adele marie sunshine.

My grandmother passed away this morning.  And honestly?  I'm not sure how I feel about it.  That may sound ridiculous being that I just lost a family member.  But, really?  That's how I feel.

Almost two weeks ago, I received a phone call telling me that my grandmother went into the hospital that morning (which, by the way was her 94th birthday) and things didn't look good.  So I prayed.  I prayed that God's will would be done and if she was supposed to leave this earth, I was ok with it.  I just didn't want her to suffer.  A week later, I received a phone call telling me that she had hours to live.  Again, I had another conversation with God telling Him that I just didn't want her in pain.  6 days later, He finally took her home.

What a long... what a hard, long journey these days have been.  I say that as a person who is 10 hours and 5 states away from all that has happened.   You see, my grandparents moved after 60 years of living in the same house in Verona, New Jersey, to Maryville, TN.  My uncle and aunt have been taking care of her and have sat with her the last two weeks.  I am so thankful for them.

When I got the phone call this morning, I was slightly relieved that her struggle was over.  She was a fighter.  A true fighter.  I began to cry, but stopped myself because I know those tears are selfish tears.  I'm sad that my Grandmother is no longer breathing on earth, but I know that she is living in a far better place and she is whole again.

I wasn't sure how I would tell my children the news.  So, I just decided to lay it out there and I'll have to answer whatever came my way.  Ethan was the first one awake, so I sat on his bed and said "Great Grandma went to be with Jesus this morning."  His reply?  "So, she died?"
"Yes", I said.  The following words caught me off guard, but were so comforting.. He said, "Oh, ok. She's in a much better place anyway.  This is such a sinful world."

Oh. My. Word.  My Ethan said those words...

Next, I went into Maya's room to wake her for the day and told her the news.  Her response?  She clapped and said "Yay!  She's with Jesus now!"

I just cried.

She looked at me and told me it was ok.  Mommy, it's ok.

Yes, Maya, I know it's ok.

I'm celebrating that my grandmother is in the presence of her savior.  But, I'm sad that Adele Sunshine is no longer living with us here.  Her memory will live on in her family and she will be missed.  And for me? Her memory will live on in the Cinnamon Cookies at Christmas, the smell of crayons, every photograph that I take of my family and meals where multiple generations gather.

Those are the memories I will hold close to my heart.   And I will remember her with love.

my day of boxing. in retrospect.

anyway,I had a productive day yesterday.  Showered, dressed and ready to go by 8am, I had high hopes for the day.  My sister-in-law's baby shower is this weekend, and I had a lot to do in order to get ready for my hosting duties {yes, I said duties}.  I was out of the house with Landon in tow by 8:10, got my Starbucks fix by 8:30, was at Target by 8:50 and ran in and out of Michael's by 9:45.  After driving home and switching my wardrobe around, I went to work.  The day was looking good.

I had planned the evening around Maya's viola lesson which happens every thursday at 5:30.  In my head, I had my route planned out... viola teacher's house, Starbucks {again}, pick up maya, run for shoes, ect.  It was well thought out and was going to work... until 4:00 hit.

ethan was the first of my children to get off the bus, and in perfect ethan form, totally didn't see me standing there at the bus stop waiting for them {or at least that's what i convinced myself of... because any other explanation would probably induce tears}.  maya exited the bus, came across the street and wouldn't look at me.  she didn't have her viola {she had orchestra yesterday}.  i asked her where it was and she told me she forgot it in her classroom.  then she burst into tears.  i asked her what was wrong and she held up a sandwich sized ziploc bag with the arm of her glasses inside.  ugh.  her glasses broke.  so, i tried to comfort her {because i knew that she was very upset and she thought -knew- I would be upset too... but i didn't let her know that i was.  too tramatic.}.  anyway, i had to call her instructor for viola to tell her that maya forgot her instrument at school and wouldn't be able to make her lesson.  i sent ethan out to the car to get my cell phone so i could look up the number.  got the phone.  call made.  done.  i had to readjust my evening and decided to head over to the eye doctor to see what could be done about her glasses. i woke landon up from his nap, packed his paraphernalia, rounded up the big kids and went to get in the car.

Guess what?  ethan decided to lock the car door when he was done.  car keys on the driver's seat.  spare key in purse.  purse on passenger's side seat.

gah....

i know.  i know.  why would i leave my keys and my purse and the spare in the car?  it's a habit i've made when i know i'll be leaving shortly.  it's a bad one, i'm aware, but it's a habit.  it won't happen again.

anyway, i called my parents and asked to borrow a car.  after the words left my mouth, i realized it didn't matter if i had a car, i had no money.  so i had to call mike.

long story short, mike called AAA, they came within an hour, glasses are being ordered and life went on.

by the time mike got home last night {8pm}, i just had to get out.  alone.  and after sobbing into the chest of my best friend, asking to be a normal family again, i was able to step out for a few hours and breathe.  i met my very good friend for some coffee/iced tea {at starbucks.. i did get my fix} and was able to just talk and be in the moment.

in retrospect, it wasn't a bad day.  it just wasn't what i had planned and i had to roll with the punches.  i just feel like life throws punches left and right and i get knocked out of the ring a lot.  

flashback.

have you ever seen someone from your past and your head becomes flooded with {good or bad} memories?

i just had that experience.

after work, i ran over to target to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy. i was on my way out and i looked off to the side and saw someone i knew from high school. we weren't friends. we weren't unfriendly, either. actually, she just scared the crap out of me.

i'm kind of amazed that after all these years, that one individual still had an effect on me. my stomach was actually in a knot and i darted out of there as quickly as i could. i wonder if people see me from afar and have bouts of past feelings {again, good or bad} about me? it makes me think. and definitely puts a perspective on how i live my life. what kind of 'aura' have i put out there? {and for the record, i do not believe in 'the universe', karma, or auras... it was just the only word i could think of}.

frayed edges

life has been so crazy lately. and if i'm gong to be honest, i'm completely burned out. completely. i don't want to be whiney or complain too much, but i'm so exhausted from trying to be everything to everybody that i've complete forgotten about myself. and really? i don't have the time or energy to put into anything more.

this week i've been preparing for my sister-in-law's baby shower which is being held this weekend. i'm pulling together final details, making sure every little thing is perfect {or as close to perfect as i can get it} and wrapping up loose ends. we {my mom, maya, ethan and landon} will be leaving friday after school to make our way to scranton. i'm not someone who is comfortable in front of people who i don't know {i'm barely comfortable in front of people who i do know}, so my nerves are starting. i'm sure everything will be fine.

it has to be.

after this weekend, i really just want to take some time for myself and pickup all pieces of my self and try to reassemble them back into a productive jaimie. i'm just so tired. and i'm so concerned that i'm letting someone down if i don't continue with this pace. but i've been here before. i don't want to be there again. it's not pretty.

i just want to crawl in a hole and just be... and sleep.

being bilingual

I'm bilingual. Fluently bilingual. And no, I don't speak French, Italian, Greek, Russian, Chinese or Spanish {even after 4 years of Espanol in high school}. I'm fluent in Sarcasm. Those who know me know that I tend to be a little sarcastic. Just a little. I really don't know where it stems from. My parents were not sarcastic people, however, both my brother and I are extremely sarcastic. My mother often wonders 'what went wrong' and 'where did that come from'. I just think it's part of my charm. Actually, I sometimes {a lot of times} use sarcasm as a coping mechanism. Sarcasm for survival. I don't know why. I guess instead of charm, it's more like a character flaw.

I can't pinpoint when I began speaking Sarcasm. It was one of those things that just evolved into my normal speech. Most times, people know when I've switched from English to that other language. Most times. My children, for one, usually know when it's sarcasm and they just need to ignore Mommy and weed through what she said for the true underlying message. They are extremely aware when teachers switch to sarcasm during class and they get it. I've had a teacher tell me that Maya is the only one in class who hears the sarcasm, giggles, then ignores it and moves on. She never took her sarcasm seriously like her classmates {oh, I was so proud...} Both of my older children know when it's serious and when it's not. Or at least I thought they did.

Ethan has been this little independent cool person who, apparently, is way to cool to say goodbye to his mother at the bus stop. I don't fight it, but it kind of bothers me. But one day, he got off the bus in the afternoon, ran over to me as I sat on the hill waiting for them, and gave me this huge hug. It totally made my day.

Later on in the evening, I thanked him for the hug. I thanked him for getting off the bus, running across the street and giving me a huge hug hello. He started to argue with me. I thanked him again. Still, he argued with me! Finally, he said to me, "Mommy, are you serious?". Um, YES! Thanks for the hug, buddy. Thanks for greeting me and not ignoring my existence. Thanks for loving me.

His reply? "I thought you were being sarcastic."

oh crap.

I went on to say that I loved how he got off the bus and ran to me and hugged me. I told him it made my day. He beamed a little. I suppose little people like to know that they made someone happy.

I suppose I need to stick to one language for a bit around here. Or at the very least preface my serious comments with 'seriously'. I dunno. I'm pretty sure I'm screwing up my kids. They'll end up in some kind of therapy, rocking back and forth, crying that they never knew when mommy was serious or when she was joking.

*sigh*

being intentional.

This morning, I attended the funeral of a woman whom I had never met. Strange, you might say. I guess it might have been strange, but this woman was the mother of our close friend. We had to go. In our minds, it wasn't even a question of whether we go or not. Our friends needed to know that we loved them and we were there to support them. She was called home to Jesus unexpectedly, and I've struggled with what I should do for or say to this family. I haven't come up with anything yet... so I just pray.

But as I sat in the pew, I began to wish that I had had the opportunity to meet this woman. From the crowd in the foyer, to the line of waiting people going into the sanctuary, to the group that stayed for the services, it was obvious that she was loved. She made an impact. She made the difference to a lot of people.

So, being the selfish person I am, I started to think about my funeral and who would come. What would they say about me? Who have I made a difference to?

I struggled with that question on the way home. As I planned out my funeral and told my husband what my desires were {I will be holding a stuffed monkey and there will be a loud band playing amazing music}, I began to think about all of the people I love and those I come in contact with and wondered what difference did I make in their lives? Did I even make a difference? Five years after I go home to Heaven, would I even be remembered? What a sobering thought.

I decided recently that I want to live intentionally. I want to love with intention. Too often, I get caught up in my life and what I want to accomplish and end up wondering why people don't love on me. Have I really done that for others? My goal is to love people deliberately. I don't want to ask myself 'what if' later down the road. I want to know that I deliberately cared for and showed those who walk in and out of my life that they mattered.

How would you live intentionally?

beautiful morning

I woke up this morning and my husband was sleeping beside me. What a great start to my morning! I got to snuggle with my sweetheart and when I looked at him, I got a huge smile on my face. He said I looked giddy.

I was.

not enough time.

Here's a math equation...

There are 24 hours in a day and 168 in a week. My husband worked 81 hours this week. If you add on the 1.25 hours each way to drive there, he was away from us for approximately 98.5 hours this week. Then, if you figure in 7 hours of sleeping a night, we get a whopping 20.5 hours with him a week. Break it down by day? 2.86 hours a day is spent at home and awake. It sucks.

I miss my husband very much. Very much. And honestly, I would give up every earthly possession if it meant I would have more time with him. Seriously. Don't get me wrong, I am so very thankful for all of the wonderful things that I have... my beautiful house, my car, ect. But really? It means nothing in comparison to having time with my husband.

I get frustrated when women complain about their husbands having to work late one night. They really don't understand, nor do they realize how incredibly lucky they are to have someone home with them.

I'm trying not to complain. God has taken care of us and continues to remain faithful. It is just really hard. And lonely.

I miss my husband.

I miss my partner in life.

I miss my partner in caring for our children.

I miss the man I laugh with...

...The man I dream with...

...The man I love.

new year. new routines.

The beginning of a new school year is like January 1st to me. I get a new calendar in January, but my new year begins the day my kids step on the bus for the first time after summer break. Our school year has begun {and I'll dare to add smoothly}. Today is day 3 of that new year, and if all goes as the last 2 have, I have high hopes for the remaining 177.

Maya started in a new school this year. She is now a big kid and is in the Intermediate School. Wow. I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around her being in fifth grade. It's just not possible. And my Ethan? He's in 3rd grade?? Crazy.

We started a new routine for the school year which I'm super stoked about. I've had intentions of doing this in previous years, but I'm not very good with following through. It's a character flaw. It's one of many. But this year is different. This year I am GOING to do this. It's a necessity.

Every morning after breakfast is served and enjoyed, my big kids and I sit down and read the Bible and do a daily {kid} devotional and then pray. I wasn't sure how my kids would respond to my idea, but I am excited to report that they are completely on board. And after this morning's discussion and prayer? I got a hug from my son.

Made. My. Day.

We've done this for 3 days now. What is that saying? Do something 21 times and it's a habit? Ok, 3 down, 18 to go. I know we can do this. We have to do this. It's so very important... if I'm not going to have my kids read about and talk to God, who is? Who else is going to pray for their safety? For their attentiveness and learning environment? Who else is going to ask God to protect them from all the evil in the world? Probably no one... That's all up to Mike and me. I'm taking that seriously.

So, I ask for prayer. If you think of me or one of my kids, pray that we follow through with our new routine. It's really important to me... to all of us.

terrible 2's.

I'm about to burst.

Can I tell you about the kind of day I'm having? Actually, the week I'm having? And in all honesty, it's not even a week... it's 3 days. 3 days of toddlerhood rearing its ugly head.

I waited four and a half years for my last little baby. Four and a half years of desiring a new little person to love and cherish and being heart broken when it doesn't happen. Well, I think God knew better not to give me my baby when I wanted him. I think he wanted to make sure I was really really ready to receive my little boy... my monster.

This little boy has me in a tizzy. Truly. In a three day span, he has completed the following list: Colored in acrylic paint pen on my kitchen walls, used a highlighter to draw on the same walls, brought out a pencil to complete his masterpiece, unraveled a roll of paper towels, shredded a roll of toilet paper, took out most of the kitchen utensils from the drawer, got into Maya's viola and gave an impromptu concert, found a black sharpie and colored on my sofa, the end table, the rocking chair, the TV screen, the ottoman, the new cabinet AND himself. At least he's thorough...

I've never wanted to cry so much as I have today.

He exhausts me. Completely and utterly exhausts me.

But that little face and those blue eyes get me every time. It never fails. I was trying so hard to be mad at him, but he would come up in front of me and hide behind my laptop {it was sitting on my lap} and play peek-a-boo. How on earth do you stay mad at that? It's impossible.

I'm hoping {praying} for a better few days. I'm hoping that this isn't a preview of what is to come as he turns 2 {which is in 45 days}.

It can't get worse, can it?

It's Sunday morning and I'm sitting here writing. I'm sure {know} that there is plenty of other things that could occupy my time and energy that would serve a much greater purpose than me just sitting and writing. Really, Jaimie? A Sunday morning of writing? I feel that I need it, though. My head is kinda spinning with the end of summer, beginning of school, and other stuff that will be happening. My thoughts are jumbled and not clearly thought out {shocking, I know}... so you may have to weed through the mess of words...

My husband is out on the tractor mowing the lawn. Normally on a Sunday morning, we would be getting kids ready for Sunday School, getting ourselves ready for Sunday School and we'd be heading out the door very shortly. This morning? Not the average Sunday. There is so much that needs to be done that he just can't get done during the week... Hopefully we'll make it to church this morning....

Ethan has been away since Friday night. He won't be coming home until later today. Although I have thoroughly enjoyed the last 36{ish} hours of quiet {no arguing, fighting, whining, complaining}, I certainly miss my freckled face boy.

Maya recently chopped her hair to donate to Locks of Love. It's been a long, slow process for both of us, but the reward for doing something selfless for someone is so... BIG. It was certainly worth the torment of her long hair dangling in her face. After her new hair was revealed, a changed Maya emerged. It's kind of funny, actually. It seems that the length of her hair held all of the bad, ill-mannered, nasty attitude that we've been dealing with. When the hair length went, so did the attitude. I'm so thankful for that.

Landon has been giving me a run for my money lately. I've cleaned off paint pen, highlighter and pencil from my kitchen walls, cleaned up paper towels that were taken off of the roll, retrieved miscellaneous kitchen utensils taken out of their proper homes and intercepted an impromptu viola concert, all in 12 hours. He makes me so tired.

Mike has been working 6 days a week, 10 hours a day. The 10 hours isn't so bad... but the Saturday is hard. Next week, he starts 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. I know "it's part of the job and it could be worse". But really? That doesn't make me feel any better. I have a child who falls apart when his father isn't here. He's slowly been crumbling over the last month and a half. Now with the 7 days and the longer hours? My son won't see his father at all and he is sure to come crashing down... and I have to pick up all the pieces. I'm not ready for it.

I'm tired of people trying to tell me that it will be over soon. Not really the case. Because once he's done with this job, he'll move to something else. I'm tired of people telling me that "it'll be ok and that the extra money is nice". Yeah, the money is nice, but in reality? I'd rather have my husband home. Money is temporary. My husband's involvement with his children lasts a lifetime.

ugh...that's enough about that... I didn't intend to write or gripe about Mike's job. It gets my stomach in a knot. His job sucks. It's my life. I have to deal. That pretty much sums it up.

Anyway, school starts tomorrow, and I have mixed feelings. I've been waiting since July for the kids to go back, but now the reality is setting in and I'm feeling the empty nest approaching. I know it's not completely empty.. they do return everyday and Landon is still here, but the noise will be gone. The activity will be gone. It's bittersweet.

Well, the tractor driver has come back into the house, so I guess it's time to get myself together for church.

a glimpse of my Love

I married my best friend. Plain and simple. Did I know I was marrying my best friend? No. Were we best friends when we got married? Definitely NO. Is he everything I imagined my husband would be? Absolutely not... He's sooo much better!

My husband is the one person on this earth who knows me inside and out. Sometimes I hate it... but most of the time, I love it... and all of the time I'm in awe because of it. I've had a rough week with various personal crap that's all up in my head. I've been struggling with it off and on and most of the time, I just push it way back into the cracks of my brain and try to forget about it. It usually works, until I have to dig it back out and actually deal with it. Ugh. That's so hard.

I realized how much of a hold my husband has on my heart late last week when all of this ugliness started. At first, I was really really mad. Like, mama bear going after some camouflaged colored lunch. {No worries, no people were hurt, and this has nothing to do with my cubs.} But I was really really angry. So, I called the one person who I want to talk to when something terrible happens... my husband. And what began as an angry voice explaining what had happened, quickly turned into a wavering, trembling voice that just went right into sobbing. I'm talkin' the ugly cry... tears burning the eyes, snot running freely down my face, facial distortion and everything. It was really ugly. But, after I talked with him, I felt better {a little bit anyway}. He knew what to say to calm my tears and mend my heart {or at least put a band-aid on it}.

Tonight we revisited that situation because it needs to be fixed. So as we were discussing what I should say, if I'm right in feeling the way I do, and what he thought I should do. My husband had some words to share with me. I would love to say that they were dripping with sweetness and were the most romantic words to ever come out of a man's mouth... but I can't. He pretty much told me that "he doesn't like when people treat me badly, take advantage of me and are unappreciative of all that I do. ...That's his job."

Sadly, those words were what I needed.

My husband has a distinct way of saying things to push my buttons. It's his gift, I think. And he is really good at it. And he even has sound effects to go with the button pushing. {He makes me laugh.} But really? No matter what he says, I know he adores me. How do I know this? Because he's stuck by me through 15 years of crap, and we've made it out alive. He's my heart. He's my gift. He's my love.

I'm so thankful for him and I think he is the most amazing man in so many ways.

the walk, the human and the chiffarobe

A few months ago, my husband and I were returning from a walk we took up the road. I was pushing my baby in the stroller, and Mike went off ahead of me {he likes to run... my brain would like to run, but my body rejects that idea}. When I approached the driveway, he was standing there waiting for me. We had both spotted an old chiffarobe sitting at the end of a driveway that had been discarded and left for the trash men to take. Of course in Mike&Jaimie Fashion {we've done it before}, we decided that we should rescue that old unwanted piece of furniture and recreate it... repurpose it... give it new life.

It has taken me about 3 months to get my tush in gear to get it done, but this week I finished my treasure. As I sat there picking off gross stickers that were haphazardly placed on the door, sanded the ugly {with a capital U} peach paint and covered it with a fresh coat of paint, I couldn't help but think about God and the similarities I have to that old chest. {I'm such a theologian}

God took this ugly unwanted human and has slowly stripped away the ugliness to uncover a raw person. He's slowly changed me and has created a new person {or a new creation} and repurposed me for something beautiful.

I'm not sure what I'm going to use my new creation for... but I know it's something good. Hmm... I'm not sure what God is going to use me for, but I'm sure it'll be good too.

a need for gypsies. again.

Oh, what a day.

It was another day of whining, fighting, rude little children. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't just walk away and pity those poor parents. I was the one who had the unruly children.

My mom and I took the 3 kids to Chocolate World for the day. We literally had just pulled out of the driveway when the fighting began. And why didn't I take that as a sign? I continued my trek to Hershey, PA hoping and praying for a nice day with my kids, my mother and my French teenager. For the most part, I can happily say that it was a nice day. But there were moments where I wanted to wring their little necks.

I think I hit my breaking point when we were standing in the holding room before we entered the theater for the 3D show. Once again, my two oldest children were at it again.

"She poked me in the eye with her ticket."

"He pinched me."

So, I did what any mother would do in a crowded room while waiting for the doors to open. I made them sit crisscross applesauce on the floor, facing each other, nose to nose.

They weren't happy.

But neither was I.

My punishment was short lived because the little old man opened the door to allow us to enter the theater.

They were relieved.

I was not.

The rest of our day was somewhat without stress. After the show we all ordered ice cream. It wasn't a treat for the kids, but more of a reward for me because I hadn't killed my offspring. {I had a wonderful chocolate shake. I highly recommend it.}

We left Chocolate World and proceeded home. Again, they were at each other's throats. I told them in my nicest voice {bahahaha} that they were to go up to their bedrooms immediately when we got home.

I was afraid for their lives.

My husband came home from work and it took us an hour to figure out dinner plans. Pizza it was! We went to one of our favorite pizza places and of course, we had to separate the little boogers. Our table seating chart was: Mike, Ethan, me, Maya, Marie, Landon. We were able to eat our pizza in peace. On the way home, Mike stopped to refuel and put air in the tires. Well, no sooner did he get out of the car, they were at it again.

**Now, I must warn you. If you have any qualms about creative punishment or if you feel as though children should be dealt with in an old fashioned way, I implore you to discontinue reading this post. **

I calmly opened my door, opened the sliding door and told them to get out.

Seriously, I made them get out of the car.

And then locked it.

So, my children sat outside on the curb while my husband put more air in the tires. I don't think they were too worried until Mike actually got in the car and started it up... without them in it.

I won't bore you with the nasty little details of my discussion with my children before they were allowed to climb back into my car and go home with us. It was a quiet ride home, though. And as we were driving, I was looking for some gypsies who might like a 10 year old little girl and an 8 year old little boy. No such luck.

I'm contemplating buying a one way ticket to Paris next week. Marie may need a chaperone on her way home...

update.

Time has flown by...

Our house has been full of activity this past week. Marie arrived safe and sound and I was determined to make the best of every moment with her and to ensure that she had a wonderful time visiting her American Family {that's what she calls us =) I love it!} We've been busy going to cities she's never been to - Baltimore - and done shopping in places she has -King of Prussia- {and specifically requested to visit again}. It's been a lot of fun. Plus, I've learned some French along the way!

The next 6.5 days hold a lot of activity. I'm sure I will write about our exciting adventures once life settles and I have time to reflect {which means in about 7 days}.

2 weeks of fun

Our exchange student has arrived! We are so excited. Marie came to us last year through Nacel Open Door as an exchange student. She was here for 4 weeks and we tried to cram as much "America" into her trip as we possibly could. We went to a baseball game, Washington DC, Philadelphia and King of Prussia, plus, she experienced The 4th of July with us. We had a busy, but fun time together.

This time, her parents allowed her to travel on her own and she is visiting for a little over 2 weeks. I know we won't be able to go on major trips like we did last year, but I am trying my hardest to think of quick and relatively inexpensive things to go to and do so that this experience will not be a disappointment. But really, can you spend two weeks with the Angstadts and be bored? I don't think it's possible.

I'll keep you posted on our happenings... I'm sure we will have a great time together.

On today's agenda? The Library and grocery store... OOOh. Contain your excitement.

What do you think we should try to do?

a cushy office job.

Tonight I found out how serious "the incident" was...

My husband is a Boilermaker. Please don't ask me what he does, because honestly, I don't know. I do know that he is supervision and makes sure the workers are doing their job and doing it well. The job he is working on entails a lot of digging in preparation for waterlines to be placed. Yesterday, there was "an incident". That's what they're calling it. Apparently, an operator was digging and hit something along the ditch. He scraped it a little but because they didn't know what it was, my husband told them to leave it alone and go to the other end of the trench to continue on. Later that day, they found out what they had hit.

It was a power line that is the backup power source for the Peach Bottom power plant. The entire power plant. A 33KV line. 33,000 volts.

My husband could have died yesterday.

I send my husband to work everyday knowing what he does isn't safe. I send him off to work praying for his safety during his hour plus commute to work. I pray for his safety for his commute home. I pray that he returns to me safely every single day. Some days, I wake up in a cold sweat with a bad feeling and franticly call him to make sure he is ok.

This "incident" was something major and somebody screwed up. And because my husband was standing there, had the bucket really got a hold of that line, he most likely would not have come home... my worst nightmare

I can't even wrap my head around that.

I wish he had kept that information to himself.

I live each day with a faith that God will take care of my family while they're away from me. I know that ultimately, the people who I love the most in this world, are in His hands at all times. But I just can't let go of the worry.

I love my husband.

He is my best friend. My true love. He is the first person I think about in the morning and the last person I think about at night. Really, truly.

I can't imagine my life without him... and I hate that he goes to work in such dangerous conditions. He needs a different job. Like a retail job... or a telemarketer. They're safe, right?

Take that, Murphy.

Nursing my foot back to health while having a healthy view about it has been going better than I originally anticipated. I changed my attitude and took control of the situation choosing not to be the victim. I'm proud. And of course, since I have changed my outlook and have chosen the positive route, Murphy's Law has shown up and is challenging my positive view and is raining on my parade.

My incision is opening up.

Yeah. You said it. Yuck.

I called the doctor roughly 10 minutes ago inquiring if it is normal for a little bit of oozy yuck to come from the incision; I'm fairly certain it's not an infection ooze, but it's an ooze nonetheless. I was expecting to hear, "yes, it's fairly common to have a little bit of blood on your bandage, it's really nothing to be concerned over." But instead, I heard, "No, it really shouldn't be bleeding and you shouldn't have any oozing. Come in so one of the girls can look at it."

Really? Fantastic.

So, not only am I regretting the decision, but now I'm worried because the side of my foot is opening up and it's not supposed to be.

Splendid.

I'm choosing to stay positive though. I'm looking Murphy in the eye, and laughing. Why? Because I won't heal as quickly if I'm mopey, right? So the bright side? The pain in my foot is subsiding and I'm able to wear a flip flop. No more ugly, bulky surgical shoe. Plus, I can walk a little more normally now. Yay!

stinky feet.

Regret can eat you alive.

Regret is not something I'm familiar with. In my life, I've done some really stupid things. Really stupid. Some of those things have changed the course of my life, but I'm not going to say that they were bad decisions. I'm not necessarily unhappy with my life, although I do wish some things were different.

So, I had this pain in my foot, so like a good little wife, I listened to my husband and went to see the doctor. Like I've said before in past posts, this office visit ended up with my signing papers for surgery.

I'm deeply regretting that decision.

I'm trying very hard not to be a Donna Downer, but I'm having a really hard time with this foot thing. I think the most frustrating aspect of the whole situation is that when we spoke to the doctor prior to his cutting my foot, he made it sound very easy. I'd be off my foot for a few days, but then I'd be back to normal. HA. I wouldn't have much pain. HA. HA. I would be able to walk on it a day after the surgery. HA HA HA! That's so not the case.

I'm frustrated I guess. I'm frustrated that I didn't listen to my gut instinct and not go through with it. I'm frustrated that I can't walk normally. I'm frustrated that I'm impatient and I'm frustrated that I can't take back this decision.

It stinks.

So... where does that leave me? My husband told me {as I sat sobbing} that I can't change anything {honestly trying to make me feel better}. What's done is done, I suppose. All I can do is move forward, taking care of my foot, rehabbing it back to health. It seems so tedious. It seems so long.

{sigh}

Big Girl Panties

Today is just about 2 weeks after my foot surgery. I'm actually surprised how well my foot feels and how fast my pain had subsided. It took almost 5 days until I could put weight on it, but once that happened, it was super speedy. And of course, I took advantage of feeling good and my foot swelled up like a water balloon. A little elevation, some Aleve and rest fixed that.

But today, is also another milestone in my healing process. Today I get my 2 inches of stitches out.

YIKES!

I'd love to say that this isn't a big deal and I'm totally cool about it. If I did, I'd be totally lying and you better move out of the way or you might get caught in the bolt of lightning aiming right for me. I'm not ok with this. Not at all. And to make matters worse? My husband isn't going with me.

I just threw up a little in my mouth.

I'm really not a wuss. At least I wouldn't consider myself one. I'm usually tough. I can handle myself. I've gotten stitches out before. I go and get blood drawn by myself. I go to Target on the weekends. I pump my own gas. But having these stitches removed? Um, I'd like some reinforcements, please.

I guess I just have to stop whining and put my big girl panties on. It'll be ok, right? I've had stitches removed before. I survived. It'll be ok.

{gulp}

a plane ticket, some gypsies and paradise

It was such a lovely evening, I decided to sit outside and wait for my husband to come home from work. My sitting immediately became laying, and I ended up inside of an open trailer looking up at the sky. I spent hours {ok, it was really just minutes} gazing at this expanse of blue sky swirled with white clouds. I watched as these clouds slowly made their way from the southwest to the southeast above me. They seemed so free. I know that's silly... clouds aren't 'free' from anything... but it was carefree, I guess. As I continued my cloud gazing, an airplane came across my view. It was a jet, heading who-knows-where, but I continued to think about this plane long after it disappeared from sight.

I wondered about the passengers and pilots. I wondered if they could see me laying there watching them {I know they couldn't.. but I still thought about it} and I wondered who it actually was on that plane? Where exactly were they going? I convinced myself it was someplace stress free and beautiful. Someplace far from responsibility. Someplace quiet. I quickly found myself being envious and wishing I could go wherever they were going. It had to be better than where I was.

My day was pretty stressful. My mom came to pick the kids and me up this morning to go shopping. I had a specific place I wanted to go and specific things I needed {wanted} to get done. We spent the entire day out and about. I was exhausted. My mom was exhausted. And all three kids? They were beyond exhausted... and I probably would have given them away. Really? Really. Wrong? Probably. Reality? Definitely not. But I felt that way. It was a long day and I had pushed them to the limit. Over the limit, really. And after I yelled, and threatened, and behaved in such an adult manner {insert laughter here}, I still felt stressed and ready to give them to gypsies.

That was earlier.

But tonight, after our full to the hilt day, an evening of dinner and ice cream at The Udder Choice, jammies and bedtime, I spent some time loving on those kids who I would have traded. I cuddled up to my 8 year old, kissed him all over his freckled face, told him that I loved him and said that he was my absolute "favorite Ethan". I told him how smart, cool, and amazing he was and how wrong I was to yell. I apologized. He told me it was ok. I told him it wasn't.

I walked down the hall into my {not so} little girl's room and told her I loved her and how happy I was that she was born. I told her that if she was never born and I never knew her, my life wouldn't be as full and colorful as it is now. I told her how thankful I am that she is mine. She beamed.

Remind me, why did I want to leave? And why, again, did I even let the thought of not having them enter my mind?

I really don't remember. I'm sure at some point it might revisit and rear its ugly head, but for now, I have the best kids in the world and I wouldn't trade them for anything. Not even a plane ticket to paradise.

They are my paradise.

owie

I feel like someone cut my foot open, cut my bone apart, screwed it back together and stitched my foot closed... oh, wait, that is what happened.

I had foot surgery yesterday and today I'm wondering why. Why did I subject myself to this torture? While I lay in bed on my back with my foot propped up on 3 pillows, I've been thinking through all of my past surgeries and child births and rating them {on a scale of 1-10}. It's really not doing me any good. But what I have realized is that I preferred my appendectomy to this.

I'm praying that this Vicodin kicks in. So far it hasn't...

a case of the crazies

Recently, I was reading some blogs and I came across one blogger who posted this article. I found it very insightful and incredibly interesting. This article touched on a few things that I could definitely relate to... and it explains so much... Read on and then share your thoughts.

Creative minds 'mimic schizophrenia'

By Michelle Roberts

Health reporter, BBC News

Creativity is akin to insanity, say scientists who have been studying how the mind works.

Brain scans reveal striking similarities in the thought pathways of highly creative people and those with schizophrenia.

Both groups lack important receptors used to filter and direct thought.

It could be this uninhibited processing that allows creative people to "think outside the box", say experts from Sweden's Karolinska Institute.

In some people, it leads to mental illness.

But rather than a clear division, experts suspect a continuum, with some people having psychotic traits but few negative symptoms.

Art and suffering

Some of the world's leading artists, writers and theorists have also had mental illnesses - the Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh and American mathematician John Nash (portrayed by Russell Crowe in the film A Beautiful Mind) to name just two.

Creativity is known to be associated with an increased risk of depression, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Similarly, people who have mental illness in their family have a higher chance of being creative.

Associate Professor Fredrik Ullen believes his findings could help explain why.

He looked at the brain's dopamine (D2) receptor genes which experts believe govern divergent thought.

He found highly creative people who did well on tests of divergent thought had a lower than expected density of D2 receptors in the thalamus - as do people with schizophrenia.

The thalamus serves as a relay centre, filtering information before it reaches areas of the cortex, which is responsible, amongst other things, for cognition and reasoning.

"Fewer D2 receptors in the thalamus probably means a lower degree of signal filtering, and thus a higher flow of information from the thalamus," said Professor Ullen.

“Creative people, like those with psychotic illnesses, tend to see the world differently to most. It's like looking at a shattered mirror” Mark Millard, UK psychologist

He believes it is this barrage of uncensored information that ignites the creative spark.

This would explain how highly creative people manage to see unusual connections in problem-solving situations that other people miss.

Schizophrenics share this same ability to make novel associations. But in schizophrenia, it results in bizarre and disturbing thoughts.

UK psychologist and member of the British Psychological Society Mark Millard said the overlap with mental illness might explain the motivation and determination creative people share.

"Creativity is uncomfortable. It is their dissatisfaction with the present that drives them on to make changes.

"Creative people, like those with psychotic illnesses, tend to see the world differently to most. It's like looking at a shattered mirror. They see the world in a fractured way.

"There is no sense of conventional limitations and you can see this in their work. Take Salvador Dali, for example. He certainly saw the world differently and behaved in a way that some people perceived as very odd."

He said businesses have already recognised and capitalised on this knowledge.

Some companies have "skunk works" - secure, secret laboratories for their highly creative staff where they can freely experiment without disrupting the daily business.

Chartered psychologist Gary Fitzgibbon says an ability to "suspend disbelief" is one way of looking at creativity.

"When you suspend disbelief you are prepared to believe anything and this opens up the scope for seeing more possibilities.

"Creativity is certainly about not being constrained by rules or accepting the restrictions that society places on us. Of course the more people break the rules, the more likely they are to be perceived as 'mentally ill'."

He works as an executive coach helping people to be more creative in their problem solving behaviour and thinking styles.

"The result is typically a significant rise in their well being, so as opposed to creativity being associated with mental illness it becomes associated with good mental health."

it seems like yesterday

Do you recognize these kids?

I was going through my file of photos and came across these gems. It feels as though a lifetime has gone by since these were taken, but yet, it feels just like yesterday that these two were little {like in these pictures}. By the looks of them, I think these were taken when Maya was about 4 or early 5, so Ethan would have been 2 or 3... 5 or 6 years ago... oh my.

Time flies... I want it to slow down a bit. Or maybe I'M the one who needs to slow down a bit and enjoy my babies.

Aren't they so stinkin' cute?

my happiness

i'm tying to get happy right now. so, i thought i'd bring you my list of ''happiness".

{1} a good night's sleep.

this certainly does not happen a lot around this house {at least not since the birth of baby #1 ten years ago}. but when it does? it's so sweet. and waking up with my husband is an added bonus. that happens even less than the good night's sleep.

{2} making someone smile

... do i have to elaborate?

{3} a clean house.

having a clean house has a therapeutic effect on my brain. my mental health is sometimes determined by the amount of junk left all over my house, the number of dust bunnies running amuck and the depth of the laundry piled in baskets.

{4} hearing my kids laugh.

have you met my kids? if you have, you understand. if you haven't, you are truly missing out!

{5} my husband telling me i'm beautiful and kissing me.

he still gives me butterflies.

{6} spending time talking with good friends.

my favorite times are being one on one with a friend talking about life, love and sharing stories, thoughts, and convictions. i've never been one for large groups of people, but if you get me with a great friend (male or female), i could sit there for hours.

{7} a really super duper thick chocolate shake.

it's pure happiness you can {barely} suck through a straw. yum.

{8} spring breezes.

i love the smell of spring. i really don't think there is anything more energizing to me then the smell of a beautiful spring morning.

{9} a cardigan and a pair of ballet flats.

i adore cardigans... a little too much, sometimes. and i really adore a cute pair of ballet flats. they are classic, pretty and very girlie.

{10} driving a jeep.

recently, i was able to drive a jeep around the block. it was so quick, but in that time, my head was able to be cleared and i just was able to relax and just be. my husband loves to ride motorcycles for that reason. Until I drove that jeep, I didn't completely understand the feeling of freedom, time to think and time to just be. i had a jeep once upon a time... and i'm waiting for the day when i have one again and i'm able to escape for a few moments.

some clarity

This past week, I spent my days at one of my favorite places on Earth... Harvey Cedars Bible Conference in Harvey Cedars, NJ. I went with the intention of loving on my girls, spending time with them and getting to know the rest of our group a little bit better. I did all of those things... plus a little more.

I went into this week knowing that God was about to do some amazing stuff in the lives of these teenagers. I knew that He would touch their hearts and speak to them in a real way. I wasn't wrong. But what I didn't realize was that he was going to do the same thing for me. I didn't realize that I would leave HCBC changed. I didn't realize the extent in which I devalued myself.

But you know what? He changed my heart. He changed my thinking. He rocked my world so that it was inline with HIS world.

Last night our group went to a secluded part of Long Beach Island. To say that it was beautiful would be a complete understatement. This place that we visited was a completely different world. It was a place for clarity of thought. It was magical.

It was at this section of beach where I realized that the beauty that God created trickled down from the heavens and stars, to the ocean and waves, to the marine life and sandy beaches, to the people who walked the shores. He created all these things beautifully. I'm included in that!

I didn't think much of myself. I'm not the brightest. I'm not tall and thin. I'm not beautiful. I don't have a lot to offer. But God created me in HIS image. In scripture, it says that Jesus was not anything great to look at {paraphrased of course}. He wasn't a handsome man. But really? My Jesus is the most beautiful person that I know. And I'm created to be just like him! How can I not think more of myself when I'm created to be just like the most beautiful person who has ever walked this earth?

I have people in my life who insist on tearing me down. There are people who think they know me and who think that I'm not good enough for whatever it is. But the truth? I am good

enough.

And I'm not what they think I am. But instead, I'm what God says I am.

fingerprints of God

Do you know my children? If you don't, you are truly missing out on some of God's best creations.

My kids are home for the summer. My initial reaction to this situation is... YIKES! And, my initial reaction has held true for the first 3 days of vacation. Even as I look at them with frustration and sometimes anger, I can't help but admire God's handiwork in each of them. My kids are so unique, and they are all mine. They are so different, yet, I can see how their characteristics intertwine.

When I imagined my life in the future (before marriage and before kids) I always wanted 3 children. I think it stemmed from being in a family with 2 kids. I had one brother and although I love(d) him very much, I always secretly wanted another sibling. So, as I was imagining my life with children I always saw 3 children... 2 girls, 1 boy all with brown hair and probably brown eyes... after meeting my husband, I hoped for his light eyes to be passed to my kids... he has gorgeous eyes!

Anyway, as always, my plan wasn't God's plan. I was blessed with my 3 children, but not the ones I dreamed about... instead we have one girl (brown hair, brown eyes) and 2 boys (red hair and brown eyes, and blondish hair with blue eyes). I don't think at first glance my kids look alike... at all. But if you look close, you can see some similarities. You can see that they have the same nose. Two have the same shape of eye. A different two have the same eyebrow.

For a little while, I was almost disappointed that my children didn't obviously resemble each other. I know families who have 3 and four children and they are all clones of each other. But you know what? I've come to realize that it's much cooler to have to look for the similarities. And when I found them? I saw pieces of myself and pieces of my husband in each of them. I saw characteristics of both of us that had been mushed together to make these gorgeous children. Even as they grow up, mature and become these independent beings, I see traits of us in them... there is nothing better than that.

My daugher, Maya, is an independent old soul. When she was born, she had a distinct purple mark on the right side of her nose. I always said it was God's fingerprint. If you look closely, you can still see it, although it has faded over the last 10 years.

Maya is a compassionate, loving, sentimental, sensitive and adventurous little girl. She was climbing giant climbing walls at the age of 5. She rides horses competitively. She cares for animals, bugs, and children all the same. She is beautiful!

Ethan is a silly, fun loving, brilliant little boy. He has red hair and freckles... and he loves his freckles. He loves sports, will try most sports, and when he becomes passionate about a subject you better watch it. It consumes his every thought. He is amazing!

Landon is a completely different animal from the older two. He is inquisitive, energetic, and daring without fear. His latest feat included climbing on top of the bar stool to climb on top of the kitchen island. The boy will go anywhere... but on his terms. He is delightful!

Our kids each have their own personality, interests, passions, quirks. It's in those qualities that I can see God's fingerprints all over them. I can see how he molded each of them and I realize that he formed Maya's compassionate heart and stamped his fingerprint on her nose, placed every freckle on Ethan's face and hand painted Landon's beautiful blue eyes.

This song by Steven Curtis Chapman is one of my favorites... it reminds me that God has placed his fingerprint on all of us.

I can see the tears filling Your eyes
And I know where they're coming from
They're coming from a heart that's broken in two
By what you don't see
The person in the mirror
Doesn't look like the magazine
Oh, but when I look at you it's clear to me that...

I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know it's true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God

Never has there been and never again
Will there be another you
Fashioned by God's hand
And perfectly planned
To be just who you are
And what He's been creating
Since the first beat of your heart
Is a living breathing priceless work of art and...

Just look at you
You're a wonder in the making
Oh, and God's not through, no
In fact, He's just getting started and…

I went back and see what it got me?

Last year was a horrible year for me and doctors. In the span of one year, I broke my wrist, spent 5 days in the hospital while I was in labor for 44 hours of that with my youngest son, had issues after his birth which required a lot of blood loss/tests and other tests, and then another 3 days in the hospital for an appendectomy. After all of this, I made a vow to stay away from doctors for one year.

I did it.

One year was two months ago. I went back to a doctor today.

I've been having problems with my foot lately and it's gotten progressively worse. Walking has become painful, so my husband insisted that I go to see a friend of ours who is a (podiatrist) surgeon.

Guess what? I have to have surgery... again.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I just wish I was done being broken. Saying that I'm tired of going to a doctor or having surgeries is truly an understatement. It seems as though I am the one who gets sick, gets injured, needs fixing. And there are people in my life who like to remind me of that. I don't ask for this. Believe me, if I could keep my body together and not have people cutting me open, cutting bones and screwing them back together, I would.

On the other hand, I'm glad that there is a resolution to my problem. Usually, (for the past decade or so) I have issues or pains and I am told that there is nothing wrong. We can't find anything wrong. I'm not crazy. I know that I have pain. And I feel as though I have a fairly high pain tolerance. For once, I was able to go to a doctor, present my problems and have a remedy the same day. Imagine that.

So, I'm waiting for my surgery date to come... it's a little more than a month away. I'm not scared, but I'm concerned for my mobility and ability to take care of my family. I won't be able to drive (it's my right foot) I was assured that I wouldn't be down for more than 3 days... hmm... we'll see about that.

The world according to M and E

According to my children...

It takes 2 gallons of salt, some cream, ice and vanilla to make ice cream.

If you add water to freeze dried ice cream, it will become real ice cream. The same can be said about steak.

Albert Einstein said it was illegal for a man to hit a woman.

Thomas Jefferson invented the lightbulb.

George Washington invented wooden teeth.

Abraham Lincoln chopped down a cherry tree.

I have never before been frightened about what my children were learning in public schools. Now, I'm a bit frightened about what they are NOT learning in school.

My kids are funny, though.

New Journey... update one.

Embarking on this new journey is tiring... but exhilarating. Day one, Mike and I went for a walk along our road. We started out our driveway, turned right and headed to the stop sign. We clocked the distance and found that we walked 2.3 miles round trip. Not too shabby for the first day. Later in the evening, after dinner was made and enjoyed, we loaded the kids on the bikes and we went for a ride. I'm pretty sure my heart was yelling at me and trying to explode. It's not easy to bike up hill dragging a bike trailer with a 28 pound toddler. I have to say that after we were back and the kids were in bed, I was feeling pretty good.

Today Mike and I went for our walk again. I don't think it felt as long and I enjoyed it a little but more. I'm hoping that this is the beginning of a habit that I'll keep up. I tend to start things and then let it fall by the wayside. I'm determined that this time will be different. This time I will win the fight.

new goals, new me

I've written before about my body obsession/neglect.

I say obsession, because my body is pretty much all I think about when I get up in the morning, when I get dressed, when I go out. To give a more accurate description, I think about the disdain I have for my body. When I go out, I'm always wondering how many people will look at my body and judge. Did they notice the pimple that is exactly one quarter of an inch below my hairline? Do they see that my belly isn't flat? Did they see the sausage arms and granny wobble? Have they noticed that my boobs are sagging just a little bit more than last year? Do they notice how big they are (really, come on, can anyone NOT notice that?)?

Neglect because, well, I know that there is improvement needed to be made on my body, but I don't have the time... nor the energy. I really do care... but I don't want to care. I'm a busy girl. I have 3 kids (yes, I realize that there are people with more than three kids who are svelte and beautiful), I work part time (again, I realize that there are full time working women who blah blah blah), I have a husband who works ridiculous hours, and frankly, I would rather spend my time worrying about them and caring for them than on me. I would much rather concentrate on the people around me than to look at myself in the mirror and confront what I loathe.

I realize that this is an incredibly unhealthy way to view myself, but it is what it is. There are so many things that I see wrong with myself that I find it difficult to even fathom that there might be some beauty behind all of the flaws. I don't want to feel that way anymore.

My husband will sometimes tell me that I'm beautiful. You know what I do? I laugh. It's an uncontrollable laugh that comes from deep inside. I think he's getting tired of being laughed at. I guess I don't blame him. I haven't exactly been gracious in accepting his compliments. But really... beautiful?

I don't see myself as a having any resemblance of beauty. Beauty is not what stares back in the mirror. Whether my views are correct or not, I want to change them. I want my husband to look at me, tell me I'm beautiful and be able to agree. Can that happen?

Tomorrow I am going to embark on a new journey. My goal is to learn to love myself. My hope is that once I learn to love myself, I will take better care of myself. And then once I take better care of myself, I can take better care of my family.

I'll send you a note along the way...

To love, honor and listen

I have a guilty pleasure of watching Say Yes To The Dress on TLC. It's a show about a bridal salon in New York City and it follows the consultants while meeting with engaged woman searching for the perfect dress. I love watching it. I love watching the emotion of finding that perfect dress. I love how each woman finds one dress that is gorgeous and accentuates their beauty. I love the styles... and I secretly think about what I would wear now if I were in their shoes (or dress).

When Mike and I got married, we said that we wanted to renew our vows when we reached 10 years of marriage. We've been married for 11 years and 363 days. There was no renewal ceremony. But, I plan on one eventually. Perhaps in 3 years when we hit 15 years...

Anyway, as I was sitting beside my beloved watching this show and dreaming of a new dress, I began to tell him my dreams. I told him that I wanted to find a beautiful dress that fits my personality and makes me feel beautiful. I want to walk down the aisle to him, again. I want to declare my love to him and to renew my promise to love, honor and cherish him until the day I die. I want our children to be apart of our ceremony and have my daughter be my maid of honor. This is my dream.

My husband looked up at me and spoke.

He said "Huh, what? I wasn't listening."

...grr.

Let me ask you a question...

To whom ever reads my blog,

Let me ask you a question... how do you know when God is actually speaking to you?

I ask this because my husband and I have been in discussion about a possible change in our family. Now, don't jump to conclusions... it's all talk and there is a lot to think about before anything happens. But while I was contemplating this decision, I was thinking to myself/praying to God for His will to be perfectly obvious. I asked that if this is something that we should do, that I need a definite sign that Yes, This is what I want you to do. I think I even said that an email would be good... well, I didn't get an email, but I got an article in the paper this morning.

So, do I pursue? Is that my answer? It seems just too simple.

What do you think?

Short lived?

My husband is the most hard working, dedicated, amazingly sexy man I've ever met. I love that man probably more than any human being should love another.

The last 9 years of my life, I have been a Boilermaker's wife. In the beginning of Boilermaker World, my husband would work work work A LOT and then he would be laid off for an unknown amount of time. Usually a few day went by until he was called back to work again, sometimes a few weeks. This was a way of life and it was understood that there would be days after a job was completed that he would be home. The longest he was home was 7 months.... that was a long time ...and a long time ago.

Forward 4 years and you find him at the Boilermaker's National Competition in Kansas City, KS. He was one of two from the northeast who went to compete against other Boilermakers around the country. In Boilermaker Land, this is a HUGE deal. Well, my husband won that competition. He took the trophy and the national recognition. After that experience, we was able to go "steady" with a contractor... which means that he works for one contractor and they find work for him to do... so he has steady employment. What an amazing blessing.

So four years have passed since he went steady with Nooter, and now we find ourselves in a familiar, but unfamiliar situation, again. He has been laid off. It's been so long since we've sat in this seat. I am thankful for the time he will be home. He just got done with an outage last week. For those who don't know Boilermaker talk, an outage is when the power plant or refinery schedules time for maintenance to be done on the equipment in the plants. Outages usually consist of a working schedule of 6 or 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Plus, you have to factor in the hour plus drive back and forth. Outage season is rough... for all involved. So, I am thankful for some time to spend with my love. There's usually very little time that he has to spend at home with us. I'm excited.

He's been home for 3 days.

I may have to kill him.

I am a self proclaimed non-morning person. I don't do mornings. At all. My husband works better in the morning. I sent my alarm for a time that is suitable for me to hit the snooze button for about 45 minutes. His alarm beeps twice and he's up and ready to go. I am able to hit my snooze and get myself out of bed in time to get two children up, dressed, fed and out of the door in time for the bus. I've got it down to a science... usually. Today the alarm went off at 6:15. Guess who was out of bed. Guess who wasn't.

I guess I should fill you in on my little addiction. My little secret... I can not sleep without my fan. This fan has run every night since I was little. It makes a lovely noise and circulates the air beautifully. It is my comfort and it goes everywhere with me. Literally. It packs in my suitcase. This fan is so important that one night right after Mike and I were married, my fan broke. So, I trucked myself to the nearest Walmart, at midnight, to purchase a new fan. It's that important.

This morning my husband woke up at the first beep of the alarm, I remained snug in bed hitting the snooze and my fan whirled around. Then it happened. He came into the room and shut my fan off.

Can I tell you how ticked off I was when he did that? It completely ruined my entire morning ritual. Listen Mr. Chipper-in-the-morning, don't mess with my fan. I'm glad you're home and everything, but you're new here.

I calmly came down the stairs (after I finally got up) and very calmly told him that if he planned on living, he should never EVER touch my fan again. I'm not a violent person, but I will have to hurt you.

I'm hoping that my joy of having my husband home isn't short lived. I want to enjoy my time with him... but leave my fan alone.

I have issues.

it's the little things...

After a very trying month with crazy work schedules, crazy activity schedules, bad attitudes, mouthy kids and too much yelling, I told my son that I thought he was a pretty cool kid. His response? "Well, I think you're a pretty cool mom." Ah.... that made my heart skip, melt, and sing all in the same moment.

I haven't set out to be the 'cool mom'. In fact, most of the time I'm pretty sure I'm not the cool one. But, I try to be fair and I try to look at life through their eyes. It's amazing how perspective changes when you grow up and become an adult. Unfortunately, it's not always for the better. In fact, as an adult, I find that I've lost the joy that my kids have... and sometimes I think I steal that joy from them. Most of the time, I'm armed with a critical spirit and a perfectionist attitude that towers over them. The combination of the two tends to end in disaster. I'm trying to change that.

This evening was the elementary school's PTO fundraiser at our local Dairy Queen. Thursdays are usually a busy evening as my husband and I are in the middle of a class that meets on Thursday evenings. But today, I decided that I was going to let my kids have fun being kids, be with their friends and go to DQ for dinner. Oh, I should mention that there is a dunk tank and both of my children's teachers were sitting in the hot seat. So they had to go.. they had to get a chance to dunk their teachers. On the way to our destination, I told the kids they could have whatever they wanted to eat. After I said it, I started to rethink my choice of words, but ultimately decided to follow through and let them have whatever they wanted. Their choice? Ice cream, of course! So, tonight, I let my children have ice cream for dinner. Really, would it kill them?

I know that there was some judgement from some people that my choice in allowing my kids to have just ice cream for dinner was a poor decision. But you know what? It was one night of joy for them. It was a night that I'm pretty sure they would remember for a long time.

I realized tonight, that to a kid, it's the little things in life that make it great. It's the nights of ice cream for dinner and throwing balls at a target to soak a teacher. It's dancing in the rain and jumping in the puddles when the sun comes out. It's spending those few precious moments holding and hugging instead of washing the dishes. It's playing cat's cradle before going to bed and ignoring that it's 15 minutes past bedtime. It's talking about what made today special and what would they have changed. It's going back in to kiss them goodnight or to pick them up and sing them a few songs so they can settle for the night.

I want to remember that it's the little things that matter. The laundry will wait. The dishes will still be there. But my kids... they won't be kids forever. They won't be here forever. But it's those little moments that they'll remember.

Letting Go

I use to hold on to hurt. I used to hold on to bitterness. I use to hold on to grudges. But that is the past and I don't do that anymore. I won't do that anymore. I shed those chains recently and I am so thankful for the weight to be lifted off my shoulders, my soul and my heart.

I've spent a lot of years holding on to past hurts and letting them change who I am. Those days are over. This weekend was a life changing weekend. I won't get into details, mainly because I can't give them. It was one of those moments that was a complete whirlwind of emotion and prayer, and all I know is that the Holy Spirit had my heart and was tugging on my pain, my hurts, my pride and making my heart let go.

I'll never be the same

If someone would have told me 5 years ago that I would be hanging out with these people, I would have looked them in the eye and told them they were crazy. There was no way I would be be friends with them. Never. 5 years ago, I had an almost 5 year old and and a 3 year old. This group was so far from my comfort zone, there was no possible way that I would have anything in common with them. And if I were to be honest, they scared the crap out of me. I was so intimidated by them it was almost ridiculous.

God had other plans, and it seems as though those 4 words are the theme of my life. God always has other plans than the ones I have for myself. You would think by now I would just realize that. Anything that I may have planned is pretty much going to go out the window.

Anyway, back to these people. So, I started to hang out with this group, although I was so incredibly nervous. Would they like me? Would they care if I was even there? Do I really belong? Even though it went against everything that I knew of myself, I felt as though this was where I belonged. It was almost like I was going home. It was weird.

So, the last 4 years of my life, I have been consumed with hanging with these people. And you know what? They have taught me so much. Here, I was thinking that I would have something to teach them. I would tell them about life. I would be the one giving. Boy, was I was wrong.

Let me tell you about these people. They are fun. They are crazy. They are some of my best friends. They are the most loving, caring, humorous, life loving, life giving people I have ever met. This group of individuals genuinely love each other and build each other up. They genuinely love me and continually build me up as well. They are all individuals. They all offer different things to the group. They all have different gifts and different interests... but somehow, they all mesh together making one family. I can be honest with them and know that they won't walk out on me. I can be completely myself, insane and goofy, and I know that they won't judge. They'd probably join in.

I think about these people all the time. And I truly mean all of the time. If there is an hour that goes by without thinking of at least one them, I'd be surprise. These kids have changed my life. They've changed what I think. They've challenged me and they've accepted me into their family. They accept my imperfections.

I love these people. And knowing them has made me a better person. It has made me a better mother. It has made me a better friend. And because of these people, I will never be the same.

Loving You.

Disappointment has been a visitor in my life recently, and although I hate to succumb to disappointment, I did. While I was being angry and hurt at the people who let me down, I started to think about my life and how I impact others. I wondered why was I so disappointed? Why was I hurt that these people didn't live up to my expectations? Did they know what standard they were being held to? Am I any better than them?

I began to wonder how many times I was the one who disappointed. How many people have I hurt because I failed them?

I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

As I pondered what kind of impact I have in other lives, I began to think about what impact I want to have. I want everyone who I come in contact with to know love. I want them to know what it feels to be loved and to know that it is an honest love. I want to love like Jesus loves... uninhibited, unfailing, unabashed love.

If I tell you that I love you, I mean it. I mean it with all of my heart. I may make mistakes and I will let you down. I don't do this on purpose, but I will do it because I am imperfect... and human. But know that I truly love you.

I don't know if this is a cohesive thought. Probably not. I'm good at thinking things through and being completely unable to put it into words. I'm not eloquent. I can't write.

But I can love you.

Red Lipstick

I'm missing my Gram today.

I grew up in a suburban town in New Jersey. My house wasn't anything special to an outsider, but to me, it was my world. In this little house lived my mom, my dad, my little brother, whatever animal we had and my maternal grandmother. My Gram was my world. Many of my childhood memories involve my grandmother. I spent a lot of time with her. We would go on walks together. While we were on these walks she'd sing to me about "reading and writing and 'rithmetic. She would tell me about the plants around us and how she used them to play when she was a child. She would walk up to the 7-Eleven on a Saturday and pick up some Drake's Coffee Cakes and chocolate milk for breakfast and it would be there when I woke up. On a Sunday after church, I would "drive" her home. I would sit in the front seat and pretend to drive as she drove our way home through the countryside. She would always have Juicy Fruit gum in her "pocketbook".

My Gram smelled of Chantilly. She wore red lipstick and rouge.

She wore clothes that were way out of style, but she didn't care... she was who she was and made no apologies. She was ecentric. She was a potter, a seamstress, a painter, a beautician, a masseuse, a dreamer. She would massage my feet with Pond's Cold Cream and tell me to wear socks so it didn't get on the carpet.

I loved my Gram very much.

Sometimes my mom tells me "You're just like your grandmother."

I smile.

I love when she says that.

silence is... weird.

It's been a really long time since I sat here and wrote. I don't know why it's been so long... I guess i didn't have anything to say.

Ok, stop laughing and pick yourself up off the floor. Yes, i realize that it's a rarity that I have nothing to say, but I truly think I didn't have anything to say. I still don't, but I'm writing to let the world know that I am still kicking.

The last note I wrote saw me in some troublesome times. I am happy to report that things are not so dire right now. They're still not great, but they are better, and for that I am thankful.

Life is about to get crazy around here. Outage season is upon us and Mike is starting is dumb hours tomorrow. I am trying to stay optimistic, but this time of the year always sends me into a bad place. So, even though I don't have anything to say today, I guarantee that I will have plenty to say in the coming weeks. Luck you. :)

Mission Impossible... Joy in Everything

Blessed be your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be your name.

These are the words that I sang yesterday morning in church. These are the words that I've sung a hundred times without thinking twice. Except yesterday. Yesterday was different.

At Harvey Cedars this summer, we were told to have joy in everything. Really? Do I have to? Joy... in everything. That's a hard pill to swallow.

Joy in everything....

Things are rough in our house. We are going through a major trial which has definitely rocked our world. It's something so huge, that I really have a hard time wrapping my head around. I just cry instead. I cry and want to vomit. I have been so sick over this whole situation. Mike and I have recently said that if we were some ordinary couple and didn't have the love that we do, we would definitely be a divorce statistic. BUT, we do love each other and we have chosen a life together... rocky roads and all. I am so thankful for my husband. I am so thankful for his love. I am so thankful to our God for placing us together. No one could be a better match for me.

Have joy in everything.

Anyway, how do I have joy in the biggest trial? How do I have joy when I feel like our world is crashing down around us? How do I have joy when I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop? How do I have joy when I'm not sure if I have any joy left?

I'm struggling with having joy... and praising my God with all my heart, my soul, my mind and my strength. But yet, I seem to have a smidgen of joy. It definitely is not with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength... but it's there. It's a twinkle of joy. But I'm taking it and running. I have to. I have to take what little joy I can find and rely upon my Lord that He will take care of us. He will provide for us.

Deep down, I know this. Trying to live it is another thing. Trying to live joy in the midst of a trial is hard. Really hard.

But we have to do it. We have no choice. We will have joy. We will rejoice in the Lord... knowing that He knows what we need and will not give us more than we can handle.

He must have a lot of faith in us.

LOST

If you happen to stumble over the 10 POUNDS that I have now lost, please pick it up, set it on fire, and punt it across the country, never to be seen again.

Thank you.

YAY me!

Thank you, Capt. Obvious

It's no big secret that I have issues with my weight. It's no big secret that I'm not a size 0. Or 2. or 4. Or 6, for that matter. I never have been. Even at my smallest, I have always been a bigger size and weighed more because of the way my body is built. I have no hope of being a frail tiny little girl. I'm built like a linebacker. I'm not delicate. I'm a log... with boobs. And for the most part, I have accepted that I am not ever going to be a runway model. I like that I have an athletic build. I just wish it was more toned... less flabby.

I'm blessed to be surrounded by friends who love me the way I am and who choose to be my friend even if I don't fit into a size 4. I love my friends because they struggle with similar issues or they're own body image issues and we can talk about big butts and big thighs. We can talk about the fact that I can't see my torso right above my stomach without looking into a mirror because my boobs are too big and I can't see past the shelf. I surround myself with these girls because they make me feel beautiful (when, in fact, I know that I am not... most days. It's amazing what I can do with make-up though).

So, even though I have these girls and I am not frail on the outside, I'm still frail on the inside. I'm trying to be stronger, and was doing fairly well, until this afternoon. And honestly, I thought I was ok, until my husband came in and looked at me. He knew that I wasn't going to be ok after what happened. He knew that those few seconds of a conversation had rocked my world and had broken every little piece of self respect and what little positive self image I had. He knows me so well... sometimes better than I know myself.

I'm sure it was an innocent comment. But it stung. It stung and burned right to my very core. It took every bit of pride that I had gained after losing my 7 pounds and buried it. And it makes me mad that someone's inconsiderate comment can do that to me.

This afternoon, we were revamping our life insurance. We were adjusting our coverage to better fit our needs. It was so simple. A click here. A check mark there. A question here. A question there. And it was those questions that got the ball rolling. The question posed to me was "How much do you weigh?".

Really?

I looked at him. He looked back. And I answered. "A lot." He laughed, and said that it won't accept "a lot". So I told him my weight (minus 2 pounds... I had to give him a nice round number).

He looked at me and said "Come on, that's not what you weigh. Are you serious?"

Um, yeah. If I was going to make up a number, don't you think it would be a more flattering number?????

He continued to look at me and said "You don't look that big".

Seriously? I don't look that big?

Oh, why thank you! Thank you for telling me that I don't look as fat as one would think of someone who tipped the scales at what I do. Thank you for not making me feel like a gigantic whale. Thank you for not making me feel as though I should be thankful that I don't break chairs when I sit in them. Thank you for not making me self conscious of what I'm making for dinner tonight. Can't put on any extra pounds, now.

I hate that this person said these things and doesn't know how much this hurt. I hate that a comment like that can make me feel like it does. I hate that I have to see this person every week. I hate that I'm not a number on the scale that is more realistic to expectations. I hate that I weigh what an average adult male would weigh. I hate that I'm not a size 4. And I hate the fact that I hate that I'm not a size 4.