Inner Peace

In the lives of the Angel family, there is never a dull moment. The sentence I just completed is a complete understatement. The last month has been riddled with job loss, illness, death, travel, and the mundane. Logan got an excellent report at school. Including the behavioral portion. I am absolutely thrilled. I know he is incredibly advanced academically, but the social piece always concerns me. I nearly did a victory dance. I might still.

In the midst of the chaos, I search to find God's peace. You know the kind, the "Philippians 4" peace that passes understanding. I have had a lot of opportunity to look at this peace in the last couple of months. Financially, we should be in ruins. God has sustained and provided. I knew He would. I know He intends to continue that provision.

As Christians, we learn very early on that "... in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28 I believe Aric and I are walking in his purpose. I believe that God will bless us for that. What I also believe is that we are not "special". God has not guarded us from the conflict of sin because we are his people. He does, however, guard our hearts. He does offer peace in the turbulence.

As I said before, I have had a long time to think on this peace concept. The more I think on it, the more I have come to believe that the peace of God and complete denial are sisters in the same family. Not really. I say that somewhat tongue in cheek. Somewhat. What I do know is this, I am a worrier by nature. Worry is usually my first response when things don't go as planned. The past few months, God has allowed me to deny my thoughts of worry. He has brought about a peace that truly surpasses any understanding that I might typically fall to. I am by nature, and by God's design, someone who likes to compartmentalize, plan, and organize. This includes my thoughts. In the past few months, whenever I feel myself starting to drift in the sea of "what-ifs", God has brought other things to mind. A million years ago, in another lifetime, a couple came to our church to sing. One of their songs said (and taken loosely from John 14) "Don't let your hearts be troubled, trust in the Lord. No need to fear tomorrow, trust in the Lord. For he has new things, for those who wait on Him. So, don't let your hearts be troubled, trust in the Lord." A million years ago, God planted a seed in my heart. He knew that my broken heart is spoken to through song. He knew that in 2014-2015, I would need to recall those words in order to restore the peace that He had for me.

I am thankful that not only has God given me the peace that he promises, and allowed me to deny the fear/anxiety that often creeps up, but he has also provided for my family during this time. When Aric needed to replace the front tires on the car, he provided a job that paid almost the exact amount we needed. I am thankful that even though Aric isn't working, we have been able to keep our kids in their programs. I am thankful that He has provided cheap entertainment and moments of joy in a time that could be considered grueling.

So while the life of the Angels is never dull, I am ok with that. I know that he is using, shaping, and molding each of us in the direction of His choosing. I am not afraid, but am excited to see what new things He has in store for us.

Life update

As usual, life for the Angels is a bit topsy turvy. I realized today that it is almost October. I would ask myself where the summer went, but then I just have to take a look at the last four months. May was filled with field trips, graduations, memorials, and baby showers. June was filled with doctor appointments, birthdays, surgeries and upheaval of church and family. July was filled with vacation, barbecues, holidays, hospital visits, and more doctor visits. August was filled with family barbecues, ER visits, hospital visits, moving, upheaval at work, school registration, MORE doctor appointments, tests and a plethora of other things. September has been just as busy with Logan's first day of school, Gavin's first day of school, new schedules, school interviews, open houses, and car accidents. Any one of these scenarios are enough to tire a person out. The good thing is that in the process of all this, I have reconnected with some old friends. It is a wonderful, positive change in my life. Also, moving has put us into a better financial situation that will #1: Allow us to pay off some medical bills, #2: save money in case my work closes its doors, & #3: save money for the elusive "home down payment". So, in a nutshell, that is what we have been up to.

Warning: Heavy thoughts ahead.

I have intentionally neglected my blog for the last year. I won’t apologize for staying away. Like I said, it was intentional. You see, the idea of silencing any negative thoughts runs deep. We’ve all heard the phrase, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Am I right?! I am not sure if that is exactly how the phrase goes, or even where I heard it, but nonetheless, it is ingrained into my psyche.

It is tragic. A large part of the healing process is validation. Often, validation happens through verbalization. If you are anything like me, now and again, you don’t realize the extent of your feelings until they are out there for the world to hear. My feelings are buried underneath other feelings. Those feelings are sequestered behind rules and regulations of social etiquette. Frequently, my feelings are not realized until I begin delving through the layers. Unfortunately, we are a society that has forgotten how to grieve, and therefore, it is intensely uncomfortable to be around others who do. The particularly tragic part is that, like any wound, those buried will continue to fester. You have to get the infection out in order for true healing to begin. Emotions are that way. If we confiscate our emotions or bury them away, there’s a good chance that the healing process will never arise. This prolongs the healing process.

You see, everyone goes through varying stages of grief. Kubler-Ross has the “DABDA” theory that we all experience grief in 5 stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. I think there’s something to this. The tricky part is that the timing, the order, and the intensity of these stages are as unique as the people who experience them. There can be no expectations when dealing with someone’s grief. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Sometimes we are told otherwise, but it simply is not true. I have learned an enormous amount about grief recently.

In the past 6 years my family has experienced a great amount of loss. Between Aric and I, we have lost 19 family members or friends. We have experienced the financial hardship with job losses and medical bills. We have walked through both medical and developmental hurdles with our oldest son. In 2012, we nearly lost our son, Gavin, to a magnet. Each loss took its toll. Each loss has compounded on the previous loss, and led me to feel sad, overwhelmed, irritable, guilt-ridden, etc… It’s a miracle that I haven’t had a mental breakdown. Regrettably, I have had an emotional shut down instead. I am a mother of two small children. I can’t shut out the world in order to detox all of my emotions. Instead, I bury them. When the cracks start showing, I turn the safety valve long enough to let off some pressure and then start stuffing again. It is a dark place to be. As you can probably imagine, this has caused friction in my relationships as well. In the maze of survival, I got trapped in a routine of making sure everyone else was ok. Meanwhile, my wellbeing and joy deteriorated by the day. I stopped doing things that brought me pleasure. What I am realizing now is by keeping everyone else and everything afloat, I was drowning in bitterness and resentment. I began to resent my husband and children for all that they were stripping from me. I was taking no pleasure in being a wife or mother.

The ironic thing about being a “doer” is that when you find yourself in a heap, you begin to sort. So sort I did. Trivial things began to find their way into the discard pile. I started asking for help. I began to take more time for myself. Slowly, and I mean painfully slow, I am weaving my way through the web of emotions. I am rebuilding relationships. I am rekindling the fires that burned away. I am just now starting to rebuild myself. I know it will be a long journey. In the process of all this, I couldn’t find the words to express my feelings. I am not sure that I have, even now. Nevertheless, that is why I neglected my blog. Several times, I started to write a script, but everything I had to say was not quite right. Today, I am writing from my heart. While I have found new liberty in emoting, I am also reminded that my thoughts and words are important. In the midst of my grief, I had someone tell me that my grief was out of proportion with my loss. It was very hurtful. It spurred anger. I wanted to lash out. Actually, I wanted to give them directions to the highest cliff and permission to jump. I also realized that I couldn’t let negativity control me anymore. Negativity often carpools with cynicism and judgment. I knew that I needed to take a different path. So I went silent. I decided to use the power in my unspoken words as motivation to be a better me. One step at a time, that’s the path I am on.

Pardon me while I ramble

What kind of society have we become when only the sensational gets our attention? We have created a carnivorous culture speckled in extremes. We watch the news and most of the stories do not faze us. Death is not tragic until it involves some measure of violence. Victories don’t count unless you’ve singlehandedly upended the forerunner. Love stories don’t matter unless you’ve overcome some extraordinary odds to be together. Testimonies are no longer relevant until you see something physically impossible become possible. So, what happened to slow and steady wins the race? We’ve all heard the stories of the person who was miraculously healed from cancer, to the astonishment of their doctor. We’ve heard the story of the person who struggled with physical pain and was miraculously healed. We’ve heard the one about the person in the throes of addiction whom God set free. Praise God! These are truly things to rejoice over. I believe that wholeheartedly. I also believe that we sometimes miss the mark. Sometimes, God’s miracles are astonishing. Sometimes God works in small, and yet, equally phenomenal ways. What about someone who suffers with depression, but dragged themselves to church. What about the person who hurts all over, but still manages to stand in reverence? I will never forget watching a World War II vet in a wheel chair use every ounce of strength they could muster to stand at a parade as the American Flag passed. Patriotism was something they wholeheartedly believed in. It was a moment that changed me forever. What ever happened to rejoicing over someone’s faithfulness? Timothy praised God throughout his illnesses. Job praised God in the depths of despair. Peter suffered bodily ailment. Habakkuk was faithful through her barrenness. What about us? My grandmother was a woman with a soft spoken faith. She went to church every Sunday. She sat in the same spot, in the same pew, for 50 years. She was one of the most forgiving, gentle mannered women I have ever had the pleasure to know. That is not to say she didn’t speak her mind when necessary. Nevertheless, I knew two things to be true about this woman, she loved God and she loved others, just as Jesus commanded. She is someone who should be celebrated. She had a testimony that remains as ripples on a pond. I feel her influence every day of my life. Don’t get me wrong, she did some pretty unbelievable things. She was one of the first women in the coast guard in WWII. She was the first woman mail carrier in Albany, OR. She raised 4 children under four on almost nothing. She did it all with a grace that I couldn’t muster on my best day. I wish I would have celebrated it more while she was with us. If nothing else, I have learned that we should rejoice in the small victories and give praise to God for all things good. “My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.” Psalm 119:50. We are commanded to give praise, to revere Christ as Lord and to always be ready to share the reason for our hope (1 Peter 3:15-17). My new mission is to do just that.

In loving memory

I got a new tattoo yesterday. The tattoo is in honor of my Grandmother, Marjorie Marie Crichton House. It is not just a meaningless tattoo to me. It is a tribute to one of the greatest ladies I have ever had the priviledge to know. Let me explain. My grandmother was a Coast Guard S.P.A.R. during WWII. After the war, she worked as a postal carrier. She was very proud of both of these achievements in life. What she was most proud of though, was her relationship with Christ. If you asked my Grandma the reason for her hope, she quoted 1 Peter 3:13-16 "Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? 14 But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. “Do not fear their threats; do not be frightened.” 15 But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, 16 keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander." If you notice in verse 15, it says "Always be prepared". Not only was that the Coast Guard motto, it was my Grandmother's mission statement in life. As for the beads, anyone who knew grandma, knew that she loved her "Mardi Gras" pretties. I rarely saw her without beads. I placed the tat on my chest for two reasons. One, my grandmother was a very dear part of my life and is, and always will be, close to my heart. The second is, every time I place my hand over my heart to salute the flag, I will think of her. She is the one who taught me that you can be both Christian and patriotic. She served her country and her God with both perseverance and reverence.

Confession time

I just want to get it out in the open that I am a bad mom and a bad person. I use disposable diapers. I didn't breastfeed. I let my children drink out of plastic. My kids sometimes swallow their toothpaste, which has flouride in it. My boys watch TV daily. I don't make my own laundry and/or dish soap. I believe in my second ammendment rights to bear arms, including assault rifles. I don't have any inclination to "occupy wall street". My family eats processed foods with dyes in them. I intend to, and am currently sending my children to public school. Oh, and I don't own an environmentally friendly, well, anything. Oh, and my kids love McDonalds. All this to say that, sometimes our benign posts are not as benign as we think. Before posting, ask yourself this, 'How important is it that I get my opinion out there?' Think twice, post once. That's all I'm saying.

My sons the banshees

In September, Logan started preschool. I was worried. Would he be above his class academically? Would he be below his class socially? Would he be taller than the other kids? Would he be shorter? Would he behave himself? The list of "mom worries" could rattle on and on.

You see, my son has medical problems and is a bit on the busy side. A teacher's nightmare, right? I can't get him to sit down quietly for more than about 3 minutes. Most the time, Logan spins. If he is not running, twirling, hitting, smashing, "biffing and bashing", or screaming, I start checking his temperature. He must be sick. I can get him to sit down and read books with me pretty well, but even in that activity there is constant movement. Add people and you add energy. I often ask myself, "Is this normal or is this ADHD?" Maybe a little of both. How much activity is "normal" for a four year old?

I have this insatiable desire, as most mom's do, to have perfectly polite, well behaved geniouses. My boys are very smart. In fact, Logan, at four, is already reading books. I don't just mean through rote memorization. He is sounding out new words and figuring out the english idiosyncracies or rules that indoctrinate our language. I have also gotten many compliments about how polite my boys are. It is the well behaved portion I worry about. I cannot seem to figure out ways to calm them.

They are tornadoes. They are busy. They are boys. I get frustrated when I see other people's children sitting calmly, waiting for their parents to finish their conversations so they can move on to the next task. I get embarrassed because it is my sons who are thrashing around like a wild monkeys when my friends' children behave more like aged cats.

I know it is petty. I know I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself, or my children. I know I shouldn't avoid social invitations because I am afraid my boys will be too wild. I do though. I do put pressure on myself. I do worry that people will think my boys are wild banshees and not want them to come over and play. I want to nourish the spirits God has given them, but am, at the same time, fearful that I am not cutting it. I guess every mom goes through this, or at least I hope I am not alone... (Sigh)

Mercy

I have been thinking a lot about mercy lately. Sometimes in the midst of tragedy we forget to recognize God's mercy. I have been following the story of Jessica Ridgeway, a ten year old girl who was abducted and murdered in Colorado. Jessica's parents were going through a custody battle. I can imagine this may have caused some turmoil in little Jessica's life. I digress. Jessica was abducted and violated beyond recognition. It makes me hurt physically to think about what torture and abuse she may have endured before God mercifully took her under His wing. You see, I think her death was God's mercy. I can't imagine, had she been left alive, what kind of emotional torture she would have lived in. Would her parents have been able to provide the emotional and professional support that she would have needed to carry on with life? Could anybody? We can't answer that question. Only God knows.

Nevertheless, the situation has brought God's mercy to mind. It is easy to ask God, "Why?" I think all of us has been tempted to at some point. It is cliche to say that "God sees the big picture, whereas, we do not." I think it is more than that. I believe God feels our every hurt, disappointment, and sorrow. I believe God acts with compassionate treatment, even though we don't deserve it. I believe God's mercy is sometimes cloaked in tragedy.

I sometimes remind myself, in the midst of my own "tragedies",that God is all knowing. He knew before time that this little girl was going to go through this. He knew that my best friend was going to die suddenly. He knows and yet, He allows it to happen. That doesn't mean he likes it.God could have created a mankind without brains or a will of their own. He could have forced us to obey. We could be His subservient lemings. What would that have proven? I know that I would not want to be loved and followed by someone who is forced to do so. I want to be loved by those who choose me to love. It means more when it is genuine affection coming from someone who adores you, than rote obedience. God created man with free will and in so doing, sin occurred. In this world filled with sin, God still acts in merciful, graceful, and powerful ways. Our adoration to Him becomes much more profound in the midst of this sinful world. Our gratitude should grow as well. I am trying, in the midst of this pattern of thought, to remember to be grateful. Counting my blessings has become a bit more precious. I know that God is in my corner and He wants good things to come to those who love Him. In my humanness, I hope I can remember that.

I QUIT!

I have never been accused of being a shallow thinker. Quite the opposite, actually. Most people feel that I overthink things, or "go too deep". I can't help it. God engineered me this way.

While my perpetuation to dive into the depths of thought is public knowledge, there are a few things about me that may not be. For instance; Sometimes, I want to throw my hands in the air and yell, I quit! The busyness in my life drives me insane. The flury of activity that surrounds me as a mother,a worker, and a wife is extremely fatiguing. I am a bit Obsessive by nature and the state of my home, with toddlers, is enough to drive me into the grave. I wish I had a maid. I'm not lazy. Actually, I rather enjoy cleaning when I have the time or energy. Here's where the problem lies. Typically, by the time I get my boys to bed, I am ready to crumple into a heap. As for being a good wife, Aric suffers for my lack of endurance. He is gracious and accepting of the fact that when he gets home, I am going to eat dinner and then collapse. I feel horrible that I don't stay up and spend time with him.

Not only am I riddled with guilt for seemingly ignoring Aric, but I also feel physically sick, constantly. There is not a moment that goes by that I am not in pain. I have been to the doctor numerous times to try and pinpoint what is out of alignment in me, but all tests have been inconclusive. It is frustrating to be a 34 year old trapped in a 70 year olds body. Most of my frustration lies in not having any answers.

Here's where the deep thinking comes in. Pain is relative. What one person has to endure may seem like a piece of cake to someone else. A stranger, or friend, might look at my life and say, "What's the problem?" A different individual might look at me and say, "You poor thing." I am not looking for either response. The truth is, neither response helps.

I don't know that there is a correct way to look at someone in pain, whether physically, mentally, or emotionally. Each person who witnesses a specific event is going to recount it differently. Life is full of varied perspectives. If I've gone through a similar affliction to someone, I might respond differently than if I hadn't. As a for instance; I am going to look at someone in a failed relationship with altered eyes having gone through a divorce myself.

Consequently, the events in my life leading up to, and surrounding a situation, will shape my perspective of that moment. If I am completely overwhelmed by general existance and I receive a large medical bill in the mail, I am liable to have a mental collapse. If I receive that same bill on a day when I have God's peace and grace surrounding me, I might take it in stride.

Additionally, I believe that God fashions strengths and weaknesses into our character that aide or dissuade in our tolerances for specific situations. As we grow, He may embed tools into us that we will use further on down the road. That is why when things happen, I try not to fall into the trap of asking why. Rather, I tuck it into my consciousness, understanding that God may be preparing me for some unseen event. That part is difficult. The two year old in me wants to throw a tantrum when I begin to lose control or cannot see the end results. The adult in me understands the pointlessness of such a fit.

The point of this lies in our need for empathy. We have all been in a situation that we saw as insurmountable. When we look at someone's life, we need to remember that we have absolutely no idea what is going on. Our perspective is minor and skewed in comparison to God's picture. For all we know, that lady who just bawled you out over some inconsequential thing may be at her wits end. Coincidentally, that person who looks to be a tower of strength may be ready to pull the plug. What we see is not always what we get.

I do not think it is by accident that Logan's Sunday school verse this week is Ephesians 4:32 "Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." As I help him learn this verse, I am trying to ingrain this into my mind. I don't recall it saying in the bible to lash out and hold someone's feet to the fire. Rather, it says to examine yourself before examining others (Matthew 7:3). It also says to "Love your enemies" and "Pray for those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:43). Finally, it says to be compassionate, humble, sympathetic and loving (1 Peter 3:8). It is my intention to think on those verses and remember that everyone has a story. It may be different, and I may not like it. Nonetheless, God has a plan for them that I may not see.

Create in me.

My thoughts are swirling swiftly about as I hurriedly type this post. Life is about changes. I know this. Yet, sometimes life's changes catch me so off guard, I almost feel winded. Changes are often a reflection of the lessons God is trying to walk us through. I know this, too. I also know that sometimes the changes that we endure are completely unseen.

That is where I find myself. In one part of my life, God has led me to let go of some of the people in my past. Unbeknownst to me, these people had a death grip on my life. It wasn't until they were released from that place that the penetration became evident. I believe God did this in order to prepare me for the next steps in his path for me. We have to let down the walls before we can seize the city.

As I slowly began releasing these people from my heart, I began to see life with different eyes. It is almost as if Jesus has given me a glimpse into His heart. Never before has the phrase "I feel your pain" meant so much. One might say that my empathy meter has gone berzerk. I can't even walk past someone, these days, without peeking into their very soul. Countless tears have been shed concerning people I don't know, for reasons I couldn't begin to explain. Their pain was written across their countenance and I felt it as if it were mine.

Concurrently, I have felt the love and joy of Christ. I can see His reflection in the eyes of his believers. My heart soars when I see His love and the faith of those who gather at His feet.

In all this, I find myself asking, 'How would Jesus handle this situation?' or 'Am I missing the mark? Are we entertaining angels and sloughing them off? Are we meeting the needs of God's people?' Ultimately, I'm asking, "Am I doing my job?" I can't answer that and I don't know what direction God is leading, exactly. I may not know for a very long time. What I do know is that God has a purpose for all of this. He is conditioning me for some race that is yet unseen. I just hope that I'm ready when the gun fires.

Compassion

My son, Logan has been blessed with the gift of compassion. It is evident every day. When his brother cries, he cries. He hates to see people in pain or sick. The other day Aric was sick. After getting sick in the bathroom, Aric sat down on the couch. Logan snuggled up to him and asked him if he was ok. Aric replied, “No, I’m sick”. Logan responded by stroking his arm. “I pet your arm and you feel better.”

Later that day I had to go to the store. Every item I put in the cart was carefully analyzed by Logan. He asked the question, “This help Daddy feel better?” Then He stated, “Logan need Daddy to feel better.” He told me, “Logan so worried bout cuz scared of Daddy be sick.” Translation: He was worried about Aric.

On the way home Gavin was making a plea to go see Papa Frank. It sounded something like, “ah guh go ca bye bye Papa Frank.” (If you live in our house very long, you learn to speak Martian.) Logan replied, “No Gavin. We haffa go home to Daddy not be sick. No Gray-m-pa Frank’s.” When we arrived at the house, Logan ran Aric’s medicine up to the bedroom. “Here Daddy, We got medicine bout so scared and you feel better.”

On one hand, I feel so proud of Logan and his compassion. On the other hand, I know that with compassion sometimes comes heartache. No mother wants to see their child endure that. However, I love that my son does everything he can to help you feel better. I love that he feels your pain when you cry, and worries when you are not well. I hope that as he grows he continues to nurture this gift. It truly is a gift.

My mast cells are at War

Having a son with Urticaria Pigmentosa (cutaneous mastocytosis) has driven me to learn more about Mast cells and their function. From the sounds of it, Mast cells are a little like a battle zone.

First, let me identify the different pieces:

Allies-Immune system

Base-Mast Cell

Gate-FcERI

Guards-IgE

Scout-Antigens

Enemy-parasites

Storage Sheds-Granules

Biochemical Weapons-Preformed mediators (histamine, proteases, chemokines, and heparin)

Civilians-Pollen

Peace Keepers-Antihistamines

With these in mind, let me explain to you how it all goes down. Each Base is equiped with Gates that only allow certain security guards to employ their spaces. It's like a biological eye scan. Once those security guards are in place, they search for scouts in whom they are equipped to annihilate. Once the scout is found and captured, the Guards alert the rest of the allies that the enemy is near. The base imediately opens the granules and dispenses the biochemical weapons.

Here's where the disfunction of Logan's disease comes in. Logan's guards are in constant panic. Typically, if there are no scouts present, the base is at peace. Logan's body does not have an off switch. His base is constantly releasing biochemical weapons. Right now, Logan is on a medication from Canada that both firms up the gates and blocks the gates of nearby towns from foreign intrusion. In turn, he is more suceptible to parasites because his defense system has been guarded against them.

Now that we have gone over the specific function of the cell, let me explain how life today has hindered this function. We live in a very clean world that has very minimal parasites. Consequently, we have some bored guards. Within our bodies, we have some civilians that look very similar to scouts. When the body is free from real scouts, sometimes the guards will mistake civilians for scouts and set off a similar attack. These attacks are called allergies.

This is where the peacekeepers come into play. Most peacekeepers do not stop the process of degranulation (launch). They simply block the gates of the town before all the civilians are taken out. As a result, the body has a build up of weapons floating around and over long exposure, the peacekeepers can not do their job correctly. They get tired, weak, and ineffective. Therefore, we become immune to the peacekeepers and our biological warfare increases.

It is amazing to me how when life hands you a situation, it suddenly becomes necessary for us to know the ins and outs of the process. What did they do before the internet? Anyway, I hope this clarifies some of the confusion around his condition. I know it has for me.

Good Bye

My grandmother, Marjorie Marie Crichton-House passed away on June 29, 2012. She was 90 years old. It was a bittersweet day for most of us. Knowing that my grandmother is sitting at the feet of Christ's throne is a comforting thought to me. It does not, however lessen the deep hole that has been inserted into my life. Grandma Marge was the anchor of our family, and fittingly so. Grandma was a WWII, Coast Guard Veteran and a devout patriot. She served her country and community with enthusiasm. I loved to hear stories about her coast guard days. She was a great storyteller. I can recall several of her stories, and hope to write them down, as I remember them. What fun it will be to pass them on to my boys. She, in and of herself, was an institution. Grandma knew how to play hardball better than anyone I knew, yet she was the epitomy of grace in action. She was one of the most forgiving people I know. We were all a little shell shocked when we realized that Grandma's time was up. We all thought my grandfather was going to depart long before her. She was the healthy, strong, and active one. God's timing is unique. My cousin Tom passed away just 4 short days after Grandma. He was part of a highway accident involving 3 semis, near Silver Creek, Nebraska. Clearly, his death was also shocking. It goes to show that we can never be certain of when our clock will issue its final tick. That realization helps me appreciate the small things in life. I will never again take forgranted the people and opportunities around me. I will say, 'I love you', a little more often. I will hug my children a little closer. Most of all, I will try and remember the Godly traits that I admired about Grandma and fold them into my countenance. Grandma taught me many lessons while she was here, and I hope to pass them on to my children. What a priviledge and a joy to have known this wonderful woman.

What if

If I gather all the “what ifs” I’ve had in a lifetime, it would still fall short of our latest ordeal. It was 2:15 on a normal Tuesday at work. I had just got back to the office after completing some errands, when I got the call. It was my mom. I answered, ‘What’s up?’ “Um, I’ve got a problem here. Gavin swallowed something. I don’t know what it was…something about vomiting…still crying …What should I do?” ‘I’ll be right there.’ After informing my boss that there was an emergency, I jumped in the car and drove home (a whole 2 blocks from work). When I arrived, Gavin was breathing, but swallowing funny and crying when he did. Something wasn’t right. I threw (almost literally) Gavin into the car and raced to the E.R. The whole drive I was doing the whiplash thing to be sure that he was still breathing. Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff seemed almost lackadaisical and asked me to have a seat in the waiting room. After what seemed like an eternity, we were back in the E.R. When the doctor arrived, he too seemed lackadaisical. He said he was going to “assume” that there was a foreign body in him and that he would take an x-ray as a precautionary measure. I said, ‘You don’t understand. He is swallowing funny and he cries every time he swallows. That’s not normal.” To which the doctor said, “No! Really? I didn’t hear him. I’d cry too if someone made me throw up.” UNBELIEVEABLE! He walked out and said he would send someone from x-ray to get the scan. Not 20 seconds after he walked away, Gavin started vomiting white foamy, aerated saliva. This is not good. I know this means his airway is compromised. The woman from X-ray shows up, takes the x-ray, and leaves. Gavin stops vomiting. Shortly after that, the doctor shows up with a completely different attitude. There is something lodged in his throat and it is metallic. We are going to have to sedate him and try and get it out. First, they put IVs in both his feet, which was no easy process. (They poked him 5 times before a successful hit). Then they began the retrieval process. This process involves sticking a tube down his throat (around the object), puffing up the bottom of the tube, and gently pulling the tube back out of his throat. They tried this procedure twice, but were unsuccessful. In fact, the procedure caused the object to flip, blocking his airway. At this point his larynx began spasming and his throat was shutting. About 20 people rushed into the room and the doctor was forced to intubate him (put a tube down his throat which connects to a ventilator and breathes for him). During this time Gavin’s respiratory rate dropped to zero and his SpO2 (oxygen levels) dropped to 35. Gavin turned an unearthly shade of blue. I will spare you the rest of the gory details. The first try at intubation was unsuccessful. The second try was successful, but now Gavin was on a ventilator and not breathing on his own. At this point, Gavin was stable, but needed to be transported to Doernbecher Hospital in Portland. The Panda team came down, from Portland, and got Gavin. Shortly after arrival in Portland, they were able to remove the ventilator. While this was good, this still left the unanswered question of, “What do we do with the object?” The next 20 hours, or so, were spent on a teeter totter. Gavin was doing well, but the doctors could not decide what to do with the object, which was now in his stomach. Part of the indecision came from the fact that we were unsure what the object was. If it was a lithium battery, it needed to come out immediately. If it was two magnets, it needed to come out. It could pass through naturally if it was a coin or a solitary magnet, but only if it was less than 2.5 cm. Not only were we toggling action, the doctors were not on the same page. Within 5 minutes, we received explanations of three different plans from three different physicians. Finally, on the third conversation, Aric politely told them to go have a meeting and come back with a consensus. We were at our limit emotionally and physically. After they conversed, the decision was, finally, made to remove the object. Once again, Gavin had to be sedated and intubated. Within an hour though, we finally had some peace of mind. The final verdict was that Gavin had swallowed a magnet. It was however, stuck at the top of the duodenum and would have had to be removed later, if not then. Of course, one week later, Gavin is no worse for the wear. Mommy and Daddy, on the other hand, have a bumpy road ahead of them. When we brought Gavin home, I went straight to his baby book and added his $30,000 magnet with the following caption: “If you ever wonder why we did not start a college fund, this is it.” We jest, but we will see where this journey takes us.

Not your mama's sex ed. Post partum woes.

It seems that pregnancies come in spurts. At least that's how they happen in my world. The year my son, Gavin was born there was a birth in the family almost every month. Many of my friends are pregnant right now, and it has me thinking back on my experiences. I remember feeling somewhat angry and betrayed by every woman who has ever given birth. There were a list of "side-effects" that no one bothered to talk about. Even if you've had a child, I believe you could still benefit from reading this list. 1. Red River Floweth--We're talking a stream of biblical proportions. In the medical field, they call this Lochia. I call it betrayal #1. I knew that I would have a "heavy" period after I gave birth, but really, I had no idea. It was 6 straight weeks of changing my pad every hour, on the hour or risk a horrid downpour. Beyond this, there was the clotting that made me think I was dying. My advice: Go to the store and buy those overnight, long pads with wings before you give birth. Have them handy because, you will need them. 2. Terror Turds--Anyone who had any tearing at all in delivery knows exactly what I am talking about. When you have stitches in your v-jay that first BM is terrifying. I remember crying because I hoped I could go, but being afraid I actually would. It sounds utterly ridiculous to someone who has not had children, but trust me. I tell you these things for your own good. My advice: stock up on some colace and use it as soon as you can. When the nurses in maternity tell you that you should use a stool softener, you really should. 3. The crash site--Just a fair warning, your v-jay will never be the same again. This is particularly true if you have stitches. One of the aftermaths of delivery is a swollen, sore v-jay. My advice: soak a newborn diaper, put it in the freezer and when frozen, put it in your pants. It will seem strange, but it will help you feel some relief. Also, regarding the squirt bottle they give you to rinse yourself with, use it. Also, be prepared to be a little leaky for a while. Often, after childbirth, women will have problems holding in their urine. This is especially true when you cough or sneeze. My advice: Stock up on tucks pads and ask the nurses for some numbing spray to leave the hospital with. This will help relieve the throbbing and itching. As for the leaky pipes, kegels seem to be what everyone advises. 4. The hangover--I am not talking about a drinking binge here. I am talking about the fact that most women still look pregnant after delivery. It takes a while for everything in the belly to shrink back to normal. My advice: Belly Bands. They can help firm things up while your body does its job. 5. Hairy Carpets Batman--Gone are the days of luxurious, flowing hair. Yes. All of that hair that stockpiled on your head during pregnancy will fall out. At some point, you will likely feel like you are shedding. Don't worry. This is normal. My hair loss happened between 3 and 4 months post partum. My advice: Brush your hair well in the morning to avoid shedding all over the house. Mostly, go with the flow, so to speak, there's not much you can do about it. 6. Titty Pity--Pardon my crassness. This one is a three fold issue. First, breastfeeding may be very difficult. It is all new to both you and your baby. Not to mention the fact that every baby is different. Don't be afraid to ask a lactation consultant for help. Secondly, be prepared for hard-swollen boobs. I have found that putting soaked (in ice water) cabbage leaves in the bra helps relieve some of the pressure and doesn't effect your supply. Finally, breastfeeding is not for everyone. I found that it didn't work well for me. I tried to breastfeed both my boys, but my body didn't respond. It would have been ok if I had chosen not to altogether though. My advice: Do what is best for you, the baby, and your family. 7. Endless labor--Labor doesn't end with delivery. Many women get cramps after delivery. It sometimes feels like labor, because it is. Just as labor begins way before your body says, "Holy side ache, Robin", it also has work to do after the baby leaves. Most often, the cramps you may experience are your uterus trying to shrink back to size. What took 9 months to expand, usually only takes about 6 weeks to go back. My advice: Take whatever pain meds are safe for you and your baby. Also, heating pads and/or heated rice bags are extremely helpful. 8. Hot Mama--I didn't experience this one to badly. Some women experience hot flash like symptoms post partum. This is a natural result of the roller coaster hormone fluctuations that are going on in your body. My advice: Turn up the a.c., bundle the baby, and let everyone else deal. It's your moment of glory. 9. Cry like a river--Sleep deprivation and hormone fluctuation turns some women (myself included) into raving lunatics. You may cry more than you ever have. My worst bouts were 4 days post-partum and between week 3 & 4. I felt overwhelmed, afraid, tired, etc. I hit the wall. I would lay awake at night, feeding my boys, and be ticked off at the world. If my husband only knew the spiteful thoughts that ran through my head as he appeared to sleep through our child's wailing, he would probably have left me. I would get so angry with him for getting a peaceful night's sleep. It was all I could do to not smother him with a receiving blanket. Ok, I jest. The anger and resentment was real though. Not to mention the fact that any act of affection repulsed me. Here I was, leaking from all ends, and my husband wanted to cuddle. It amazed me how he could see me as anything but a human burp rag. My advice: keep telling yourself that everyday, they are one day older. This too shall pass. 10. The mystery spot--I am talking about hemorroids. Luckily, I escaped this one, but the threat of hemorroids did not help my turd terror. I was just sure I would accidently strain to hard and get a present. Some women do experience these though. Don't be ashamed if you do. My advice: Increase fiber intake and fluids to avoid them. Also, if you do develop hemorroids, I hear preparation H pads and cream work wonders. 11. Topsy Turvy--One side effect that I experienced is a bit of an uncommon one. It is called prolapse. This is where there is a split in the uterine wall that causes your internal organs to bulge through the opening. In my case, my bladder was trying to escape my v-jay. It was awkward and scary more than anything else. If you experience this, call your doctor. That is my advice. Minor prolapse is treated by doing pelvic floor strengthening exercise, but more serious prolapse requires surgery. I do not write this blog to scare the bejeezus out of you. I write this because, these are things that I think women should know before giving birth. Maybe birthing classes should cover it, but by then your are already committed. I hope that this is helpful to anyone preparing to give birth. Sometimes, the unexpected is scarier than reality. If you know what to expect, maybe there will be less angst in the process.

A case of the messies.

Before I got married and had kids, I decorated my house in country decor with a hint of museum. My goal was to make my house look as if no one was living in it. I suppose this was due to my obsessive, compulsive, perfectionistic tendencies. Or maybe it was based on my intense fear of being judged. Perhaps it was motivated by my strong desire to look as if I "had it together". I was the type of person that, had I had a maid, I would have cleaned my house before she got there so that she wouldn't think I was a slob.
I have to say that my son, Logan, who is also a bit "neat" was a breath of fresh air. He didn't like to get dirty, and I didn't like him to get dirty. I believe, now, that God was simply breaking me in to parenting before introducing me to Taz. My second son, Gavin, is the complete opposite of Logan. Everything he does is with gusto. He is as messy as messy can be. Even something as simple as eating breakfast is a full body experience.
The thing is, Gavin is teaching me something. The housework is always there when I need it. It will never go away, but my kids will get older. These opportunities to play and experience things for the first time will fade before I can blink. Gavin has taught me to seize the opportunities that are in front of me and set aside some of my social fears. That's not to say that I don't struggle with the fact that my house is a wreck compared to years gone by, but I am releasing myself from some of the angst associated with it. It is a hard lesson for this OCD-AP (analysis paralysis) mom to learn, regardless, I am slowly coming on board.

Not Sorry

Many of us start our blogs with an apology over why we haven't written in our blogs. I am not sorry. I have been busy. My life as a working mother of two no longer has room for unnecessary and unappreciated apologies.
If that offends you...I'm sorry?! LOL.
That said, life lately has been a little busier than usual. After several breakdowns, doctor's visits, and what seemed like endless baby blues, Aric and I finally decided to take things into our own hands. We joined the gym. I realized that the only time in my life where I felt completely comfortable in my own skin was when I was thinner. This is not a weight thing. I had more energy when I was eating right and exercising regularly. So far, I have been to the gym 7 times in 11 days. I plan to go today. The gym has childcare. It's not the greatest, or the most economical, but it is necessary for my wellbeing. As for the diet, well, that will come. We are paying more attention to what we are eating. We have had salads for dinner several times this week. It is not where I want to be, but it will come with time. I don't want to push my family beyond their capabilities.
That is the other realization. Some of us spend so much time worrying about the well being and or opinion of others that we stop thinking about our own needs. I have been neglecting myself for the sake of others. I know that sounds selfish, but what I determined is that sacrificing myself doesn't help anyone. Even if I give my all to my kids, my husband, my family, my work, etc. That sacrifice is meaningless, if I have nothing to give.
That's not to say, 'I'm checking out.' I'm simply saying that I am learning to self-advocate. I can't push myself to the brink of disaster for the sake of being a good mom. No one gains anything if I look at my daily tasks as a chore rather than an act of love. I am hopeful with this new path of thinking and excited about the months to come. My goal is to lose 2 pant sizes by Gavin's 2nd birthday. It's a good goal. We'll see what happens.

PPD

I suffer from Postpartum depression. I don't know how long I will continue to be medicated for this. It is a whole new phenomenon for me. I have always considered myself a driven, multifunctioning individual. One day, however, I was sitting at my father's house listening to my "step-mom" and aunt talking about how completely foreign and/or selfish PPD is, and I wanted to scream at them. My aunt was unable to have children of her own and was begrudging the fact that women would want to hurt themselves, or their babies. PPD is much more complicated than that.

I never had feelings of hurting my baby. That's not how my PPD manifested itself. I became extremely irritable, completely overwhelmed, and flighty. I began to jump into hysterics over simple things. The sound of the baby crying made me want to slam my head against the wall. I didn't want to get up to feed the baby. I just wanted to cover my head and make him go away. I didn't, of course. I took care of my baby, and still do, the best I could. I loved and nurtured him. I did everything I could to help encourage a bond between us. I did all the right things, but inside,

I was dying.

Sitting in my father's house that day, though, I realized I was in trouble. I couldn't live in this bubble of denial anymore. I also realized that there is no shame in this disorder, which is completely chemical. I didn't call this on myself, and I wasn't encouraging it to stay. In fact, I needed to do everything I could to get through this with a healthy relationship to my kids. I also realized that, as with many things, unless you have been personally touched by this, you will never understand the intense, overpowering nature this disorder has.

My son is a year and a half old, and while I still have some complications of this disorder, I feel as if most days I am on the mend. If you want more information regarding this disorder, see the website below. It is very informative.

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/postpartum-depression/DS00546

My hero

On Sunday, we had to take Logan in for a sleep study. Logan was such a trooper.

I don't know how anyone could sleep with all of this stuff on them. Even seeing these pictures makes me want to cry. We have been practicing sleeping with the nasal canula all week, but no amount of practice could prepare him for this sort of torture. I had to hold him down while they attached the electrodes. He cried and trembled in fear. The worst was the look of betrayal that swept across his face. I could see the question written in his eyes, "Why are you letting him do this to me?"

I wanted to tell him that it was for his own good. I wanted to tell him that the doctor was just trying to help. He is two years and 7 months old. He wouldn't understand any of that logic. Instead, I tried to distract him and reassure him that everything was going to be ok. We sang the ABC song. Or rather, I sang it while Logan waled it. He loves the ABCs and is particularly fond of the ABC song. He didn't want to miss out on singing it, but at the same time, he wanted the world to know that he was in anquish. It's heartbreaking.

I hate seeing my son go through this. I often wonder what my life would be like if I didn't have a child who needed extra medical care. When people ask me how I do it, I usually tell them, 'you just do what you have to do and sort it out later.' I know the Lord never gives us more than we can handle, but I sometimes feel he's got me mixed up with someone else. Surely, he has this life set for someone else.

I try not to be discouraged. I try not to be ungrateful. I know it could be much worse. I guess, maybe, the many sleepless nights are starting to catch up with me. I feel a little worn out. When I start to feel run down, I just think of my son who is actually enduring all of this. He is my hero.

Loss

My friend Rebekah posed an interesting question today. She asked, "In what ways are you teaching your kids that God allows bad things to happen? That sometimes we don't always understand his plan for us, but that he always has a plan?"

My reply was this, "We haven't really gotten into the thick of this lesson yet, but I think we will encounter it before I am ready. Right now, we are still in the phase of, even though you use your words, the answer is sometimes no. I still struggle with this one, as an adult. I prayed about it, God should say yes, right?!" Of course, I made that last comment tongue in cheek. I realize that sometimes God answers us with a no, and it is for our own good. Thankfully, God doesn't always answer yes. Unfortunately, in our own selfishness, we don't always ask the right questions. To get back to the original question though. It is something that I have been struggling with.

My boys have an awesome relationship with my parents. In fact, I find myself with a tinge of jealousy sometimes when I watch my boys interact and play with my mother. She watches them 3 days a week, while I work. Their bond is precious. The thing that breaks my heart the most is that both my parents have failing health. My dad is living in a nursing home right now, and my Mom, while still very active, is slowly declining due to Multiple Sclerosis. Every day I notice a little more wear in corners of her countenance. She is dealing with the same loss as me. Her parents are 90 and 89.

In my selfishness, I want to hang on to my parents and grandparents for as long as possible. My desire is for my parents to watch my boys grow up and to become respectable, godly young men. Reality is, I will be, probably in the next few years, dealing with several sets of loss. I try not to think about it. In fact, I push it away every time it creeps into my mind. I don't want to deal with the hurt and confusion it will cause my kids. Ultimately, I don't want to address Rebekah's question. I guess it is because I can't think of a good answer. I can give them the Romans 8 account of suffering vs glory. I can tell them how even Jesus suffered and he was blameless. At their ages, they will not be able to comprehend how this makes up for the loss.

I try to remember that our time here are earth is fleeting and that we all face trials and hardship here on earth. The two year old in me wants to stand and wail at the top of my lungs. The 8 year old in me wants to stomp my foot and say it isn't fair. The teenager in me wants to crumble into a ball and say, "Why, me?" The mother wants to shield my children from all the hurt. In the end, I am not sure who wins, but the question will have to be answered.