Confusion

I don't have any idea about what I want to write about, specifically. I usually go to this blog because a narrative will start running in my head and not stop until I sit down to write it out. This time is different. This time I don't know what my next word will be. I don't know what my next day will be. I am confused.

A handful of people are aware of the chaos in my life, and I haven't had the time, or mostly the energy to sit down and write about it. I still don't- but I feel like I need to write something in order to sort it out.

Memaush died on November 21st. That feels like decades ago. I still have visionsof her beautiful face- the night she died. I arrived to Florida on Friday, November 20th, sat with her and held her hand. I'm ashamed to say I couldn't look at her for too long before I needed to look at something, anything else. Her face looked angelic and bore the obvious cues of death. Her mouth was dry and her eyes searching. She knew me, she knew I was there and she even raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes wide for me. I could have sworn she squeezed my hand. I love her so much. I miss her so much. Memaush was an image of who I was destined to be- for better or for worse! Her loving, nonjudgemental heart made her a favorite in any crowd. Her lack of filter and style for drama and stubborness made every day with her an interesting one. I miss her. Very few people in my family- if any- fill that beautiful combination of intense love and almost rude openness. As I write this, I am crying - and it feels so good.

I haven't had time to grieve.

Memaush died on Friday before Thanksgiving, Jessa, Mom, Stuart and Suzanne were with her when she died- I still want to talk about that with Jessa. Jessa, Mom, and Hunter and I all went to Palm City Sunday to gather our thoughts and live in sort of a twilight-zone period until the rest of the family arrived Wednesday. Jessa and I baked Christmas cookies and pies for Thanksgiving, something to do and keep the Christmas spirit that Memaush loved alive. Everyone came into New Smyrna on Wednesday- Thursday morning we had "Chrisgiving" where Kelly and I dreamed up a simple plan of ordering one nice gift for everyone and splitting the cost- no shopping- no pressure- except for Kelly who wrangled the whole delivery and cost splitting. We made puffs in honor of Memaush (a breakfast yeast roll fried and stuffed with however much butter or jelly you want!). That evening we did Thanksgiving with Stuart, Suzanne and the kids- a welcome family gathering that was good for every soul. Friday after Thanksgiving we had the memorial service for Memaush- Jason officiated and Jeff led the music. It was beautiful. I read a psalm, Jessa read a poem, Kelly read notes from the grandkids and Mom shared from hers and stuart's hearts. The service ended with Amazing Grace- and this song really was Memaush's song- and it broke my heart. I wept. That was the last time I got to focus on my grief.

That afternoon Hunter had a fever of over 102, and Jason and I just rocked him, changed his diaper (he had diarrhea), and gave him tylenol all afternoon. I didn't talk to many people at the reception. Hunter was sick for almost 3 or 4 days, with a cold to follow. We traveled back to Virginia by car and drove to Jason's parents house late Saturday evening. I stayed there with Hunter while Jason drove home to get the truck so we could pick up Bruno and drive home. 20 minutes into his trip back to the Snow's- the truck engine light came on. It was cold and raining- he decided to wait it out and get the truck looked at the next morning. Monday morning the truck was looked at, and $500 later, fixed. Jason came and got Hunter and me Tuesday morning, we drove to get Bruno and got home late Tuesday night.

Wednesday morning I got a phone call at 6:30am. My grandmother (the only one I have now) was being taken to the hospital. She complained of a back ache. This grandmother was last in the hospital for childbirth- so I was prepared for her to be dying. I got to the hospital- she was lying there in some pain but nothing a couple of vicodin couldn't knock out (I mean really- she is all of 89 lbs- who thought that was a good idea?). She was so relieved to see me- I couldn't believe how visible it was. So since then I have been with my Grandmother- for a week I was with her all day, every day, I have been with her every day at least for 4-6 hours. Jason juggled Hunter, home and work. I juggled negligent nursing staff and doctors who don't communicate. I found her a rehab place to transfer to, got her medicine worked out, consented to medical procedures (she fractured her back and had some injection of bone cement to stabilize and help it heal.) I was overjoyed when I could drive her in my car (familiar) to the rehab place that is connected to where her apartment is. Her anxiety has been through the roof, and her confusion ever-present. Each day I had to tell her why she was hurting, each day I had to convince her it was ok that I "came all this way out to see her." Each day I fought the same battles, because sleep erases all things. When we arrived at the rehab- I met the demon that is confusion.

I thought I saw fear and confusion at the hospital. At least then she couldn't move. We arrived at the rehab Friday afternoon- by far the worse time one can ever arrive anywhere except maybe a bar in Key West. I had to look for someone official, get them to please get a wheelchair and escort us to where we should go. Imagine this- you bring your fragile Grandmother- to a rehab place that has no identifiable "front desk." The person I found pointed out a lone wheelchair sitting in the lobby and suggested I use that to take her up- where- I didn't know and neither did she. The smartest thing I did was insist on an escort. He got the crappy wheelchair with no foot rests, wheeled Grandmother upstairs into a room where the heater didn't work and there was no phone. I requested we moved to the next room over that was also vacant and not barren of comfort. We sat there- she was in a nighty, no underwear at all, my sweater because it was cold, hospital socks and a pair of hospital pants that would fit Jason. Every time I left her to ask a question- she wandered in search for me. I couldn't leave her- but I needed to get her clothes, something. She sat in the chair- in more pain because the pain medicine scripts hadn't come in and the tylenol was wearing off (but of course it hadn't been 6 hours yet- so she was up a creek). She looked at me with the eyes of a scared 3 year old and told me "I'm not hurt, I'm frightened!" I didn't know what to do.

A tiny angel in the form of a volunteer, Ellen, stopped by and gave me some information (no one had given me one welcome sheet of info or anything)- the most important being that I could take grandmother to her apartment with me and pack her clothes. All grandmother wanted to do was be in her apartment- and she was starting to wonder if this one bedroom hell was her new home. I took her to the apartment- feeling like a fugitive the whole time but knowing we just had to make it to home base. We got there- I packed her things and she showered. She was reluctant to go back- but we did- with her wheelchair handle laid down with clothes- my wrist nearly sliced with the weight of a plastic bag full of her personal items and underwear. And she had to lift her feet the whole ride. When we got back at 6:30pm- the dining hall was closed. I burst into tears and told the staff there folding napkins that grandmother needed to eat. They kindly brought her a sandwhich and hot tea- and then got me some too.

I got her ready for bed, tucked her in and gave her instructions on the help button, gave her a path of steady objects to the bathroom since she had no walker and wrote her a note that I would be back the next morning. The first couple of days I arrived to her still in bed and discouraged, eventually she got a little more comfortable- but every day was the same battle- encouraging her, explaining to her what happened- and not feeling comfortable leaving her until I tucked her in a night. The entire weekend passed without one visit or mention from a doctor or physical therapist. Monday evening we saw a doctor who asked me what seemed to be the problem. I almost murdered him on the spot. She didn't see a therapist until Tuesday. The facts of her misfortune trickled in from the staff. I learned why there was no sign showing where the bathroom was (I made one), why she didn't see a therapist and why no one seemed to get to see her or care for her until late Monday, early Tuesday:.... paperwork. Yes- our medical system needs to be reformed. She couldn't even get a walker until the therapy place loaned her one on Tuesday- that means 4 days without proper means to get around. And supposedly we were in the rehab for her safety. There are too many details to tell- but let's just say it was a disaster and slowly the disaster lessened.

Then Dad came- Thursday morning. I was with him (training) Thursday and doing things for grandmother Friday. I had Hunter 4 days out of all this madness- the rest was on Jason or a babysitter we finally found (yea for college winter break). Hunter is busy. Dad and grandmother were going to fly to Florida for Christmas break- giving her some familiarity and family care (and warm weather) and me some time off.

Then as our youth director calls it: snowpocalypse 2009 occured. We had a blizzard on Saturday. Seriously. 2 feet of snow in a place that cancels school if we have 4 inches. Flights are cancelled- Grandmother's anxiety is through the roof at the possibility of traveling and we're all snowed in. Today Dad had a heart-to-heart with Grandmother and she put down her foot- she's not going. He is sitting in the airport right now waiting. Possibly for hours. Grandmother is by herself in the apartment. We hired an aide that will check on her 4 times a day (I interviewed and contacted people to be aides in this time as well- when? You tell me.) My uncle Tom's trip to the carribbean was cancelled due to snowpocalypse '09- so he is going to be with Grandmother this Christmas. His flight schedule? He arrives Christmas day and leaves the next day.

So- I now am going to look for Grandmother's missing ID, prepare time sheets for the aide, get a notebook so we can keep information on her visits, update Grandmother's "in case of emergency" file, make sure her apartment is safe (bar for the toilet, chairs out of the way, etc), order her a walker because she is borrowing one from someone, and of course keep my house from becoming a pig sty, keeping laundry going, take care of my 15 month old and keep promising my husband who is doing everything that he can to keep things going- that one day- one day- I'll give him a back rub.

Me? I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm plagued by the demon of confusion. I wrote this while Hunter was sleeping, waking up, eating, changing his outfit, calling Jason with the grocery list, making sure Grandmother was ok when Dad left, making dinner plans and Hunter playing on the floor in the kitchen (God bless him).

This post is too long- but so was my story- and it isn't over. Pray for strength in everything.

*Dog*

Hunter just woke up from his nap and I was wondering why. Then he started barking with Bruno.

These are the Moments

....

I wasn't sure I would have much to blog about today because I'm not quite ready to delve into the depths of the family trip I just took (I need more time for that). Luckily - Hunter gave me something to talk about:

I thought he was down for his nap- started checking my email, went to throw some laundry in the wash and came back to him sitting up and talking. I was annoyed- but figured he'd go back down. Not too long later I saw him grabbing for the monitor (It's a video monitor and he knows if he knocks it down- we come in). His super go-go-gadget arms reached the cord and sent the thing flying. So I went upstairs and went into the nursery. Hunter of course was happy to see me- but he was messing with the curtains (freakishly long arms!) so I got those away and was about to bend down to pick up the monitor when I felt something wet sprinkling on my foot. I look up and see Hunter- bare-butt and peeing. On me. I said- You don't have a diaper on! He simply looked at me and grinned. He knew that it was funny. I saw his diaper in the crib to the side- simply shoved off like a jacket. Instead of running to clean the mess- I ran for the camera and had to capture this moment. Hunter still thought it was funny and I totally reinforced it- but oh well. Got the full frontal shot and then proceeded to put his clean diaper back on and take the wet sheet off and clean the floor and my foot.

He's napping now. And I'm pretty sure he has his diaper on. How did I miss that with a video monitor? No clue. I will get Jason to help me upload the pics later. :) For now- just imagine a grinning 13 month old with his bottom all aired out.

Tour in motion

Ok- so a little update. I am in Nashville, hanging with my sister and her fabulous family. Hunter is sleeping in his pack n play, I have lunch plans and after lunch plans.... life is good.

This trip has been really good- like- how could I have been nervous about this good. Hunter is an angel. Plain and simple- he rocks. He's been sleeping in a different house almost every day with the exception of maybe a two or three night stint somewhere. He has spent most of his naps in a car seat, and has eaten on the floor, in a highchair, in a restaurant, in his car seat. He allowed me to have a 2 hour breakfast with my old mentor while he entertained himself with food, waitresses and methods of moving his body. He has become good friends almost instantly with all of my friends, their friends, their parents, their parent's puppies, and of course our family that he hasn't seen in a while. When we were visiting Memaush- he smiled, laughed, and walked for her. When we had dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousins- he became so enamored with my cousin Heather that when I was holding him- he went to her! That's kind of a big deal. He is a ray of sunshine and I am SO glad we took this trip- and SO glad he's my baby (little boy!).

I have had such joy seeing friends I haven't seen in a while. It is scary how easy it was to travel from Virginia to the middle of Florida (with a few stops!). It reminds me that with a good plan- you can make almost anything work well. I am above all so glad that I made this effort to see Memaush. She is not doing well, her body is slowly dying and she is tired. I got to visit with her- talk to her, listen to her. I put lotion on her arms, shoulders, legs, feet. I brushed her hair. It was a sacred time. I said I love you and said goodbye. There is no greater gift to a relationship this meaningful than the ability to say those two things and know that it may be the last conversation you had. I am either at peace or oblivious to what will happen when Memaush does die. I really think it's peace.

ooh- Hunter's up. Don't want to wake Lucy!

more later

On the Road Again

I am about to embark on my little Tour de South. Jason and I will be in Auburn this weekend to watch a game (yea!!) and see my sister, Jessa dance (double yea!!). After that Jason will fly back home with good friends while I travel to Florida via Valdosta (yea for Cliff) to see my Memaush. Memaush (my g-mother on my Mom's side) is just not doing great. It's been a roller coaster ride for the family, especially Mom, who gives us updates on her health as she goes up and down emotionally and physically. It sounds like Memaush is tired, and maybe I'll do another post on that later. I feel like she is ready to go, and I want to see her and hug her and love her before she does. whew. SO then I am heading up to Nashville via Valdosta and Atlanta (yea Cliff and Katy!). There I am going to hang out with my sister Kelly, Jeff and little Lucy and have so so much fun. I will also get to see my dear friend Nancy and itty bitty Becca. Also super exciting.

This little tour is kind of my coming out as a stay at home mom- it says- I can leave and drive around for two weeks- woohoo! Jason will check on Grandmother and all should be well. I have good friends along the way that I'll get to see and who will break up the trip with their fabulous hospitality. I'm really really excited. IF I am good- I will take lots of pics and finally update this blog with pictures. Hunter looks so different now! Speaking of Hunter- he is up from his nap and playing independantly in the next room- hooray! We also discovered that he will tolerate playing in the pack n' play for a little while- which was very nice yesterday. Jason and I cleaned out our closets! Is anyone a size 6-8 with shorter arms and torso than I? I have some seriously beautiful clothes that do not fit at all. (and I was in a "get rid of stuff" mood- so even the maybes got tossed)

OK- just wanted to share my enthusiasm for the road trip with Hunter. Be in prayer for me as I will be doing this by myself- traveling with no pinch hitter will be interesting!

Mellowcreme Pumpkins

That is what I'm pigging out on right now. Candy-corn like mellowcreme pumpkin candy. So today my husband asked me why I was stressed out. I hate the phrase "stressed-out"- because it is used by people in school who have term papers due- it just doesn't work for me. So I said I was a little frustrated and overwhelmed. "Why?" he asked- I said...

because the house is *disgusting*, i feel fat, i have a ticket from June that i don't know how to pay, my car smells gross, we need a new car seat, my grandmother has an ear infection, the grass needs to be mowed, i am tired of hunter whining for things and me not getting it right, my other grandmother is in the hospital, i have certain organizations that I'm wondering if i should step down from, we have a garden that needs to be razed, the whole yard needs to be redone but it isn't ours so i just get to fantasize that i have enough money to spend it on something that isn't mine, there are most likely cheerios in my bra which no longer is hugely full of boobs because i finished nursing, the house is full of random crap we don't need, all the clean laundry is sitting squished in one basket which means it is no longer folded because we keep sliding things out, it's cold and i don't have my cold clothes out, we keep going out of town, Bruno sheds, the door downstairs has a gap between it and the floor, i need to roll over my retirement pay from my last job, so do you, we need to pay your tuition, for that matter- your student loans from grad school which hang over me, find the car registration because we didn't have it when i got pulled over, there is mold growing above most our showers, there is a large hole in our guest bedroom ceiling, there are 4 ladders in our back yard from a project by the church 2 years ago, the space between our fence and the fence our neighbor built 2 years ago is being filled with plants and critters, our shed is full of furniture and the remnants from our last garage sale, i need to take care of myself physically but when i think i'm doing well i gain weight, i am trying to get clearer skin, we need to plan for retirement and hunter's college, and i basically think about different ways we should be saving money every 20 minutes but we don't ever sit down and do budget things so it never happens, you have meetings nearly every night of the week, the political parties are calling my house, my grandmother gets 30 mailings a day and probably 5 phone calls a day for money, my car is about to hit 100K miles which makes me think we might need a new care in a few years which is sad because i like my car, i'm wondering when we should start trying for another baby which freaks me out because sometimes i wonder if one is enough, you need allergy shots....

it's ok if you skimmed that. all that to say- all these things (plus some) are in my head on a regular basis, and all i have the energy to do is sit, eat pumpkin candy and blog about it.

it's no wonder I'm not getting anything done and feel fat.

by the way- for all you sunshine and daisies folks: i know i have it good- but i'm still a little crazy.

Alzheimers

This is not going to be as serious as it seems from the title. As many close to me know- my Grandmother has Alzheimers and I have been helping her out. Now- there is the hollywood version of helping Alzheimer's patients out, the do-good version (you know- let's all go to the assisted living place and sing a song), then there is the Granddaughter version:

1) Junk Mail. She gets on average (this is not a lie) 30 pieces of junk mail a day - specifically asking for money. She has several magazine subscriptions, some doubled, and a handful of "thank you"gifts coming in from when she gives money - which is often. I have inherited many of these gifts (bags, socks, underwear, dreamcatchers, coins, rosaries, gloves, reading lights, a sticker spporting the police chiefs (why do they need support? they have guns) and of course various doubled magazines).... She keeps the cards and calendars to herself - last year we threw out 150 calendars. Wow. I am in the process of calling all these people and trying to get her off the mailing list. Interesting and challenging.

2) Real mail. Things like- oh- say a tax adjusment for the 2007 tax year, that was mailed July 27 2009 and needed to be addressed in 30 days.... just found it. Nice. Mailing it to her tax friend who is perhaps 85 and still doing her taxes. Can't help but be a little nervous about that one. Bills, checks, statements, bills for things she "ordered" (aka "get a FREE preview of our book, andifyoulikeitwe'llbillyou10dayslater"), bills that are months over due and bills that are for things she doesn't need. I snatch as much as I can and mail it to Dad or take care of it if it is immediate. This feels like being financially responsible.... without the checks. Fun.

3) Medicine - I talked about this in a previous post. Refilling prescriptions and dreaming up ways to get her to take em- check!

4) Eating/Groceries- going to eat with her, going grocery shopping with her is especially hilarious... before I would try to steer her away from buying the honey buns and cakes, but she's 91 lbs and 87 years old. I make sure she buys the fattest kind. She has a severe sweet tooth and nothing to show for it- we hate her and love her. Dessert is not an option- so I have to order really healthy lunches to make up for the dessert. I have kept her from buying frozen chicken nuggets "in case company comes" by showing her while they were cooked - she would have to re-cook them. She also doesn't always know what she needs- so I have to steal a glance at her fridge and pantry- and then throw in some ensures and protein bars so she can fatten up.

5) Solicitors- every time her phone rings when I'm there- I rush to get it before her. It is always someone wanting money or checking up on a pledge she unwittingly made. Seriously- they should know better!

and that is just a little snap shot of it. We also have piles of magazines, books, and mailing in our house so that it isn't in hers.

I felt like painting this more realistic picture of what caring for my Grandmother is- just because I have a pile of her papers in front of me and thought- this is everywhere! Now it's in my blog. ha. The last thing I will say is that the perks of taking care of Grandmother are wonderful- she speaks so positively all the time- it helps me remember in her words that: every day is a great day, Hunter is always so happy and cheerful, I am so lucky, She is so grateful, It's a perfect day to walk/drive/ be out, and she loves me and feels close to me. That makes the mudane worthwhile. Plus her stories-every now and then I'll get a new one. ; )

Ok- need to shower.

Music in Asheville

Asheville (no- not Nashville)- Jason, Hunter and I just returned from a really nice trip to Asheville, NC. We were there to celebrate and get together with my sister Kelly and her birthday hubby Jeff and of course precious Lucy- our niece. It was so fun. We arrived Thursday night, put Hunter to bed and then enjoyed the hot tub (man- it would be so nice to have one of those!). Kelly and Jeff came much later- but not so late that we couldn't share a glass of wine in the hot tub. We stayed up way too late, our babies had pity and slept in a little.

Friday Jeff's folks arrived and that night the two couples went to a concert. This is how I know I am getting old- the concert was awesome. The reasons it was awesome: the venue was perfect- non-smoking bar/grill type atmosphere with about 100 seats to the stage, small and perfect... the music was amazing - it was a super group called WPA of Glen Phillips (from Toad the Wet Sprocket), the guitar guy from Nickel Creek and some other amazing musicians. I don't remember the details- but I remember the music and how it made me feel and how refreshing it was to see the performers enjoying the music. It felt like we were just happening by a jam session- only organized. It has been so long since I've lost myself in music- and I had that feeling that night. I could have closed my eyes and swayed and twirled in the back of the room if I didn't have any social inhibitions. It made me want to do that very thing at home- dance aimlessly. It has been a long time since I've done that.

When I was a little girl we had a house in Ft Walton Beach, Fl with a long long living room with high high ceilings. It felt like a cathedral - and it was my dancing sanctuary. I would grab my boom box, put on a little Madonna, Paula Abdul, Ace of Base- whatever mood struck me- and twirl and sway and dance and sing around that room. I would close my eyes and sing it out- let the weight of my body predict the next space I would occupy. I had no routine, no audience- just a free movement and a large floor. Those times made me so happy. I think the other night- I almost felt like a little kid again- like that little 10 year old that wanted to move with the music. It's sad that it takes a glass of wine and a live band to reclaim that feeling- but who cares- I felt it for a whole evening- and it was bliss. I think I understand why some artists are willing to starve for their art- it's the child-like bliss that makes it worth it. It feels like joy.

That look was on the faces of the performers- which is why it didn't feel like a performance. I felt like they were letting me in on their little world of joy- sharing it with me. I paid them for the pleasure and bought their CD to encourage them to continue on. That joy is not a given for all performers- and I just realized the obvious of how wonderful and fun it is to watch other people having the time of their lives. This is my kind of concert. So fun- thanks to Kelly and Jeff for inviting us!

O Victory in Jesus

Ok- so random title, but that's the song that has been in my head for the last few days- and appropriately so, because on the afternoon of my losing faith post, I had a breakthrough!

I have found a plan that makes my Grandmother take her medicine every day. For those of you who do not have any experience working with elderly who suffer from dementia- this is a huge excitement in my little world. It's been the puzzle I've been trying to solve, and finally I think I got it! Grandmother had not been taking her aricept (irony there) and so could not obviously benefit, but then I devised a plan with some tips from friends- and she remembered to take her meds every day!! So excited.

O Victory in Jesus...

That leads me to the next victory: Hunter is one year old today! This time last year I was um, well- being stitched- but basically I was holding my newborn child for the first time, listening to his cries as he was being weighed and measured- 9 lbs 6 oz and 21.5 inches. He is now about 25 lbs and over 30 inches (I don't know how tall he is!). Amazing how time goes by so fast.

Another victory along the lines of Hunter's birthday- I have nursed him this whole year! We're down to just nursing at bed time, and really it's more comfort than nutrition at this point, but both of us are a little hesitant to let it go.... or maybe it's just me. Breastfeeding is a strange emotional roller coaster- different for every woman and child (and weaning even more roller-coaster-y). I had the easiest time with it and was so blessed. Even as easy as it was (physically I didn't have any problems)- it was a definite gift from me to Hunter. I like to think of it that way now. A gift. I'm proud of myself and glad I did it. There are some people who think I'm odd for nursing this long and I guess some people who wonder why I've weaned him so soon. I think I'm finally in the place where I can say- I don't care about that. I did a good job. I am awesome. Yea me. And look at Hunter- he certainly did well. My gift is complete- soon I will nurse the last time at night, and it will be my timing and my joy.

O Victory in Jesus....

Losing Faith

Isaiah 46:4 4 Even to your old age and gray hairsI am he, I am he who will sustain you.I have made you and I will carry you;I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

It's hard to write light in dark corners- especially hard for me it seems. It feels like darkness is more powerful than light. Lately I have been witness to what I will describe as the wretchedness of us. By "us" I mean humanity- by wretchedness I think I mean simply selfishness. So many words of others come to my mind- and unfortunately so many words of defeat are swirling around like truth in my head. I feel like I am losing my faith in people to be good. I wanted to be like Anne Frank- face the devil and still come up hopeful. It seems even the little things make me sad about people. I go between compassion for their obvious grief and shroud of darkness to anger over their complete disregard for anyone other than themselves. I found myself saying - "I mean, really? Seriously? You've got to be kidding me."

I cant name all the hurts I've seen- but an example is my Memaush (grandmother). She was in an assisted living facility until last week. She is supposed to be checked on every two hours- and she has difficulty moving. Her mind is sharp and her heart is full. Last week she was neglected- to put it simply. The staff did not help her to bed or check on her at all throughout the night, even after she pulled her "help" cord repeatedly. She had to use the restroom and managed to get herself there but fell on her way back. She lay on the bathroom floor over 5 hours. The staff foud her the next morning bleeding with a huge knot in her head- she had a broken wrist, and lacerations all over her legs. She is now in a nursing/rehab place. Even now writing about this angers me to the point that my fingers are jittery. That's why this verse that my sister, Kelly blogged about gave me some comfort. The problem is that we have been entrusted with the spirit of God, we have been trusted to be the body of Christ- and I have a new understanding of blasphemy...it's not just saying some random curse word in conjunction with God's name- it is claiming to be human and good and neglecting another. What is scary is that we are all guilty of this in one way or the other... but I'd like to think I'm at least thinking about it- I'm at least trying. I'm at least open to suggestions. There are some people (and even some times) when we get so soaked in dark corners- that all we see is ourselves and our own convenience. When I think of the tiniest effort it would have been for the staff at this assisted living place that would have prevented my Memaush's immense pain, my family's immense strain and tension, I can't help but think they are clueless about other people. I just get so discouraged sometimes- the people I am fighting for- the God I am serving- they all seem to let me down. It feels like grief. It looks like enlightenment or intro to cynicism 101. I just want to have joy and do good. I want to believe this scripture, but my theology is so incarnational (God is with us, acts through us) that I really need humanity to kick it up a notch.... then of course- there is always the mirror I need to look in. Where am I unaware of my extreme selfishness? Where am I neglecting? How do I find that balance of doing things for others and yet sustaining any sense of myself.

hunter is awake from his nap- i have to stop my thinking here. I guess to sum it all up- I'm disappointed in people, which makes me a little disappointed in God's ability to work through andwith people. disenchanted- if that's a word.

pet the dog

I need to go take a shower- but I must carve out a few minutes to do my writing therapy for the day.

We have a dog- his name is Bruno, his breed is Saint Bernard and his M.O. is annoyances. He audibly whines as loud as some dogs' barks. I recognized today that though he is often a pain- I do still love him. It still calms me to pet him. I also recognized that we could ignore him for a week straight (unfortunately in terms of playing, affection and any added attention- this has happened)- and he would still want me to be around. This is what they mean by a dog being a man's best friend- they are fiercely loyal. Bruno was shaved for the summer and his winter coat is starting to grow in. With that his cuddly-ness is starting to reappear and it's a visible sign that fall is here!

Jason and I are painting a piece of furniture (repurposing old junk for new treasures) and this morning at 6:30am- put a second coat on it (most of it). We heard children around 7ish and realized it's the first day of school! I remember when we first got Bruno and took him for walks in the morning- the children loved to pet him, and he loved the affection. I can see a bond growing between Hunter and Bruno- especially now as Hunter doesn't mind supplying Bruno with the occassional cheerios, and they both like looking out the window. My hope is that this hard transition between Bruno as baby to Bruno as dog with Baby in the house will soon be over... it has been hard for him (although with only whines to show for it) and we are finally learning how to give him the attention he needs.

All this to say- happy fall, and go pet the dog.

Home

Home is one of the fullest words in the English language. It gushes meaning and emotions. It wraps us up like our favorite blanket some moment and makes us so lonely and hollow the next moment that we are afraid to touch it. Home is.... well fill in the blank with the latest cliche'. Home is something that everyone desires, everyone has, and no one has.

Home is ultimately the core of our souls that needs filling- and fullness is literally heaven.

I hope for home. Pray for home. Have joy for the moments of home... and try to create home.

sigh. I believe that perpetual feeling "at home" is possible, but just as much (and we long just as hard) as for that Kingdom of Heaven on Earth.

Experiment

I'm about to do something crazy! Our monitor is on the fritz- baby is napping. And I'm going to take a shower. No hearing. No knowledge of the wakefulness of baby. Kind of like a sky-diving trip- right?

Ok it's not that crazy, but I'm trying to blog more frequently in an effort to "just keep writing anything." You know- pursue dreams and junk like that.

I'll let you know how it goes (the shower experiment, you'll find out sooner or later if my dreams come true... buy anything with Sarah Snow on it ; )).

The Edges

Experiment- I'm writing sitting on the bed while Hunter is in the exersaucer throwing books over the edge. We'll see how long this lasts...

The edges- thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor (look her up and read her) I have a metaphor and an ally for the place I reside. In Leaving Church, BBT describes a map of the Christian life (and not in the cheesy pathway perspective). She looks at the map as a whole - one giant picture of the landscape of Christian life- and in the center is Mother Church. Mother Church nurtures and protects, comforts and reassures. Mother Church is the hub and the safe place. There is a price to pay to stay at the center, though. Your questions cannot be too inquisitive and your actions not too shaky. Mother Church rests on a firm foundation of tradition and community, and you must pay the price to preserve it- for the good of all. Outside the doors of Mother Earth is the outside, the fringe, all the way to the edges of the map. These places are outside the comfort, community, and most of all, the protection of the church. In fact- once you find yourself outside the walls of Mother Church, you may find yourself to be the one that she protects her children from. You are in the wilderness and it is a scary place, a sketchy community, and things might eat you. And your Mom's cell phone isn't working.

This is where I have been for over 5 years. Like BBT- I love Mother Church- I have been fed and nurtured by her, I have grown under her care and I have even had the privilege to feed others while under her tutelage. Somehow I got lost and found myself on the edges of the map- longing for Mother Church- but until now I didn't think about the fact that the edge is just what I needed. I thought the edge was a banishment- now I'm trying to think of it as a Spiritual hideout. The problem with this metaphor (and really it's not BBT's problem) is that for one- it's true- and that means that Mother Church does not do wilderness excursions. Usually. Maybe it's impossible, but let me explain.

The last time I felt certain of the presence of God in my daily life was ... Auburn circa 2000. I was attending Auburn First Baptist Church- the best Mother Church I've had the privilege of being a part of (in terms of being fed). I grew and ate til I was full. Then, I had a wilderness guide and partner in my friend Cliff. I learned more about God through conversations with him and his perspective as a pagan than I did in any bible study. Then I had my field guide, someone who was gifted enough to have the keys to the Church and know the paths to the edges and back- Alica. This was fullness. This was my cake and eating it too. Now I have been banned to the edge with no partner, kicked out of the Church with no key, and lost with no guide.

Is this the edge of the edge? Must I now learn to make a fire and find God? How do I use this metaphor to transform my understanding of my daily, mundane life? Is it really possible for me to survive in the wilderness when I love and need Mother Church so much? BBT's metaphor speaks especially to me as she reflects on her leadership and role in the Church- how she couldn't do certain things or say certain things because of her power and place. I was no pastor- but I was on staff, I am a pastor's wife.

thoughts to ponder...

Outsider

This blog is once again written on borrowed time (Hunter is napping). I had a discussion with my husband last night- and among other things I somehow came to the ultimate conclusion that I don't fit in this world. Before everyone tells me how loved I am- that is not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the American Dream and how I really hate it. The American dream is the idea that if you work hard enough and perservere- you can accomplish anything- and the sacrifices and toil that lead to success are praiseworthy and bring integrity and prestige. In my words: workaholics and smoozers are our kings and queens. I think at one point the idea of being able to accomplish what seemed impossible was a wonderful thing. I don't knock that. My problem is the pace and intensity with which the expectation to follow the American Dream has come into play. No one is ever satisfied. Joy has been sucked out of living. Doing and achieving are the new moral norms of goodness. Success = goodness.

I am the kind of person who would like to measure her time by hours and days. In our culture, people measure time by minutes and seconds. I cannot live in seconds. I cannot have joy in seconds. And yet, in order to survive, in order to have even enough success to live above the poverty line (unless of course, you were screwed from the beginning), you have to race in seconds.

Even if you're lucky and you do what you love or have a working environment that respects boundaries, time, etc.- it is still the honorable thing to be told to go home. It still has been ingrained in us to feel guilty to ask for a day off. It is still a power over someone else if you're the one working overtime or achieving overtime. These ideas are all so so so SO normal to everyone else but me.

And this is why I feel like I don't fit. I want to water plants and measure their growths in days and weeks. I want to develop relationships and cultivate a craft and meaure my growth in joy and shared sorrow. But I won't get paid and I won't get ahead and I need to have a clean house and a fit body before I can have time for joy.

I need Sabbath, and I'm starting to realize that people around me don't understand the concept, much less think they need it. In the American culture- Sabbath is for weak people. Sabbath is a pause to get energy to do it all again. We are made to be productive.... and in that undertanding- I feel like a failure. I have to remind myself again and again that it just might be possible that I'm not. It just might be possible that God works in months and years, and I'm too fast.

Men

OK- so I probably won't be able to write this whole post because I was too busy reading other posts! but here we go...

I have decided to do a new method of cleaning up- read: decluttering. I decided not to stress with the big project mentaliy of getting a room done in a day (because it's impossible now) but to slowly but surely every day remove things I notice and put them where they go (trash or otherwise). This is not a foolproof plan because most of our clutter is some form of reading material and I read everything I see. If you wrote on toilet paper- I'd read the whole thing before I wiped my butt. So decluttering in spurts ends up risking that I am on the floor with a pile of magazines, catching up on the latest recipe I'm never going to cook.

My point... oh yea- so I found an old journal/devotional book that is in a pile on my dresser- and it has been staring at me saying: you should read me and be a better Christian. So I picked it up before my shower and read a couple of pages. Note about myself: my theology has changed back and forth through the years, but mainly I have settled at least into a galaxy of thought. I have plenty of miles to explore, and will never see it all- but I might say I have found my home. All that to say- I used to be in another galaxy, and this journal is from that place. One of my weird things is that I like to use different names/genders/etc to describe God. For me- it helps me keep the sense of big-ness, surpassing understanding, if I don't resort to the same ol "he/Father." This is not to say that those terms are bad - they just aren't as helpful to me. SO- this journal has all sorts of "He, Himself, Father, His" and very little else- it kind of starts rubbing on me. Then I get to the devotion I am blogging about: it's about being thankful to your husbands (the journal is geared toward women). Quick statement: I love my husband and REALLY appreciate him. So much- that this devotion offended me FOR him. Basically it says we should write him a note or think of some creative way to show our appreciation- very nice, good thought. Then the author gets screwy. She talks about how we should appreciate our hubby when "he takes us out to dinner when he'd rather collapse on the sofa," we should thank him for "sending you roses even though they make his nose itch," and my favorite: "who spends Saturday afternoon watching your offspring play soccer when the football game on television beckons him."

I'm sorry - and earmuffs to those sensitive- but what the freakin hell?

Hunter cries when Jason leaves the room and people are surprised. WHY? Because he is a good father and spends time with his child? I appreciate all of the things Jason does- but as far as being a nurturing father and husband- I expect it too. Just like anyone would expect me to be a nurturing mother. Why is it so earth-shattering when a man cares?

ugh. OK- I have to go. But my bottom line is this: it's not the men that are annoying me this time- It's the women who give them no credit.

Note from Grandmother

I just had to share this. The following is a note from my Grandmother, she had given me a check to cover the cost of mailing a few packages...

***************

Sarah,
Would you or Jason please mail these for me? This should be enough to cover postage. If not, let me know. Hopefully, this is enough to buy you a "lolly pop" : )

***************

I just think the whole world needs to have a Grandmother who invites them to buy a lolly pop at 27 years old.

Things I said...

...to my 7 month old today:

"You look like a monster."

"biting is not ok now that you have teeth."

"Sleeping is for winners."

"Crawling is a great thing."

"Crawling during nap time is not a good idea."

"Naptime makes everyone happy."

"Open your mouth and eat your mixed vegetables."

"Don't vomit."

"Thank God you finally are taking a nap!"

And so off I go to take a shower... finally.

The Deaf Card

This is a phrase that my older sister and I coined when it comes to getting what we want via our deafness (hearing impairedment, really)- aka- playing the "deaf card." We rarely play the deaf card, but there are instances once in a rare while when the trump card comes out.

Examples of when we might find it appropriate to use the deaf card:
When we had college professors that didn't speak English. Deaf people are the only ones who seem to get their way when it comes to language barriers (not fair, I know)- so we pulled the deaf card and got the only math teacher from southern Georgia (the state, not the country).
When our teachers mistakenly only gave an oral cue for a homework assignment or to be quiet, etc etc. We really didn't hear it! The deaf card.
When our husbands tell us they've told us before. The deaf card.

To keep the deaf card valuable, it usually is based on fact of deafness (we don't pull it falsely) and is kept only for special occasions (we may incur a false penalty and just deal with it so as not to overuse the deaf card). It has been a while since I've pulled the deaf card. Today I had to play it in a way that made me oddly aware of the whole deaf part.

My husband mentioned in passing that he would be leaving after a meeting on Monday night to head to his conference that is Tuesday-Thursday. This is news to me. I thought he was leaving Tuesday morning and so wasn't concerned because my mother is coming Tuesday morning. This brought on some real frustration and, hidden deep down inside, fear for me. We had a little fight about the timing of it all when he checked and realized that he was in fact leaving Tuesday morning and all was well. I had already pulled the deaf card at this point.

Here was the argument: Jason was frustrated that I was freaking out about the whole thing at all because he has been attempting to get me to try our baby monitors on vibrate (the reason we got that model) so that I could be home alone at night with Hunter. Hunter sleeps through the night at this point, so the only real kicker would be what time he decides to get up in the morning. The monitor won't hold a charge for a whole night, so essentially I would have to set my alarm for a certain time in the morning and do the monitor thing and hope to get back to sleep. Those are the things I said to Jason. Plus I told him that I wouldn't be able to sleep well the whole night, knowing I might be missing something and obsession over whether he was asleep or awake. I could sleep with my hearing aids in, I guess, but they would whistle and I would have a restless sleep still.

Here is what I didn't say to Jason (I will, don't worry you therapists- I just took a while to realize where I am): I am scared out of my mind of having someone dependent on me when I don't know if they can be. That is why I have avoided the whole baby monitor practice thing, that is why I always seem to have someone with me when Jason is out of town. I'm avoiding my fear. I don't want to deal with it at all, and was hoping not to have to until Hunter was sleeping in and could get up and wake me up if he needed to (which is in two years??). And because I haven't communicated this to Jason, his annoyance with me is misinterpreted (by me) as a lack of compassion. I know he can't understand my fear, and sometimes I worry that he resents my dependance. THIS is the revelation of my deaf card pull today- and it was not pretty. I felt momentarily like I was somehow less capable or able to be a mother simply because I can't hear at night. This I know to be false, and as I've said countless times, deaf people have kids- so it's possible- but I never faced the fear or the reality of figuring out how to do it myself.

So I suppose I have to go tell this to Jason, get more comfortable with the monitor thing or keep my hearing aids in, etc. I have to face my fear. I have to figure it out. I can't play the deaf card this time- it played me!

I am job.

This is a quote from the movie "Mrs. Doubtfire" when Robin Williams' character calls his ex-wife in different voices to answer her ad in the paper for a nanny. One call he makes and just says "I am JOB" over and over again. It is really funny.

This is the phrase that has been in my head a while for some reason- but it has more to do with NOT being the job. I recently resigned from my church job (last Monday) and my two weeks is up this Thursday. It is really really weird to me. I am no longer job. I was telling my sisters this- I no longer have a job, which used to be part of my identity, and now I don't- and I don't know if I even understand what it means. I have been given the opportunity to stay at home with Hunter and be a companion for my Grandmother who lives locally. It is a win-win situation for everyone, and I am thrilled to do it- but for some reason even writing this out here in the blog is making me anxious.

I don't believe it to be true. I don't know what I will say now when people ask me what I do. I know it is the good and best and right thing for me and my family at this point, but I can't help but think in my head.... I am job? With a definite question mark. So many things are going through my mind. Because I seem to be befuddled and anxious just thinking about it- let me tell you about it list-style:

-i am so excited about Hunter having a regular schedule and not messing with being at a work place at certain times.
-thank god i dont have to count my hours anymore
-i was working on some projects at work, will i be able to drop them now?
-i can volunteer and do good things
-i can't volunteer too muchu or else i'm just doing my job for free
-my grandmother's life is going to improve significantly!
-what if my grandmother's life doesn't improve significantly?
-Hunter will still be off schedule a little bit when we go to Grandmothers
-maybe not- he'll get used to it and nap there as well as he does here
-i am now fully responsible for the well-being of two human beings
-that is scary
-i felt responsible before anyway- now i can do it well
-will i have to have an impeccable house now?
-i can cook healthy meals- i hope
-i have way too many expectations on myself about what this "new life" will look like
-will i disappoint people? myself?
-i went to grad school and now i'm going to be a caregiver.... Im fine with that but feel like there is a little feminist in the back of my brain that says somehow i failed
-but i dont want to have a high-powered career
-but then why did i go to grad school?
-I really loved grad school.
-what do i say when people ask me what i do?
-Im a stay at home mom (SAHM), but more than that- but not that there is a "lesser" to being home.
-oh my gosh- am i really a SAHM?
- i dont want to become one of "them" (you know- the Moms that have no idea that there are other people besides their kids in the world)

i just.... whew. have a lot on my mind. this is such a huge blessing, and yet it is really messing with me. i can't put my finger on it. I want to do so much with this new freedom, but just like any freedom- there will be boundaries and brick walls and obstacles, and it hurts to run into them, and it can hurt if you run for miles without putting up a boundary.

My analogy/story: When we moved to south florida my senior year of high school, the family dog- Ginger- was totally confused. We had a back yard but no fence. All of us knew where the yard ended, but she didn't because the fence always told her. So one day she got out and ran until she found a fence. it was about 4 houses down and I had to run after her in my swimsuit as she totally ignored me. We installed an electric fence soon after and she never bothered with the border after a couple of tries. She was content in her new space and knew where the yard ended. I feel like Ginger- only I don't have my fence yet. I have to refigure my whole yard- my life- figure out where the fences are, where I can't go and where I can. I have to redefine my boundaries, redefine my freedoms, redefine my expectations, redefine my role, all while having two people (and a husband) with their own ideas and expectations. I have to figure out my identity in these new terms and satisfy myself as well as all these other folks. THAT is going to be a lot of work. And it feels like no one really gets that- I'm sure they do. I asked Jason if he had any new expectations or thoughts- he was just really excited about the possibility of me cooking dinner consistently. (I've claimed that chore but not followed through). I know it will be more complex than this.

I'm anxious.

I'm joyful.

I am job?

Tub emergency

The baby bath tub is leaking into the guest bedroom. The guest bedroom is in use. The guest bedroom is the ONLY room in the entire house with carpeting. The baby bath tub is in the bathroom that hasn't yet had a total plumbing replacement done (unlike all the others). The plumbers don't like to work on weekends so they charge emergency fees (think double or triple). The baby bath tub could end up in the guest bedroom by the time the un-emergent plumber gets here on Monday or Tuesday- if available of course.

Why didn't I become a plumber? They must be millionaires.

Spring Bliss

Right this second my entire family is just chilling outside in the sunroom. This is what life should be like on Sunday afternoons. ahhhhh. Everyone- breathe in and out deeply and happily with me. Imagine the happy St. Bernard lying around and watching Hunter. Imagine Hunter jumping up and down, playing in his exersaucer (way fun) and grinning every time he catches a glimpse of Bruno or the wind blowing something. Jason is reclining in the chair- catching up with an old friend (something he doesn't get to do very often). And I, I am writing on my laptop with the sun and breeze in my hair and face. I am absolutely content in this moment. Breathe in and breathe out. Sigh. This is what spring means to me. I really really like the Spring. I can even smell grass. It reminds me of summers with my Grandmother and Opa rolling down the hills of Mount Vernon.

I love the Spring.

Am I a Bad Mother?

Just a little tid-bit I have to share before I take a much needed nap (that's another tid-bit).

Yesterday was a typical Sunday, where in the morning Jason leaves early to go to church and I put my hearing aid in to listen for Hunter while sleeping in a bit longer (I hope). Hunter started doing his typical "talking" wake up a little before 8:30. This is the way he wakes up every morning- and I let him talk for a little bit before I pick him up: 1) because I think it teaches him patience that I don't rush in as soon as he makes a peep, 2) there is a slight, offchance possibility that he'll go back to sleep- and I don't want to interrupt that! 3) I think he needs time to wake up before I stick my big face in his view- I've needed to picked him up right away before- and he always seems a little disoriented if he doesn't have proper "talking" time. So- I give him some talking time.

Somehow I fell back asleep during talking time for about 5 minutes and I woke up to silence. No talking baby on the other side. Here are my thoughts in chronological order:

"did he fall back to sleep?"
"is he alive? did he suffocate on his stuffed animal?"
"I can't believe I fell back to sleep, am I a bad mother?"
"If he is asleep, I could go back to sleep, that would be nice."
"I should really check to make sure he's alive."

so I got up, brushed my teeth (habit) and went into his room to find the door already open and the crib empty. My brain is empty, but in the back of my head I know that Jeremy has him. I go to the kitchen, and there is Hunter in his Bumbo- perfectly content to watch Jeremy make breakfast.

Jeremy is the brother-in-law of one of my best friends from college. He's staying with us for a few months as he transitions from the west cost to his new job here (his wife and dogs will follow once they get a house and all is in place). Jeremy is the perfect roommate- he likes kids (aka - the scene in the kitchen), he likes dogs and can handle our St. Bernard, Bruno (bonus- his wife is a vet), and he totally plays nerdy card and strategy games with us! Ok, back to the kitchen scene...

I see Hunter in the Bumbo smiling and Jeremy doing his thing and here are my thoughts in chronological order:

"I should have felt fear but it evaporated before I had the chance- am I a bad mother?"
"I totally didn't notice that Hunter was picked up from his crib- am I a bad mother?"
"He seems really happy, that's so nice, I kinda wish I had slept longer... am I a bad mother?"
"Dang it, I can't even go back to sleep now, because then I'll really look like a bad mother."

I smiled, thanked Jeremy and tried to reassure him that he actually didn't scare me as badly as he thought he did- in fact - I was a little embarrassed at how not afraid I was. I'll pretend my motherly instinct knew all was well.

And a thought that occurs even now...

"I wonder if I can arrange it so that Jeremy picks him up first thing and I just set my alarm for when Hunter should eat.... wait- dang it- I am a bad mother."

The verdict is in- I need some sleep. I'm going to go take a nap.

My Old Lady Died

As I begin this post- of course Hunter is beginning to wake up in the background. Often he talks for a few minutes before he's fully awake- so we'll see how much time I have.

I just found out my Old Lady died. This may seem odd to you if you haven't heard me speak of her. I was a companion last year for a woman named Catherine who was 98 years old. She turned 99 this January. Before her birthday, she was in the hospital with pneumonia and I visited her with Hunter. She was thrilled. Her daughters called me a week and a half ago to let me know she was back in the hospital with another case of pneumonia, and this time the doctors were not promising any recovery. She died peacefully at 3:30am on Thursday morning. Margaret- her daughter- called me today to let me know.

Let me tell you about my old lady. She had beautiful white hair that was naturally straight and smooth. One time the girls took her to get a permanent and the curls just didn't look right on her- they were too girly, too fancy for her simple style. I don't mean simple like mundane- but rather effortless, accepting, no-fuss. She was a very positive woman. The girls had to put her in a nursing home after a little while when her care became too much for them to handle. I remember my Mom saying that it was too bad- but Catherine could find beauty and delight in a cardboard box. She was so naturally positive- not the kind that is taught. She genuinely enjoyed herself in whatever setting you put her. So long as you didn't rush her and she could see nature outside.

She and I spent many Thursdays together. When I was pregnant during my first trimester- we dosed off together. I helped her with her scrapbook that she meticulously kept updated. It consisted of interesting newspaper clippings and birthday cards, etc. She had to be sent large pictures of new babies in the family because her sight was failing, but she would put them up and point them out often. She was a quiet-natured woman but willing to talk and share stories. She had an interesting balance of reticence and openness. I know that I don't know everything about her life- but I know more than many people do. She trusted me with many of her stories. She was particular about a few things and would be upset if I didn't eat my vegetables. She was concerned when I cooked up the frozen meals we had for lunches that I didn't give myself enough to eat to favor her portion. She caught on that I was pregnant before I told her and didn't say a word. She never talked about being sad that she didn't stay "home"- she practiced gratefullness naturally.

I read Harry Potter to her. We got through book 3 I believe. She thought Dudley was such a "dreadful boy"- he bothered her more than Voldemort and Draco. When I visited her in the hospital last week- I told her how it ended and that Dudley turned out to be alright after all. She seemed relieved.

I brought Hunter to see her last Saturday- she was still aware of her surroundings and could communicate. She was so thrilled to see him. She touched his hands and feet- keeping her hands outstretched in the off-chance he might grab them. He did and she loved it- showing it only by her complete focus on his face and faint smile.. She looked like a child in amazement. That was the last time I saw her and her girls tell me it was her last good cognitive memory.

My Old Lady died- but she embraced my son and taught me joy. She'll be buried back "home" next to her old church and her old schoolhouse and her old home- right next to the two pear trees she donated that should be in full bloom just in time for her.

I'm going to miss Catherine.

Communication

I know- it's amazing- two days, two posts. What can I say but that my writer is on.

I just have a short (or long if Hunter stays asleep) thing to say about communication.

Most people suck at it. I mean this in the nicest way. Actually- in light of my post- no I don't. I mean it in a YOU SUCK way. Not to you the reader of course- unless you fall trap to the many ways of bad communication that we all do one time or another. We all suck I guess.

Here's what I'm talking about: when people get upset with someone and go to someone ELSE to complain about it. What ends up happening is that two people get upset and the truth is never found. Or- my favorite thing that usually happens- the someone else talks to original someone and now three people are upset and only someone else knows the full story.

People do this ALL THE TIME. I'm sure I'm no stranger to it- though I feign innocence. It is so frustrating at a church especially to be party to this type of miscommunication (aka- failure to communicate). Another fun communication folly people committ is the "I've had it" mass communication. These are those who are particularly fond of drama. Person A is upset with person B and so writes group C a long venting email about it (to include person B of course- but no names mentioned). How do you respond to that? The best part is that it is usually the result of weeks or months of pent up frustration and anger that were never addressed!

So here is my solution: education. I'm serious. I think that proper/good communication should (and can) be taught, staring in Kindergarten. I'm talking please and thank you- but also listening skills, conflict resolution, and somehow courage and discipline to speak the truth in love. Can you imagine how much drama/politics/crap would de-escalate if people only knew and practiced good communication? My poor children will be my guinea pigs for this program. I might get my older sister (she's a therapist) in on it. I may just be serious enough about this to formulate a curriculum and get it in the public school system. Communication skills should be taught through the years- all the way up and even through college!

Imagine a classroom full of kids doing listening exercises and conflict resolution role-play. Imagine the teenage girl who realizes how to break up with an idiot boyfriend the right way. Imagine the coworker who addresses his colleague with a problem before it becomes a workplace drama. Imagine a supervisor who adequately and professionally offers constructive criticism- and the supervisee who can accept it! I know that every person has their personality quirks that interfere with perfect communication- but I'm not asking for perfection - just knowledge and good. Think about the possibilities- once it takes off- you could get classes on the college level that deal with specific roles. Communication in the leadership role. Communication in the medical field (aka bedside manners- which some are *missing*), etc. Socially Awkward people can at least get some practice and have some tools to work with!

Who did you learn conflict resolution from? Who taught you to speak truth in love? Did anyone? Who are our models? The media (no- I'm not ranting) has to depict miscommunication in order for the plot to move. If everyone communicated perfectly- the mystery and drama would be missing. However- we don't need to have our lives be soap operas ("if she would only tell him! oh the pain! tell him!").

I am sick of soap opera dramas being carried out in peoples lives: work, church, family, etc. it's annoying and takes up time and energy.

So- there ya have it- I'm going to come up with something- anyone with me on this?! I'll do it for schools, for church, for synagogue- whatever.

Fight for good communication! yeehaw!

Lenten Failures

As I start this entry- I'm pretty sure I hear Hunter trying to poop over the monitor. So we'll see how this goes. He should be sleeping- not pooping. Although he could probably use to poop. Moving along.

This Lent I have done nothing to spiritually prepare myself for Easter and all its conundrums. I have not given one thing up- I have not taken one thing on- I have not even really seriously considered doing any of the above. This is what I will call spiritual apathy- perhaps the deadliest sin in the book. Deadly really only to my soul and yet apathy reigns.

I thought briefly that perhaps trying to be more positive this Lent would be beneficial to my soul and to God (as I probably spit on my blessings more than count them). Have I done this? Of course not- because my habits are way more towards the negative side and it takes a lot of work to break a habit. I am like a manic-depressant in my spiritual walk- I get highs and lows. Lately with the Spring threatening to never arrive, a teaser vacation with family in Florida, a sinus-sick husband and a house that is a wreck- I'm frankly at a low. See- if I go back through that sentence, sunshine Sarah can find all the things I could be thankful for- but apathy Sarah silences her.

I think Hunter may need my assistance. Poor guy. At least I don't have to learn to poop.

3 hours later... (and no poop)

So I'm apathetic this Lent. Nothing to bring to Easter. I will be one of those people that comes to Easter from across the street instead of from a journey. It will be too easy to rejoice and sing Hallelujah because I'll barely have noticed I hadn't said it for a while. Here's the kicker- somewhere inside I feel justified. I feel like the weather, my transitions in life- all the things apathetic and negative Sarah focuses on- are enough Lenten journey for me. I know this isn't true because being frustrated and down with rainy days does not equal spiritual transformation. I'm not saying one has to be happy to be spiritual- nor must one be miserable- but at least in whatever season- intentional. I am not being intentional about anything. It drives me crazy.

I was home (as in parent's home) last week. My mother's house is beautifully decorated, impeccably clean and wonderfully welcoming. I would say that she has more time, money and resources to make this happen - but my sister's house is the same and she lacks most of those things. I'm lacking ambition. Or is it drive? No- more like action. I have all the things that are predecessors to great action like ambition and motivation and desire, etc. The one thing I lack as I sit here on my bed with the rain slowly falling outside is honest to goodness kick me in the butt action.

Here's the sad part- I had action. After I had Hunter, and even before- I was motivated and actually moved into action. Things were getting done- I wasn't my usual apathetic self and I actually had a somewhat clean house, clothes, and even was getting the meal-time thing down. Now I'm drowning in unfiled papers, dust, dog-hair and frozen meats that I keep forgetting to put out for dinner. What happened?!

I have some thoughts: 1) the adrenaline ran out and I became me again (I hope this is not the case- I liked the other girl) 2) Winter happened. (I believe this) 3) Work happened (affirm this theory) 4) I got the flu- I say this because I did and it knocked me out for 3 weeks- and perhaps that broke all my new good habits and got me feeling lazy- and of course things piled up and got overwhelming when I couldn't keep up with it. I don't know what the culprit is.

But here's what I'm hoping for- in my Lenten failures I still have room to hope- that spring will come soon- that I will get another adrenaline rush enough to get it all back on track, that work will un-happen, and that the "me" I face come Easter will be that energetic and non-apathetic woman I met a few months ago before all this Lenten failure happened. Maybe I can blame Lent! My soul needs Easter. My body needs the sun. My mind needs to decide and move.

I really have nothing to blame as nothing is all I've been doing. May Easter bring something.

Foot Brakes

I am not a child. But, I am still convinced that foot brakes are the way to go for bicycling. I'm sure there is a perfectly sophisticated explanation for why big time adult bikers need hand brakes- but I think it is counter-intuitive.

Where did this come from? My Dad sent out an email to the family updating us on our biggest loser competition (we're all trying to lose weight)- I'm losing by the way, and not in a good way. In the email, Dad casually mentions that he is cleaning out the garage and our bikes will be shipped to charity by next week unless we claim them. I selfishly really kind of want my bike, but am still trying to figure out a proper justification for why I need it more than some charitable organization. I mention to Jason my ethical dillemma and how much I like my bike because it has foot brakes and a nice cushy seat. He does that half-laugh to my foot brake comment and asks if it's a kids bike. And so it begins.

It is not a kids bike. It is for smart adults like me who are used to braking with their feet. Every other moving mechanism we utilize on solid ground has a foot brake. Cars- foot brake. Skates- foot brake. Go-carts- foot brake. Skiing- foot brake (really you just fall or stop moving- but if you're skilled- you use your feet). You see my point- our brains are wired to STOP with our FEET. SO- why is it childish for a person who is an experienced driver to want their bike to have foot brakes? I don't know. Yes, perhaps we started with foot brakes on the kid bikes- but why did we change? I don't brake the car with my hands now that I'm a grown-up, do I?

It isn't a big deal. But I think I'm now a little self-conscious about the foot brake bike and I resent that! It makes sense to brake with your foot. I tried the hand brakes- they were never as effective as the foot brakes (you had to squeeze too long and hard and help out with your feet- if you were to be in close call- chances are you would just throw your feet to the ground) and I always had my feet wanting to do something...

What do you think? foot brake or hand brake?

and yes, i just wrote an entire blog on bike brakes.

Happy Anniversary?

Tomorrow marks 3 years that Jason and I have been married. I have spent most of the marriage being spoiled and surprised by my husband, so this time around I thought I would take a crack at being the thoughtful one. This is how well that went:

A couple of weeks ago I decided it would be ideal to surprise my husband with a night out at the same bed and breakfast that we spent our wedding night in. The perks about this bed and breakfast: the suite (we did not have the suite for our wedding night) has a jacuzzi, sauna, king sized bed and a fireplace. How can you go wrong? I called the in-laws to see if they could come up for the Friday after our anniversary - this Friday. They say yes with enthusiasm because they are AWESOME and love Hunter to pieces. I feel slightly like a bad Mom for being super pumped to spend a night out without potential night-time wake-ups or 6am feeding. So I call the B&B with my plans all laid out.

they're booked.

That sort of stopped me in my tracks. Dang it. My plans never seem to work out. So I go online and look for other options (the criteria: king bed, jacuzzi, reasonable price and local). There are no places anywhere in Northern Virginia that fit the bill without being a super-lame hotel or uber-expensive. Then suddenly it dawns on me, there is a little tiny event called Inauguration that is occuring next Tuesday which has all of the hotels from here to Timbuktu booked. So- my online search for the perfect hotel was futile. No room in the inns. So I go back to the in-laws, ask them if this past Friday would work for them- they check their calendars and again are enthusiastic and pleased to help. I call B&B and book the suite for Friday. Plan on!

Jason doesn't have a clue.

I plan and devise all week- knowing I will have Friday to prepare and pack without Jason's knowledge- so excited am I. Friday morning I take advantage of Hunter's long morning nap and shave my legs so I feel all special and nice. A new Mom in the winter- well - my legs hadn't felt that smooth in a while.

Friday afternoon- this is when the story starts. Jason has planned on getting some donated furniture from a church member's work place and bringing it to the church. The church member is so kind to donate a truck rental (as in U-Haul) for the job, and Jason recruits some friends and his brothers who are in town to help. Chaos and disaster follow. "Some furniture" turns into a warehouse supply and "some friends" turns in to jumbled schedules and limited time when all was said and done. Jason and company didn't start moving furniture unti 4pm and I kept getting enlisted to do random tasks to help (can you come pick up the truck with me? can you order a pizza for the guys so they can eat? can you tell me how many pieces of furniture we're supposed to be getting? Can you answer the phone every 20 minutes to answer my questions?) I was running around with Hunter in my arms- trying desperately to accomplish what I wanted while fielding Jason's calls.

Oh- I almost forgot- we had a staff party to go to that night. I was supposed to wrap the white elephant gifts and make a salad and grab some wrapping paper from somebody's office for them. Jason called me at 6:30 to say he was no where near being done and that I should go to the party alone. Little did he realize that I had planned on him being with me and that I certainly did not want to be driving 40 minutes to a party when his parents would be arriving to take Hunter and let us go either to dinner or the party or the B&B. So I made the salad and got the wrapping paper and sent it along with someone nearby who was going to the party while calling the host and apologizing for our absence.

I ended up eating pepperoni pizza by myself.

Jason and his brother Mikey finished the job (yea for Mikey's help), he came home and scarfed down some pizza and then I noticed it:

Jason had broken out into hives. Head to toe. Hives with white welt-like things. Hives.

So Jason took a shower, scrubbed himself down and took two Benadryl. Hives gone. About an hour later his parents arrived and Jason was (to my delight)- completely surprised. We finally made it out the door to the B&B which is just down the street. The room was wonderful and we immediately filled up the jacuzzi- although we didn't read the instructions- so the water started getting cold and we shut it off- but it was full enough for the jets! I had remembered only a few things- but bubbles was one of them. The bubbles were so ridiculous that we had to spend a couple minutes stamping them down so we could see each other!

So things that went right: it was a surprise, it was so so nice, the jacuzzi was lovely, the sauna was fun, the company was great.

Things that went funny: I didn't have any food so we ran to Safeway (romantic!), I grabbed two decks of cards for double solitaire and one deck was missing a card (but the B&B ppl had a deck), I spilled my wine on a chair (woops), and last but not least:

Jason's benadryl kicked in. 11pm- snoring husband. I would complain except about 10 minutes later I could barely keep my eyes open.

So we paid for the bed and breakfast night primarily and successfully to get a full night's sleep. It was the typical new parent's night out. Jason and I woke up around 8:30 (I think both of us had been tossing and turning for a little bit) and we had a fabulous breakfast. We tried the jacuzzi once again (this time following instructions) and ended up talking about work and the damn furniture fiasco. But we also talked about our marriage and how much we love each other and what amazing things have happened in just 3 years.

So- Happy Anniversary to us- hived, sleep deprived and happy.

"Can you hold this?"

This must be documented. I don't know how long I have ("in" a meeting)- but here we go... in the last 1 hour the following succession of events occured:
-got home from work, peaceful, baby is happy, hubby is happy- talk to my sister who just had her baby- bliss bliss.
-hubby reminds me we need to get snacks for evening meeting that we are both running (unusual to both run one meeting- but it is the case tonight). I volunteer to get veggie tray from store and off I go as baby is still napping but should get up soon and want to eat.
-grocery store trip a success- one of those rare occasions when the express line opens up just as you walk up and it takes you all of 2 minutes. beautiful.
-I think- gosh- that was quick, and I have a $20 gift card to Starbucks - and Starbucks is across the street- I deserve a little treat and so does Jason- I'll stop by!
this is when Murphy's law goes into affect.
-Starbucks takes a moderate amount of time, I listen to two college students "totally raving" about some music that is "so money" and "awesome man, Yes to it all!" I think it was music- maybe it was something else. I suddenly felt old as I was sure one of my boobs had started dripping. I get my mocha for me and a caramel apple something for Jason. Go to the car- drive home.
-I get home and the door is opened for me by Jason with baby crying in arms and dog close behind with muddy feet. Jason wants me to feed Hunter and stop the dog from walking anywhere until he can get to his paws (how I can do both- not sure). So I stand with Hunter, crying in my arms and block Bruno, our St. Bernard from the door (he's not smart enough to know that A- there's another door and B- he's stronger than me). Jason gets a towel- I grab my mocha and notebook and head to the nursery.
-I put mocha down, then put notebook down- you know what is going to happen... notebook slides into mocha and mocha falls falls falls down to the floor. It looked like a mocha kamikazi. I have never seen a spill go in so many directions. I said loudly and very clearly "shit!" Jason asks what happened- and to keep the suspense going I say nothing and stare at chocolate remains on the walls, chair, floor, table, and rug. Jason rushes in assuming Hunter has been horribly disfigured to find me staring, Hunter crying, and our hardwood floors slowly staining brown.
-Jason rushes to clean up the mocha. I smell distinct odors of poop and change Hunter who is hungry and poopy- which makes for a loud diaper change. Jason tidies up the rocking chair enough for me to sit in with Hunter who no longer has pants. Enter muddy St. Bernard. In the commotion, his paws were never completely cleaned and so add paw prints to mocha kamikazi. Bruno wants to lick the mocha, Hunter is trying to eat and I'm directing Jason to missed spots on the blinds and behind the crib. Bruno finally gets evicted, Hunter gets fed and the nursery is somewhat cleaned with a faint smell of chocolate and coffee (not bad). We have 15 minutes til said meeting.
-Jason leaves for meeting, Hunter spits up, I gather my things and head to meeting. We start meeting, Hunter starts talking- only he is experimenting with high decibel yelling right now- so I leave and Jason and I literally tag team the rest of the meeting.
-in typing this I have led 1/2 of a training meeting, nursed Hunter, encouraged him to roll over and noticed dried spit up on my sleeve. He now needs a poopy diaper changed.

It's not a good thing when you say to your husband at work "Can you hold this?" and he points out that "this" is your son. Why am I working again?