn out of the bottom because she stuck her fingers through it. So, here is this empty popcorn box, normally placed on the floor of the theater and taken to the trash at the end of the show. Instead, Sadie begins to reconfigure the box into something useful. What could you possibly need at a community theater production? Why some sort of viewing device/binoculars! She pushed open the bottom of the box and started tearing off the perforated top. At this point I realized what she was doing. She wanted to use the box to view the performance - holding the empty box up to her eyes and peering through the bottom to the stage. It would block other peoples' views and when she turned to the left, she would hit unsuspecting Gray. So, I took it away and told her that she could have it at the end of the show. After each song (about 4 songs left) she would ask, in that voice that tried to be a whisper, but came out nearly a yell, if that was the last song. She was a complete ball of frustration, irritation with a smidgen of anger. At one point I told her that we would have to go outside and miss the rest of the show if she didn't stop asking about the end of the show or her box. Her response was..."Can I have my box if we leave?" UGH! And this, my friends, is Sadie. Where is that box, you might ask? Sitting on my desk (in the basement - see post 4/11, No Room in the Inn), untouched since we left the theater. I brought it in after seeing it had been discarded and forgotten in the car. Sigh.

Ah - my little perplexing and challenging and tenacious Sadie. I completely love you... wonderful, perfectly-made you!

Love infinity

Stillness, silence, a dark night that was suffocating. I was completely lost, but knew where I was. I drove home, alone, from saying goodbye to her for the last time. The road was lonely, I was empty. I don't know how I drove. My snapshot of that time in the early morning hours is like a tunnel, only able to remember what was right in front of me, the 5-lane road sending me home and nothing on the periphery. I made one phone call. A friend's voice on the other end. The same voice at the other end that was there for the first call I made when cancer invaded my life some 3 years prior. Just as she did three years ago, she wept with me. I had to fight down the sobs to even get breath to speak the news. I whimpered the words. The whimper ended with a new noise for me - a small moan that involuntarily slipped out whenever I exhaled in attempt to gather my composure. A moan that made its appearance with regularity over the next month. I knew I had to get off the phone or I would no longer be able to drive. I began to drive with force. I wanted my family. I wanted my husband. I wanted my home. I wanted the familiar because nothing about me was that any more.

I arrived with a heaviness that continued to sink me to deepest depths of sorrow and grief. I walked in the door. J met me and held me while I let out the deepest of cries and nearly collapsed on the floor of our kitchen.

We had a guest in our house that night. A college friend had spent the night with the expectation of going with me to visit her in the hospital. She had traveled from NY to be here. My walk up the stairs to guest room where she was getting ready was long. She had no idea I had left in the night and she didn't know that her initial purpose in coming was gone. I knocked on the door. She opened it, apologetic because she was not ready and it was our decided time to leave. She took one look at me and said, "What's wrong." I knew she had already figured it out by my pained expression and already swollen eyes. We held each other and cried. It was surreal that she was gone, but more surreal to tell someone who was not a part of my every day norm. No where in all of my imaginings, planning or preparations for this inevitable day was my friend a part of this initial stage. It was God's timing.

She stayed with me while J went to work to wrap up a couple of loose ends for what would be nearly a week off from work. I was exhausted, I was overcome but most interestingly, I was sick. So very sick that all I could do was throw up. I would make it to the toilet to wretch my digestive track up to my throat and back down again. Then, I would collapse on the bathroom floor mat out of weakness. I would wait until I gained enough strength to crawl back to my bed. I believe that out of all of God's blessings during this time, this was His greatest.

I know that has to be a very incredulous and unfathomable statement. I had just lost my only sibling, my best friend. Most people would say that God added insult to injury with this attack on my body. But here is a different perspective on the God I love. I had not experienced this level of vomiting since I was a child. My body screamed with aches that could only be equated with being bludgeoned. My eyes were so miserably sore that it felt like someone had kneaded them like dough. I was in a complete fog. I could not think. I could not process. I could not focus. Therefore, I could not begin to comprehend reality. God spared me the entire fullness of the loss. He gave it to me in small doses, in the smallest increments. He allowed me not to feel the enormity for hours, but only for minutes - the minutes when I stumbled back into reality between phases of my coma-like sleep. For innumerable phases during the past three years, I had exhausted much of my mental capacity on figuring out how I was going to exist those first 2-3 days after her death - to no avail.

He had. He knew. He spared me. He loved me to the point of my greatest need.

Trust the Lord with all your heart. Lean NOT on your own understanding, but in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.

Amen.

My 6 Word Memoir

Yay! I have been tagged by Robin! Yippee! I have to come up with a 6-word memoir. My first instinct made for a somewhat negative response. I am going through some sort of emotional period. It is not because of THAT period, but it may be linked to being delegated to our basement (see April 11 post), stress from trying to learn our company's new software (so out of my element), or the worst possibility...I am starting "the change". Isn't it too early for me at 37, I mean 36?!?!? I have had some random hot moments, but only at night. Does that count? I found myself trying to shop in the juniors department at stores in hopes that it might somehow will my body to reverse course. It is all in your mind, right? Ridiculous.

In light of the above...here is my first attempt:

She bought juniors instead of seniors.

Doesn't really work. So, I look elsewhere in my life for other inspiration. Next thought was on my emotions. I cried and cried and cried yesterday because I though that ONE boy in Ethan's class was excluded from a birthday party to which all the other boys were invited. I understood from Ethan that he knew about the party and he asked the birthday party boy several times if he was going to get to go to it. His questions were simply ignored, according to Ethan. According to Ethan, the birthday boy told the other boys that everyone was invited except for this boy. I hope, with all of my heart, that this boy did not realize that everyone else had been invited. My heart hurt for him and his mother, who might have had to comfort him. To make matters worse, all I could visualize was this little boy, the only boy, waiting to be picked up while all the other boys traipsed off for a classmate's party. I couldn't believe the parents would allow such a thing. I cried on and off last night over this issue. BUT WAIT! I did some investigating and found out today that the boy WAS in fact invited and just couldn't go. I am a little confused, but I have to trust the information from the teacher.

Based on that, here is memoir #2:

She cried buckets for no reason.

Ok - so that is not really an accurate portrayal of me over a lifetime. I am less a cryer and more of a solver. This leads me to ... my relationship with God at the moment. I am going through a lot of change in my life (see ALL of the above). My life's snapshot is always that of a tug of war between letting go and letting God. I am such a control person - maybe not so much wanting to control it all, but wanting to be knowledgeable of the future and security. Therefore, when I say I look to my relationship with God "at the moment," it really is a lifelong issue for me. When does God ask me to play a role and when I am I to sit quietly by, waiting for Him?

Based on that, here is my final and probably most accurate memoir:

She desires release and wants God.

No Room in the Inn

It is that time of year - that twice a year event that happens in our town, the "Furniture Capital of the World." A place where, "All the World Buys Here," to coin another one of their slogans. Or, the latest, "The World's Home for Home Furnishings" - how clever. This town has been my home for all but a few scant years so it almost is a measure of time for me. "I think I saw them a couple of furniture markets ago", etc. People in this area don't plan weddings or other events during the months of April or OCtobe because every space, caterer, and florist is tied up with serving this industry.

I was tied to this town because my father is a furniture designer - soon to retire. I spent time in showrooms as a young child while my dad feverishly put last minute hardware on casegoods (layman's term - wood furniture) in preparation for opening day. During high school I worked at the priciest and consequently, the "place to be seen" restaurant in High Point. This restaurant actually had career waiters who made about 50% of their yearly income at these two markets. My first couple of "career' jobs were also in the industry - one of the industry's largest and most known manufacturers followed by a stint at THE industry publication. So, to say that I am the expert of the High Point market may be a little exaggerated, but I do feel that I can say we are acquaintances.

Over the past couple of years, my relationship with the market has now been reduced to "landlord." Yes, we do what a medium percentage of High Pointers do during market - we rent our house. This is such a foreign concept for people who have never lived here - "You mean you rent your house to COMPLETE strangers?" "I could never do that!" "I couldn't stand having someone rifle through my things."

PEOPLE! Oh yes you would! You would if you got $5-7,000 of tax-free money for about 20 days out of the year. You would sell yourself to whomever wanted to lay their head down on "your" pillow. You would buy new linens, paint whole rooms, clean out closets and drawers, get your windows washed, wipe down your tooth brush holder, scrub your sink with vinegar and a toothbrush, even buy bottled water and fruit baskets to have "complete strangers" roll out the big bucks and become repeat customers.

You will search high and low for the ultimate destination for your family while these "complete strangers" sleep comfortably in "your" bed. You will farm family members here and there, scattered like dice on a craps table. You will go on Disney vacations (spending your market rental money in one quick swoop), you will call up old friends to visit in far away towns, you will leech off coworkers, you hole up in your basement like a bunch of mole people who shush their children until they begin to scream HUSH, you will even camp at the local swampground, I mean, campground during the first rain events to happen in three months. During this stay in waterworld, your child might ingest your husband's heart medication which has not lockable/unreachable location in the camper. This requires a trip to the emergency room and an admittance for three days. Ironically, it results in the best sleep you will experience in comparison to the camper while "complete strangers" sleep in "your" bed.

So, here I sit...in my basement. Day 6 of 10. We are fortunate. We have great renters who have been with us for the 5th market. They are very kind, very clean and very appreciative of my OCD cleaning tenancies.

However, I liken the entire process to pregnancy and birth. The first time, you don't know what to expect. You clean like a woman possessed. You spend a month cleaning every crack and crevice of your home - wiping down walls, every light fixture, cleaning out the pantry and refrigerator, making innumerable trips to good will., even resorting to vacuuming the tops of door frames that you realize were never painted because they are NEVER SEEN! Your due date, I mean, the check-in date of your market guests arrives and running out of time you leave your kids strapped in your running car for two more hours watching a movie while you scramble to finish the "final clean" which two hours ago you thought would only take "another 30 minutes." You leave, exhausted, beaten, with hands so parched from cleaners and water that no amount of lotion or paraffin wax can resuscitate them. Your car is loaded with everything you think you might need for another 10 days and you head to whatever temporary shelter you have arranged. The market guests are born, I mean, they have arrived. You spend the next 10 days trying to figure out your new schedule, your new temporary home. You try NOT to feed your kids fast food every meal and get them in bed before 10 all the while realizing that it is national testing week and you forgot their library books. Just like with a newborn, you are juggling it all and getting not one ounce of sleep. You stress, you cry, your whole self is on edge as you try to maintain the schedule you had before the "arrival. You remember your house as you left it - so clean you could run your tongue along the front door handle and have not one smidge of petri dish nightmare on it - just like reminiscing of your life prior to the your newborn.

You round the bend, you are heading into home (literally). You walk in the door to your home which smells like "complete strangers" who have been sleeping in "your" bed. You unpack. Not only do you unpack the 10 day supply of items you took initially, but you return all the things you picked up on subsequent trips back to the house to clean (extra socks, books for the kids, sunscreen, heavier coats, a random pot, canned goods that were never opened the last market).

Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention becoming a hotel maid? Yeah. Nothing like cleaning up after "complete strangers"who are sleeping on "your" bed. Washing your sheets they have slept on, cleaning your toilet they have...well, you know. "Complete strangers" who have intimate knowledge about your clothing, toiletries and food habits. They may even, suck in all the air in the room, decide they don't like how you have decorated and make a few changes of their own.

You sit down in your clean house (after you have cleaned it upon your return so you can live in it again). For a brief moment, all seems well. Translates: Your baby is sleeping, content with milk, smiling in his sleep. And you are there to capture it all.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe, just maybe, you will have another child - Oops, I mean, try renting again, to "complete strangers" sleeping in "your" bed.

DISCLAIMER: Some, but not ALL, of the examples listed have been my experience. They have been told to me by other "landlords."