There are probably a thousand moments every day when I look across at him and say to myself I can't do this anymore. I can't say goodbye. I can't let him go. I can't handle the sleepless nights and the anxiety of not knowing... I can't handle the ache in my soul when his side of the bed is empty. I can't handle life without him. The truth is, there is no "life" without him. He is my life. To all my feminist friends that statement probably just sent them into a panic attack. But I say to you, there are those loves that come... Those once in a lifetime, soul wrenching, life encompassing loves, that are so rare, so unique, and so magical that they really do become your life. There is no reality of separating myself from him. There is no line where I can say "this is him and this is me." It doesn't exist. The supernatural beauty of God's powerful grace superimposed the two of us together and we are, together, one life.
I believe in finding one thing in your freaking universe and doing it so well that no one can stand to look at it. I believe in fighting, kicking, and screaming to be so good at it that no one can look at you and say "wow... not doing so well there..." I believe that this man, this "life" is my one astronomical thing. It's my one thing that no human being can say "Wow, she really botched that one." It's my one thing that I will go to my grave knowing I gave it all, I fought the fight, I surrendered my demons, and I loved.
He is completely imperfect. I am a basket case of insanity. And in the muck and the craziness of a thousand people who look at us as individuals and think to themselves wow... you're NOT awesome, the two of us joined forces and became amazing. My panic, my terror, my lifetime of nightmares and trauma, came down to the embrace of one man who was strong enough to be the man I needed. He snuck into my sleep and he fought off those demons that haunted me. He showed me what love, beauty, and self respect were. He stood up for me because he knows I'm too weak to defend myself. He protects me from so many people who take advantage of my kindness.
He and I are not very good at too many things. We're not good at being friends, or "sociable" people. We're not good at keeping in touch, or going out of our way for others. We're not good at superficiality, or ass kissing, or pomp and circumstance. We aren't good at playing along with party lines and saying what people want us to say, or being charming. But we know. how. to. love. each. other. We know how to do it in a way that no one else does. I know that when the kids are driving him crazy and he's so angry, sometimes the one sentence he needs to hear is "You're a good daddy, babe." He knows that when my feelings are all over the map I need to talk about it, be irrational, cry hysterically, and then I'll go back to normal. We both know how to make each other laugh, and we do it all the time. I know that he feels loved when I take care of him, defend him, fight for him. He knows the same about me.
And there are a thousand moments in every day when I think to myself I just don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to share him. I don't want them to get to take him away... Because when they take him away, they take me away, and send me off to a place that I don't understand and that I don't enjoy. The world gets dark, and everything feels bizarre.
There are a thousand other moments where I say to myself I'm in this for the long haul. I know what I have and I'm not going anywhere...
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Knight in Shining Armor
I was recently asked what Chief brought to my life and I honestly somewhat struggled to answer that. In my head I was thinking what hasn't he brought to my life? and so I sort of fumbled out an answer about how he takes care of me. I didn't do Chief justice in my response. However, in the past 24 hours, a beautiful example has come to light and I want to document it for our kids, so I'm posting it here.
Last night, after being asleep for approximately 10 minutes (give or take) I woke up with a jolt. It was the kind of wake up where you're in so much pain you're gasping for breath and seeing stars. My back was. killing. me. I could barely move. I could barely breathe. I was panting (hyperventilating) and crying hysterically. It was agonizing.
What did Chief do? Did he give me a lecture about toughing up, and how much he needed sleep because he had to get up early? No. Did he get mad at me for waking him up with my hysterically sobbing and my agonizing plea of "help me" over and over again? No. He set to work. He dove into the mire and muck if his hysterical wife and he rode it out with me.
He got an ice pack. That made the pain worse. He rubbed it (so much so that his arms went numb from rubbing, but yet he kept on). He held my body in his lap and rocked me back and forth and side to side, for so many hours gently telling me "Try to fall asleep". He got bouncy balls so I could try rocking on there. We tried showers (worked the best, however, hot water eventually runs out...), everything. He begged me to go to the ER. He pleaded with me to take some Vicodin. I rejected both of those notions. I thought maybe this was part of the healing process and I was going to "tough it out." He accepted that, and continued on with me anyway. He prayed for me. He claimed Christ's healing on me. He did everything a knight in shining armor would do.
At 9am, I finally relented. I was in a sobbing mess of tears and I said to him "I need to go to the ER." He dressed me (literally. Couldn't move), essentially carried me to the car, called a sitter to watch the kids, and took me there. His 100% focus was on making sure I was okay. In the ER, he climbed in the bed to rock me back and forth because the pain was agonizing. He watched my blood pressure and pulse (which were both sky high from the pain). He helped me to the bathroom, change into the hospital gown, try to sleep, to drink water. He did it all. He went all day with not a single meal. No drop of food, because he wouldn't leave my "side until I know you're okay."
He made every aspect of this horrible experience better, because of who he is. He loved me beyond himself, his needs, his exhaustion, his hunger. He loved me more than anything else in the world. He loved me beautifully, perfectly, heavenly.
So when people ask me what Chief brings to my life, I really don't know how to answer simply. He brings everything to my life. He fights for me. He fights to make me better. He defends me. He honors me. He cherishes me. He loves me like every single freaking man should love their wives. It brings me to tears, really. Who am I that such a man as this would love me this way?
Thank you Chief for taking this huge ball of mess and making certain she didn't feel alone in this ordeal. You are everything to me, and so much more.
Last night, after being asleep for approximately 10 minutes (give or take) I woke up with a jolt. It was the kind of wake up where you're in so much pain you're gasping for breath and seeing stars. My back was. killing. me. I could barely move. I could barely breathe. I was panting (hyperventilating) and crying hysterically. It was agonizing.
What did Chief do? Did he give me a lecture about toughing up, and how much he needed sleep because he had to get up early? No. Did he get mad at me for waking him up with my hysterically sobbing and my agonizing plea of "help me" over and over again? No. He set to work. He dove into the mire and muck if his hysterical wife and he rode it out with me.
He got an ice pack. That made the pain worse. He rubbed it (so much so that his arms went numb from rubbing, but yet he kept on). He held my body in his lap and rocked me back and forth and side to side, for so many hours gently telling me "Try to fall asleep". He got bouncy balls so I could try rocking on there. We tried showers (worked the best, however, hot water eventually runs out...), everything. He begged me to go to the ER. He pleaded with me to take some Vicodin. I rejected both of those notions. I thought maybe this was part of the healing process and I was going to "tough it out." He accepted that, and continued on with me anyway. He prayed for me. He claimed Christ's healing on me. He did everything a knight in shining armor would do.
At 9am, I finally relented. I was in a sobbing mess of tears and I said to him "I need to go to the ER." He dressed me (literally. Couldn't move), essentially carried me to the car, called a sitter to watch the kids, and took me there. His 100% focus was on making sure I was okay. In the ER, he climbed in the bed to rock me back and forth because the pain was agonizing. He watched my blood pressure and pulse (which were both sky high from the pain). He helped me to the bathroom, change into the hospital gown, try to sleep, to drink water. He did it all. He went all day with not a single meal. No drop of food, because he wouldn't leave my "side until I know you're okay."
He made every aspect of this horrible experience better, because of who he is. He loved me beyond himself, his needs, his exhaustion, his hunger. He loved me more than anything else in the world. He loved me beautifully, perfectly, heavenly.
So when people ask me what Chief brings to my life, I really don't know how to answer simply. He brings everything to my life. He fights for me. He fights to make me better. He defends me. He honors me. He cherishes me. He loves me like every single freaking man should love their wives. It brings me to tears, really. Who am I that such a man as this would love me this way?
Thank you Chief for taking this huge ball of mess and making certain she didn't feel alone in this ordeal. You are everything to me, and so much more.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Bill Cosby Was Right
"Don't think you're going to get away easy [being a parent]. If God had trouble, what makes you think that you're going to just walk through this unscathed!?" -Bill Cosby, comedian extraordinaire on the joys of parenthood
I grew up in a house of eight million children, all girls. I grew up with the fighting and bickering and back talking which is oh so common in American families. I have read every book on parenting I could get my hands on. I have done Self Confrontation, the Power of a Praying Parent, calling on Jesus, praying over the children, memorizing verses (for them, and for me), instructing, challenging, training, equipping, and preparing. I thought I had adequately prepared myself for this parenting thing. I believed I had efficiently prepped these children for the next stages and I imagined a scenario where we would communicate (like on 7Th Heaven!) when doors are slammed in faces, and we would lovingly walk through arguments together, and we would have everything neatly wrapped up in a half hour segment and could go back to our perfect life. I was, after all, going to be that perfect parent, and I would love every minute of mothering.
Nothing on God's beautiful marble earth, could have ever prepared me for this stage. I think I'm beginning to understand why my mother always seemed so angry and unhappy. It's because of children. I think I'm beginning to see why parents argue all the time and seem so incredibly intense: children. I'm beginning to see why boarding schools were invented: parents wanting AWAY from their children.
It's crazy to me, because the CONSTANT bickering, arguing, crying, fighting, slamming, shouting, screaming, whining, just don't fit into that thirty minute segment I imagined! The idea of these stupid june cleaver families (or 7th Heaven) are so ridiculous I can't even see straight. Look! The reality is, that some times parents literally have internal arguments with themselves about intentionally ditching their children at grocery stores. Some times parents seriously think in their minds: if I sell a kidney on the black market, I could afford a year of boarding school. Boarding school? Kidney? Tough choice. Some times parents yell at their spouses because they are so intensely aggravated with the e i g h t e e n hours of never ending arguments and attempting at remaining calm (because let's face it, the modern parent is constantly thinking about "scarring" their child, or how much therapy will cost when the kid is older), that by the time that spouse of yours walks in the door, you're wound up tighter than a baby's fist on your hair, and you're going to snap at someone so the spouse is the "strongest" choice... Sometimes parents create nap times for 13 year old children because if they don't they're going to have a nervous break down. And some times parents become genuinely convinced that their children are making every humanly possible attempt at putting them in an early grave (life insurance nowadays is a pretty pay out...).
"Children are brain damaged." -Bill Cosby
They really are. I don't care how educationally advanced your child is, they are brain damaged. You can tell them the simplest of instructions and they become spontaneously deaf. So you tell them again. They ignore you. You ask why. "I don't know." So you bury your head in your hands and stretch your skin on your face out because it's better to stretch your face than to scream like a lunatic (this is the cause of wrinkles. I believe it's also why rich people/celebrities have so few wrinkles. It's not really because of any particular cream on the market. It's because they pay for people to deal with their children...).
Having kids sucks sometimes. And the idea that it's unChristianly to admit that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Even God sat up in heaven and lamented about His "children" (the Israelites) and how stupid they were behaving. Even God said to His prophets (in my own paraphrasing words): Look, these people are damaged. I'm going to get rid of them all and start over again. So if God had moments where He felt like that, why do so many Christians think it's absolutely ridiculous to have their own feelings of the same nature?! Do Christians really believe they are to be better than God?
Parenting is hard. It's awful, really, for periods that feel like they last forever. But then those periods go away and it gets fun again. That's just how it goes. It is really tough to try to convince yourself that everything is perfect and wonderful and a blast, when you're dealing with arguing, fighting, kids. Some times you're going to be that mom in the grocery store that everyone is thinking thank God that's not me! and sometimes you're going to be that customer experiencing that mom's tough day on behalf of the delightful children. My point is, don't judge the one who's having a tough day. Don't sit there and think in your head that she's doing everything wrong and you've got it all figured out. Don't you dare believe that you know what's best for her and her family and her children, because you don't. Don't tell her that she's being a bad Christian because she vents on you for hating being a mom that day. You are only a moment away from being in that place (and you WILL be in that place at some point), and you wouldn't want someone doing that for you. Instead, pray with her, pray for her, pray with and for her kids. Listen. Laugh. Remind her that this day will pass, and tomorrow will be better. Remind her that these tough periods come, and then they go... Remind her that she's an amazing mom.
But most of all, hand her a copy of Bill Cosby Himself and tell her to enjoy and hour and a half with a comedian who understands.
I grew up in a house of eight million children, all girls. I grew up with the fighting and bickering and back talking which is oh so common in American families. I have read every book on parenting I could get my hands on. I have done Self Confrontation, the Power of a Praying Parent, calling on Jesus, praying over the children, memorizing verses (for them, and for me), instructing, challenging, training, equipping, and preparing. I thought I had adequately prepared myself for this parenting thing. I believed I had efficiently prepped these children for the next stages and I imagined a scenario where we would communicate (like on 7Th Heaven!) when doors are slammed in faces, and we would lovingly walk through arguments together, and we would have everything neatly wrapped up in a half hour segment and could go back to our perfect life. I was, after all, going to be that perfect parent, and I would love every minute of mothering.
Nothing on God's beautiful marble earth, could have ever prepared me for this stage. I think I'm beginning to understand why my mother always seemed so angry and unhappy. It's because of children. I think I'm beginning to see why parents argue all the time and seem so incredibly intense: children. I'm beginning to see why boarding schools were invented: parents wanting AWAY from their children.
It's crazy to me, because the CONSTANT bickering, arguing, crying, fighting, slamming, shouting, screaming, whining, just don't fit into that thirty minute segment I imagined! The idea of these stupid june cleaver families (or 7th Heaven) are so ridiculous I can't even see straight. Look! The reality is, that some times parents literally have internal arguments with themselves about intentionally ditching their children at grocery stores. Some times parents seriously think in their minds: if I sell a kidney on the black market, I could afford a year of boarding school. Boarding school? Kidney? Tough choice. Some times parents yell at their spouses because they are so intensely aggravated with the e i g h t e e n hours of never ending arguments and attempting at remaining calm (because let's face it, the modern parent is constantly thinking about "scarring" their child, or how much therapy will cost when the kid is older), that by the time that spouse of yours walks in the door, you're wound up tighter than a baby's fist on your hair, and you're going to snap at someone so the spouse is the "strongest" choice... Sometimes parents create nap times for 13 year old children because if they don't they're going to have a nervous break down. And some times parents become genuinely convinced that their children are making every humanly possible attempt at putting them in an early grave (life insurance nowadays is a pretty pay out...).
"Children are brain damaged." -Bill Cosby
They really are. I don't care how educationally advanced your child is, they are brain damaged. You can tell them the simplest of instructions and they become spontaneously deaf. So you tell them again. They ignore you. You ask why. "I don't know." So you bury your head in your hands and stretch your skin on your face out because it's better to stretch your face than to scream like a lunatic (this is the cause of wrinkles. I believe it's also why rich people/celebrities have so few wrinkles. It's not really because of any particular cream on the market. It's because they pay for people to deal with their children...).
Having kids sucks sometimes. And the idea that it's unChristianly to admit that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Even God sat up in heaven and lamented about His "children" (the Israelites) and how stupid they were behaving. Even God said to His prophets (in my own paraphrasing words): Look, these people are damaged. I'm going to get rid of them all and start over again. So if God had moments where He felt like that, why do so many Christians think it's absolutely ridiculous to have their own feelings of the same nature?! Do Christians really believe they are to be better than God?
Parenting is hard. It's awful, really, for periods that feel like they last forever. But then those periods go away and it gets fun again. That's just how it goes. It is really tough to try to convince yourself that everything is perfect and wonderful and a blast, when you're dealing with arguing, fighting, kids. Some times you're going to be that mom in the grocery store that everyone is thinking thank God that's not me! and sometimes you're going to be that customer experiencing that mom's tough day on behalf of the delightful children. My point is, don't judge the one who's having a tough day. Don't sit there and think in your head that she's doing everything wrong and you've got it all figured out. Don't you dare believe that you know what's best for her and her family and her children, because you don't. Don't tell her that she's being a bad Christian because she vents on you for hating being a mom that day. You are only a moment away from being in that place (and you WILL be in that place at some point), and you wouldn't want someone doing that for you. Instead, pray with her, pray for her, pray with and for her kids. Listen. Laugh. Remind her that this day will pass, and tomorrow will be better. Remind her that these tough periods come, and then they go... Remind her that she's an amazing mom.
But most of all, hand her a copy of Bill Cosby Himself and tell her to enjoy and hour and a half with a comedian who understands.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Broken rules
My home has a lot of rules. I am a strict mother, and Chief is even more strict than me. But some days the rules need to be broken. Some days you need to let loose and be silly and crazy and completely different.
Today was one of those days. After dinner, we had a family water balloon/water gun/hose fight outside. We all were covered in dirt and grass and mess. We were soaking wet and laughing hysterically. We all came in and showered off and got clean. Then we made a big batch of popcorn and sat down to watch a movie. The children got to stay up two hours after their bedtime. They were shocked by that. They kept pointing out the time and we kept saying that it was okay.
Breaking rules can be amazing. Today was an adventure. And it was amazing.
Today was one of those days. After dinner, we had a family water balloon/water gun/hose fight outside. We all were covered in dirt and grass and mess. We were soaking wet and laughing hysterically. We all came in and showered off and got clean. Then we made a big batch of popcorn and sat down to watch a movie. The children got to stay up two hours after their bedtime. They were shocked by that. They kept pointing out the time and we kept saying that it was okay.
Breaking rules can be amazing. Today was an adventure. And it was amazing.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Green Zone
I am incredibly secretive. I've had to come to terms with that. I do not bare my soul to very many people. In fact, I think there are maybe 3-4 people that I trust enough to do that with. I can't really say what has made them so unique to be considered in the green zone of that very well protected safe house. It's not like each of them have battled through things with me in any unique way.
I have written before that I believe in soul mates. Maybe they are mine. Nevermind. Not "maybe". They are. They are my soul mates. They are the other halves of my heart and when I met them it was something that couldn't be denied. They just got me. And I got them.
It's supernatural really. It has to be. Even though one of those mates of mine doesn't believe in God. Does it make me somewhat sad? Yes. Does it make them matter any less to me? No. Would I still give every aspect of myself that is humanly possible for them, if they needed it? Yes.
Love is a crazy sort of mess. It's the greatest and most amazing experience on earth, but it's sloppy and insane and completely chaotic. It doesn't make any sort of logical sense. It fights, silent-treatments, curses, and adores, forgives, accepts, defends, forgets, "saps" out, laughs... Love is loyal.
Marriage is the greatest display of love. It was the ultimate sacrifice of myself that I could give. To Chief, I gave my heart and my days. To our children, I gave my life.
To my friends, I give my mind. To those handful of people in my green zone, I give this completely intense and illogical love that is beyond possible for me to describe. I have done everything I could to understand it, but I can't. I have tried to define it, but I'm left feeling like a deflated balloon. Dissatisfied, unfulfilled, after a million words expressed.
Why these people care about me, I will never understand. What they see in me is impossible for me to know. It's so different from Chief. Chief loves me in that sappy, gooey, I-have-to-marry-you sort of way. But with them, that's different.
My fear is that they feel sorry for me. My fear is that they've somehow become attuned to how utterly helpless I am, and they have compassion for an individual who can seem so put together, but really be so completely lost. My fear is that they will feel me unworthy of their companionship. My insecurity is that one day they'll reject me. Or mistrust me. Or see me as an inconvenience.
Love shoved me into the 10 foot deep holes that they were in. Love sat me down in the mud and muck of their agony. Love shot fireworks into the sky when they succeeded or achieved a goal. Love brought happy tears to my eyes when they fell in love. Love made me argue when they were being stupid. Love made me angry when they were self degrading. Love brought up fists when people attacked them. Love pointed out when they needed to think differently. Love accepted when they didn't change. Love sat in the darkness with them until they found the light, or the door, or the tinniest glimmer of light. Love begged them to stop being self destructive. Love cared enough to try to make them happy. Love kept praying, even when they lost hope. Love never stopped believing, enduring, defending, supporting, and caring.
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