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Truly Glorious

On this glorious spring-like winter evening, the sounds of the insects are creeping in through the open windows.  The hum of the dryer is coming up from the downstairs.  And the most glorious sound is coming from the shark tent as I write this with only the glow of the laptop illuminating the room.  The wonderful, regular, steady breathing of my two sons.  Every few minutes a snore comes out and then it’s back to the rhythmic breathing of these two sweet souls.

I fell in love with listening to them breathe when they were first born.  What a wonderful sound.  So pure and innocent.  When they were babies, I would watch them as they fell asleep.  It never took long.  Eyes open one minute and then-poof-eyes closed and that steady breathing.  It calmed me then as it does now.  When I’m smart enough to turn off the bloody television and listen to the sounds of my life, I remember how much I love listening to the breathing of my sons.

I still love to watch them sleeping.  One of my favorite things to do!  To sit in awe of these little creatures.  I struggle to remember life before them.  I had three plus decades of life without them, but everything changed for the better since their arrival in my life.  At times, I feel so overwhelmed with the responsibility of helping shape them into the people they are destined to become.  I want to do right by them, for them.  There are so many challenges they will face and I can’t stop that.  There are so many celebrations to share with them and I love that.

Sometimes the celebration is simply them falling asleep after a fun-filled day.  And me listening to the breathing, in and out, in and out.  Imagining what they are dreaming about.  Loving them with all my heart.  Tonight is a glorious celebration.

Rite of Passage

The boys and I recently read Creepshow, the old school horror comic book by Stephen King.  It was a key part of my quest for the boys to rediscover and embrace fiction.  Find literature the boys would enjoy and connect to and they will read-Poe, Grimm, Beowolf, and Creepshow.  Tonight we decided to have a Saturday night movie night.  Oldest son asked if I had the movie of Creepshow.  Yes…and after solemn promises not to use any of the curse words they might hear, I told them that they could watch the movie.

We set up the shark tent in the living room and the boys camped out with popcorn.

I remember what a thrill it was to be allowed to stay up late on a weekend and watch something “grown-up”.  The stories in the comic book and in the film are more horror than slasher.  You don’t really see a lot of blood, there isn’t much of it.  The most is in “The Crate” and “Father’s Day”, but since it’s done in comic book style it’s not overly horrifying.  The boys have not jumped yet though I did in one of the stories!  I love being scared.  It seems that my sons may enjoy being scared too.

Oldest son said people think movies are better because you can feel the action coming.  Well, sort of.  You don’t have to imagine it for yourself.  That’s why I love books.  My mind makes up scarier special effects.

The movie has classic horror elements.  Not a lot of dialogue (comic book) but a lot of visuals (comic book).  Tons of wonderful music, sound effects, and some great make-up.  Lots of great psychological horror.  Much of it may go over the boys’ heads, but it will help lay the foundation.  The cockroaches are getting under the boys’ skin.  Hee hee, they may have the creepie-crawlies for the evening.  Then again it’s called Creepshow.

Tonight was a fun, memorable night.  My sons have been introduced to Uncle Stevie.  We even briefly discussed It and Pennywise.  Oldest son asked if we could watch the one with Pennywise.  Soon, I said.  Soon.

I cannot stand the NJ Turnpike or Garden State Parkway.  These roads are scary and disastrous.  I was so tense driving on them that my back muscles are now finally relaxing and the pain is incredible.

Where do all of the people on the roads come from?  Where are they going?  How do we fit that many people in this state?  I was never so happy as when I crossed back down into south Jersey, back to my people, to my speed, and with roads with normal widths.

Really, could they make the lanes on the Parkway any narrower?  If you sneeze and the car shifts a bit…you’ll hit someone in the lane next to you.  The scariest part was seeing how many bloody people were texting.  How?  How can you possible think that you can text and drive?  These people are bloody maniacs and will cause “Blood to Flow Red on the Highway” like the classic old driving safety film.

The traffic was basically moving at the actual posted speed.  It still was a terrifying commute.  I can’t stand my regular commute so this was like being in the fourth circle of Hell.  And I wondered, as I gripped my steering wheel with white knuckles, who would do this commute every bloody work day?

I have a new appreciation for my commute, with lanes that are wide enough for actual cars, but I will still complain when there’s traffic.  The roads around my house sometimes have slow traffic-mostly in the summertime.  That’s my kind of traffic jam.

Boys

My youngest climbed to the top of the monkey bars dome at the playground tonight.  No fear anywhere in his body.  The fear was all in me.  He was up and down, sitting on the top, standing on the top.  It was like one of these types, but bigger and a series of curved ladders with bars at the top.  Couldn’t find a picture to match it.

I simply couldn’t watch.  He just kept climbing to the top, standing there like the king of the world!  James Cameron has nothing on this six year old.  His big brother was at baseball practice.  I’m very proud of both of them.  Each was very invested at baseball practice.  It’s so neat to see how their commitment to playing has grown and how their ability has developed.  They have no fear with it.

I need to get them to not feel fear with their bikes.  I’m hoping they’ll each spend some time on their bikes this weekend.  Just need to get on their bikes and go for it.  My youngest isn’t that scared-the bike has training wheels.  My oldest goes about a foot and then loses his balance.  I wish I was better at teaching them these types of things.  Part of it is simply letting them do it and fall.  Get over the fear.  But I still wish I could help them better.

Letting go with bike riding is easy.  Wait till I have to let them struggle through even bigger life events.

Last night I went to church for a meeting.  The boys came with me.  They like going to church with me when I have a meeting because they get to play in the nursery.  They’re too old for nursery now so this is one of the few opportunities they get to play in there.  Well, I caught them riding in the little wagon down the ramp.  I told them to stop and go back in the nursery.  The oldest got very angry.  I went back to my meeting.

Ten minutes or so later, I realized it was really quiet out there.   I walked down the hall to the nursery to find the door open and the following note on the floor:

Well, home is 12 miles of country roads away from the church so you know I ran out of the church like a maniac and started shouting their names, my eyes wildly looking in every direction trying to figure out where they were.  Then I heard the church door open and a very scared and timid but still loud voice called out “we’re here, Mom”.

I turned and went to them, put my arms around their shoulders, walked them back into to the church and down the hall to the nursery.  I told the crying, wailing boys to stay in the nursery and play quietly.  I went back to my meeting.

15 minutes later I checked on them again.  And found the door open with a note on the floor…and my youngest playing contentedly while the oldest was crying in the bathroom.

Oh, what a night.  My oldest wept and wailed for the rest of the night.  He protected his youngest brother.  Oldest said he forced youngest into it.  I pointed out that unless he dragged his brother to the kitchen (where they hid) then his brother went on his own.   When we got home, we discussed the problem with pranks-like freaking out your mother, making her run and causing all of her boo-boos to hurt even more.  Then we went over everything that could have happened if they had really tried to walk home.  I told them that I was about to run back into the church, pull the people from my meeting and have them drive off in different directions to look for my sons while I called the police and tried to remember what each had been wearing.  I also pointed out how dangerous the roads are for two young boys to walk on-no sidewalks, not a lot of streetlights, deer.  More wailing cries from my oldest.  Even some soft cries from my youngest.  Many apologies were given.

This morning both apologized again.  I shared the adventure at work, with the notes, and we all enjoyed the story.  It wasn’t funny last night, but I have already lost the anger.  The fear lingers still…but that will fade (or not).  When I got home from work, there were sticky notes guiding me to my bedroom.  There on my bed was a mother and baby panda (we call our oldest “Panda”) with another note:

“Dear Mom,

Do not be alarmed by the note.  I just want to say I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I treat you like you’re the enimey.  I love you and you love me.  If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.  (I was born).  Love, H”

It’s true.  They love me and I love them, even when they scare the dickens out of me.

For the past five or six years I have had rather intense physical pain on a daily basis.  (See the earlier posts when I’ve been exceptionally whiny.)  I went to several doctors and they ran the auto-immune tests (all negative, remember, it’s never lupus).  They did discover a tumor in one ovary and a wonderfully routine surgery later, I had one less ovary and fallopian tube.  Didn’t make me feel any better and blessedly it was a benign tumor.  Finally the rheumatologist gave me the diagnosis of fibromyalgia.  Basically it fit, but it is a diagnosis by omission.  Rule out everything else and that’s what you’re left with for the reason behind the pain.  The neurologist said the neuropathy in the hands, wrists, feet, and ankles wasn’t related and couldn’t figure out why it happened but that we would monitor it.

Recently I remembered (after being reminded by the same friend who initially told me) about possible thyroid issues that could cause the problems I’ve been having.  Back to the doctors again.  I asked the nurse practitioner to check the thyroid and during the exam, I answered a lot of questions.  The nurse practitioner decided to check some other stuff too, including my vitamin D levels.

If only the vitamin D levels had been checked years ago.

Explains just about everything.

I don’t know how long it will take the little green capsule to work, but to even think that I might not be in pain by the end of the year is amazing.  I’m guessing it will take a while to get the levels back to normal.  The levels are rather low.  The first little green capsule didn’t do anything yet.  From what I’ve read (not much, just found out today) it will take time to undo the damage caused by the low levels.  Years worth of low levels.  My hubby of course wants to know what caused the deficiency.  At the moment, I don’t care.  If a small green capsule will fix the deficiency and get rid of the pain, I want to focus on that for the time being.

I am daring to let myself think that one morning, I don’t know when, but sooner than I ever thought, I will put my feet on the floor and it won’t hurt.  I won’t need to take 1,000mgs of ibuprofen to start the day, repeating this again later in the day.  There will be a day when it doesn’t hurt to type,  Yes, typing hurts my fingers.  My hip bones won’t scream at me in the middle of the day.  My joints might actually be useful again as the pain begins to fade.  I am daring to think that I will have enough energy without pain to spend time with my sons in the evening doing more than just sitting in a chair and having them bring stuff to me.  Those nights I do stifle the pain and take care of family business, I pay for it over the next few days.  But soon my bones may actually not hurt anymore.

Do I dare dream?  Yep.  This is the first sliver of hope in years.  Held inside a small green capsule.

This Is Spinal Tap has some awesome quotes.  One of my favorites is “this one goes to 11.”  But another one of my favorites is “I’m just as God made me, sir.”  True.  And that ain’t bad.

This evening, several good and thought-provoking questions were presented to me.  Wonderfully philosophical questions that brought me back to my college days.  No matter if you went to college or not…it’s more about that time of life when the quest is about understanding where you fit in the world (go ahead, sing a bit of “Corner of the Sky”).  Do you remember spending hours pondering questions?  It is a great time of life.  I see people having the conversations about life every day and I wish I had more time for it, but where I am in my life, based on the choices I’ve made, I don’t have as much time for the daily ponder.

So I love when I get challenged with some great questions.  The ponder of the evening is where I am walking?  Or more importantly, how am I walking in my life?  How am I representing and demonstrating my faith in my daily walk?  How do I challenge the negative stereotypes often associated with being a Christian?

In my life, my priorities are my relationships with God and Jesus, my husband, my sons, family, friends.  I spend time walking with Jesus each day and I try to walk through each of my days as He teaches me.  Through spending time with Him, I am the best I can be for the other special people in my life.  Part of being the best me for them is acknowledging that I will never do it all correctly.  I have struggled and continue to struggle with this part of my existence.  I will never get it all right.  Though each day I try anew, like Phil Connors.

I show this to my sons.  I hope through my many examples of not getting it right my sons will learn that it’s okay to not always get it right sooner than me.  I know they won’t-they’re only human.  They get so angry about little things.  I’m trying to thwart that response.  It’s okay to make mistakes, hopefully with some learning happening after.  Demonstrating my faith for my sons to witness is truly important for me each day.

I walk with Him at work, on my commute, in my daily interactions with people.  This is all good…but it’s small.  It’s not global.  We all know the saying, think globally, act locally.  Still, how can I help shape the global perception of Christians?

I don’t know any clear answers but I know how not to shape it.  Not with a bullhorn (tip of the hat to Rob Bell), not with anger, not with defensiveness.  Not with ignorance, stubbornness, or impatience.  Not by refusing to listen to the other perspective.

The first step to shaping the perception everyday is love.

This evening I checked the messages on the answering machine.  The first two-unimportant, deleted.  The next one was from a young lady calling for my EIGHT-YEAR-OLD SON!  She then called back a bit later, giggling, quickly saying she called earlier.

He called her back.  I think he was slightly nervous initially as he couldn’t dial the phone properly.  I dialed it for him and then he patiently waited as it rang and rang.  He left a message for her, a very proper message, made his dad and me proud, I must say.

A few seconds later the phone rings.  I answer it and it’s the young lady.  She asks for him and soon he’s on his first phone call with a girl.  They talked for about ten minutes.  He was very considerate, quite the conversationalist.  He was laughing.  They compared siblings.  At one point, he said he would bring his fossils over (when they have their play-date).  I whispered to my hubby, “he sounds like Ross Geller.”

Oh, and so it has begun.  The first of many phone calls.  At least this one didn’t end with a break-up.  This one was easy, other than breaking my heart just a wee bit.  He’s growing up way faster than I want him to grow up.

The six-year-old asked when girls would call him.  Soon, I said.  Soon.

Evil baby 2

By popular request, okay, one request, specifically, Cindy, here’s the evil baby photo…

This is the set up of the four baby pictures (from L-R): 6-year-old, me, hubby, eight-year-old

 

Evil baby and sweet hubby

Sweet 6-year-old

Sweet 8-year-old

Searching for windmills is quite possibly the normal state of existence for humans.  Each day brings a new quest.  It may be a simple quest-locating the misplaced remote control monster truck or completing a simple task at work.  Some days it may be a tougher quest-battling demons from your past that continue to haunt you.  Still, the concept is the same.  A quest for a satisfactory conclusion to a life event.  Humans, or at least this human, finds that true each day.

This repeating cycle of quests seems to have its roots in childhood.  I have vague memories of wanting to find answers to different questions over the course of my childhood and through my adolescence.  I see my sons on quests each day.  How we handle the journey defines our beings.  If we stomp our feet and pitch a fit we’ll find ourselves walking on our journey alone more often than with support.  If we aspire to a goal without doing the work we need to do to reach it, we’ll stumble, possible even fall.  The hardest quest for me is simply being in the moment and doing my best each day, in each moment.

Every day has certain menial tasks to be completed.  I can do these tasks with grace or I can do them quickly and without care.  If I do them with grace, there is joy to be found even in the simplest of tasks.  This could be changing the trash bag, doing laundry, or proofreading at work.  Filling these tasks with grace makes them more fun and reminds me that though they are redundant parts of my life, they are critical.  I need to empty the trash or my kitchen will be stinky.  I need to do laundry since none of us can walk around naked (we don’t live at a nudist colony so it’s not our norm).  I need to proofread, daily because of where I work.

These are simple quests, conquered every day.  The quests that are more fun fall into two general categories-challenges and my family.  Challenges could be a large project at work or actually getting my whole house clean at the same time (that’s my windmill!).  I have vacation time in April…could get closer to that clean house!  Other challenges include working through those issues in life that throw you for a loop.  Death.  Disease.  Major life changes that you weren’t expecting.  Things like that.

Challenges can be blended with my family too.  My sons are a wee bit older than they were last year.  They can help out with the yard this spring.  They started helping with the big clean-up last fall and with planting bulbs.  When they see they flowers this spring, I hope it offers motivation for the spring cleaning of the yard.  They’ll start to see the pay-off of hard work.  They’ll start to learn that though it may not have an immediate payoff, it’s worth the work and effort.  They need to learn that immediate gratification is not all it’s cracked up to be.  It’s a hard lesson but so important since they are growing up in this world- on-demand, high-speed internet, plentiful food, and stores that carry almost anything they could think of to buy.  Plus a mother who is often a sucker with a really big soft spot for them and falls victim to their big blue eyes, with dark lashes batting with innocence and hope.  They need to realize that anticipation, dreams, and patience are all good things to have.

Quests to lighten my loads-both emotional and physical-are wonderful.  I only hope that I conquer these quests sooner rather than later as I’d like to stop having them gnaw at my being every day of my life.  My hubby tells me not to sweat them, and I’d love to do that except it’s not in my nature at all.  I want to conquer these quests of mine.  I want to show my sons that it is important and fulfilling to complete goals that you set for yourself.

Quests are a good thing.  The more interesting the quest, the more interesting your life.