I love my dad...for lots of reasons. Not just cause he bails me out. But, he seriously does bail me out!
Sunday night I was basically giddy excited that I had two work days left until the end of tax season. This year had a little bit of an exciting start for me...and with all the check ups for my toe and hip, and the occasional sick kid...there were times I felt like I really let my employer down.
But I'd made it! 2 days. 16 hours.
And at a bout 3:30 am Monday morning I heard the sound NO mom EVER wants to hear. The sound of puke hitting the floor.
Seriously, so close! Normally I love to be the ones to stay with sick kids...but, like I said, its been a fun year. So I called in a favor to my dad. Would you keep my puking kiddo? And since you have him, can you keep Landri too?
I went to work and called for updates about once an hour. About 1 o'clock I got the call from school no mom wants to hear: Kolbe tripped, they think he's broke his arm.
Its busy season at Nate's work...he's slammed...and short handed. So I called him and he took Kolbe to the local docs, who needed x-rays...in Choteau. Nate could do it, but I could see it made it difficult for him.
"Dad, how much do you really love me today?" He sighed..."What now?" He laughed when I told him.
Dad left Eli resting on the couch...and hauled Lu to Choteau to bring Kolbe for x-rays. I met them there...then sent them back home. Lu fell asleep in dad's car.
When he returned Lu to me later that night she was sporting his shirt (which she hasn't taken off-super cute). I asked why and she just blurted out, "oh, Papa let me sleep in his car and I peed on his seat."
Yikes. I think I may owe him a bit for that day's service. He can add it to my tab :)
I do love him...and I'm happy to report yesterday, the last day of tax season, was utterly boring!
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Eeek
Apparently I am not a smart woman. The old adage that hindsight is better than foresight proves absolutely true with me...the problem is, you'd think I'd be able to predict a few things a little better! Experience should start to weigh in and raise little red flags.
But, nope.
I am left to my stupidity time and time again :)
My children have been in need of a few procedures for a while now. And, they've been postponed repeatedly due to my own issues and insurance issues, and work...I scheduled them for the first free day. April 16th. And I scheduled them TOGETHER...because that's what smart parents do!
Go ahead and insert sarcasm.
They squished Nate, Eli, myself and Lu into a room the size of a glorified bathroom. It was 1000 degrees in there, and things were late...so we tried to calm 2 children who were starving, thirsty and wound up with anxiety. The nurse brought in Landri's syringe of versaid (sp?) and I asked if it was for me....
Landri swallowed her sedative and we waited, and waited...for it to kick in. After 15 minutes the nurse popped her head in and was perplexed to see her still chattering away. We were amazed that in the few seconds it took to answer the last of her questions, Landri popped her hip out to the side, dropping her shoulder down and her head swung down. She looked over at me and I snagged her up...laughing, I asked if she was tired. Her speech got a little slurry, as I laid her down on the bed she drug out...'whhhhhhy yoouuuuuuu laaaaay meeeeee?????' And then she just went limp, very drugged. Amazing stuff, it is. She was blowing kisses as they wheeled her out...well, she was trying. It took a little longer to make the connection from one movement to the next. She would have never left that room of her own free will had she not been totally drugged!
The same doctor performed both procedures...so Eli chilled with us in the same tiny room while we waited for Landri.
I heard a child screaming. But it didn't sound like mine so I tried to ignore it...after like 10 minutes I asked a passing nurse when my Lu would be coming out...wanting to be there when she wakes up. I'd done this before...it is scary when they come to. The nurse looked at me, and informed me the distraught baby WAS mine. That pretty much unhinged me. I basically demanded they give her to me. I think they were very relieved at this, because the nurse struggled to bring me a half naked, thrashing, screaming beast that was very very VERY difficult to contain. I wrestled her for an hour. And Nate helped. We struggled to keep her free hand away from her IV line, and as she crocodile-wrestled in circles, we worked to free her from the tangled cords...Our tiny sweatbox was a torture cell.
After probably an hour, she proceded to rip her IV line out, causing blood to go everywhere. Nate and the old nurse worked to stop the bleeding while I pinned her kicking feet. She was totally out of it still...and in between the craziness Nate and I would meet eyes and bust out laughing. A child possessed!
Poor baby was miserable and scared. She threatened to 'puke up'...her version of 'throw up'...thankfully she didn't. The nurses kept peeking in, the worry becoming evident that her tonsils could bust open if she didn't settle soon.
Oh, and Eli was out of surgery now. So, the panic that he'd wake up like this was starting to settle in...
The nurse said he was darling...that he told her all about his siblings and was talking when they put the mask on him. That was what he'd dreaded...he remembers it from his last surgery. He begged me last night not to let them put on that scary mask. When it went on today, apparently big tears welled up in his eyes. There are some things I'm grateful not to watch.
Landri was just settling when they wheeled Eli into the room next to ours...I told Lu it was time to be big because Eli was scared and waking up and needed me too...and she snuggled her head to me and quieted down.
We sat beside Eli's bed as he very sleepily pried his eyes open. Anesthesia makes this child weepy...and the lip instantly dropped out, and the tears welled. He was emotional for a bit, trying to reign it in, but not able to totally stop the few tears that would roll down his cheeks.
We'd been trying for well over an hour now to cajole Lu into drinking...but as Eli started chugging juice her resolve to do it too strengthened. She isn't totally aware that they didn't have the exact procedures done...so hopefully that works in my favor! After convincing her to take her pain meds(don't know why they don't get them while sedated) she perked up! She drank two juices and polished off a popsicle. She was chatting away.
I took her to the bathroom and asked if we could wash the blood off her arm. She scrunched her face while inspecting her bruised, bloody hand and asked, "who put that there?" Oh, only you.
I washed her hand, then asked if I could wash her toes. She looked down at her little chubby feet, also covered in dried blood. "That's disgusting!"
I love that even while feeling like junk...she's got her little spunky 'tude....
Its amazing what a little pain medicine can do...we've now been home for about 3 hours, redrugged, and while we're a little whiney, we're hunkered down on the couch with the ipad, watching 'Frozen'...
We have eaten 2 small bowls of shells and cheese, and a few bites of her McDonalds cheeseburger. The cool nurse smuggled us 5 of the cute little juices in the can and we've managed to finish one of those too. If we can trudge through the next few days like this, we'll be okay. But I'm not naive enough to know that missing one dose of meds will have us set back into a crazy spell of complete misery.
I'm happy to report that aside from the few times this afternoon Eli has remembered he's supposed to be hurting, and faked a little dizzy spell or something...he's perked right up!
So, I think maybe we'll make it.
Except...the Easter Bunny hasn't done a darn thing. Poop.
But, nope.
I am left to my stupidity time and time again :)
My children have been in need of a few procedures for a while now. And, they've been postponed repeatedly due to my own issues and insurance issues, and work...I scheduled them for the first free day. April 16th. And I scheduled them TOGETHER...because that's what smart parents do!
Go ahead and insert sarcasm.
They squished Nate, Eli, myself and Lu into a room the size of a glorified bathroom. It was 1000 degrees in there, and things were late...so we tried to calm 2 children who were starving, thirsty and wound up with anxiety. The nurse brought in Landri's syringe of versaid (sp?) and I asked if it was for me....
Landri swallowed her sedative and we waited, and waited...for it to kick in. After 15 minutes the nurse popped her head in and was perplexed to see her still chattering away. We were amazed that in the few seconds it took to answer the last of her questions, Landri popped her hip out to the side, dropping her shoulder down and her head swung down. She looked over at me and I snagged her up...laughing, I asked if she was tired. Her speech got a little slurry, as I laid her down on the bed she drug out...'whhhhhhy yoouuuuuuu laaaaay meeeeee?????' And then she just went limp, very drugged. Amazing stuff, it is. She was blowing kisses as they wheeled her out...well, she was trying. It took a little longer to make the connection from one movement to the next. She would have never left that room of her own free will had she not been totally drugged!
The same doctor performed both procedures...so Eli chilled with us in the same tiny room while we waited for Landri.
I heard a child screaming. But it didn't sound like mine so I tried to ignore it...after like 10 minutes I asked a passing nurse when my Lu would be coming out...wanting to be there when she wakes up. I'd done this before...it is scary when they come to. The nurse looked at me, and informed me the distraught baby WAS mine. That pretty much unhinged me. I basically demanded they give her to me. I think they were very relieved at this, because the nurse struggled to bring me a half naked, thrashing, screaming beast that was very very VERY difficult to contain. I wrestled her for an hour. And Nate helped. We struggled to keep her free hand away from her IV line, and as she crocodile-wrestled in circles, we worked to free her from the tangled cords...Our tiny sweatbox was a torture cell.
After probably an hour, she proceded to rip her IV line out, causing blood to go everywhere. Nate and the old nurse worked to stop the bleeding while I pinned her kicking feet. She was totally out of it still...and in between the craziness Nate and I would meet eyes and bust out laughing. A child possessed!
Poor baby was miserable and scared. She threatened to 'puke up'...her version of 'throw up'...thankfully she didn't. The nurses kept peeking in, the worry becoming evident that her tonsils could bust open if she didn't settle soon.
Oh, and Eli was out of surgery now. So, the panic that he'd wake up like this was starting to settle in...
The nurse said he was darling...that he told her all about his siblings and was talking when they put the mask on him. That was what he'd dreaded...he remembers it from his last surgery. He begged me last night not to let them put on that scary mask. When it went on today, apparently big tears welled up in his eyes. There are some things I'm grateful not to watch.
Landri was just settling when they wheeled Eli into the room next to ours...I told Lu it was time to be big because Eli was scared and waking up and needed me too...and she snuggled her head to me and quieted down.
We sat beside Eli's bed as he very sleepily pried his eyes open. Anesthesia makes this child weepy...and the lip instantly dropped out, and the tears welled. He was emotional for a bit, trying to reign it in, but not able to totally stop the few tears that would roll down his cheeks.
We'd been trying for well over an hour now to cajole Lu into drinking...but as Eli started chugging juice her resolve to do it too strengthened. She isn't totally aware that they didn't have the exact procedures done...so hopefully that works in my favor! After convincing her to take her pain meds(don't know why they don't get them while sedated) she perked up! She drank two juices and polished off a popsicle. She was chatting away.
I took her to the bathroom and asked if we could wash the blood off her arm. She scrunched her face while inspecting her bruised, bloody hand and asked, "who put that there?" Oh, only you.
I washed her hand, then asked if I could wash her toes. She looked down at her little chubby feet, also covered in dried blood. "That's disgusting!"
I love that even while feeling like junk...she's got her little spunky 'tude....
Its amazing what a little pain medicine can do...we've now been home for about 3 hours, redrugged, and while we're a little whiney, we're hunkered down on the couch with the ipad, watching 'Frozen'...
We have eaten 2 small bowls of shells and cheese, and a few bites of her McDonalds cheeseburger. The cool nurse smuggled us 5 of the cute little juices in the can and we've managed to finish one of those too. If we can trudge through the next few days like this, we'll be okay. But I'm not naive enough to know that missing one dose of meds will have us set back into a crazy spell of complete misery.
I'm happy to report that aside from the few times this afternoon Eli has remembered he's supposed to be hurting, and faked a little dizzy spell or something...he's perked right up!
So, I think maybe we'll make it.
Except...the Easter Bunny hasn't done a darn thing. Poop.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
For remembering...
Sometimes I have to blog it just to remember it.
Yesterday I watched Eli at the park with some little kids.He carefully lifted them onto the playground equipment. He 'faked', almost to perfection, to lose as they kicked the ball around with him. There was such happiness in his giggle. Today during our Sacrament meeting, he drew out the grid of dots for which to play the game where we alternate turns, connecting two dots at a time, into lines. We each draw one line, careful so as not to provide the other person the chance to draw the fourth side of a square. If you complete the square, you mark it with your initials as a point...the person with the most squares wins! It is usually a very easy game with a child...easy to either annihilate them, or manipulate it in their favor. I was trying to pay attention to the speakers, and appease his quiet play...and it proved very difficult. Because HE was trying to help ME win. Finally, when there was nowhere left to go that wouldn't produce a huge domino-effect of squares...he grunted at me and said, 'mom, don't you wanna win me?' It was then that I saw that sweetness in his chocolate eyes again...when he realized we were doing the same thing!
I am SO thankful to see the giant of a man that grows within the tiny walls of his physical body.It gives me perspective in my parenting, usually reminding me to be patient...ask forgiveness...and be better myself. It is my responsibility and great privilege to shape him into a man. And if you're a contemplative person, you will realize the hugeness of this task. Because sadly, I see that most of my children's weaknesses are reflections of my own. And if I haven't mastered it yet, teaching a child to do so seems overwhelming.
There is no greater joy than that of family life. Some days it is so far from what it should be. I love moments like these that prove forward progression!
Yesterday I watched Eli at the park with some little kids.He carefully lifted them onto the playground equipment. He 'faked', almost to perfection, to lose as they kicked the ball around with him. There was such happiness in his giggle. Today during our Sacrament meeting, he drew out the grid of dots for which to play the game where we alternate turns, connecting two dots at a time, into lines. We each draw one line, careful so as not to provide the other person the chance to draw the fourth side of a square. If you complete the square, you mark it with your initials as a point...the person with the most squares wins! It is usually a very easy game with a child...easy to either annihilate them, or manipulate it in their favor. I was trying to pay attention to the speakers, and appease his quiet play...and it proved very difficult. Because HE was trying to help ME win. Finally, when there was nowhere left to go that wouldn't produce a huge domino-effect of squares...he grunted at me and said, 'mom, don't you wanna win me?' It was then that I saw that sweetness in his chocolate eyes again...when he realized we were doing the same thing!
I am SO thankful to see the giant of a man that grows within the tiny walls of his physical body.It gives me perspective in my parenting, usually reminding me to be patient...ask forgiveness...and be better myself. It is my responsibility and great privilege to shape him into a man. And if you're a contemplative person, you will realize the hugeness of this task. Because sadly, I see that most of my children's weaknesses are reflections of my own. And if I haven't mastered it yet, teaching a child to do so seems overwhelming.
There is no greater joy than that of family life. Some days it is so far from what it should be. I love moments like these that prove forward progression!
Saturday, February 15, 2014
A couple quickies...
I have been really thinking today about some important things. Someone I knew briefly, and admired deeply, was taken from this life. She was very much in my same stage of life...my age, with five kiddos, and a husband. And as I've gathered little bits and pieces of info over the last little while from people who were close, my heart broke to know it was coming. Life seems to be a cruel teacher some times. And it isn't fair. Hard things don't seem to befall those who deserve it. Don't think I'm being vengeful, I'm not. Just contemplative tonight. And thankful.
I had a quick surgery 3 on my toe yesterday. My anxious husband was right by my side. This is a side of Nate I have never seen before:scared, and worried. And I don't love it. But lets face it, this toe thing is lame. It won't affect my life, other than perhaps a few conveniences. But I couldn't bear to watch Nathan inch closer to death. I couldn't bear it. I would rather die myself than have something happen to Nate or my babies.
Another woman I admire battles an illness that though it robs her physical health, makes her spiritual giant seem even greater to me. I love her.
And these things don't make me bitter or cynical. But rather they make me believe more wholly in a God that sees things from start to end...because only He could know that these two women should suffer like this. Only He could ask us to trust that this is his will...
I believe in the Savior Jesus Christ.. In small, ridiculously remote circumstances He weaves blessings into my life. I see some conclusion to some of the things that have stressed me, and its amazing to me how things work out. I couldn't have forced these things. I see his hand.
So please just bring my husband and 3 oldest kids home to me tomorrow. I am looking forward to a family prayer, of gratitude.
I had a quick surgery 3 on my toe yesterday. My anxious husband was right by my side. This is a side of Nate I have never seen before:scared, and worried. And I don't love it. But lets face it, this toe thing is lame. It won't affect my life, other than perhaps a few conveniences. But I couldn't bear to watch Nathan inch closer to death. I couldn't bear it. I would rather die myself than have something happen to Nate or my babies.
Another woman I admire battles an illness that though it robs her physical health, makes her spiritual giant seem even greater to me. I love her.
And these things don't make me bitter or cynical. But rather they make me believe more wholly in a God that sees things from start to end...because only He could know that these two women should suffer like this. Only He could ask us to trust that this is his will...
I believe in the Savior Jesus Christ.. In small, ridiculously remote circumstances He weaves blessings into my life. I see some conclusion to some of the things that have stressed me, and its amazing to me how things work out. I couldn't have forced these things. I see his hand.
So please just bring my husband and 3 oldest kids home to me tomorrow. I am looking forward to a family prayer, of gratitude.
Friday, January 31, 2014
I should just do it...
Every time something else crazy happens, or something funny is said, I think "I should just write a book."
Thankfully I have this blog as my silent :) witness...my journal, my record for posterity(and I guess anyone else who reads it). So I blog.
Life just isn't meant to slow down. It isn't. And I've had so many conversations with my husband lately, late at night, while I'm laying in bed, with my foot propped up on every spare pillow in my house...that inevitably have the question "are you kidding me?' threaded somewhere in the message. Nate said came in late the other night and I was already in bed, in my now-so-familiar position with my foot propped up. He just walked in, dropped his reffing duffle bag on the floor and walked over to my foot. He didn't say a word...just gently rubbed my second, third, fourth and baby toes...I was admittedly a little drugged, but not so much that I didn't notice the tears brimming in his eyes. He was very careful, and I just watched him quietly. After about a minute, he asked, fairly exasperated, "can you just believe our luck?" and then followed it with a slightly disheartened, "we must just be destined for hard things".
Don't go thinking this is a cry baby tale. There's been enough of that. But this isn't worth recording if its not a candid story. Good. Bad. And Ugly.
January 18th started as ridiculously productive. My attached garage has been one box short of an episode of "Hoarders" for about the last 4 months. Re-modelling the upstairs bathroom and the fireplace meant that there were tools, supplies, and sad amounts of just garbage collecting in there. I didn't get it all done before I had my hip operated in November, so it mocked me until I was able to get up and tackle the project. January 18th was the day. Nate had left to volunteer to ref the little kid basketball tournament over at the school. I'd started cleaning the living room, which means I'd emptied the front closet onto the living room floor. Sorted of course, into piles destined for different locations. Backpacks over here. Light-weather coats over there. Shoes. Everywhere. It was a mess. So, brilliantly I'd decided I would finally organize this beast of a closet. I went to the garage and since there seemed a surplus of building supplies, I decided I would make some shelves to organize the mess. I cut and screwed the support braces into the closet. I searched for my left over shelving boards, only to discover Nate had pitched him in one of his recent attempts to 'clean' my remodel-ling mess. Grrrrrr. So I called my dad, who's got a building store in his garage, and requested a delivery. Well, seeing as my closet project was halted, I moved onto the garage. Why not clean this beast? I had the entire thing done too. All except for the old wood stove that sat in the middle of the garage. And I wasn't crazy enough to touch that thing. My hip was still too-freshly-healed...I wasn't going to do something stupid.
Nate had grumbled about my need to purchase several rolls of Christmas wrapping paper on clearance. He'd also won a gun case at the company Christmas party. How could these two things even be remotely related??? Well, for the average person, they may never have been. But I had a brilliant epiphany: the gun case could store my wrapping paper! I grabbed the case and set it on the wood stove, opened it up and discovered all this foam junk. What if we ever actually wanted to use it for guns? I would probably be in trouble for throwing it away, then. So I closed the gun case, deciding not to use it for wrapping paper after all.
And that was all it took. That simple motion of snapping the lid down on a very light-weight plastic case caused the old wood stove to topple over and land right on my toe. Oh my heavens it hurt! Avery was standing beside me and she is my sweet, sweet- natured little girl. I knew immediately it was bad, and that I had to sensor my reaction to prevent really freaking her out. I gave the stove a big heave and freed my toe, and sent Avery to get the phone to call my dad. My building supply delivery man. Surely he was close.
I pride myself in handling pain well. For some dumb reason, I do. I bit my cheek when I got the shots in my neck last year( 3 times) when I felt like crying. And it was gratifying when the nurse said to the other one, "she's a tough one". Why? I have no clue! As if it even means anything other than I'm stupid enough to bit my face off instead of ask for more numbing meds. But its part of my makeup, I guess. So, I tried not to make a huge scene. I limped outside and carefully sat down on the step, and bawled my stinking eyes out. And apparently I'm not as tough as I pretend...because I made enough noise that the man pushing his kids in the swings and the park decided to jog over and see what was going on. Imagine my surprise and relief when the letters EMT were stitched into his jacket. He volunteered to take a look.
PARENTAL DISCRETION ADVISED:
There was quite a bit of blood on my sock...I was wearing a sandal when it happened...he pulled back my sock to look, and the top of my toe went with it. Oh crap.
He, thinking maybe I didn't noticed, pushed it back and held on tight...telling me calmly, 'we should call the ambulance.' Absolutely not. Not for a toe.
Kolbe was sent to get his dad from the school. My parents arrived almost immediately. Nate followed. And pretty soon Jon and Trev just happened by and my front yard got a bit hectic. My toe was wrapped in towels, which killed because the weight of them felt like they were literally making my toe fall off. I cried. Alot. But I didn't swear :)
I was loaded into the burb and Nate and I headed to the ER...
3 hours later, two BIG nerve blocks...and 4 prescriptions...
My toe was reattached. The ER doc said the end of my toe had 'been squished like a grape' and that the bone had blown up. But it was where it belonged. And I'd feel better in a few days.
But I didn't. In fact, I found myself taking the full dose of heavy narcotic prescribed, crying until it kicked in...and then being only mildly relieved. For two hours. And then it was back. Pulsing. Burning. Seriously...it was absolutely agonizing. Gone was my resolve to be tough. I couldn't do it. I absolutely couldn't do it. Long story short...I ended up at the local clinic, who removed the bandage. I saw her eyes. And I knew what it meant when her partner came in to "have a look"...bringing her camera, to take some up close and personals. She emailed the foot doctor, and I had an appointment scheduled by that afternoon to see him. Friday morning I saw him. An hour later I was being prepped for surgery.
ALL THIS FOR A STUPID TOE!!!!!
God bless this man.
He removed all the bone pieces and reattached my toe again. I was admitted to the hospital all weekend long, hooked to strong IV medicine to fight off the fear of bone infection.
I had several priesthood blessings during this week. I was in more pain than I've ever known, and I'm sure that I was spared some of it. And I KNOW that I was spared bone infection. Because I was allowed to come home, on oral antibiotic, instead of the six weeks of IV meds that they had told me about.
It is frankenstein-ugly. Seriously.
But it is healing. And I'm thankful. I am able to pretend I'm tough again.
And do you want to know something amazing? I am most upset at the TIMING of this disaster! If it would have happened last month, it wouldn't have cost me anything. My health insurance had maxed its out of pocket. FREE. And, in a month or two, I'd be in the same place again with my hip rehab soaking up those costs. But no. January 18th meant my deductible had just reset. That means two.thousand.five. hundred. FREAKING.dollars. And then another grand of copay bills. Thirty five hundred dollars.
Thirty five hundred dollars.
Perhaps I should mention that last year my heart was ripped out and danced on when our adoption fell through. I may have mentioned it once or twice. Aside from my emotional heartache from this experience...this month also signals another form of torture related to our failed adoption. TAX time. Yep.
We borrowed $20k against our 401k to funnel into our adoption funds. A large portion of it is sitting in a fund we can't touch aside from adopting. But that doesn't spare us the fact that we will be taxed hugely on this little endeavor. We didn't care when we did it. We'd have the adoption credit to offset it, right? Well, can't use it if an international adoption isn't complete. So, the $20k plus of adoption expenses we had are useless to us, and we have $20k of income. Our normally happy refund is transformed into a debt to Uncle Sam of several thousand dollars.
We don't even have enough in savings to cover the sum of these two things. I'm not sure where or how that is going to happen.
I am not sure what I am supposed to learn.
I have said out loud, so many times, just in case Heavenly Father doesn't already know that I know this: I don't care if I'll ever be rich. I just want to cover the bills.
And, thankfully, we always have. We live a good life, with more than we need and enough to make us happy. I love my pefectly chaotic life. I'd choose it over and over again.
I looked directly at Nate when he said it. And I started crying. And I forbid him to say it again. I begged him to not look at it like this...that our lot is unfair. It is hard, for certain. But in that moment I needed his stregnth to reassure me that he knew what I knew:
Its the message I keep hearing over. And over. And over. Its the message threaded through every single trial and screamed through every single blessing:
We have nothing. And we have everything. What will soothe and comfort like balm to our crying hearts...the only gifts in our blessed lives that mean anything...is our little family and our faith. That is it.
I told Nate last night that I am certain that I depend on him, and my Heavenly Father, more than anyone else possibly could. That life has made me do that. And while I cannot find happiness in some of the things that continually pester us...I can see this resounding truth. We are better together for it.
"Come what may, and love it". That is what one of the General Authorities of our church said in a conference once. I'm learning this. And I'm horrible at it. I'm sure that God must cringe a little when I cry, and question 'why?' and pity myself. Its an emotion I wish I could master. And I usually reign it in, once I've let it run lose for a few days. One day I'll be better. Bigger. More as I should be.
Maybe then we 'won't be meant for hard things.'
Maybe we will be.
But, we are also meant for GOOD things.
Eli was supposed to be baptized the Sunday I was in the hospital. We obviously re-scheduled. But he had his interview with the Bishop. This is a big deal. You must be 8 to be baptized in our faith. So you know what you are signing up for, so to speak. You're still a child, so you're understanding is naive. But you get it a little. I've been talking with Eli about his upcoming baptism for a while now. He listens faithfully to his primary song CD at night. There is a song that talks about Jesus going to John the Baptist to be baptized. It tells why he did this, being perfect and having no need to be cleansed.
When Eli came home from meeting the Bishop, I was so happy to see my handsome little man, dudded in his new black church pants, sports coat, white shirt and tie. I asked him how his interview went. "Fine." Oh come on! Give me the scoop...so I peppered him a bit. When I realized I'd have to pry it out of him, I asked him to tell me one thing the Bishop specifically asked him. He said, "mom, same as you. He wanted to know why I wanted to be baptized."
So what did you say, I asked.
"To fulfill the law," he said very matter-of-factly.
I absolutely busted out laughing. He then said he didn't answer it that way. With my toe, I've missed church and haven't got to ask Bishop if he really did.
The lyrics to the second verse of that little song say: To fulfill the law, said Jesus, when the baptist questioned why.
I love him.
Landri had the flu yesterday early in the morning. She ran into the bathroom to get sick and the hollered at me. I came running, sort of :)
"What???" I asked.
She pointed into the toilet. "There is a hair in the toilet."
I didn't even look. I just said, 'oh, who cares?'
Her big eyes were dark against her pasty white skin. 'MOOOOoooooom. Its from a BUTT.'
I love her.
Kolbe barely talks. He could go days with simply grunting his answers, as long as his access to food is unrestricted. He is growing like crazy. Thankfully, he always smells nice. The habits of brushing his teeth and using deoderant...things I used to have to hound him to do....have become natural. I know its not for me, but for the girls that he is texting non stop. I wish I could wrap him in bubble wrap and fast forward and pause things all at the same time.
I love him.
Avery begged and cried to stay with me in the hospital. She planted her tiny self right against me in bed from the moment she walked into my room, until dad pried her off to go home. She is this amazing little person who needs nothing, and at the same time only needs me.
I love her.
She doesn't think I know the difference between 'need' and 'want'. "Mom, I need spandex and knee pads for volleyball. Black knee pads." I know. So I tease. I found some ugly white knee pads at Target. She squirms and whines. Because she really really wants the black ones. Because even when playing sixth grade volleyball, she's a diva. She has an image of what she wants to look like.
I love her.
He's rubbed my toes every night for almost 2 weeks. He proves he loves me through the quietest, simplest acts. And while he's really upsetting my morning routine with the kids, staying later than usual before going to work...he's the absolutely best husband in the world.
It seems that there are just lessons I will hear repeatedly in my life. And, I will always welcome the opportunity to reflect on just how GOOD my life is...even if tears cloud my lenses every once in a while....
Thankfully I have this blog as my silent :) witness...my journal, my record for posterity(and I guess anyone else who reads it). So I blog.
Life just isn't meant to slow down. It isn't. And I've had so many conversations with my husband lately, late at night, while I'm laying in bed, with my foot propped up on every spare pillow in my house...that inevitably have the question "are you kidding me?' threaded somewhere in the message. Nate said came in late the other night and I was already in bed, in my now-so-familiar position with my foot propped up. He just walked in, dropped his reffing duffle bag on the floor and walked over to my foot. He didn't say a word...just gently rubbed my second, third, fourth and baby toes...I was admittedly a little drugged, but not so much that I didn't notice the tears brimming in his eyes. He was very careful, and I just watched him quietly. After about a minute, he asked, fairly exasperated, "can you just believe our luck?" and then followed it with a slightly disheartened, "we must just be destined for hard things".
Don't go thinking this is a cry baby tale. There's been enough of that. But this isn't worth recording if its not a candid story. Good. Bad. And Ugly.
January 18th started as ridiculously productive. My attached garage has been one box short of an episode of "Hoarders" for about the last 4 months. Re-modelling the upstairs bathroom and the fireplace meant that there were tools, supplies, and sad amounts of just garbage collecting in there. I didn't get it all done before I had my hip operated in November, so it mocked me until I was able to get up and tackle the project. January 18th was the day. Nate had left to volunteer to ref the little kid basketball tournament over at the school. I'd started cleaning the living room, which means I'd emptied the front closet onto the living room floor. Sorted of course, into piles destined for different locations. Backpacks over here. Light-weather coats over there. Shoes. Everywhere. It was a mess. So, brilliantly I'd decided I would finally organize this beast of a closet. I went to the garage and since there seemed a surplus of building supplies, I decided I would make some shelves to organize the mess. I cut and screwed the support braces into the closet. I searched for my left over shelving boards, only to discover Nate had pitched him in one of his recent attempts to 'clean' my remodel-ling mess. Grrrrrr. So I called my dad, who's got a building store in his garage, and requested a delivery. Well, seeing as my closet project was halted, I moved onto the garage. Why not clean this beast? I had the entire thing done too. All except for the old wood stove that sat in the middle of the garage. And I wasn't crazy enough to touch that thing. My hip was still too-freshly-healed...I wasn't going to do something stupid.
Nate had grumbled about my need to purchase several rolls of Christmas wrapping paper on clearance. He'd also won a gun case at the company Christmas party. How could these two things even be remotely related??? Well, for the average person, they may never have been. But I had a brilliant epiphany: the gun case could store my wrapping paper! I grabbed the case and set it on the wood stove, opened it up and discovered all this foam junk. What if we ever actually wanted to use it for guns? I would probably be in trouble for throwing it away, then. So I closed the gun case, deciding not to use it for wrapping paper after all.
And that was all it took. That simple motion of snapping the lid down on a very light-weight plastic case caused the old wood stove to topple over and land right on my toe. Oh my heavens it hurt! Avery was standing beside me and she is my sweet, sweet- natured little girl. I knew immediately it was bad, and that I had to sensor my reaction to prevent really freaking her out. I gave the stove a big heave and freed my toe, and sent Avery to get the phone to call my dad. My building supply delivery man. Surely he was close.
I pride myself in handling pain well. For some dumb reason, I do. I bit my cheek when I got the shots in my neck last year( 3 times) when I felt like crying. And it was gratifying when the nurse said to the other one, "she's a tough one". Why? I have no clue! As if it even means anything other than I'm stupid enough to bit my face off instead of ask for more numbing meds. But its part of my makeup, I guess. So, I tried not to make a huge scene. I limped outside and carefully sat down on the step, and bawled my stinking eyes out. And apparently I'm not as tough as I pretend...because I made enough noise that the man pushing his kids in the swings and the park decided to jog over and see what was going on. Imagine my surprise and relief when the letters EMT were stitched into his jacket. He volunteered to take a look.
PARENTAL DISCRETION ADVISED:
There was quite a bit of blood on my sock...I was wearing a sandal when it happened...he pulled back my sock to look, and the top of my toe went with it. Oh crap.
He, thinking maybe I didn't noticed, pushed it back and held on tight...telling me calmly, 'we should call the ambulance.' Absolutely not. Not for a toe.
Kolbe was sent to get his dad from the school. My parents arrived almost immediately. Nate followed. And pretty soon Jon and Trev just happened by and my front yard got a bit hectic. My toe was wrapped in towels, which killed because the weight of them felt like they were literally making my toe fall off. I cried. Alot. But I didn't swear :)
I was loaded into the burb and Nate and I headed to the ER...
3 hours later, two BIG nerve blocks...and 4 prescriptions...
My toe was reattached. The ER doc said the end of my toe had 'been squished like a grape' and that the bone had blown up. But it was where it belonged. And I'd feel better in a few days.
But I didn't. In fact, I found myself taking the full dose of heavy narcotic prescribed, crying until it kicked in...and then being only mildly relieved. For two hours. And then it was back. Pulsing. Burning. Seriously...it was absolutely agonizing. Gone was my resolve to be tough. I couldn't do it. I absolutely couldn't do it. Long story short...I ended up at the local clinic, who removed the bandage. I saw her eyes. And I knew what it meant when her partner came in to "have a look"...bringing her camera, to take some up close and personals. She emailed the foot doctor, and I had an appointment scheduled by that afternoon to see him. Friday morning I saw him. An hour later I was being prepped for surgery.
ALL THIS FOR A STUPID TOE!!!!!
God bless this man.
He removed all the bone pieces and reattached my toe again. I was admitted to the hospital all weekend long, hooked to strong IV medicine to fight off the fear of bone infection.
I had several priesthood blessings during this week. I was in more pain than I've ever known, and I'm sure that I was spared some of it. And I KNOW that I was spared bone infection. Because I was allowed to come home, on oral antibiotic, instead of the six weeks of IV meds that they had told me about.
It is frankenstein-ugly. Seriously.
But it is healing. And I'm thankful. I am able to pretend I'm tough again.
And do you want to know something amazing? I am most upset at the TIMING of this disaster! If it would have happened last month, it wouldn't have cost me anything. My health insurance had maxed its out of pocket. FREE. And, in a month or two, I'd be in the same place again with my hip rehab soaking up those costs. But no. January 18th meant my deductible had just reset. That means two.thousand.five. hundred. FREAKING.dollars. And then another grand of copay bills. Thirty five hundred dollars.
Thirty five hundred dollars.
Perhaps I should mention that last year my heart was ripped out and danced on when our adoption fell through. I may have mentioned it once or twice. Aside from my emotional heartache from this experience...this month also signals another form of torture related to our failed adoption. TAX time. Yep.
We borrowed $20k against our 401k to funnel into our adoption funds. A large portion of it is sitting in a fund we can't touch aside from adopting. But that doesn't spare us the fact that we will be taxed hugely on this little endeavor. We didn't care when we did it. We'd have the adoption credit to offset it, right? Well, can't use it if an international adoption isn't complete. So, the $20k plus of adoption expenses we had are useless to us, and we have $20k of income. Our normally happy refund is transformed into a debt to Uncle Sam of several thousand dollars.
We don't even have enough in savings to cover the sum of these two things. I'm not sure where or how that is going to happen.
I am not sure what I am supposed to learn.
I have said out loud, so many times, just in case Heavenly Father doesn't already know that I know this: I don't care if I'll ever be rich. I just want to cover the bills.
And, thankfully, we always have. We live a good life, with more than we need and enough to make us happy. I love my pefectly chaotic life. I'd choose it over and over again.
I looked directly at Nate when he said it. And I started crying. And I forbid him to say it again. I begged him to not look at it like this...that our lot is unfair. It is hard, for certain. But in that moment I needed his stregnth to reassure me that he knew what I knew:
Its the message I keep hearing over. And over. And over. Its the message threaded through every single trial and screamed through every single blessing:
We have nothing. And we have everything. What will soothe and comfort like balm to our crying hearts...the only gifts in our blessed lives that mean anything...is our little family and our faith. That is it.
I told Nate last night that I am certain that I depend on him, and my Heavenly Father, more than anyone else possibly could. That life has made me do that. And while I cannot find happiness in some of the things that continually pester us...I can see this resounding truth. We are better together for it.
"Come what may, and love it". That is what one of the General Authorities of our church said in a conference once. I'm learning this. And I'm horrible at it. I'm sure that God must cringe a little when I cry, and question 'why?' and pity myself. Its an emotion I wish I could master. And I usually reign it in, once I've let it run lose for a few days. One day I'll be better. Bigger. More as I should be.
Maybe then we 'won't be meant for hard things.'
Maybe we will be.
But, we are also meant for GOOD things.
Eli was supposed to be baptized the Sunday I was in the hospital. We obviously re-scheduled. But he had his interview with the Bishop. This is a big deal. You must be 8 to be baptized in our faith. So you know what you are signing up for, so to speak. You're still a child, so you're understanding is naive. But you get it a little. I've been talking with Eli about his upcoming baptism for a while now. He listens faithfully to his primary song CD at night. There is a song that talks about Jesus going to John the Baptist to be baptized. It tells why he did this, being perfect and having no need to be cleansed.
When Eli came home from meeting the Bishop, I was so happy to see my handsome little man, dudded in his new black church pants, sports coat, white shirt and tie. I asked him how his interview went. "Fine." Oh come on! Give me the scoop...so I peppered him a bit. When I realized I'd have to pry it out of him, I asked him to tell me one thing the Bishop specifically asked him. He said, "mom, same as you. He wanted to know why I wanted to be baptized."
So what did you say, I asked.
"To fulfill the law," he said very matter-of-factly.
I absolutely busted out laughing. He then said he didn't answer it that way. With my toe, I've missed church and haven't got to ask Bishop if he really did.
The lyrics to the second verse of that little song say: To fulfill the law, said Jesus, when the baptist questioned why.
I love him.
Landri had the flu yesterday early in the morning. She ran into the bathroom to get sick and the hollered at me. I came running, sort of :)
"What???" I asked.
She pointed into the toilet. "There is a hair in the toilet."
I didn't even look. I just said, 'oh, who cares?'
Her big eyes were dark against her pasty white skin. 'MOOOOoooooom. Its from a BUTT.'
I love her.
Kolbe barely talks. He could go days with simply grunting his answers, as long as his access to food is unrestricted. He is growing like crazy. Thankfully, he always smells nice. The habits of brushing his teeth and using deoderant...things I used to have to hound him to do....have become natural. I know its not for me, but for the girls that he is texting non stop. I wish I could wrap him in bubble wrap and fast forward and pause things all at the same time.
I love him.
Avery begged and cried to stay with me in the hospital. She planted her tiny self right against me in bed from the moment she walked into my room, until dad pried her off to go home. She is this amazing little person who needs nothing, and at the same time only needs me.
I love her.
She doesn't think I know the difference between 'need' and 'want'. "Mom, I need spandex and knee pads for volleyball. Black knee pads." I know. So I tease. I found some ugly white knee pads at Target. She squirms and whines. Because she really really wants the black ones. Because even when playing sixth grade volleyball, she's a diva. She has an image of what she wants to look like.
I love her.
He's rubbed my toes every night for almost 2 weeks. He proves he loves me through the quietest, simplest acts. And while he's really upsetting my morning routine with the kids, staying later than usual before going to work...he's the absolutely best husband in the world.
It seems that there are just lessons I will hear repeatedly in my life. And, I will always welcome the opportunity to reflect on just how GOOD my life is...even if tears cloud my lenses every once in a while....
Monday, December 30, 2013
just to show he was listening...
I love the quiet moments where you realize you made a point, that they understood what I was saying.
I was teaching the Plan of Salvation yesterday in church to the kids age 3 to 8. This tells of how we willingly came to earth to follow a Savior, repent, and return to our God(in a super short version). At the end we were discussing how we'd each be judged for our actions and where we'd be sent. We talked about the degrees of glory, and how the place where God will reside is likened unto the Sun, and then there is a place likened unto the moon, and then the worse destination is likened unto the stars. I walked the kids through scenarios, "in the dark which would you prefer? stars or a bright moon?" A night with a moon, or a full sun-lit sky? I think they got it.
Last night as I tucked Eli in we were discussing his upcoming baptism and what this commitment means. And he said, 'I probably have STARS stamped on my heart mom.'
He cracks me up. And...he gives me LOTS of opportunities to teach :)
I was teaching the Plan of Salvation yesterday in church to the kids age 3 to 8. This tells of how we willingly came to earth to follow a Savior, repent, and return to our God(in a super short version). At the end we were discussing how we'd each be judged for our actions and where we'd be sent. We talked about the degrees of glory, and how the place where God will reside is likened unto the Sun, and then there is a place likened unto the moon, and then the worse destination is likened unto the stars. I walked the kids through scenarios, "in the dark which would you prefer? stars or a bright moon?" A night with a moon, or a full sun-lit sky? I think they got it.
Last night as I tucked Eli in we were discussing his upcoming baptism and what this commitment means. And he said, 'I probably have STARS stamped on my heart mom.'
He cracks me up. And...he gives me LOTS of opportunities to teach :)
Friday, December 27, 2013
favorite Sunday of the year
"whoever said 'Easy like Sunday morning' obviously never had children"....
It is amazing to me that my kids, who are full of life for sure...but usually fairly well behaved...become little dancing devils every. single. Sunday. morning. Just like clock work. Its like they're possessed. In fact, the only thing predictable about their behavior this day is that it will be the worst its been all week.
Having said this...THIS week was my favorite Sunday of the year: Christmas Sunday. Naughtiness is usually at a minimum because the anticipation to wear the new outfit that's been taunting you from the closet for a month is too much. Kids who usually fight the shower AGREE on attempt one. 'Its Christmas Sunday', after all. And Landri actually WANTED her hair done.
Her outfit was cuter with the red sweater specifically bought for Christmas, but this was a last minute compromise to stem the fit that was coming...
Eli. This kid has some querks. And Sunday clothes are one of 'em. He refuses to wear a tie and his nice dress shoes. So I didn't waste money on new duds he wouldn't wear. This outfit is his 'comfort zone'...why mess with a good thing?
What do you say? That she's the cutest, pocket-sized angel in the world?
Growing up. In a tight little black skirt.
Handsome. And not just because I'm biased.
And there was no corralling them into a group picture where all five of them faced forward and smiled nicely. At least I will have lots of pictures of my kids as they really are! Sass. Spunk and LIFE :)
Merry Christmas!
It is amazing to me that my kids, who are full of life for sure...but usually fairly well behaved...become little dancing devils every. single. Sunday. morning. Just like clock work. Its like they're possessed. In fact, the only thing predictable about their behavior this day is that it will be the worst its been all week.
Having said this...THIS week was my favorite Sunday of the year: Christmas Sunday. Naughtiness is usually at a minimum because the anticipation to wear the new outfit that's been taunting you from the closet for a month is too much. Kids who usually fight the shower AGREE on attempt one. 'Its Christmas Sunday', after all. And Landri actually WANTED her hair done.
Merry Christmas!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)