Recliner Realizations

Today I'm at Augusta Oncology. I'm anemic and every 2 years or so my iron levels bottom out. I realize this because I start falling asleep while driving my kids to school. It feels ridiculous to be so tired when I just got up. Today the treatment room is full to the brim. Hardly a seat is available when I walk in. A nearby nurse directs me to a chair where I sit and get cozy. I always wonder to myself if all of these people have cancer. Some I can tell for sure. They wear a crocheted hat on their bald head that was donated by a talented charity group. Some have very drawn faces and look frail. Some appear normal and some appear sick. I've determined that many of the cancer patients have family with them. Faithful wives and children wait alongside their family members for nothing more than support. They are useless for these hours during treatment as most patients sleep. 

Across the way, I hear a bell ring. The entire room erupts in applause. I join in. I realize that some one has finished an entire year of treatment. A YEAR! There's a sweet elderly man who is chatty next to me. He tells me how he rang the bell the first time. He said he thought he would be done forever. That was not the case. He is currently being treated for his 3rd type of cancer. He said he won't ring the bell again because you're never really done. I tell him he looks great to which he replies..I wish I felt as good as I look. I feel sad for him and proud of him at the same time. He's a spunky little man with a camouflage ball cap and blue eyes. I look around and I feel for all these people.  I'm convinced cancer is never really done.  It's such an evil parasite of a disease that just keeps coming back. It is a thing I literally hate. It has taken children and young adults and middle aged people I've known and it's straight from the devil.

My IV has started now.  My little friend told me it looks like Karo syrup. I told him that it is and that's how I'm so sweet. He laughed. 

It's cold in here. Frigid even. Blankets abound in this place where they are obviously trying to preserve the inhabitants like a walk-in freezer. My guess is that germs don't live very well in cold places. My friend finishes his treatment. I notice his bent little body as he gets up to leave and the difficulty in just getting his jacket on. He is one of the frail ones worn from multiple fights for his life. And yet...he's a jolly soul. I want to nap. But there's incessant beeping from multiple machines. I will just "rest my eyes" as my Papa used to say.

What seems like seconds later, I awake to my own machine beeping. My infusion is done. The lady to my left asks me if I had a good nap. I smile and tell her I looked forward to it all week. They come with her 3rd bag of treatment. I hear her telling the nurse about how her hair fell out last time in the shower. She will still be here for a while. I smile at her and wish her a restful day as well. As I walk outside and the sun warms up my very cold skin I think about all these people and all the hours they spend staring at each other from the little recliners while life busily continues outside. Time marches on. It was one of the first hard lessons I learned as a teen..that nothing lasts forever as I said goodbye to my lifelong best friend during her epic period of rebellion. I sat in the floor of my laundry room and cried over the friendship I was losing.  Realizations. Some are eye-opening and some are terrifying. At the end of that situation, she did return to her senses and we reconnected. She moved back to Augusta but another life without me had begun. It was never the same. 

There's lots of time to reflect when you're waiting on an IV drip. Each chair holds an entire world that I'm not privy to. Each person has a story and an experience. In that light, I wanted nothing more than to be kind to everyone there. I would have hugged everyone if I could. Instead I just saw them in their present circumstances and said a prayer and smiled. If only we saw everyone..really saw them in their current situation to the point we just loved on them and never became angry at how they were acting. If we could deliver grace on a regular basis to our children, our husbands, our coworkers, the mean woman in Wal-Mart, the friend who never calls or the waitress at the restaurant who really doesn't want to be at work today. If you need help in seeing people for who and what they are made of,  maybe you should sit in the chemo room a while and glance into each life.  It truly bestows a wider perspective. 

Prodigals

 As I was getting ready this morning, I kicked something unseen across the floor. It chattered across the wood. "What was that?" With my ever waining eyesight, I squinted to see the object against the hardwoods of my bedroom. With creaky morning-back and legs, I bent down to pick it up. It was an earring. My earring. From the depths of my brain, I remember this earring. I remember that I searched for it. I was upset it was lost. I moved everything in my room looking for this one earring. Surely, this couldn't be THE earring I had been searching for. It had been literally years since I've laid eyes on it or its sister. If I was right, I had put the other away for safe keeping just in case the match showed back up. 

Where is that box? I searched through one of my many "junk" drawers in my room. A haven for all things miscellaneous. A refuge for things forgotten. I haven't looked at any of this in so long....where is that box? I finally uncovered the little burgundy box and opened it. There, were many earrings that had lost their mates. Old looking and tarnished, I had kept them in hopes that one day they would be reunited with their mate. Today, was someone's lucky day! It was my lucky day! I dug through the small box of misfits and there at the bottom was the match. 

I had hoped this day would come. I had done all I could do to find this little thing. I had given up as we often do. I had put it away with just a glimmer of hope that the lost part would one day be found.

It seemed like a profound reference to people as I married up the two halves of this puzzle. I have done all I could in some situations and in the end I had given up except for one small glimmer of hope. Every now and then when the time is right, that missing part will show back up...that person you thought was hopeless shows up..better. They will be tarnished and rough looking, tangled with dirt and dust, but there they are. Is it a rebelllious child, a lost friend, or an estranged husband? It could be. 

After a minute polishing up my earrings, both looked as if they had never been apart. They were a whole complete set again. They were beautiful. 

I put away the little box of misfits with renewed encouragement that one day their mate would return just as this one did. There's hope. There's always hope. 

Do you give what you get?

Keep in mind that everyone's reality is formed from their experiences. Sometimes they are predictable, but sometimes, they are not and the person they become is a far cry from where they started. 

In many circumstances, children become what they see. If they see their parent drinking heavily, they follow suit. If they grow up in a family of smokers, they too will smoke. The same goes for swearing and promiscuity and simplifies down to the tiniest details. Do you make your bed? Why or why not? 

However, there are people who take that information and use it as a guide of what to NOT do. For instance, my husband hates coffee and cigarettes equally. In a growing age of coffee perfection and baristas popping up on every corner, it's an unpopular opinion to have. I have longed for the length of my marriage for him to start a pot so that I could wake up to that glorious smell. I imagined the two of us sipping a cup and talking on the beach condo balcony. Alas, that will never be. I came to terms with that early on to the point that I donated my new coffee pot from the wedding registry to the local Goodwill a few years into our marriage. 

Why does he staunchly hate those two things? It's quite simple. His mother was a chain smoker and drank coffee like water. His mother, who died of lung cancer, is dead and when he smells coffee or cigarette smoke, it takes him back to those memories. The memories of the bathroom full of smoke tinged with coffee aroma after she would get ready for the day are triggered each time he smells those 2 things. As much as I or anyone would hate to admit it, some of our childhood experiences last forever regarding their effect on us...and our coffee.  Did he come with a "No coffee" warning label? No, he did not. Did I know I would have to sneak coffee like a druggie? Again, no. After 20 years you do what you gotta do to survive. :) Interestingly enough, his only brother has never smoked either. So in this respect, they both did the opposite of what they saw growing up. Like I said, you never know which way that person will use the experiences given to them. Will they be damaged? Will they be better off than their predecessors? There's no way to really tell. 

I often wonder what traumas my children will or have endured that will reflect on who they become. Will my Sunday morning rants about getting ready and hurrying to be on time spook them from wanting to go to church when they're older? Will my lack of cooking skills push them to be better cooks? It really is all a mystery as to what will stick in your child's craw and what will wash over them unnoticed. 

I spoke with a friend last week who cited that every now and then she and her oldest grown daughter have a come-to-Jesus meeting where the daughter lays blame on the mom for the way she was treated in situations growing up. These same situations have been a topic of discussion at counseling sessions according to the girl.  So the question rises to the top of my brain; is my friend guilty of wrongdoing? Will I ultimately be guilty of wrongdoing against my children? Will I be the cause of their unhappiness or difficulty in relationships? These are all such loaded questions. Considering that friend of mine is the most caring and loving person I have ever met, I would trust her any day and any time with my own children. I would even suspect from listening to her stories of her children, that she did a much better job raising her kids than I am currently doing with mine. My wonderings just lead to more questions and my questions lead to....TERROR that I'm doing everything wrong!

And then I remember a really important word that looms over every wrongdoing I've done or that I've had done to me. A word that gives lenience and forgiveness to the 20-year-old new mother who has no idea what she's doing with these children because there's no class, no books, and all she has to go on is her own experiences. A word that will hopefully remind my children that their mom was STRESSED so often and tried very hard to do things correctly even though she sometimes swore like a sailor. 

Grace

That is one of the most powerful 5 letter words in existence. It is about bestowing on someone else forgiveness when they deserve it and more often when they don't. It involves the giver not even being asked for it. It comes with maturity and the ultimate example is set through faith in Jesus. Most people whether they are or are not a believer, consider it a good thing for someone to forgive a wrongdoing and move on without expecting consequences. However, it is easier for a believer to swallow because they have been given the most grace and have fully accepted the gift.

Today, I pray for you to give grace to someone and for someone to give grace to you. I pray that the fear of your failures and shortcomings are met at some point with the gift of grace from someone you've wronged. And...I pray that for me too. Lord, let these kids get over whatever trauma I've put them through. Let them find You and their source of grace so that they will be able to use all of those experiences to shape themselves for something better. Something greater. Something stronger. Amen.

High School

 There's something about being in a high school that brings about all the familiar insecurities of actually being in high school. These are things I have long since worked out and yet, my daughter starting 9th grade is triggering a lot of emotions inside. Its just been one week. One very long and emotional week. Monday was wonderful. Tuesday was not. Wednesday was a cry-a-thon. Math was a wicked joke to both her and I from day 1. I'm glad that we're hitting the ground running but jeez. Then there's the drama of the JV volleyball team. She needs to study. She needs to play. She's not good enough to play. She's running laps for missing practice so she can understand math. It's a lot for a young girl ....and her mother. My triggers and my momma bear are building up a lot of attitude reguarding this season and I'm trying not to be THAT mom. But I'm close. I'm close to texting a coach and I'm close to texting some kids' mothers. And yet....

It's not my fight to fight. This is HARD. I know I have to let her work through this. In the long run, I understand my daughter isn't always the most liked because she's not the most understood. She doesn't act like a 14 year old because at heart, shes 26. She's always been an old soul. She is doing good to dress in green paint and shamrocks, but she's not a yeller...or a screamer...or a cheerer. She's not the one to be with the "in" crowd. She isn't going to be popular or even on the outskirts of that group because she can care less. Well. Most days she can care less. Then there are days her heart is broken. Kids that don't understand the perplexities of the human brain tell her "I'm done with you, Addison." They don't have the key to unlock her personality. I'm just beginning to unlock it myself. I wish so much to fight the battles for her. I want her to be "normal" even though I never was nor am I sad that I wasn't. This perplexing paradox of motherhood and reliving my youth through my child. It's tough on all of us.

9 years on the planet

I can't begin to explain how clever and funny and caring and witty these two have become. They still crawl up in my lap which I relish every single time. They still hold my hand in public places or when they are unsure of their surroundings. The still give me kisses and hugs regularly and stop me at various times during the day to tell me they love me. Alex dances continually. Don't give him sugar or he's pumped and ready for a dance-a-thon. He talks incessantly. He can recite movie lines and tv show lines and anything he thinks is funny. He is helpful; moreso than any of my children. When I call for help he is the first one to run in. He is my grocery unloader, my errand running partner and every other night or so, my nighttime snuggle buddy. He cares about if people are happy and notices when they aren't. 

William is still the one who understands me exactly. He finds my jokes funny and understands my thought process moreso than anyone as I also understand him. He is a clever wordsmith who analyzes how words look and sound and uses that skill to create his own jokes. He was thrilled this summer to be in the talent show and I received many accolades on his performance. "He is a funny little guy," I'd hear. He is also my risk taker and my future roller coaster rider. Although Alex is the most outgoing, William has guts to do things without fear unlike Alex. William is finding his way to people however. Every single person we have been in an elevator with or met in a store, he has asked them, "Did you know that Tuesday was my birthday!?" To which they would reply, "No, I didn't. Happy Birthday!) He's gotten a ton of well wishes from his little conversations. I'd say he's pretty proud to be a nine year old.

It has been quite a week of birthday fun with their party taking place the Saturday before. We rented a bouncy water slide for them and their friends and  hosted a wet and wild party complete with water guns and filling station buckets, perfectly hot weather, cotton candy and popcorn machines and a cake each made to their liking. I thought to myself, there's no need that they should have to share a cake every year because they are very different personality and likes-wise. So, William had an oreo ice cream cake and Alex had a normal vanilla cake with vanilla icing. Both cakes decorated teal like the water they were playing in. Then we were off to vacation in Hilton Head where we spent their actual birthday playing at an arcade and mini golf, another round of cupcakes and ice cream and cookies and a day of not saying no to any of their requests. It was a great day for them and a bit costly for me, but that is what we do as parents. We spoil. I am blessed to have these sweet, smart boys in my life. I hope to always be able to spoil them and grow them up to be wonderful young men.

 

20 years

 I try and give myself grace. 20 years is a long time to be with

someone. I have lots more fat and wrinkles. My eyes close when I smile. I have sagging neck skin and wobbly wings that flap when I wave. And yet, he's still here. I think he never ages. He looks the same to me as the day we met. Every picture...same...every year...he's the best looking one. 

This many years has taught us to agree to disagree and move on. It's not worth staying up all night to argue anymore. The conflict will be there the next day but probably not so intense after a night of rest. Whomever said don't go to sleep angry...never met a talker like Michael. We would never sleep when he's got ahold of a bone. 

I hope that the years have taught him too that some things just aren't important to fuss about and that a fading memory is actually a blessing. Who knows what yesterday held? I can barely remember today.  I have a feeling that more crises are in our future as the years march on. It's to be expected with age. 

But in 20 years we have created a lot. We've gone from 26 properties to over 120. We've established a home where we are raising 3 really great kids. I am living my dream of being a mother and finding more and more peace each day I age as I walk closer to my Savior. The biggest regret being that it took me so long to find the peace I have now in my Lord. 

Never regret the years that made you. Never have remorse over the steps that brought you to God, even if they were ugly. And never give up on the gifts God gave you 20 years ago. The best is yet to come. 

a compliment from carol

Wanted to pass on a great interaction with your blond twin. I had helped Donna Sheehan with art she was teaching at the worship arts class on Friday. She and I were one of rhe last to leave the fellowship hall after pizza for lunch that day. Your son came up to us to say thank you. He said, "I don't know who all did all of this, but it was great. I just want to thank them. I really liked it." Not sure whether he was thinking of the pizza lunch, or the week's experience. Didn't really matter to us. We appreciated his thankfulness and that he thought to share it. We thanked him for sharing his gratitude; gave us a smile. Remember seeing his twin brother in the class earlier. He was interested, attentive, following instructions and seemed to be enjoying himself also. You have some great boys.

Legacy

I had 25 minutes to kill while I was waiting on the boys to finish ukulele practice. Not much time. Near the lessons is a huge cemetery; Westover memorial. My mom told me growing up that dad took her here on a first date. I always thought that a little odd. Taking your date to a cemetery these days would be considered a huge red flag...swipe left! But to the cemetery they went. And they've been married ever since. 

I have always like the interesting cemeteries. The ones with the big headstones and statues..the interesting ones. In college I did some kind of research paper on a cemetary in Rome, GA. I found the first doctor to perform an Ooferectomy. I found babies buried by anguishing parents. Small statues and bassinets don't belong in a graveyard and yet, there they stood. I sat there watching visitors enter. The groundsman mowed. A motorcycle drove through. And I thought to myself, what's the point? Unless we live a good life that is productive and influencial; unless we have a purpose, it is all for naught. We end up as a name carved into rock with no distinguishing marks except for the few words under that name. Three or four words that are supposed to sum up all of who we are or were. 

That tells me one thing. What matters is not your legacy. Your legacy only lasts for a couple of generations. What matters is your life today.  What matters is your everyday interactions with one another and the world around you. What matters is the love and compassion you give that effects just one person. That will be felt far more deeply than a stone with your name on it.

Elijah

 This is what Bible stories look like in my brain. I'm pretty sure there was a particular children's bible story book that shaped my imagination of bibilical situations to include old robed men in some sort of desperate situation. 

This weekend I went to my second women's retreat with FBNA. This year was different. I knew people. I could have had my pick of roomates. I had been around and garnered some respect and appreciation. I felt good.

And then Kimerbly Sowell started to tell us about Elijah's story. I'm pretty sure I haven't read one word about Elijah in over 10 years. As sad as that is, he gets lumped into the old testament right there with Leviticus. However, Saturday night, not even minutes into the service, Kimberly said something that shot through  my entire being. Tears began rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably. 

What did she say?

Good question.

All she did was read the Bible  passage that described the events that happened after Elijah prayed for the offering to be consumed in order to win the "my God is better" contest against the false prophets. And at the end of that day, even though God had won, Elijah ran from an angry woman.. No, I didn't identify with Jezabell.

But when Kim read the verse in 1 Kings 19:4:

While he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors....I broke.

Whoa. This might not hit you quite like it did me that day, but I have never identified more with an individual in the Bible as I did that evening. I knew exactly how Elijah felt. I knew exactly that kind of exhaustion. I knew how it felt to crawl up under a bush and say...enough.

My bush may have been my closet. Some days it was my shower. Some days it was my car and others it was my bathroom floor. Just a quiet place where I could silently die both emotionally and spiritually. I have been there. 

God had to send an angel to tend to this man. The angel baked him bread and gave him water and let him sleep....for 2 entire days. 

I've been there too. I've been so tired and exhausted from stress or physical work, from demands of my job, from neverending disagreements with my spouse, from the constant neediness of my family, that I would have just loved to sleep for 2 days. However there was no angel to feed me. I still had to get up and tend to the world. 

However, I have been tended to in other ways. No physical angels have visited me but I've had the pleasure of some stand-ins. I think about this last year at FBNA and I am overwhelmed by the friendships that have been created and the love I feel from so many women there. I'd say to "get you some" of these kinds of friends but I don't think it's something you can just find. I think God gifts them to you when you are in his will. Women that would move mountains to help if I really needed them to. My angels that would bake bread and give me water if they ever find me under that bush. 

Oh the blessing they have been to me. 

The weekend ended and I spent 3 hours driving home thanking the Lord for those gifts and although he's not taking me to heaven in a chariot of fire..he's got my back and I am never alone, even when I'm at my lowest. Especially when I'm at my lowest. 

There oughta be cameras

 Comedies of all comedies was the scene last night at approximately 2:54 a.m.

I think the worst news a parent can receive comes when you are snuggled in bed for the night and drifting off to dreamland when your child bursts through your bedroom door with his tooth in his hand. You feign excitement and joy as he recounts the step-by-step process of the wiggling and the extraction. You then remind him, even though he's done this many times by the age of 8, what to do with his treasure. As your little tooth miner hurries downstairs for a baggie, you start scheduling in your mind how and when you are going to perform the miracles of the tooth fairy on this night. He arrives back upstairs with not only a bag but also a note on a full-sized sheet of paper for our dear fairy.
Tonight dad is out of town, so 3rd child is in bed with you because it's "his turn."  You decide that you will not set an alarm because as you age there is always a bathroom break around 3 a.m. and you are sure to be up during the night. Sleeps consumes you and like clockwork, the bladder wakes you at the appropriate hour. This is one of the few times aging give you an advantage. And so it begins.
We live in a 120+ year-old house. There is no board that doesn't squeak. I know my work is cut out for me tonight because I have to go through 3 rooms of sleeping children trying not to wake the beasts. You see, cash is a rare commodity for me. I am an avid user of plastic for almost every purchase making the acquisition of a fairy's dollar an addition to my journey. The only dollar I can think of  that would include the fewest number of squeaky floor boards....is in my teenage daughter's room.
2:56 a.m.
I make it to my bedroom door. All is well. I have had minimal squeaks and yet I never remember that I need to oil the doors until moments such as these. At the halfway mark my door squeaks loudly until wide enough for me to squeeze through as I try and minimalize what feels like a car horn in the silence. The child in my bed stirs..I freeze. 3..2...1. Deep breathing resumes. Onward.
I get to the end of a very long yet short hall to my daughter's  door and turn the knob. Locked! @^#%!&/! Many exclamations run hough my head as I try and remember which boards were squeaky on the way back to the top of my doorframe where I keep the key to the doors.  Door gets unlocked and money is right where I saw it earlier. She stirs but I don't care about her waking up, in fact I hope she does since she pulled the whole locked door fiasco tonight. I begrudgingly close the door softly. Now on to the task at hand. Well almost. Now my bladder has become fully awake and the reason I usually get up at 3 a.m. takes hold of me. To the bathroom. I dare not flush until the task is complete.  I slowly open the boys' bedroom door and am immediately met with a deafening crackle. An old foil Spiderman balloon is set as the first booby trap. Child #2 stirs..I freeze. It's safe. I feel like training for this event would best be done in the military. Do they teach how to cross mine fields now?
Legos are bad enough but it's pitch black and because of the late hour of the tooth loss I have not scouted out the path.
I also realize at this moment that since the last tooth loss, I have rearranged the room and put the bunkbed staircase in front of the bunks creating a literal cave that my son sleeps in. I obviously never thought this task through while reingineering the furniture that day. It's enough of a pain to make the bed, but now I have to literally crawl through a tunnel and search under the bottom of the pillow..where my son is laying. There is no side access. Holy Moses.
Luckily I found no Legos in the dark.
Making it to the foot of the bed tunnel I meet all the squishmellows Santa brought for Christmas. All of these mythical creatures are going to be the death of me.
Seventeen squishmellows later and a quick sweep of the sheets to located his foot and I'm going for it.
I have literally turned into Inspector Gadget as I hover above my sons snoring body supported by just one arm and one opposite knee as I find the note under the pillow. Pulling it out reveals to me how incredibly crunchy copy paper actually is. I shove the money somewhat under the pillow and my mission is accomplished. Now to exit gracefully.
What does the note say? It's dark. I have to read the note. I will have to take it to the bathroom where I can turn on a light. Back past Spidey and his loud crackling senses and to the bathroom I go.
"Dear tooth fairy,
If this is my last tooth, thank you for the money. From Alex Thurman."
Awwwww! What a kind boy I have!
Crap!
Is this his last tooth? I have no idea! Last teeth should be grand-finale-money teeth.
Shoot! I have no grand-finale money!
*Sigh*
At this time I also notice that the tooth is not folded up in the paper as I had witnessed earlier in the night. IT'S STILL UNDER THE PILLOW! @($%!
I contemplate writing a note on the paper telling him to just keep the tooth in case it is his last but I figure if I have to make the trip again I might as well just take the tooth. Gotta keep up the dang tradition!
Back past Spiderman the noisiest super hero. This time I nearly fell over someone's bookbag. Nice.
Foot of the bed again...steady..now go go gadget arm...no that's the money..there's the tooth baggie. Go Go Go!
Spidey once more announces my exit. I make a mental note to throw him away very harshly the next day. Door clicks shut.
One last door and I'm home free but this time I can use the bathroom as an actual excuse if youngest awakens. Whew!
Tomorrow's to do list,:
1. Kill the Spiderman balloon for repeatedly attempting to thwart my plans.
2. Oil every single door in this house
3. Make the boys clean their room
4. Take the lock off my teenager's door
5. Flush the toilet.
3:09 a.m. Goodnight.