Stories

I like to tell stories. Stories about my life, stories about my parents, stories about grandparents, about my children ... pretty much anything that happened ever.

I didn't realize this trait had carried over into my children until we were expecting the exterminator to come and they were telling exterminator stories.

Exterminator stories. Really? All he does is come in and silently traipse through the house with his little backpack and spray wand. Then I hand him a check and he leaves.

There's no interaction. My children don't say a word to him, and yet he's left enough of an impression on their lives to warrant stories.

It makes me wonder what kind of lasting impression we make on others, no matter how fleeting, when we think we are living in isolation and touching no one.

It makes me wonder if the claim 'it's my life and I can do what I want' is really true. Is it my life?

Only my life? I effect no one else? Isn't that a little narcissistic?

Aren't the things we do like little ripples of water touching the ripples of other's lives and creating new patterns?

When Life Gets Rough, Do Chores

There is a point to mundane tasks.

My children act like anything, including dying an excruciatingly horrific death is preferable to everyday boring tasks.

But when life gets really rotten, there's nothing like a stupid chore I've done a million times to keep me going. There is comfort in doing these things.

I know in fiction it's popular to illustrate the trauma people are going through by having them vomit or go into shock or a catatonic state or some metaphoric flight of fancy in an effort to show the depth of their pain.

I'm not saying those are not legitimate reactions to traumatic events, but I am saying I'm feeling under-represented. What about those of us who keep going no matter what because we don't know how to not go on?

What about the Samwise Gamgees in life that move forward one step at a time by doing simple everyday tasks? In doing the small, the insurmountable becomes possible.

We're fully aware that these little jobs won't save the world. We know they aren't going to fix anything, but they are baby steps toward action, toward doing something that will make a difference.

They are positive action rather than negative no matter how small they are.

In the midst of crisis and trauma and pain we must continue to move forward however small that movement might be. The mountain of hurt must be climbed and gotten over but the beginning steps are small and almost insignificant.

We are not able to laugh yet. We are in deeper depths of sorrow than we are able to express, but we move forward doing tiny things because that's all we can manage, but we do something.

We do what is neccesary. We are the Elinor Dashwoods. We are the Melanie Hamiltons. We are the Matthew Cuthberts.

Staring at walls and withdrawing within ourselves and ignoring a world that keeps turning is not our option. It's not what we're made of.

We are just as real and just as hurt as those who can't find it in themselves to go on. But whether it is a blessing or a curse, go on we must.

Phillip or Phillipina?

My son and his friends found an abandoned duckling down a sewer drain.

What is it about kids who think mom can fix everything including motherless ducklings?

So it's eight o'clock at night, I've already called animal control and gotten the after hours dispatcher, the police station called to let me know the best chance for the little thing was to keep him at least overnight.

We looked online to see how to take care of him and learned returning it to a water front meant almost certain death. We put him in a bucket with some hay underfoot and a water crock with clean rocks in the bottom so he wouldn't drown and made a cornmeal mush for food and set up a heat lamp that was purchased years ago for a science project.

And then I prayed. A lot.  A long sleepless night ensued.

Next day was full of doctor appointments. Because going to doctors all the time is the unpleasant reality of our lives. In between, I've got to figure out what to do with this little duck.

He's not looking so good. He's so lonely I don't know if he's going to make it.  He keeps languishing and wants someone's hand by him constantly.

I set my son the task of calling all over to see if there was an organization somewhere who takes in baby ducks while I'm dealing with doctors.

Animal Control did not, everywhere he called did not. Is this little creature going to die on my watch?

My children are so sure we'll find a solution. I love that about them.

We own bunnies. When they have problems we take them to an exotic vet. As I look at this little fluffy one who is cuddling up to my son's hand it occurs to me to call our vet.

They take ducks. They have a duck rehabilitater! Suddenly I love my vet! They are the most wonderful people on the planet. I can't believe they haven't achieved sainthood.

We pack him up and my son comforts him on the ride there. If he moves his hand away the little guy peeps at him to come back.

We get to the vet and they welcome him. They tell us it's a good thing he is there because they have another little duck who needs a friend. I love the vet even more. They have a friend for our little guy.

They share an incubator cuddled together.

With this ordeal behind us my kids finally decide he needs a name. We won't have him anymore, but I realize by naming him, they know he will live. We can all feel that. So they name him Phillip. After a moment's thought I say, 'Or Phillipina.'

What Kind of Mom are You?

Mother's day is often a day of guilt for moms. It ought not to be that way.

I saw a video online wherein a woman was explaining there are all different kinds of moms and whatever kind of mom you are, it is just right for your kids, that God gave you the skills that are unique for your kids. I kind of smirked and rolled my eyes, but then, I thought, maybe there's something in this.

I asked myself, what kind of mom am I? And I answered, I'm 'suck it up and do it anyway' mom. It's true and I don't apologize for it. It's what my kids need. I'm also 'silly' mom, and they need that too.
I could go on and on about all the stuff I've done wrong. I could tell you all about the horrific mistakes I've made and what makes me believe my children will need therapy the rest of their lives, but I choose not to focus on that this Mother's Day.

As I've mentioned before, I started writing books and blogging because I get sick a lot and get bored and need something to occupy my down time. Unfortunately, before I fully understood the nature of my health and all it's implications, I had produced five children. Yep. Five.

Long story short, each of my kids also has multiple health problems. I have a running health history for each one and each year something else gets added to the list. Who knows what condition they'll be in by the time they reach 50? Budgeting energy as a precious resource is a common topic of discussion in this house.

Yes, in some ways I wonder why God gave me five children before I knew what my genes would do to them. But then, he also equipped me with some unique skills.

The biggest life skills I have to offer them are twofold. The first is to have faith. Believe that life is beautiful and live life fully, regardless of circumstances.

Showing them chronic illness isn't the end of the world is a big goal of mine. Multiple chronic illnesses are not the end of the world. There's plenty to do and experience regardless of our limitations, and a way around those limitations, and divine help to make us better than we are.
Perhaps I should feel sorry for them, but I do not. There is no room for pity when my child may be dying and needs life saving surgery - even if that surgery is going to have an unpleasant recovery.
There is no room for pity when my child is turning blue and can't breathe. There is no room for pity when we are rushing for the ER. There is no room for pity when my child sees life so bleakly they don't know if they have the courage to move forward.

My children do not need my pity. I would be doing them a great disservice to offer it to them. They need faith, they need hope, they need action and care. And then, when the crisis is over, they need a sense of humor.

That's the second life gift I have to offer. The gift of silliness is a great one. Something that can make a smile appear and laugh burble up from the soul -- how important that is!

Believing that if their life ends, they will still be loved and cared for on the other side is important.
But it also takes great courage to live, to go on facing a life of pain, discomfort and continuous doctors and procedures and surgeries. It takes courage and a sense of humor to really live, despite that.

The good Lord gave me illness, but he also gave me the skills to cope. I am all the better and the stronger for it. And someday, my children will see themselves that way too. This is my hope.

Fortune Cookie # 11

The success of others is irrelevant to me, not because I don't care about them, but because my own success can only be measured against where I've been and where I'm going. How well others do things is not part of that equation.

Fortune Cookie #10

The results of rudeness on the road: the car who endangered 4 other drivers got to the stoplight 3 seconds before them. And the rude car got to their appointment 27 seconds sooner than they otherwise would have.

Was that rudeness worth those 27 seconds? Was the cost of getting there faster worth the sacrifice of the safety of the other drivers?

Behind the drivers wheel is not the place for impatience. There comes a time when it's best to simply accept that you are late.

Fortune Cookie #7

Teenage drama boils down to: 'I want' or 'I don't  want' (fill in the  blank  ). The ways  in  which  this  manifests itself  is  as varied as human beings  are themselves.

Adults are the same, but their tantrums look different.

Fortune Cookie #6

The smaller the car the bigger the driving ego behind the wheel.

Fortune Cookie #5

It's been my experience poor people are more naturally courteous than wealthy ones. Why is that?

Ahhh... Those Enchanting Summer Mornings... Almost...

There's something about waking up on a summer morning to the sound of the birds singing outside my window and I hear the faintest swoosh of wind that promises a green, lush day and I feel a smile spreading across my face before I open my eyes in a state of sleepy utopia.

This morning I was startled awake to the bong of a bird that flew into my window because it thought the reflection of the sky it saw in the glass was real.

Well, you know me; I can't let an interesting analogy like that go untouched. I was reflecting on it this morning and started to wonder if this will be a singing bird day or a bird bonging day. Unfortunately, I foresee a potential train wreck in my near future regardless of my efforts to avert it and despite this keep humming and singing songs in my head - am I trying to induce some sort of delusional attitude here or am I simply being optimistic? 

And what's wrong with being optimistic anyway? If I'm hopeful about my life one of two things will happen. 1. My expectations will be fulfilled and my hope was for good cause. OR 2. My expectations will not be filled, but I felt positive and hopeful before they went downhill and I prevented a lot of needless worrying and grief - up until the last minute anyway. Either way I see it hope is a win-win situation.

Besides, I've noticed from personal observation there are more birds singing in the mornings than there are birds determined to maim themselves on my windows.