This may be a repeat for some of you, but it is a recap of our experience with Hurricane Rita in Sept 2005:
“Evacuating Rita” 10-5-5
To all our concerned friends and family, thank you for your generous offers of help and support surrounding the events of Hurricane Rita. I’m happy to report that we escaped unscathed and that our house remains intact. In the profound words of Oprah Winfrey to the individuals affected by Hurricane Katrina “[We] are not refugees, [we] are not victims, [we] are survivors!” And as Tom Petty so poignantly sings “You don’t have to live like a refugee.” A sentiment that we took quite literally. With that in mind, so starts our journey…
It was a day like any other, children screaming, chaos predominating, clothes needing washing, then the chief meteorologist of a major network and who is endorsed by the National Weather Association, proclaims that Hurricane Rita is headed towards the Gulf Coast with the coast south of us as the bull’s eye. With no time wasted, city officials decide that certain areas need to be evacuated. No one wanted to suffer the same fate as those poor fools in New Orleans. No one in our town was going to be plucked off a roof top or be left sitting on the interstate going to the bathroom on the frontage road or waiting for a yellow school bus to pick us up and carry us off to some sports dome slated for demolition only to sleep on a cot next to 5000 other people. Instead we’d choose to sit on the interstate in our cars without gas or air conditioning with a heat index of 110 for 28 hours. So we packed the essential items as itemized by the news media; important documents, wedding photos, non-perishable items, then we boarded up the house, packed up the 3 kids plus 4 bonus neighbor kids and like 2 million other city dwellers, we quickly headed for dry land.
Before we could begin our trek we had one important stop to make. We weaved through the neighborhoods to my brother house and gathered him, his wife, my nephew, my mom, the 12 year old Rottweiler named Isaac and about a dozen undocumented Mexicans (I’m Mexican too, so I can say that) and headed west. We were like pioneers in their covered wagons (but in our minivans, pick-ups and SUV’s). We didn’t know where we were going, but we had enough peanut butter, canned ravioli and batteries to last us till Armageddon.
Thinking I could outsmart the masses, I decided to take the ‘backroads’. The first 20 minutes were smooth sailing. Then we hit traffic. Obviously, I wasn’t the only clever one in the metropolitan area. About every 45 minutes (equal to 3 miles) we’d accelerate to about 25 mph for 3 miles. Every gas station we passed was like a ghost town. It was very eerie, like a scene out of a Mad Max movie. Occasionally we’d see a line of cars waiting at a gas station for a pump to open once it received fuel. The only problem was that a gas tanker would have to have been air lifted into the gas station to by pass the traffic.
About 4 hours into the odyssey, we stopped on the side of the road to let the 8 + kids run around and to stretch our legs. More accurately, I had pulled into a gravel road and intentionally ignored a sign that read ‘Private Property.’ I figured it didn’t say ‘keep out’ so it was more like a proclamation than a warning. Besides, it was a dirt road for as far as the eye could see, so I thought any chances of human life were fairly far removed. As you will later learn, I figured wrong. In the meantime, a few people found some bushes that looked dry and discretely watered them. We hoisted Isaac out of the back of the car and let him sniff the fresh country air. While we were busy eating our PB & J’s and drinking our bottled water (the stock piling actually did come in handy!) a pick-up came driving up the dirt road. It stopped in front of us and out stepped two very disgruntled country gentlemen, Pops and Jr. Pops claims that Isaac (as you recall, the geriatric dog with an artificial hip and cataracts so thick you can see your reflection) spooked their horse. Needless to say, we packed up our happy picnic and got the hell out of Dodge!
About 4 hrs later, at midnight, (8 hours from the start of our journey and 120 miles later) we came crawling into small town USA. Our original destination, some 350 miles north of us had long been abandoned. We would have gotten there long after Rita had made landfall or the DPS would have found our desiccated carcasses on the side of the road. So at the last minute we made a call to some friends in the small town and made a desperate plea; would they be willing to house some 30 odd people (mostly complete strangers) and one beast? How could they resist such a request? Foolishly, they said yes!
Well, our kind hosts, who, to preserve their privacy and anonymity, I will call Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta, live on about 35 acres with livestock, tractors, a fishing hole, a jungle gym better than most playground’s, a swimming pool and a 5’ flat screen TV. Suddenly this was no longer a flight for personal safety, this was vacation at a 5 star bed and breakfast! Even Isaac was in dog heaven, acres and acres of territory to mark and as a special bonus, all the cow dung a dog could eat (apparently cow excrement is a delicacy). The highlight of our stay was grilling grain fed cattle raised by our hosts and feasting on it in the form of burgers, sausages and steaks (sorry all you PETA people, but Daisy and her pals tasted good)! Basically, by the time Sunday rolled around, Howard and La Quinta had to pack our bags for us and push us out the door!
So, all in all, we faired quite nicely. Even the trip home was a breeze. It took the people at Sonic Burger longer to bring us our order than it did to drive home. When we finally pulled into our driveway, our house was still standing and no trees had fallen over. As a matter of fact, our house never even lost power. So, we took the boards off the windows, returned the neighbor kids to their mother and dug a shelter to store our provisions.
So, once again, thank you to all of our friends and family who were so concerned about us and who made offers to house us. We know who our true friends are! So, the next time you all have to evacuate and you need somewhere to stay, remember you have friends, Howard Johnson and his wife La Quinta who would love to have you come and stay at the official Hurricane Rita Evacuation Center!
Still dry,
The Family
So, this time, as Ike approaches, we are hunkering down and hoping for the best. I'll let you all know how we fare on the other side!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tribute to Uncle La
When my mom walked up to the door, I could tell something was not right. "What's wrong?" I asked her. "Uncle La died," she said. Though she said the words, they didn't register in my mind. It was like someone telling me that 1 + 1 = 3. I could hear it, but it just didn't make sense. Perhaps what didn't make sense the most was that I never got to say good bye. When I was in Atlanta this past June I didn't get to see him. Usually a visit with Uncle La is a priority whenever I go to Atlanta. I didn't stress about not getting to see him because I figured I would just visit him next year. It never crossed my mind that there wouldn't be a next year.
My kids don't understand the significance of my relationship with Uncle La. This is the man to whom, in addition to my own dad, I sent a father's day card almost every year. Flamboyantly and true to his previous life as a majorette, Uncle La came marching into our lives when I was about 15 years old (what else might you expect from a former male baton twirler?). My parents were divorced (or they might have just been separated) and my mom was a mess. A 'hot mess' as Chelsea Handler might describe her. She was uneducated and away from her family and she had 2 kids to raise without the help of her ex (or soon to be ex) husband. After bouncing around churches for a couple of years, we landed on the steps of First Baptist Church of Atlanta and my mom found her sanctuary. She joined a bible study with a motley crew for members, but this motley crew became our family and our rock for the next several years. Mainly, they were my mom's rock, but mine and my brother's by proxy. Had it not been for this unlikely assortment of God's children, I am quite certain that a) my mother would have been institutionalized and/or b) my brother and I would have been placed in foster care.
I don't remember all the people, but everyone in her bible study was like a character in a play. There was the older, conservative white couple who were the mom & pop of the outfit. Before moving to Africa to become missionaries, they led the group, opened their hearts and home and centered everyone. They kept the compass pointed in the right direction. There were some musicians and street performers, their son and his girlfriend (a bi-racial couple; still a pretty big statement in Atlanta, GA in the mid to late 80's), my mom (the single mom hanging on by a thread) and a medley of born-again, reformed gay men. Larry fell into this latter category. These men were no longer 'living in the life-style'. One was a hair-dresser who was HIV positive, the other lived with his grandmother and was on disability for 'chronic fatigue', the young guy who had just been starting to experiment with his new, gay identity, a married 'heterosexual' florist and then there was Uncle La.
Uncle La had grown up in a conservative Christian home in North Carolina. He had 2 sisters and one brother and I think his daddy might have been a baptist preacher (even if he wasn't ordained). I'm not sure when Uncle La came out of the closet (though I don't think they make closets big enough to have held Uncle La), but the whole world, especially the part of the world that includes bible belt North Carolina, had to have been mighty suspicious when in high school Larry started throwing the baton for the marching band. Sometime after college he moved to Atlanta and began his career as a female impersonator. Legend has it that Larry was the best female impersonator in Atlanta in the late 70's/early 80's with a pretty lucrative career. Gays and straights alike would come to see his show. When he had his first heart attack at age 35, Larry suddenly called up his old friend Jesus and left the bright lights of transgender entertainment. He hung up his dress and his tights, shelved his heels, feather boa and wig and grabbed a bible and never looked back. That's how he got to the bible study. His first near death experience caused him to reevaluate his entire life.
If my mom could have had a second husband, I would have wanted it to be Uncle La. But, b/c my mom was a 'hot mess' and more likely, b/c Larry didn't suddenly become attracted to women, they never wed. However, they were always as close as husband and wife or brother and sister. La called my mom, Tia. He knew her weaknesses and frailties like no other. He was the first person that I remember teasing my mother and her actually laughing. He made her laugh at herself. A thing that she had not been able to do. It was like a valve on a pressure steamer. He came along and started telling a few jokes and the situation was no longer as intense as it had once been. I don't know what my brother and I would have done without Uncle La. He taught us how to love her despite her blemishes and to actually love the spots that we had once found to be unsightly. He brought us laughter when there wasn't a whole lot about which to laugh. Every Sunday after church we'd go eat at Mick's. He introduced us to Oreo Cheesecake. There was a whole host of restaurants we'd go to and in each and every one, they all knew Larry. He was loved everywhere he went. It was like walking into a place with a celebritey. "Oh hey Larry! Glad to see you. Who do you have with you today?" And, I don't think I am looking at everything through rose-colored glasses, but it always seemed like he payed the tab.
Larry was a big man. Well over 6 feet tall and probably some 300+ lbs, physically, he took up a lot of space when he entered a room. But, even if he had been a wee little man, his personality could have filled a mansion. It was not possible to stop laughing when you were in his presence. I'm not talking about giggles, but gut-busting, pee your pants, laugh until you are crying and it hurts kind-of laugher. Though he had left his life on the stage, he was still always an entertainer. He was there through so many milestones in my life (and if a recovered homosexual can be a positive male role model, then that is precisely what he was for my brother); prom, high-school graduation, going off for my junior year of college in London (he bought me a box of Godiva chocolates which I exchanged for a red plaid robe that I still have today and I preferentially wear over all others in my closet), medical school graduation and my wedding (he did a reading). Though we never could get him to come visit after our wedding, we always visited him when we were in Atlanta. When I was interviewing for a residency spot at Emory, I went swimming and took a nap at his apartment. When I was pregnant with my oldest son he took us to his favorite Chinese restaurant. He drove out to my dad and step-mom's house when my boys were young to celebrate my oldest's 2nd birthday. I still remember the Bob-the-Builder outfit he bought my son. That same trip, we crashed in his apartment again, this time with the boys (one of my favorite pictures of the boys is on Uncle La's chair). He always met us out; Mick's, McDonald's, Cudzew Cafe, Mexican restaurants, Cumberland Mall (Larry's one bedroom apartment was full of crystal frames and figurines, but his refrigerator was empty except for some bottled water and Haagen-Dazs Ice Cream). Once he went with us to the Chattahoochee River and waded into the water with the kids. Then he took us to Target to buy Crocs for all 3 of my kids. The last time I saw him was last summer(2007) at his favorite Mexican restaurant. He took my kids to eat ice cream at Baskin Robbins afterward. When my 5 year old (at the time) decided to take a leak in the potted plant outside the shop, Larry told him that someone was going to cut off his weiner. This made my son cry b/c he didn't grow up with Uncle La. I remember feeling a little bit angry with him b/c he made my son cry.
I didn't get to see him on this most recent visit because I was crunched for time and I got lazy. I could have driven out to see him the nite that I arrived into town, but I hadn't seem my dad yet and my dad didn't want to drive into town to have dinner with Larry after a long day at work. God, what I would do to go back and change that decision. He left town to go see his mom in North Carolina the 2nd or 3rd day I was in Atlanta. For the first time, our paths didn't converge. I should have known something was going to happen. Larry was a big man and he enjoyed life. Sure he had heart disease and high cholesterol and high blood pressure and sure he took his medication, but there was no 'lifestyle modification'. If he wasn't having sex, he sure was going to eat. Eating was the one carnal desire that he could satisfy. Even after some cardiac surgery and additional hospitalizations, he still kept on eating exactly what he wanted to eat. I don't think it was a death wish so much as a lack of concern for things of this world. Even though Larry didn't necessarily take care of the his 'temple' (his body), he loved Jesus like no one's tomorrow. Jesus had walked him down some roads and Jesus was Larry's best friend. Larry walked the talk. He was almost always singing some Baptist hymn. That's about the only thing that makes this whole thing bearable; knowing that Larry is in heaven loving every minute of it and making the angles fall down and bust their wings with laughter and Jesus himself is probably wiping away tears from laughing so hard. I know that when it's my turn to go, he is going to run and greet me at those pearly gates and there is no one else (other than God himself) that I'd rather have greet me as I am enter into Glory. I'm going to miss the hell out of you Uncle La and Atlanta is never going to be the same, but save me some Oreo cheesecake and save me some good jokes. And if I forgot to tell you how much I love you the last time I saw you, maybe only now, when you are up in heaven, you can fully comprehend how much I loved you and how much your love meant to me. Take care of all the people down here who need it. Good bye Uncle La, good bye.
My kids don't understand the significance of my relationship with Uncle La. This is the man to whom, in addition to my own dad, I sent a father's day card almost every year. Flamboyantly and true to his previous life as a majorette, Uncle La came marching into our lives when I was about 15 years old (what else might you expect from a former male baton twirler?). My parents were divorced (or they might have just been separated) and my mom was a mess. A 'hot mess' as Chelsea Handler might describe her. She was uneducated and away from her family and she had 2 kids to raise without the help of her ex (or soon to be ex) husband. After bouncing around churches for a couple of years, we landed on the steps of First Baptist Church of Atlanta and my mom found her sanctuary. She joined a bible study with a motley crew for members, but this motley crew became our family and our rock for the next several years. Mainly, they were my mom's rock, but mine and my brother's by proxy. Had it not been for this unlikely assortment of God's children, I am quite certain that a) my mother would have been institutionalized and/or b) my brother and I would have been placed in foster care.
I don't remember all the people, but everyone in her bible study was like a character in a play. There was the older, conservative white couple who were the mom & pop of the outfit. Before moving to Africa to become missionaries, they led the group, opened their hearts and home and centered everyone. They kept the compass pointed in the right direction. There were some musicians and street performers, their son and his girlfriend (a bi-racial couple; still a pretty big statement in Atlanta, GA in the mid to late 80's), my mom (the single mom hanging on by a thread) and a medley of born-again, reformed gay men. Larry fell into this latter category. These men were no longer 'living in the life-style'. One was a hair-dresser who was HIV positive, the other lived with his grandmother and was on disability for 'chronic fatigue', the young guy who had just been starting to experiment with his new, gay identity, a married 'heterosexual' florist and then there was Uncle La.
Uncle La had grown up in a conservative Christian home in North Carolina. He had 2 sisters and one brother and I think his daddy might have been a baptist preacher (even if he wasn't ordained). I'm not sure when Uncle La came out of the closet (though I don't think they make closets big enough to have held Uncle La), but the whole world, especially the part of the world that includes bible belt North Carolina, had to have been mighty suspicious when in high school Larry started throwing the baton for the marching band. Sometime after college he moved to Atlanta and began his career as a female impersonator. Legend has it that Larry was the best female impersonator in Atlanta in the late 70's/early 80's with a pretty lucrative career. Gays and straights alike would come to see his show. When he had his first heart attack at age 35, Larry suddenly called up his old friend Jesus and left the bright lights of transgender entertainment. He hung up his dress and his tights, shelved his heels, feather boa and wig and grabbed a bible and never looked back. That's how he got to the bible study. His first near death experience caused him to reevaluate his entire life.
If my mom could have had a second husband, I would have wanted it to be Uncle La. But, b/c my mom was a 'hot mess' and more likely, b/c Larry didn't suddenly become attracted to women, they never wed. However, they were always as close as husband and wife or brother and sister. La called my mom, Tia. He knew her weaknesses and frailties like no other. He was the first person that I remember teasing my mother and her actually laughing. He made her laugh at herself. A thing that she had not been able to do. It was like a valve on a pressure steamer. He came along and started telling a few jokes and the situation was no longer as intense as it had once been. I don't know what my brother and I would have done without Uncle La. He taught us how to love her despite her blemishes and to actually love the spots that we had once found to be unsightly. He brought us laughter when there wasn't a whole lot about which to laugh. Every Sunday after church we'd go eat at Mick's. He introduced us to Oreo Cheesecake. There was a whole host of restaurants we'd go to and in each and every one, they all knew Larry. He was loved everywhere he went. It was like walking into a place with a celebritey. "Oh hey Larry! Glad to see you. Who do you have with you today?" And, I don't think I am looking at everything through rose-colored glasses, but it always seemed like he payed the tab.
Larry was a big man. Well over 6 feet tall and probably some 300+ lbs, physically, he took up a lot of space when he entered a room. But, even if he had been a wee little man, his personality could have filled a mansion. It was not possible to stop laughing when you were in his presence. I'm not talking about giggles, but gut-busting, pee your pants, laugh until you are crying and it hurts kind-of laugher. Though he had left his life on the stage, he was still always an entertainer. He was there through so many milestones in my life (and if a recovered homosexual can be a positive male role model, then that is precisely what he was for my brother); prom, high-school graduation, going off for my junior year of college in London (he bought me a box of Godiva chocolates which I exchanged for a red plaid robe that I still have today and I preferentially wear over all others in my closet), medical school graduation and my wedding (he did a reading). Though we never could get him to come visit after our wedding, we always visited him when we were in Atlanta. When I was interviewing for a residency spot at Emory, I went swimming and took a nap at his apartment. When I was pregnant with my oldest son he took us to his favorite Chinese restaurant. He drove out to my dad and step-mom's house when my boys were young to celebrate my oldest's 2nd birthday. I still remember the Bob-the-Builder outfit he bought my son. That same trip, we crashed in his apartment again, this time with the boys (one of my favorite pictures of the boys is on Uncle La's chair). He always met us out; Mick's, McDonald's, Cudzew Cafe, Mexican restaurants, Cumberland Mall (Larry's one bedroom apartment was full of crystal frames and figurines, but his refrigerator was empty except for some bottled water and Haagen-Dazs Ice Cream). Once he went with us to the Chattahoochee River and waded into the water with the kids. Then he took us to Target to buy Crocs for all 3 of my kids. The last time I saw him was last summer(2007) at his favorite Mexican restaurant. He took my kids to eat ice cream at Baskin Robbins afterward. When my 5 year old (at the time) decided to take a leak in the potted plant outside the shop, Larry told him that someone was going to cut off his weiner. This made my son cry b/c he didn't grow up with Uncle La. I remember feeling a little bit angry with him b/c he made my son cry.
I didn't get to see him on this most recent visit because I was crunched for time and I got lazy. I could have driven out to see him the nite that I arrived into town, but I hadn't seem my dad yet and my dad didn't want to drive into town to have dinner with Larry after a long day at work. God, what I would do to go back and change that decision. He left town to go see his mom in North Carolina the 2nd or 3rd day I was in Atlanta. For the first time, our paths didn't converge. I should have known something was going to happen. Larry was a big man and he enjoyed life. Sure he had heart disease and high cholesterol and high blood pressure and sure he took his medication, but there was no 'lifestyle modification'. If he wasn't having sex, he sure was going to eat. Eating was the one carnal desire that he could satisfy. Even after some cardiac surgery and additional hospitalizations, he still kept on eating exactly what he wanted to eat. I don't think it was a death wish so much as a lack of concern for things of this world. Even though Larry didn't necessarily take care of the his 'temple' (his body), he loved Jesus like no one's tomorrow. Jesus had walked him down some roads and Jesus was Larry's best friend. Larry walked the talk. He was almost always singing some Baptist hymn. That's about the only thing that makes this whole thing bearable; knowing that Larry is in heaven loving every minute of it and making the angles fall down and bust their wings with laughter and Jesus himself is probably wiping away tears from laughing so hard. I know that when it's my turn to go, he is going to run and greet me at those pearly gates and there is no one else (other than God himself) that I'd rather have greet me as I am enter into Glory. I'm going to miss the hell out of you Uncle La and Atlanta is never going to be the same, but save me some Oreo cheesecake and save me some good jokes. And if I forgot to tell you how much I love you the last time I saw you, maybe only now, when you are up in heaven, you can fully comprehend how much I loved you and how much your love meant to me. Take care of all the people down here who need it. Good bye Uncle La, good bye.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Clickin'
Wow, I've been lazy lately! I've been spending far too much time making those bead designs that require ironing. It's completely addictive and has consumed just about my every waking moment for the past 3 weeks. I sit there like an idiot or a trained chimp picking out tiny beads and putting them on a peg board. It's about as mentally stimulating as watching static on the tv, but I just can't take my hands off those tiny beads.
When I was in Pennsylvania, my 10 year old niece and I went to Michael's to buy more of these beads and it was though we had landed in wonderland. It was almost too much to bear; aisles and aisles of crafts that needed to be purchased and completed. We filled our cart up to the rim and then I came to my senses as I approached the cash register, realizing that there was absolutely no justification in spending 3 digits on shit that I was just going to throw away or that would sit in my spare bedroom (like my scrapbooking stuff, knitting yarn/needles and pictures to be framed). I'm becoming frighteningly similar to my grandmother and her nursing home posse and I'm skirting dangerously close to applying jewels and rhinestones to my jeans and putting angels on sweatshirts and sending them to everyone I know as Christmas presents.
Today my 4 year old daughter told me that she just couldn't control herself and that she needed to be trained. This was in reference to our new puppy. Puppies are small and cute and she wants to rub their cold, wet noses. I think she might be right. The dog needs to be trained, but so does she. We hired a dog trainer to come over to the house and show us the correct way to get the dog house-trained but we might need to hire a girl-trainer that can show us how to manage our daughter.
My husband and his sister are watching the movie Hostel. I think the basic premise of the movie is college graduates get murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They love to watch slasher flicks. I don't have the stomach for it and I'm a huge chicken. I can hear them complaining because no one has gotten dismembered and they are already 10 minutes into the movie. "This movie sucks! Didn't people get killed right away in Saw?" They opted for this over the Olympics. Lee is in a bad mood and nothing makes him feel better than watching people suffer, especially if it is particularly violent and people are being tortured.
He (Lee) has been working in the ER this month. Working there can make you a sadistic person. When you are taking care of the dregs of society you start to view everyone with disdain; the grocery store clerk, the person who won't let you merge into traffic, your wife and children. Sleep deprivation intensifies your emotions so something that might seem mildly irritating on a normal day, on a sleep deprived day might push you to become justifiably homicidal. The other nite, while the rest of us slumbered, he took care of 29 acutely ill patients in a 12 hour period. We are talking about heart attacks, strokes, altered mental status. It was him, one 3rd year medical resident and a first year medical resident. You leave there, the hospital, at 7 am (or more realistically, at 7:30-8 am) and you are supposed to immediately mainstream yourself. You might have just finished intubating (putting a breathing tube into) someone with pneumonia so bad that he can't breath for himself, sent someone with a possible stroke to the CT scanner, or taken care of the same drunken bum for the 118th time, but you have to walk out of there and act like the world is a balanced place. Last Wednesday nite he had a patient that would only talk to him and agree to medical treatment after conferring with the Holy Spirit. "Holy Spirit, is it okay if I get an IV?" "The Holy Spirit said no, you can't draw my blood or put an IV in my arm." "Sir if you don't let me put an IV in your arm, we are going to have to call security and they will tie you down so we can put an IV in your arm, so you might want to check with the Holy Spirit again." "Alright, I checked again and this time the Holy Spirit said it was okay."
Last month, Lee was taking care of the patients on the in-patient service in the hospital. These are the patients who have been hospitalized for various and sundry reasons. He was making rounds by himself one day and he asked a guy with AIDS why he stopped taking his HIV medications. "Well, I was at work and these people kept messing with me and then I started clickin' and theys started clickin' and then they was clickin' and I was clickin' and we was all clickin'. Click, click, click, clickin'. You know what I mean? We was clickin'." I wonder if he wrote in the patient's chart. Diagnosis: clickin'. And I wonder what the treatment might be.
I've been having a hard time the past couple of days because I don't know how to handle disapproval. Judgment is damaging. We all do it, judge. "How can she let her kids watch that movie, play that video game, listen to that music, etc..." It is so much easier to condemn someone elses actions/intentions than to analyze our own lives. It gives us this weird sense of superiority. By devaluing someone else, we somehow feel validated. "If they are wrong, then I must be right." I think we are the harshest with our own families, our siblings & parents or our spouse's siblings and parents. Then we feel like we have to rally our cause and talk to other family members to get them onto "our side." "Can you believe what so and so is doing (or can you believe what they did)? What are they thinking?" When you become the one who is being judged then all of the sudden you realize that it is a bad idea. Suddenly you want them to walk in your shoes, to see the world from your perspective. I have to admit that when someone I love judges me, I don't know what to do. It has taken me a while to go to God about this one, to finally realize that the only thing that really matters is His judgment of me. And as sad as I might feel about someone's disapproval of me or my actions, I still need to choose to love them and realize that God will take care of the rest. And if I go to Him first, if I honor Him, then nothing else really matters. It all goes back to keeping my eyes on Him. If my eyes are on Him, then the waves won't overpower me and drown me. But the minute I take my eyes off of Him, then I start to drown. If I keep my eyes on Him then there is no reason for me to keep 'clickin' with everyone around me.
When I was in Pennsylvania, my 10 year old niece and I went to Michael's to buy more of these beads and it was though we had landed in wonderland. It was almost too much to bear; aisles and aisles of crafts that needed to be purchased and completed. We filled our cart up to the rim and then I came to my senses as I approached the cash register, realizing that there was absolutely no justification in spending 3 digits on shit that I was just going to throw away or that would sit in my spare bedroom (like my scrapbooking stuff, knitting yarn/needles and pictures to be framed). I'm becoming frighteningly similar to my grandmother and her nursing home posse and I'm skirting dangerously close to applying jewels and rhinestones to my jeans and putting angels on sweatshirts and sending them to everyone I know as Christmas presents.
Today my 4 year old daughter told me that she just couldn't control herself and that she needed to be trained. This was in reference to our new puppy. Puppies are small and cute and she wants to rub their cold, wet noses. I think she might be right. The dog needs to be trained, but so does she. We hired a dog trainer to come over to the house and show us the correct way to get the dog house-trained but we might need to hire a girl-trainer that can show us how to manage our daughter.
My husband and his sister are watching the movie Hostel. I think the basic premise of the movie is college graduates get murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They love to watch slasher flicks. I don't have the stomach for it and I'm a huge chicken. I can hear them complaining because no one has gotten dismembered and they are already 10 minutes into the movie. "This movie sucks! Didn't people get killed right away in Saw?" They opted for this over the Olympics. Lee is in a bad mood and nothing makes him feel better than watching people suffer, especially if it is particularly violent and people are being tortured.
He (Lee) has been working in the ER this month. Working there can make you a sadistic person. When you are taking care of the dregs of society you start to view everyone with disdain; the grocery store clerk, the person who won't let you merge into traffic, your wife and children. Sleep deprivation intensifies your emotions so something that might seem mildly irritating on a normal day, on a sleep deprived day might push you to become justifiably homicidal. The other nite, while the rest of us slumbered, he took care of 29 acutely ill patients in a 12 hour period. We are talking about heart attacks, strokes, altered mental status. It was him, one 3rd year medical resident and a first year medical resident. You leave there, the hospital, at 7 am (or more realistically, at 7:30-8 am) and you are supposed to immediately mainstream yourself. You might have just finished intubating (putting a breathing tube into) someone with pneumonia so bad that he can't breath for himself, sent someone with a possible stroke to the CT scanner, or taken care of the same drunken bum for the 118th time, but you have to walk out of there and act like the world is a balanced place. Last Wednesday nite he had a patient that would only talk to him and agree to medical treatment after conferring with the Holy Spirit. "Holy Spirit, is it okay if I get an IV?" "The Holy Spirit said no, you can't draw my blood or put an IV in my arm." "Sir if you don't let me put an IV in your arm, we are going to have to call security and they will tie you down so we can put an IV in your arm, so you might want to check with the Holy Spirit again." "Alright, I checked again and this time the Holy Spirit said it was okay."
Last month, Lee was taking care of the patients on the in-patient service in the hospital. These are the patients who have been hospitalized for various and sundry reasons. He was making rounds by himself one day and he asked a guy with AIDS why he stopped taking his HIV medications. "Well, I was at work and these people kept messing with me and then I started clickin' and theys started clickin' and then they was clickin' and I was clickin' and we was all clickin'. Click, click, click, clickin'. You know what I mean? We was clickin'." I wonder if he wrote in the patient's chart. Diagnosis: clickin'. And I wonder what the treatment might be.
I've been having a hard time the past couple of days because I don't know how to handle disapproval. Judgment is damaging. We all do it, judge. "How can she let her kids watch that movie, play that video game, listen to that music, etc..." It is so much easier to condemn someone elses actions/intentions than to analyze our own lives. It gives us this weird sense of superiority. By devaluing someone else, we somehow feel validated. "If they are wrong, then I must be right." I think we are the harshest with our own families, our siblings & parents or our spouse's siblings and parents. Then we feel like we have to rally our cause and talk to other family members to get them onto "our side." "Can you believe what so and so is doing (or can you believe what they did)? What are they thinking?" When you become the one who is being judged then all of the sudden you realize that it is a bad idea. Suddenly you want them to walk in your shoes, to see the world from your perspective. I have to admit that when someone I love judges me, I don't know what to do. It has taken me a while to go to God about this one, to finally realize that the only thing that really matters is His judgment of me. And as sad as I might feel about someone's disapproval of me or my actions, I still need to choose to love them and realize that God will take care of the rest. And if I go to Him first, if I honor Him, then nothing else really matters. It all goes back to keeping my eyes on Him. If my eyes are on Him, then the waves won't overpower me and drown me. But the minute I take my eyes off of Him, then I start to drown. If I keep my eyes on Him then there is no reason for me to keep 'clickin' with everyone around me.
Monday, July 21, 2008
The In-Laws
We're up in Western PA on vacation. The kids love it up here because it is a total departure from their reality. They can play in the creek, swim in the pond, pick blackberries, shoot b-b guns, stay up as late as they want, harrass their older cousins...Basically it's utopia. Bathing is pretty much optional. The place uses well water and my mother-in-law polices water usage like the Kremlin policed free speech. My kids have no concept of conservation. You turn on the tap, water comes out. To them, it's like cash at the ATM machine-there is always an endless source-if you want some, you can get some. Trying to explain the differences in modern water delivery sources was more than they cared to know. I wasn't about to start a conversation about septic tanks. Plumbing is not a topic of interest to them.
Many people might consider a two week vacation with your in-laws to be a lapse in better judgement. Before I left home, one of my friends asked me, "Are you sure you want to spend that much time with your husband's family?" These people, Lee's family, are delightful. Where else could Lee have gotten his charm? There isn't a single conversation without the use of 4 letter words (by granny and grandchild alike). Besides, these people know all of my husband's most embarrasing and humiliating moments in life and share these stories freely. I know that I am accepted and loved by these people because any story that involves me they begin with the statement, "Remember when Michelle used to be nice..." My sister-in-law is convinced that with my first pregnancy there was come trans-placental transfer of blood causing a transformation that changed me into the beautifully ruthless woman that they love and admire today. While the kids might look forward to all of the woodsy/outdoor activities, Lee and I get all giddy at the prospect of playing Scrabble day after day with his sister and various other family members. It's pretty cut-throat and I have to admit that I can't really run with the big dogs, but I give a fairly good show.
We spent some time in the DC area with Lee's brother and his family. Lee and his brother are about as tight as two grown men can be. However, you'd never realize that the two of them left adolescence, at least not mentally. They are complete idiots around each other and my two boys are just like them. It's heartwarming. (It actually is-to see them-Lee and his big brother-simultaneously change diapers/give baths and make up foul stories to make the other one laugh). It makes me smile to think about our collective 5 children playing together. The biggest dilemma of our 7 days together was that my eldest boy couldn't understand how his 3 year old girl cousin wanted to incorporate princesses into their spy game. This caused him endless frustration because why would anyone want to desicrate a perfectly good spy game with girl stuff? It almost overloaded his system for me to tell him that perhaps she could stun the bad guy with her princessly beauty or karate chop them with her ballet moves. Begrudgingly, he acquiesed. My daughter, at age 4, was the cool, older cousin to her 3 year old cousin. "Why does she copy everything I do, Mom?" Hmmm...sounds familiar, but the other way around usually...And of course, everyone loved the baby. None of it could have been any better.
We were able to go to DC one day and see some of the sights. My oldest son never stopped asking questions from the moment we parked the car till the second we arrived back to his aunt and uncle's house. These weren't your usual 'I need some factual information' questions. These were the 'torture your parents till there brain throbs' kind of questions. "What if we saw the President?" "What if he invited us to his house to eat?" "Why is there a gate around the White House?" "How did that squirrel get inside the gate?" "I can't see any of the security cameras." "What if I climbed over the fence?" "Where does the Vice-President live?" "What does he do?" "Why hasn't their ever been a woman President?" "Will we ever have a woman President?" "What if we stole the Hope Diamond?" "It's not really that big. I've seen bigger."
We took our 10 year old niece with us and I think she was the perfect age to see DC. She knew enough history for it to be pertinent (as opposed to our kids who will likely only remember the popsicles that we bought from the street vendor). Taking her, our niece, reminded me of when my aunts and uncles used to take me with them on trips. Going somewhere with your aunts and uncles, when you are little, opens a whole different window to the world. These are grown adults, in many ways like your parents, but completely different from them. It's a whole different set of rules with aunts and uncles. They listen to different music, eat different food, watch different shows, laugh at different jokes. It's the first time you are able to see the world in a context other than the one presented to you by your parents and it's done with complete safety. Who better to show you an alternate view of reality than your own parents' siblings? They aren't trying to corrupt you and they have only your best interest in mind and they completely love you. I think back to my own childhood and the impact that my aunts and uncles had on my upbringing and I can't imagine not doing this for my own nieces and nephews. These are the people that you turn to when your own parents are being absolute shits for not letting you stay out all night on prom-nite. They aren't your parents so you don't see their flaws with the intensity that you see your own parents' flaws and they tolerate your irritating personality traits much more than your own parents do. Aunts and uncles (even those unrelated "aunts and uncles") are God's emissaries of good will. They are the angels that help us through some of life's most difficult moments. I take my job as aunt very seriously and I am much more sensitive to my nieces and nephews judgement of me than my own children (my kids are stuck with me, they have no choice).
I guess that is why these trips to see my husband's family are so important to me. I'm not really doing it for my own enjoyment. That's a fringe benefit. It's for my kids and my nieces and nephews; the next generation. I'm hoping and praying that Lee and I are building a legacy that my kids and my nieces and nephews can pass on to their kids and their kids' cousins. There is not much that matters more than family. My kids have the luxury of being in the same town as my mom and my brother and his family. They don't have that benefit with Lee's family and how could I ever deprive them of the opportunity to be around the people that made their father the man that he is. They need this to help put together the puzzle of who they are. Especially since my kids have characteristics of their father's family poking all through their personalities. And I am proud that they do.
Many people might consider a two week vacation with your in-laws to be a lapse in better judgement. Before I left home, one of my friends asked me, "Are you sure you want to spend that much time with your husband's family?" These people, Lee's family, are delightful. Where else could Lee have gotten his charm? There isn't a single conversation without the use of 4 letter words (by granny and grandchild alike). Besides, these people know all of my husband's most embarrasing and humiliating moments in life and share these stories freely. I know that I am accepted and loved by these people because any story that involves me they begin with the statement, "Remember when Michelle used to be nice..." My sister-in-law is convinced that with my first pregnancy there was come trans-placental transfer of blood causing a transformation that changed me into the beautifully ruthless woman that they love and admire today. While the kids might look forward to all of the woodsy/outdoor activities, Lee and I get all giddy at the prospect of playing Scrabble day after day with his sister and various other family members. It's pretty cut-throat and I have to admit that I can't really run with the big dogs, but I give a fairly good show.
We spent some time in the DC area with Lee's brother and his family. Lee and his brother are about as tight as two grown men can be. However, you'd never realize that the two of them left adolescence, at least not mentally. They are complete idiots around each other and my two boys are just like them. It's heartwarming. (It actually is-to see them-Lee and his big brother-simultaneously change diapers/give baths and make up foul stories to make the other one laugh). It makes me smile to think about our collective 5 children playing together. The biggest dilemma of our 7 days together was that my eldest boy couldn't understand how his 3 year old girl cousin wanted to incorporate princesses into their spy game. This caused him endless frustration because why would anyone want to desicrate a perfectly good spy game with girl stuff? It almost overloaded his system for me to tell him that perhaps she could stun the bad guy with her princessly beauty or karate chop them with her ballet moves. Begrudgingly, he acquiesed. My daughter, at age 4, was the cool, older cousin to her 3 year old cousin. "Why does she copy everything I do, Mom?" Hmmm...sounds familiar, but the other way around usually...And of course, everyone loved the baby. None of it could have been any better.
We were able to go to DC one day and see some of the sights. My oldest son never stopped asking questions from the moment we parked the car till the second we arrived back to his aunt and uncle's house. These weren't your usual 'I need some factual information' questions. These were the 'torture your parents till there brain throbs' kind of questions. "What if we saw the President?" "What if he invited us to his house to eat?" "Why is there a gate around the White House?" "How did that squirrel get inside the gate?" "I can't see any of the security cameras." "What if I climbed over the fence?" "Where does the Vice-President live?" "What does he do?" "Why hasn't their ever been a woman President?" "Will we ever have a woman President?" "What if we stole the Hope Diamond?" "It's not really that big. I've seen bigger."
We took our 10 year old niece with us and I think she was the perfect age to see DC. She knew enough history for it to be pertinent (as opposed to our kids who will likely only remember the popsicles that we bought from the street vendor). Taking her, our niece, reminded me of when my aunts and uncles used to take me with them on trips. Going somewhere with your aunts and uncles, when you are little, opens a whole different window to the world. These are grown adults, in many ways like your parents, but completely different from them. It's a whole different set of rules with aunts and uncles. They listen to different music, eat different food, watch different shows, laugh at different jokes. It's the first time you are able to see the world in a context other than the one presented to you by your parents and it's done with complete safety. Who better to show you an alternate view of reality than your own parents' siblings? They aren't trying to corrupt you and they have only your best interest in mind and they completely love you. I think back to my own childhood and the impact that my aunts and uncles had on my upbringing and I can't imagine not doing this for my own nieces and nephews. These are the people that you turn to when your own parents are being absolute shits for not letting you stay out all night on prom-nite. They aren't your parents so you don't see their flaws with the intensity that you see your own parents' flaws and they tolerate your irritating personality traits much more than your own parents do. Aunts and uncles (even those unrelated "aunts and uncles") are God's emissaries of good will. They are the angels that help us through some of life's most difficult moments. I take my job as aunt very seriously and I am much more sensitive to my nieces and nephews judgement of me than my own children (my kids are stuck with me, they have no choice).
I guess that is why these trips to see my husband's family are so important to me. I'm not really doing it for my own enjoyment. That's a fringe benefit. It's for my kids and my nieces and nephews; the next generation. I'm hoping and praying that Lee and I are building a legacy that my kids and my nieces and nephews can pass on to their kids and their kids' cousins. There is not much that matters more than family. My kids have the luxury of being in the same town as my mom and my brother and his family. They don't have that benefit with Lee's family and how could I ever deprive them of the opportunity to be around the people that made their father the man that he is. They need this to help put together the puzzle of who they are. Especially since my kids have characteristics of their father's family poking all through their personalities. And I am proud that they do.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Turning Christian
Need to clean the mouse's cage. I say that to myself everyday with earnest intentions of doing so. It doesn't smell-not yet. In her cage, there is a mezzanine, an area for relaxation and there are little mouse turds on it. This is what tells me that I can't keep waiting one more day. When the mouse turds are visible to the naked eye, it is creeping into the realm of public health concerns. I can ask my housekeeper/nanny to do a lot of things, but that is probably crossing the line.
I am at the mercy of my housekeeper/nanny. This morning when she walked into our house I thought she was in a bad mood and immediately I felt guilty. I know this is a very egocentric view of my nanny's world, but I was convinced I had done something injurious to her-like asking her to come in early. I tip-toed around till I was sure that she was in a good mood. You must understand, this woman, she completes me. As a matter of fact, in the diad that is myself and my babysitter, I am a very small component. It's mostly all her. I'm almost unnecessary in our home. Even the kids know this. They know to go to her for most household queries. I'm mearly window dressing. Because my world would come crashing down around me if she were to suddenly leave me, I'm constantly trying to keep the fire burning with little enticements and gestures of affection, like heating her a slice of left over pizza for lunch or sending left-overs home with her. How could she ever leave me? No one else would ever treat her so well...
Middle son "turned Christian" this week at vacation bible school. He announced this at our evening meal while he was saying grace. "And God, thank you for letting me turn Christian today..." He is all okay with Jesus. Oldest son is slightly more concrete than middle son. When asked about the condition of his eternal soul, he told his father and I that he just couldn't do it. Meaning he could not have the same conversion experience that his younger brother had just had, "because I waited and nothing happened. I didn't feel any different. It's just not going to happen for me." He had so quickly and easily resolved himself to eternal brimstone and damnation as though he had decided to take a pass on the gravy. Christ's salvation was meant for some people, but not for him and he was a-okay with that. He tried once in that gospel tent at vbs, but it was a no-go for him. As we talked to him, we realized his teacher had told him that she had felt something emotional when she "turned Christian". I guess he kept waiting for this rush of wind or the song of a thousand angels or Christ himself to come marching down the aisle with his big brass band and when it didn't happen he just shrugged his shoulders.
I don't expect my kids to completely get it about salvation right now-I mean while they are this young. We talk about it all the time. Christ's redemptive love, his salvation, his death on the cross, our sins, etc, etc...Not in a frightening, legalistic, authoritarian kind of way, but in a "hey, this is really cool & you're never going to believe this" kind of way. Eventually they will have to make up their own minds. Our job is exposure. And dialogue. And modeling. This last one is the most important one. God himself knows that I am a pretty feable stand-in for him, but he still nominated me (and Lee) for the job. We are the first people to reflect Christ's grace and mercy and love to our children. How we live our lives, especially in these early years, tells them everything about God's love. We have a few short years before other peoples' opinions matter more than ours do. Whenever I have to take a deep breath and pause so I don't completely loose it, this is what I remember. Time passes by quickly.
Oldest son had some hope that salvation was also for him after we explained that as Brad Delp, lead singer of 70's band Boston, so aptly stated, "It's more than a feeling..." (though I don't think he was referring to salvation, but to some girl named Marianne). Middle son, realizing for once in his life he had something his older brother did not have (even though we all have it-the ability to open the door from the inside), immediately became the spiritual and moral compass for that moment at the dinner table. With his 4 year old younger sister sitting to his left, he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, raised his eyebrows and asked out of the side of his mouth, "What about her?" As though we might be able to sift her out once and for all. She was happily oblivious with her rice and squash. For her, vbs is something that her mother is forcing her to attend and she barely tolerates. But, I guess all a mother can do is pray. That is what my mother did for many, many years and she still does. I know I am where I am today because of my mother's prayers. I pray for my children; that they would know (and know early) and experience God's love and mercy and grace that he gives to all of us, free of charge. Hopefully someday they will all "turn Christian".
Ephesians 3:14-19
14 When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father,[e] 15 the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.[f] 16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. 17 Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
I am at the mercy of my housekeeper/nanny. This morning when she walked into our house I thought she was in a bad mood and immediately I felt guilty. I know this is a very egocentric view of my nanny's world, but I was convinced I had done something injurious to her-like asking her to come in early. I tip-toed around till I was sure that she was in a good mood. You must understand, this woman, she completes me. As a matter of fact, in the diad that is myself and my babysitter, I am a very small component. It's mostly all her. I'm almost unnecessary in our home. Even the kids know this. They know to go to her for most household queries. I'm mearly window dressing. Because my world would come crashing down around me if she were to suddenly leave me, I'm constantly trying to keep the fire burning with little enticements and gestures of affection, like heating her a slice of left over pizza for lunch or sending left-overs home with her. How could she ever leave me? No one else would ever treat her so well...
Middle son "turned Christian" this week at vacation bible school. He announced this at our evening meal while he was saying grace. "And God, thank you for letting me turn Christian today..." He is all okay with Jesus. Oldest son is slightly more concrete than middle son. When asked about the condition of his eternal soul, he told his father and I that he just couldn't do it. Meaning he could not have the same conversion experience that his younger brother had just had, "because I waited and nothing happened. I didn't feel any different. It's just not going to happen for me." He had so quickly and easily resolved himself to eternal brimstone and damnation as though he had decided to take a pass on the gravy. Christ's salvation was meant for some people, but not for him and he was a-okay with that. He tried once in that gospel tent at vbs, but it was a no-go for him. As we talked to him, we realized his teacher had told him that she had felt something emotional when she "turned Christian". I guess he kept waiting for this rush of wind or the song of a thousand angels or Christ himself to come marching down the aisle with his big brass band and when it didn't happen he just shrugged his shoulders.
I don't expect my kids to completely get it about salvation right now-I mean while they are this young. We talk about it all the time. Christ's redemptive love, his salvation, his death on the cross, our sins, etc, etc...Not in a frightening, legalistic, authoritarian kind of way, but in a "hey, this is really cool & you're never going to believe this" kind of way. Eventually they will have to make up their own minds. Our job is exposure. And dialogue. And modeling. This last one is the most important one. God himself knows that I am a pretty feable stand-in for him, but he still nominated me (and Lee) for the job. We are the first people to reflect Christ's grace and mercy and love to our children. How we live our lives, especially in these early years, tells them everything about God's love. We have a few short years before other peoples' opinions matter more than ours do. Whenever I have to take a deep breath and pause so I don't completely loose it, this is what I remember. Time passes by quickly.
Oldest son had some hope that salvation was also for him after we explained that as Brad Delp, lead singer of 70's band Boston, so aptly stated, "It's more than a feeling..." (though I don't think he was referring to salvation, but to some girl named Marianne). Middle son, realizing for once in his life he had something his older brother did not have (even though we all have it-the ability to open the door from the inside), immediately became the spiritual and moral compass for that moment at the dinner table. With his 4 year old younger sister sitting to his left, he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, raised his eyebrows and asked out of the side of his mouth, "What about her?" As though we might be able to sift her out once and for all. She was happily oblivious with her rice and squash. For her, vbs is something that her mother is forcing her to attend and she barely tolerates. But, I guess all a mother can do is pray. That is what my mother did for many, many years and she still does. I know I am where I am today because of my mother's prayers. I pray for my children; that they would know (and know early) and experience God's love and mercy and grace that he gives to all of us, free of charge. Hopefully someday they will all "turn Christian".
Ephesians 3:14-19
14 When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father,[e] 15 the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.[f] 16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. 17 Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Consider It All Joy
Today has been a rough day. There has been the usual parenting stuff-kids vomiting, whining, arguing. The cousins spent the night last nite as part of my elaborate plan to make life easier for myself and my sister in law. But the plans were foiled when middle son started vomiting at 4 am and one by one all of the kids started waking up. Then we just had one sick kid, one caffeine deficient mother, a sleeping father and 4 extra kids. However, I will say that for a few brief moments, while I had my daughter, my niece and my middle son all hunkered in bed with me and my nephew and oldest son asleep in the other room (Lee exiled himself to the guest room) I felt like I was doing something right. Even though we had everyone rambling around different beds (girls on floor, girls on bed, boys on floor, boys on bed, husband on bed, husband in guest room, niece in bed with cousins, niece on floor with aunt, everyone awake by 5:30 am), this is how summer should be, spending the night with your cousins and staying up late (or in this case, getting up early).
By 9 am I was ready for a nap and lucky for me, our babysitter was here, but that's when the scream-fest began. My niece, who is 2 yrs old, had been up since 4:30 am and her usual cheery disposition was overshadowed by sleep deprivation. My daughter was hell bent on doing her best Sybil impersonation and when my sister in law tried to take her and her cousin for a walk, she began shreaking so loudly that I thought she was being abducted. Erroneously, I had thought that I would be able to get some sleep while my sick kid was sleeping. I was jolted out of my pre-slumber state by my daughter's howls and I reluctantly got out of bed to try to do some damage control. With the TV tuned to Sponge Bob (with nearly 300 channels, we can always find a channel showing Sponge Bob) I tried to sleep on the sofa while my daughter watched TV, but like clockwork, she would poke me in the ribs just as I was about to drift out of consciousness. When my oldest son called me from swim practice to tell me he missed me (he had been taken by a neighbor) and could I please come and stay with him at the pool (this was 5 minutes after the practice began) I realized that it was not meant to be. The gods did not ordain sleep as part of my destiny.
Because middle kid fell of our tread mill yesterday, husband and I were concerned about his complaints of headache and his persistent vomiting. Seventeen years of combined medical training and nineteen years of combined practice has made us nothing if not overly neurotic when it comes to our kids' health. Since neither one of us are pediatricians, our kids might as well be donkeys when it comes to diagnosing their ailments. We know as much about pediatrics as we do veterinary medicine. So, mid day was punctuated with a trip to the kids' doctor just so she could tell us that it was indeed a viral illness and not some traumatic brain injury that we had feared. Thankfully she gave us a pass on the judgement call of allowing a six year old on a treadmill (it's not our fault that he increased the speed to 7 miles/hour when we weren't looking).
As I am writing this I am watching Dottie, the newest member of our family, do her damnest to try to escape the cage in which she is imprisoned. I finally relented to my daughter's pleas and I bought her a rodent. It's a little mouse and even I've got to admit that it's kind of cute. Dottie, realizing that her tormentors are no where in sight, has decided that now is the time to make a quick get-away. Unsuccessfully, she has tried to chew her way through every corner of the cage. I can see her over there training. Trying to get bigger, stronger, faster by racing on her little wheel and doing drills in her little tunnel. She is determined to have her persistance pay off because I think she knows the alternative-one of her youthful caretakers will unwittingly assasinate her.
The worst part of the day was learning that a breast cancer acquaintence died in May. She was 40 years old and she is survived by her husband and 2 daughters, 13 and 7 years old. I've spent a good part of the day mourning her death and quite honestly, mourning my inclusion in this unfortunate club. This woman was such a lovely person and a true angel when I was first diagnosed. She never failed to send me encouraging notes and she brought me holy water from a cathedral in NYC and a worry/prayer cross. The last time she and I talked I knew that her death was not too far in the distant future. I think that she had hoped that I might be able to help her in some way due to my profession. I think I wanted her to be a window into my future, but a window that did not include death. In the end I think I was a coward. I think I pulled away from her because I couldn't handle the fact that she was going to die. Breast cancer sucks. Everyone should be able to live happily ever after or at the very least until their children are out of college. Children shouldn't be left motherless, especially not 13 and 7 year old children. For as much as I kvetch about motherhood on this blog, every moment with my family is a priviledge and I don't want to be short-changed one single second. I would like to rescind my membership in this club. The dues are too steep and there really aren't too many perks. Pray for me and pray for the women and the families who are affected by this disease.
James 1:2-4 "Dear brothers and sisters, whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything."
By 9 am I was ready for a nap and lucky for me, our babysitter was here, but that's when the scream-fest began. My niece, who is 2 yrs old, had been up since 4:30 am and her usual cheery disposition was overshadowed by sleep deprivation. My daughter was hell bent on doing her best Sybil impersonation and when my sister in law tried to take her and her cousin for a walk, she began shreaking so loudly that I thought she was being abducted. Erroneously, I had thought that I would be able to get some sleep while my sick kid was sleeping. I was jolted out of my pre-slumber state by my daughter's howls and I reluctantly got out of bed to try to do some damage control. With the TV tuned to Sponge Bob (with nearly 300 channels, we can always find a channel showing Sponge Bob) I tried to sleep on the sofa while my daughter watched TV, but like clockwork, she would poke me in the ribs just as I was about to drift out of consciousness. When my oldest son called me from swim practice to tell me he missed me (he had been taken by a neighbor) and could I please come and stay with him at the pool (this was 5 minutes after the practice began) I realized that it was not meant to be. The gods did not ordain sleep as part of my destiny.
Because middle kid fell of our tread mill yesterday, husband and I were concerned about his complaints of headache and his persistent vomiting. Seventeen years of combined medical training and nineteen years of combined practice has made us nothing if not overly neurotic when it comes to our kids' health. Since neither one of us are pediatricians, our kids might as well be donkeys when it comes to diagnosing their ailments. We know as much about pediatrics as we do veterinary medicine. So, mid day was punctuated with a trip to the kids' doctor just so she could tell us that it was indeed a viral illness and not some traumatic brain injury that we had feared. Thankfully she gave us a pass on the judgement call of allowing a six year old on a treadmill (it's not our fault that he increased the speed to 7 miles/hour when we weren't looking).
As I am writing this I am watching Dottie, the newest member of our family, do her damnest to try to escape the cage in which she is imprisoned. I finally relented to my daughter's pleas and I bought her a rodent. It's a little mouse and even I've got to admit that it's kind of cute. Dottie, realizing that her tormentors are no where in sight, has decided that now is the time to make a quick get-away. Unsuccessfully, she has tried to chew her way through every corner of the cage. I can see her over there training. Trying to get bigger, stronger, faster by racing on her little wheel and doing drills in her little tunnel. She is determined to have her persistance pay off because I think she knows the alternative-one of her youthful caretakers will unwittingly assasinate her.
The worst part of the day was learning that a breast cancer acquaintence died in May. She was 40 years old and she is survived by her husband and 2 daughters, 13 and 7 years old. I've spent a good part of the day mourning her death and quite honestly, mourning my inclusion in this unfortunate club. This woman was such a lovely person and a true angel when I was first diagnosed. She never failed to send me encouraging notes and she brought me holy water from a cathedral in NYC and a worry/prayer cross. The last time she and I talked I knew that her death was not too far in the distant future. I think that she had hoped that I might be able to help her in some way due to my profession. I think I wanted her to be a window into my future, but a window that did not include death. In the end I think I was a coward. I think I pulled away from her because I couldn't handle the fact that she was going to die. Breast cancer sucks. Everyone should be able to live happily ever after or at the very least until their children are out of college. Children shouldn't be left motherless, especially not 13 and 7 year old children. For as much as I kvetch about motherhood on this blog, every moment with my family is a priviledge and I don't want to be short-changed one single second. I would like to rescind my membership in this club. The dues are too steep and there really aren't too many perks. Pray for me and pray for the women and the families who are affected by this disease.
James 1:2-4 "Dear brothers and sisters, whenever trouble comes your way, let it be an opportunity for joy. For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything."
Friday, June 27, 2008
Grace Needed....
I'm wrapping up my week in Atlanta. I think my kids have had a good time. I've had a good time. I've gotten to hang out with my dad and see a bunch of friends. I've tried my best to be a good mom, but I've lost my patience on quite a few occasions. I feel really awful when I get impatient with my kids. Everything is going along just fine and everyone is in a good mood and then someone does something to push one of my many buttons. It's hard being in the deep South and yelling at your kids in public. I guess everyone does it behind closed doors, because I got some looks in Blockbuster today for reprimanding my middle son after he pulled about 3 dozen glow-sticks of a shelf (I don't know why a movie store is selling glow sticks). We are deep in the heart of Dixie and these folks around here do not seem to share my parenting style. When I got back to my dad's house he could tell that I needed a cold one and immediately put a beer in the freezer for me. I question my mothering abilities at times. I wish that I didn't loose my temper.
The kids and I watched a double feature tonite; Nacho Libre and Blades of Glory. The oldest one especially seems to get the subtle humor. Earlier this week we camped out in my dad's yard. Otherwise we've done some swimming and the kids have ridden their scooters on my dad's driveway. The boys had a blast earlier this week by crushing rocks in my dad's vice (spelling?) in his work shop. They were convinced that they had found gold and collected the rock dust into ziplock bags. My daughter has had a field day tormenting my dad's 3 dogs and she has decided that she wants a chinchilla. Every couple of days I make the kids write in their journals and despite all of the activities that we have done, my eldest chose to write about the meal he had eaten at Cracker Barrel the nite before and my middle wrote about some plastic toy he wanted to buy. My daughter has immunity from journal writing, but has to do dot to dots.
What I hate the most is when my kids argue with each other and when they pick on each other. Generally they get along well, but they do get on each others' nerves. I don't know how to handle it. I think I try to remain rationale, but after awhile I am driven beyond reason (because my gentle pleas to them to get along don't work) and then I start yelling like a crazy woman. I'm no better than they are and I'm certainly not setting a very good example. The tactic I used tonite exploded in my face-when I tried to tell them that after their father and I were gone they would only have each other (so they better learn to love and appreciate each other). All 3of them burst into tears at the thought of a future that didn't include Lee and I. Earlier today, I was sitting in the van with them as my mom ran into a store and they started up with each other and I put them "on silence". No one could talk for a good 5 minutes and then I made them each come up with 5 things they liked about their other siblings. Each one of them has their own tactic that they use in battle with the other two. The oldest always has to be in charge and always has to be right. He exasperates the younger two because he always corrects them and he almost always has the other two under his thumb. The middle one is a cry baby. He has learned that the quickest way to get people to do what he wants is to start screaming and pitching fits. Literally, his sister can look at him wrong and he will start yelling and crying. We are all kind of scared of him because he tends to make everyone else miserable when he is miserable, so we all cave into his ploys (b/c no one wants to deal with his meltdowns). The youngest just has no concern or regard for consequences so she does whatever she wants to do and generally doesn't listen if you are trying to reprimand her. I wish I knew what I was doing. God needs to infuse me with his grace and patience.
The kids and I watched a double feature tonite; Nacho Libre and Blades of Glory. The oldest one especially seems to get the subtle humor. Earlier this week we camped out in my dad's yard. Otherwise we've done some swimming and the kids have ridden their scooters on my dad's driveway. The boys had a blast earlier this week by crushing rocks in my dad's vice (spelling?) in his work shop. They were convinced that they had found gold and collected the rock dust into ziplock bags. My daughter has had a field day tormenting my dad's 3 dogs and she has decided that she wants a chinchilla. Every couple of days I make the kids write in their journals and despite all of the activities that we have done, my eldest chose to write about the meal he had eaten at Cracker Barrel the nite before and my middle wrote about some plastic toy he wanted to buy. My daughter has immunity from journal writing, but has to do dot to dots.
What I hate the most is when my kids argue with each other and when they pick on each other. Generally they get along well, but they do get on each others' nerves. I don't know how to handle it. I think I try to remain rationale, but after awhile I am driven beyond reason (because my gentle pleas to them to get along don't work) and then I start yelling like a crazy woman. I'm no better than they are and I'm certainly not setting a very good example. The tactic I used tonite exploded in my face-when I tried to tell them that after their father and I were gone they would only have each other (so they better learn to love and appreciate each other). All 3of them burst into tears at the thought of a future that didn't include Lee and I. Earlier today, I was sitting in the van with them as my mom ran into a store and they started up with each other and I put them "on silence". No one could talk for a good 5 minutes and then I made them each come up with 5 things they liked about their other siblings. Each one of them has their own tactic that they use in battle with the other two. The oldest always has to be in charge and always has to be right. He exasperates the younger two because he always corrects them and he almost always has the other two under his thumb. The middle one is a cry baby. He has learned that the quickest way to get people to do what he wants is to start screaming and pitching fits. Literally, his sister can look at him wrong and he will start yelling and crying. We are all kind of scared of him because he tends to make everyone else miserable when he is miserable, so we all cave into his ploys (b/c no one wants to deal with his meltdowns). The youngest just has no concern or regard for consequences so she does whatever she wants to do and generally doesn't listen if you are trying to reprimand her. I wish I knew what I was doing. God needs to infuse me with his grace and patience.
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