Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I do like others. I like Christmas, but I have five kids and Christmas is a lot of work. Thanksgiving is different.

I put out a couple fall things, gather family - who are my favorite people to hang out with - I'm really blessed that way. And I cook a turkey. Is there anything easier to cook than turkey? Really? You wash it off, stick some onions and celery in it, put it in a roaster and... that's it. When the meat thermometer says it's done - it's done.

Everyone else brings the sides, dessert etc, etc. I'm just making turkey, potatoes, gravy and a couple baked dishes. What could be easier?

Then I get credit for going through a bunch of work I didn't do.
Honestly, washing the dishes is more work than cooking the meal.

Aside from the ease of it and being with family, I love spending a holiday being grateful for stuff. It puts life into perspective and gives a moment of calm before the storm (Christmas).

Here is a short list of things I'm grateful for. (Oh boy! Lists!)  

1. A loving Father in Heaven who helps me every day.
  
2. A husband I adore.
   
3. Five of the best children ever.
   
4. Parents and Grandparents who keep me grounded and help me know who I am.
   
5. Siblings - I have nine. There's always someone to talk to.
   
6. Friends who don't judge.
   
7. Nieghbors - I live in a really great neighborhood. Maybe I'll write a post on that someday.
   
8. Pets - Bunnies and fish. It's wonderful to me how much joy a pet can bring into each day.


9. Our beautiful world. I love nature. I love the outdoors. I love feeling the wind and digging in soil and watching things grow. I can't get enough of it.
10.  Creature comforts. The argument can be made that I live in the lap of luxury. I have a roof over my head, clothes to wear and food to eat. There are many, many people who cannot say that.

What is on your thankful list?

Happy Thanksgiving every one!

Aaaah! The Exterminator Is Coming!

I've mentioned the exterminator comes to our house. The funny thing is, he's been coming while the kids were at school, so even though I told them he comes into every room of the house, the full impact of this had not hit them until one day when they were out of school.

Suddenly my kids were in a cleaning frenzy. Floors were appearing in their bedrooms. Surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day since we moved here seventeen years ago were suddenly  gleaming.

Clothes were put in drawers and hung in closets. It was like the apocalypse was at hand.
I decided having an exterminator was well worth the money - what else would get teenagers to clean their rooms?

Anyway, I got up this morning feeling ambitious. I sometimes have these wonderful little ah-ha moments when I first wake up. Solutions to problems will come to mind and I'll suddenly see an easy way to solve something that had been plaguing me.

So this morning I wake up realizing how to create more room in my closet.

I pull everything out, stuff is strewn here and there, but I'm feeling good about the whole thing, I know everything's going to be better when I'm done. I'm up to my armpits in my project when I hear a strange noise.

It's a vacuum.

And I'm not the one running it.

The enormity hits me. Someone is vacuuming their room! And no one used any kind of extortion to get them to do it!

It's happening voluntarily!!!!! Just as I was about to expire from the shock and just when I thought my poor little overworked heart could take no more, another kid approaches me wondering where the vacuum is.

Then it occurs me. The exterminator is coming. Today.

This odd phenomenon occurs when he's coming for some inexplicable reason.

I laugh to my self. Then turn to my task. I stop what I'm doing and for one heart stopping moment I look around at the chaos I've created. The contents of my closet have regurgitated themselves all over my room.  There's not a clear bit of carpet to be seen.

Oh dear.

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.

Middle Age - The Best Years of My Life?

They lied to me.

They told me the only thing worth being is young, thin and attractive. They told me if I wasn't any of those things then my life would stink and wasn't worth living.

But what could I do? The years passed. Even though youth feels like it will last forever, it doesn't. I aged (gasp). I had kids (double gasp), I changed sizes (NO!).

So, I've kind of noticed something. My life doesn't stink. Not a bit, as a matter of a fact, it's better. You heard me. Better.

Maybe we're cute when we're younger because we're obnoxious and our cuteness keeps us from getting strangled.

Maybe youth is worshiped out of self preservation.

Whatever the reason, the media is lying to us when it portrays youth as the happy time. I don't know about you all, but for me, youth was the stupid time. I was so angsty and shallow I'm glad to be out of it. I seriously thought I knew it all. I was the expert on everything. I now know I never knew anything and I'm okay with that. Instead of being full of what I know, I am full of what I want to find out. It's liberating and exciting. Yep, I'm embracing my stupidity.

You know what else is liberating? Being old enough to laugh at the media for idolizing youth. To roll my eyes and smile because I know the media has nothing to do with real life. Society says this, Society says that, but Reality and Society don't know each other.

I am not obligated to be anything the media says I should be. It takes middle age for most of us to finally realize the full impact of this.


And let's not forget I've reached the age where what other people think of me is their problem, not mine. If I look old, frumpy and talk like an idiot what's that to me? I've gotten comfortable in my skin. It doesn't matter. I am who I am and I'm okay with who I am. (Toot, toot! I need a pipe to whistle into.)

I proclaim my liberty! I declare my independence from looking a certain way, dressing a certain way and acting a certain way, according to the dictates of whatever is considered the way to do things right now! I will do my own thing, dress my own way, and look like me!

I know, you're shocked. How dare anyone look like them? What kind of audacity does that take? I do not apologize for my behavior. And if middle age is this liberating what will old age be like? I'll be finding out in another 20 years. For today, I'm going to go wear my old lady track suit, eat chocolates, and read a novel. Tell me, could I have done that when I was young? No. Only does middle age afford such luxuries and they feel like luxuries because I still have so much work to do, it's just that I can have a break here and there. I love that. I'm not bored, but I can have breaks, isn't that the greatest? I could go on, but I don't feel like it, so I won't. See? That's what I'm talking about.

Middle age is the best.

Mom's Rules

I saw a meme that went like this:

Mom's Rules:
If I cook it, you eat it.
If I buy it, you wear it.
If I wash it, you put it away.
If I clean, you keep it clean.
If I say bedtime, you say goodnight.
If I say get off the phone, you hang up.
If I say no, you don't ask why.
Because I'm the mom!

Hmmm... kind of works for small kids. But what about when half your kids are adults and the other half are nearly there? Mom's in this situation need rules just for them. So here goes:

Mom's Rules:
If you're hungry, cook something.
If you want clothes, buy them.
If you want clean clothes, wash them.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If I say it's bedtime, I'm going to bed; you're on your own. 
If you need an appointment, pick up the phone and make one.
If I say no, don't be surprised.
It's because I'm exhausted and you're too old to be asking! 


That looks more like it.

Everyone's Day Should Be So Good

They say the key to success is to have realistic goals that can be met. I have lots of ambitions for today. Here are my goals:

1. Stay in bed so long I have a headache.

2. Stay in my pajamas long enough to embarrass myself, my kids or my husband. (Well, I've got to embarrass somebody!)

3. Eat something for breakfast that I'll regret the rest of the day.



4. Work on my book until I stop because everything I write stinks.

5. Forget to eat lunch.

6. Get super finicky and picky about the house in a controlling, unhealthy way.

7. Whine and complain every time the kids ask me to drive them somewhere.

8. Avoid cooking dinner. Fob it off on someone else.

9. Procrastinate the laundry another day. (Hey, I'm inspiring resourcefulness and creativity with this one! Figure out what to wear when all that is left is a green floral top and purple plaid shorts. Maybe a couple accessories can make that work?)

 10. Write a pointless and ridiculous blog post.

11.  Stay up too late reading a book so that I'm guaranteed to feel like death the next morning.

You know, if I can't get it all done today, there's always tomorrow!

I Know Nothing

This has been the learning pattern of my life:

Years 0-5: confidence and discovery

Years 6-14: uncertainty

Years 14-19: I'm smarter than my parents.

Years 20-29: I know everything.

Years 30-39: I was an idiot when I was in my twenties, NOW I know everything.

Years 40-49: I know nothing.

So the big question is: Do I ever get to be smart again?  Or is being stupid obligatory ever more after a person has teenagers?

I have to admit there is something illuminating, humbling and not just a little demoralizing about watching my cherished, fawned over babies become independent teenagers who are more than willing to shed childhood to become separate beings from their parents. Who gave them the idea they have minds of their own anyway? Rats. That would be me. What was I thinking????? I'm going to unleash these kids onto the world? Thinking for themselves??!!?? AAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Guess it's a good thing they already know it all.)

What is this anyway? Didn't I already live through the teen years? Why do my kids have to do it too? Isn't there some kind of way to zap them over them? Can we skip those years and go straight to grand-babies?  I mean seriously, there's a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow right?