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}