What I know.

I'm having a hard day today.

My precious baby Lydia, or Yidda as we like to call her, has been having some muscle issues. She is very low tone and isn't very motivated to become any stronger. We have a physical therapist coming once a week to work with her. At this point, we are sort of in limbo, figuring out what exactly the problem might be. The range of options runs from simply weakness and lack of ambition to whatever horrible thing we may find on the brain scan we have scheduled.

The idea is that I would work with her on specific exercises during the week and gradually make progress. Some days that works. Others, I find that idea laughable. Those are the days when I'm glad everyone is alive and somewhat fed at the end of the day. I can't seem to find time to do "5 reps of standing and reaching", when I am worried about Charlotte turning into a human sled, or the walls remaining in an upright position.

So, of course, I feel guilty. That the whole thing is probably my fault. If I worked harder. If I  was better organized. If I had a better memory. If I didn't leave her in her bouncy seat while I folded clothes, cleaned the bathroom, or had a cup of tea. If I hadn't tearfully begged my OB doctor to induce me 2 weeks early because I was MISERABLE with this enormous baby in my belly.

I have a battle in my mind. I can drown in that sadness and guilt and things that may never be. Or I can rehearse what I do know.

I know this is the little girl who is an enormous blessing from God. She is our "surprise" child that I didn't think to ask for. That fact makes me all the more grateful that she is here.
I know God put it on my heart before she was born that she would be "a tender soul and a comfort to those she meets." She is.
I know God is my strength in times of trouble and is always ready to help.
I know no matter what needs doing I WILL do it. If she needs major medical intervention, we'll do that.

I know that if Lydia never walks, then I will carry her. And I think I could honestly thank God for that opportunity.

An Anniversary List

Funnel Cake
Dressage
Body...of...Christ...
Pizza & a TREAT!
Complete Stops
Candy Corns...Like 'em?
Blue Socks
For you, forever.
Daily parades.
Hail, hail the conquering guy!
The hassle.
Refuse disposal!
Care for a frickin' coke?
Madeline
Tuna and saltines.
Sydney and a mango.
Rosa
2004?
Chicken and peas.
Die-Be-betes
Elsa
Sleep?
Watch it, I'll go all Alt. Ed on you.
Charlotte
Elmo and Bocelli
A Snake with wheels.
You are .... Neo
Lydia
'puters
Sad mommies
What, are you new to this?

How do you make a list that defines more than 11 years together? Well, you either stop where I did or you go on and on (and on and on). Especially, when most of it only makes sense to the one who shares this anniversary with me. We've lived through some very difficult things together and some unimagined bliss. One of the greatest things Aaron has ever said to me is, if he somehow knew at the beginning everything we would go through, he would do it all again to just be with me.

I must say I feel exactly the same way.

Beauty Defined

I think about it as I sit in conversations with other ladies. They talk about painting in shades of brown or beige. Very different, you know. You're so very daring if you chose a DARK brown or a little safer with a lovely sage green. It seems like there is a very specific definition of what is beautiful and anything outside of that is just unacceptable. Fashion trends are in there too. Right now, as mommies, scarves seem to be very "in". I've got a lovely purple one in my closet. I sit in a conversation with friends who have very similar tastes and nod as they agree on what is deemed to be so very beautiful. Later, I think about the stuff I think is beautiful.

I like sparkly, shiny, definitely soft. I am a fan of rhinestones and sequins and jeweled beads. I like red and purple, ballet pink and green. If I could afford it, I would wear dresses and heels often. I love emeralds and sapphires and would like to own some of them. I love a dining room table with an eclectic blend of chairs. I like cloth napkins, napkin rings, tin ceilings, jadeite dishes, mismatched place settings in various shades of white, and flowers in my hair. I want a cherry red couch with some embroidered eggplant pillows.

With decorating, I feel like, if I see it every day, then it only matters if I like it. It is freeing to think style doesn't have to live up to a mysterious standard written down... somewhere. I haven't found any such thing at the library yet. I think the most beautiful spaces are the ones where you enter and feel welcome, comfortable, and loved. The best people are the ones that make you feel that way too.

I may give up on the heels. They are just not practical for playing a lot of "Red light, Green light" or potty training. They also make me taller than my husband. I can compromise ..... a little. The red couch, however, will be in my living room.

Resolution?

I made a New Years' resolution of sorts this year. I decided that I was going to try to speak up and always speak honestly. I don't think I have been doing so well. Trying but not always succeeding.

A situation that bugs me is when people use "How are you doing?", as a greeting. They don't really want to know. You can tell they aren't going to listen to more than "Fine." My thought was, if people ask, I should answer honestly. The best I've been doing with my answers is when I am asked, I give a very pointed, "I am doing okay." It's almost honest.

I had a situation today where I realized that I am staying in my familiar patterns of keeping to myself. I had my feelings hurt. I was talking with some people and I started to share something that I had learned. I was misunderstood and interrupted. Rather than speak up for myself, I just shut up. It is easier that way.

Shall I continue to try? With baited breath, the entire world waits to hear what I am thinking about! Hoards of loving friends are on edge, desperate to hear the answer to "How are you really doing?"


I am okay.

Too many pockets

I saw a great thing between an old couple today. I was in a Doctor's waiting room for an appointment for Lydia. A 5 month old with a cold, at nap time was just a little stressful. Surprisingly enough, we were on time, so as we waited and watched everyone in the waiting room (even those who had arrived after me) called in for their appointments, Lydia ramped up the crabby and we bounced and swayed. This couple most likely in their 80's checked in and took a seat on a couch to wait. The wife was maybe five feet tall and shrunken as age insists on doing to women. Her husband was tall and had the large hands, ears and nose which seems to be the gift of years to men. They both had white hair. Hers in a neat little 'do. His flapping around on top after being out in the wind. I think the appointment was his, and they were looking at the paperwork needed together.


He began to search for something in his pockets, patting , digging and lifting his coat and vest. He mumbled something about having too many pockets. Soon after she asked him if he'd found it yet, and with a sly smile told him,


"The problem is, you've got too many pockets."


He responded, "You know, I've got too many pockets."


Without being able to hear the tone of the conversation, it could seem to be the words of two people that weren't listening to each other or the onset of a shortened memory. What I heard seemed to be an ongoing joke between the two about this man and his numerous pockets. I could have been reading into it, seeing what I wanted to see, but it made me grin and laugh to myself. As I overheard them, I wanted to know their story. How do you make each other laugh after so long? How did you make it through your tough stuff (because I know they had to have it) and come out enjoying each other's company? Maybe someday I will be brave enough to be that crazy lady who asks complete strangers extremely personal questions. This was not that day.


I want to be crazy in love with my husband when I am old. I am now, and have no plans for it to be any other way. We have talked about wanting to live a "magical" life. Hard stuff happens. I know that. I want to do well with it. Life is hard enough without making it harder with stupid choices and heartbreak you can avoid. I never want to knowingly do something that hurts this best friend of mine in any way. The magic comes with living your life with someone else on your mind.

The Truth of Love

I have been struggling through Post Partum Depression. It has been very difficult for me. I am naturally a happy person. It is hard for me to understand or know what to do with the overwhelming sadness and panic attacks. What is probably the most difficult is the reoccurring feeling of not being loved. I know this feeling is not a true one for many reasons. I have a husband who loves me unconditionally, 3 girls who crave love and affection, and family who are vocal in their love for me. These are the things that I am constantly reminding myself of, because I'm not sure what else to do. It starts to feel true though, in the day to day isolation and through choices others make that are out of my control.


I know this didn't just begin recently. Beginning almost seven years ago, I suffered the tragedy of the first of 2 miscarriages. It seems almost absurd to be able to sum up that experience in one sentence. I got pregnant for the first time after my husband and I had just come through a very dark time in our lives. It seemed to be a light at the end of all that, only to be plunged into an even blacker hole. There are parts of my life at that time that I don't even remember.

Some people come through something like that able to grieve for their lost child and move on. It wasn't (and isn't) as simple as that for me. The loss of my child was connected to something much greater, in how I viewed God. I grieved for the lost hopes and dreams for our little one, but I was ripped apart by the silence from God. I had trusted Him and believed whole-heartedly that he loved me like no one else in the world ever could. I felt that I would even suffer through the tragedy, but needed desperately the comfort we are promised from Him. I felt none of that. If He could abandon me in this way, what does that say for the less than perfect world around me?

I love you in the Peanut Butter

I do not think of myself as a writer. But I do like to be heard, like most people I know. I have a quiet speaking voice and I am an asker of questions so, whether true or not, it doesn't feel like being heard happens very much. I decided to start "blog therapy" to work through some stuff I have been going through lately. We'll see if that is a good idea or not.


Recently, my oldest daughter, Elsa, wanted to make her own book. She thought a good title for it would be "I love you in the peanut butter". This came from a loving ritual between my husband and I that she had recently discovered. Upon opening an almost new jar of peanut butter, she wanted to know why there was a heart in it. Aaron explained to her the necessity of writing "I love you" into the shiny top of a new jar of peanut butter. Then, you have to use the peanut butter around the message until you just have to dig into it, to use it up. This is not just a sometimes thing. It is EVERY jar. I think I would actually be more surprised after more than 10 years of this, to be the second one to open the jar and not find a note in it.


So.....because it is so very necessary to learn valuble and utterly deep lessons from the simple things in life. I shall make a metaphor for life out of this ritual. Here goes.....


Okay... maybe not. What I do know is that being loved is the most important need in my life. Just as important to me, is to successfully love others. It is my goal in life that those I come in contact with leave feeling loved for having spent time with me. I stole Elsa's idea for a book title for the title of this blog because I couldn't think of one, but also because it seemed a good title for writing about this "adventure" of finding and creating love out of the small things in life.