When I was younger I used to love adventures. I loved to drive without a destination, loved to take off and get lost, loved to find neat places and spend time there.
I'm a little older and while in theory I love those things, I'm also a huge fan of consistency and schedules and everything flowing smoothly.
Today, things did not flow smoothly.
Things didn't even really flow. Things kinda...got splattered all over the hood of the car while you're going 80 miles per hour and you think "Oh God what the crap." Just. Saying.
So the story goes like this, our "good" car has been acting funny. Just a little funny. Enough for us to say, yeah, we should get this looked at, but not enough for us to be like, nope, no more driving for us. Plus. Appointments. We can't not go to his appointments (even though we ended up canceling one)(ugh). So here I am in the city, a little over an hour away from home with my ten month old son and our car goes from "lets get this checked" to "this is not safe don't drive it anymore." I'm on the side of the road going from Appointment A to Appointment B and my car will not accelerate. In the middle of an intersection. On a three lane road. With my very cranky screaming ten month old.
I wish in my very core that I were better about break downs. Something about our cars not working strikes this instant flight or fight mode in me and I straight panic. I called Blair. No answer. So like every Daddy's girl out there I do the only other logical thing, I call up my Daddy. Who is amazing and wonderful and who talked me through my next steps and said "you really shouldn't be driving it like this." He also reminded me that first and foremost I need to be taking care of the very sad baby in the back seat. Ok. Got it. Take care of baby.
Problem was, where I was stopped, I could not get out of my car without another car taking the door off/hitting me. Both bad options. So I try to see if the car will go again and it does. At this point I'm on the phone with Blair talking to him and he is being very calm. As I go to turn off the busy road, the car stops accelerating again. As I'm going uphill. On the busy road. While on the phone with my husband. Who lost contact with me and thought we'd been hit. Fun. Ok. At that point the small human is VERY upset with me. I'm shaking and worried that I won't be able to get the car off the road without getting hit, but THANK YOU JESUS, I did.
I pull into a very nice house in Fairfax that is for sale. You can go look it up on Zillow here if you would like. It's a nice house, carpets are awful though. There was a very nice agent who was very worried about me and Dean. He told me that if the house was warmer he would have let us stay inside. The people he showed the house to had an adorable little girl they totted in, the Mama gave me a "of you poor thing" look.
Blair came and got us, we were able to go his work office get his car and get home.
Hindsight. I wish that I could have been calmer and more level headed. If I had, Blair would not have had to miss more work and I could have gotten back home on my own. It frustrates me how incredibly panicked I got today. Though, in my own defense of myself to myself (what?), when Blair saw the roads where I was he understood why I was so upset.
I am thankful that we were not on the highway when this happened. I am thankful Blair was on his way to DC on the Metro for work and could easily get to me. I am thankful that my Dad answered his phone and helped me calm down a little bit. I am thankful that no other cars hit us. I am thankful that I had several friends offer to come get us. I am thankful that my discipler and friend was texting me while all this was going on and reminding me of TRUE things. I am thankful that Blair got to talk to the president of the company he works for and tell him how thankful he is for all the help that they've given him.
I am thankful.
And I am tired. And I FEEL defeated. I FEEL like this is just one. more. thing. I FEEL like we are doing this all wrong. I FEEL like this is my fault. I FEEL like somehow some way, I caused this.
I FEEL this way. I KNOW this is not true. And I rode home with Blair, telling myself "God did not promise you a car. He promised to meet your needs." So. If we do not have another car, then God will provide a way for us to get where we need to be. I might have to call a lot of people. I might have to adjust everything about our lives, and I will do that. And I know that we have enough people that it will happen.
I'm just..I just...oh I am tired of this season. I am tired of feeling like I'm not doing enough. I'm tired of feeling like we don't do enough. I'm tired of not feeling like we can do this on our own. I am tired of asking for help all the time. I'm tired of making calls and asking and asking and feeling like I'm taking. All the time. I don't want to ask for help. I don't want to need help. I don't want to any more.
Today was not easy. And that's ok, we've had lots of not easy days this year. Ha, this wasn't even the not easiest. There have been much worse.
These are not the type of adventures that I want. These are not the stories that I want to tell. I just want to feel like I can breathe. Just for a second.
But I'm finding it hard to breathe, so. Good thing that God is giving me some scuba gear man. I have a mighty need for it.
Friday, December 9, 2016
Saturday, December 3, 2016
An Ever Changing Canvas
The months have flown by without a blog post. I've tried to write one or two here and there and never seen to want to push publish. My days are full. My son is needy. My two year old is a two year old who is quickly approaching becoming a three year old. The sass is very strong with her.
Our days are filled with the mundane. Piles of laundry, a sink that is never empty, people who need to eat a stuff (who knew, right?) and the constant constant picking up of the toys. I have tried reorganizing my home what feels like fifty million times and it still fills with clutter. My house is too small for clutter. It is on going. An ever changing canvas.
I know, deep in my heart, what this Holiday Season means for me and my family. I know that last year I would stop and cry and wonder if my son would be here with us this year. Putting up our Christmas stocking put me in tears. Dressing Dean in his "my first Thanksgiving" onsie put me in tears. Planning what to buy him to "open" on Christmas put me in tears.
In the past year I have become part of a community that welcomed babies into this world not knowing how long they would be here. Some are still with us and some are not, leaving their families with holes that will never be filled this side of Heaven. I cry at these "little" things because I know families who all Season long will be grieving their lack of little things.
And yet. Yet.
Some day this is not enough for me. I still grieve over what life could have been. I was given the incredible healing gift this week, something that had thrown me for a loop and reminded me that I still having some very sharp edges and that my canvas is not finished. I brought food to a precious family that welcomed their first boy into their family. While there, his amazing trusting Mama plopped him in my arms, and I just lost it. I started sobbing.
I had forgotten how small babies are when they are born. I forgot how much they sleep. I forgot that they look so peaceful while they are sleeping. I forgot how much they snuggle into you, these little new bodies. I forgot how it feels to hold a newborn in my arms. And then I remembered.
I remembered that when my son was three days old I kissed his face and sent him for a heart surgery that I wasn't sure he would come out of. I remember eating breakfast with my husband, waiting for the beeper to go off with any news, but afraid of the news at the same time. I remember what he looked like when he came out of surgery, the image will haunt me for the rest of my life, that piece of plastic that separated his heart from the world. I remembered the days and weeks that felt so endless, of the longing I had to hold my newborn and the constant waiting.
I miss his babyhood. I miss him being small and snuggling in my arms. I miss the three days i had before his surgery when he wasn't scarred. I do. I miss it. Don't give me this crap about how those scars are proof that he survived. Trust me, I know he did. I know those scars tell stories of life, but don't negate the pain that they caused. I refuse to forget the pain of this. Because the pain brought us life, there was a price paid for the life.
The days and weeks being home have not been easy. I fight this inner pride and selfishness daily. I want to talk about what I've given up and how my life feels put on hold. When I catch myself thinking that way I give myself a sharp "So?" Because the point is that this is not about me any more, it's about my babies. About surviving. About letting go of what I think I need to want and remembering that what I've been given is amazing. And remembering that the alternative is that my sons high chair could hold his ashes.
It is easy in these endless feeling days to be impatient. It is a whole lot harder to remember thankfulness and gratefulness when the toddler is poopy, the baby is screaming, there are three loads of laundry to be done, and the sink needs an exorcism. It is harder to say thank you for this, when it's midnight, you went to bed at 11, and the baby woke up and just won't stop crying unless you hold him and rock him for an hour.
That happened the other night. Dean was in a mood. And he wanted me. Only me, Daddy did try. And I was exhausted. And emotional. And here I am rocking this baby and all the sudden, the broken places in my heart surface and I just started crying. This was one of those good cries. The can't breathe, biting your lip, snot and tears just rolling off your cheeks type of crying.
Because here I am, rocking this baby who is a miracle and all I want, literally all I am praying, is that he goes back to sleep because I. Am. Exhausted. Finding that balance...learning to live with the everyday things and the miracle, is actually really hard. Teaching my heart to be thankful for all things, learning to trust that what God has for us is GOOD...is a constant battle.
But one that I am up for.
I realized I have not let parts of me heal. I have not opened the wound and it has become infected. I didn't realize how much it really hurt to completely skip over Deans babyhood, and go straight to baby with serious medical issues. I didn't realize how "strong" I was trying to be until I found out I built walls on sinking sand...
I told Blair during my rock the baby cry fest that I don't feel like I am enough. That I don't enough for him, for Dean, for Ellie. That I am constantly failing because I can't keep up with laundry and dishes and bills and insurance and keeping the house clean. And he said something so sweet..."Why do you have to?"
God did not call me to be a mother of these two kiddos because I am enough. He called me because I am not enough. Because my moments of weakness and strife and pain...all of that, brings me back to Him and allowing Him to be God in in my life.
You can believe that or not believe that, I don't care. What I am saying is that on a daily basis, without God, I would be a hot freaking mess people. Because moming is hard. Moming my son, is hard. Not being a selfish jerk, is hard. And I am still so very broken by some of the things we went through this year. And still so in need of healing.
Christmas is a time of gifts. But...my kids are alive. My son is alive. I feel like those are all the gifts I want. I feel like asking for more is selfish.
I am an ever changing canvas. A constant work of art. Living moment by moment, just like everyone else.
Our days are filled with the mundane. Piles of laundry, a sink that is never empty, people who need to eat a stuff (who knew, right?) and the constant constant picking up of the toys. I have tried reorganizing my home what feels like fifty million times and it still fills with clutter. My house is too small for clutter. It is on going. An ever changing canvas.
I know, deep in my heart, what this Holiday Season means for me and my family. I know that last year I would stop and cry and wonder if my son would be here with us this year. Putting up our Christmas stocking put me in tears. Dressing Dean in his "my first Thanksgiving" onsie put me in tears. Planning what to buy him to "open" on Christmas put me in tears.
In the past year I have become part of a community that welcomed babies into this world not knowing how long they would be here. Some are still with us and some are not, leaving their families with holes that will never be filled this side of Heaven. I cry at these "little" things because I know families who all Season long will be grieving their lack of little things.
And yet. Yet.
Some day this is not enough for me. I still grieve over what life could have been. I was given the incredible healing gift this week, something that had thrown me for a loop and reminded me that I still having some very sharp edges and that my canvas is not finished. I brought food to a precious family that welcomed their first boy into their family. While there, his amazing trusting Mama plopped him in my arms, and I just lost it. I started sobbing.
I had forgotten how small babies are when they are born. I forgot how much they sleep. I forgot that they look so peaceful while they are sleeping. I forgot how much they snuggle into you, these little new bodies. I forgot how it feels to hold a newborn in my arms. And then I remembered.
I remembered that when my son was three days old I kissed his face and sent him for a heart surgery that I wasn't sure he would come out of. I remember eating breakfast with my husband, waiting for the beeper to go off with any news, but afraid of the news at the same time. I remember what he looked like when he came out of surgery, the image will haunt me for the rest of my life, that piece of plastic that separated his heart from the world. I remembered the days and weeks that felt so endless, of the longing I had to hold my newborn and the constant waiting.
I miss his babyhood. I miss him being small and snuggling in my arms. I miss the three days i had before his surgery when he wasn't scarred. I do. I miss it. Don't give me this crap about how those scars are proof that he survived. Trust me, I know he did. I know those scars tell stories of life, but don't negate the pain that they caused. I refuse to forget the pain of this. Because the pain brought us life, there was a price paid for the life.
The days and weeks being home have not been easy. I fight this inner pride and selfishness daily. I want to talk about what I've given up and how my life feels put on hold. When I catch myself thinking that way I give myself a sharp "So?" Because the point is that this is not about me any more, it's about my babies. About surviving. About letting go of what I think I need to want and remembering that what I've been given is amazing. And remembering that the alternative is that my sons high chair could hold his ashes.
It is easy in these endless feeling days to be impatient. It is a whole lot harder to remember thankfulness and gratefulness when the toddler is poopy, the baby is screaming, there are three loads of laundry to be done, and the sink needs an exorcism. It is harder to say thank you for this, when it's midnight, you went to bed at 11, and the baby woke up and just won't stop crying unless you hold him and rock him for an hour.
That happened the other night. Dean was in a mood. And he wanted me. Only me, Daddy did try. And I was exhausted. And emotional. And here I am rocking this baby and all the sudden, the broken places in my heart surface and I just started crying. This was one of those good cries. The can't breathe, biting your lip, snot and tears just rolling off your cheeks type of crying.
Because here I am, rocking this baby who is a miracle and all I want, literally all I am praying, is that he goes back to sleep because I. Am. Exhausted. Finding that balance...learning to live with the everyday things and the miracle, is actually really hard. Teaching my heart to be thankful for all things, learning to trust that what God has for us is GOOD...is a constant battle.
But one that I am up for.
I realized I have not let parts of me heal. I have not opened the wound and it has become infected. I didn't realize how much it really hurt to completely skip over Deans babyhood, and go straight to baby with serious medical issues. I didn't realize how "strong" I was trying to be until I found out I built walls on sinking sand...
I told Blair during my rock the baby cry fest that I don't feel like I am enough. That I don't enough for him, for Dean, for Ellie. That I am constantly failing because I can't keep up with laundry and dishes and bills and insurance and keeping the house clean. And he said something so sweet..."Why do you have to?"
God did not call me to be a mother of these two kiddos because I am enough. He called me because I am not enough. Because my moments of weakness and strife and pain...all of that, brings me back to Him and allowing Him to be God in in my life.
You can believe that or not believe that, I don't care. What I am saying is that on a daily basis, without God, I would be a hot freaking mess people. Because moming is hard. Moming my son, is hard. Not being a selfish jerk, is hard. And I am still so very broken by some of the things we went through this year. And still so in need of healing.
Christmas is a time of gifts. But...my kids are alive. My son is alive. I feel like those are all the gifts I want. I feel like asking for more is selfish.
I am an ever changing canvas. A constant work of art. Living moment by moment, just like everyone else.
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