Saying Goodbye

It's one of those things, working at a grief center, one would think you might get used to, or at least be prepared for, the death of a dear friend, especially when you met that friend through the grief center.  One might think it might be easier, or less surprising.

One might think it's not so much of a shock when that person is 93.

Here's the thing--it's not.  None of it is easier or less of a shock.  It's not something we're prepared for, or something we get used to.  It still hits us like a ton of bricks.  We just saw him less than two weeks ago, driving himself around, making his holiday rounds, visiting, laughing, chatting.  He just renewed his driver's license, and joked about not having to renew it again until he would be 98.  Many of us thought for certain he would be there in line, paperwork in hand.  His death was unexpected, and it has hit us hard.

Today, we celebrated the life of our dear friend, a dear member of our grief center family.  I don't think it could've hit me any harder if he were blood related.  Mr P was a gentleman I became very attached to over the past two years.  He's very dear to me, and very easily found a spot in my heart.

A true southern gentleman, we all referred to him by his surname, even when he insisted we call him by his first.  It was a matter of respect, and a title he was due.  I remember learning, when I met him, that he was 91, and wondering if someone had transposed the numbers.  Are we sure he's not 19?!?!?! I won't even call him an old man, because he wasn't.  Age was just a number to him, as well as an attitude.  He was spry, with a spring in his step, a smile always on his face, even after losing his wife, the love of his life, whom he adored.  He was one of those people who smiled with his eyes. Mr P still worked the family farm, shopped for himself, drove himself to his appointments, took care of his ailing wife right up until her last day, and kept up with his family.  He volunteered at our grief center, and visited with me every Thursday, always leaving at a certain time during hay season.  His son told me today that haying was off-limits on Thursday mornings, to make time for his visits to our center.

Mr P knew my family, always asking after them by name.  Introduced to Shawn and my boys only once, he remembered them each time after.  We talked about many things during our Thursday morning visits--his farm, his great grandson (one of 6) who was Avery's age, and also in preschool, how funny it would be to see Lilly at his farm with the cows (she had an open invitation to herd his cows); he shared stories about growing up and how different what we now know as a large city was as a small town then.  He told me about his wife, and his children.  And sometimes, we just simply sat, drinking our tea or coffee, and I would hold his hand.  Whether he realized it or not, he taught me about life, about marriage, about God, and about enjoying the moment.  It was an honor, a pleasure, and a privilege to serve him each week.

I was surprised today to find out these things meant as much to Mr P as they did to me.  I was surprised to be mentioned by name as someone from our little center who made a difference to him, surprised his family knew me by name, surprised his daughter remembered both myself and Shawn from the very few times we've met.  It is truly humbling.  In my job 'title,' I was there at the center for Mr P (and others like him), but so often, I know we were there for each other.  Friendship.

One of my favorite stories is from when he was suffering from acid reflux--he'd been through several doctors, a variety of medications, and the latest doctor was talking about some very scary things as the next steps.  Mr P came to visit that week and said, "Well Amy, you know what I did? I looked up remedies on the internet and I found one that works!"  He sure showed those doctors!

I know I am not the only one who is going to miss this beloved man.  Listening to his daughter speak today, he was loved by many, and he loved many.  He loved life, and he lived it to the fullest from his very youngest of days.

I'm going to miss his hugs.  I'm going to miss the way his eyes smiled, how they crinkled up when he smiled.  I will miss holding his hand, and kissing that papery cheek.  I will miss his kindness and his sincerity. I am sad, and my heart is filled with loss.  I'm going to miss my dear friend--but I will be honest in saying that I'm grateful we serve a loving Father, our God who has brought dear Mr P home, reunited him with his wife, and, having made them whole again, given them everlasting life.  I am grateful for the time I had with him, for what he taught me, and for his friendship.  I am grateful for Mr P, plain and simple.

Christmas Makes Me Cry

Well, it's actually the entire winter season, if I'm being honest.

It's no secret that the winter months are hard for me.  I know it's coming, I'm prepared for it--then WHAM!  Depression slams into me, and I'm left flat on my back on the floor, wondering if anyone got the license plate of the Mack truck that just hit me.  Even though I know it hits me every year, it still takes me by surprise.  I want to hibernate until mid-April.  I growl and snarl.  I yell and throw things.  I cry and whine.  I forget to laugh, and I forget to have fun. I know I'm not a pleasant person.  There's a phrase I just learned that fits it to a T: "When crazy meets exhaustion."  Yep.

It's not fun.

We were kind of hoping I would be flying a little higher this season thanks to pregnancy hormones (I sailed through my pregnancy with Avery), but that has not happened yet.  Shawn remarked a few weeks ago how happy I was when I was pregnant with Avery, that quite possibly it's the happiest he's ever seen me, and how wonderful it was.  Even though I know this is biological and beyond my control for the most part, I feel as though I'm disappointing him--as well as our children--because I'm not my happiest.  I'm not even a little happy right now.

I don't want to be this person.

Much of it is Christmas itself.  I'm overwhelmed, and not in a good way.  I'm struggling. I tell myself if I can just get through December, I'll be better.  Sometimes I even go so far as saying I hate Christmas, even though I know it's not the actual holiday I hate, it's the pressure from October (when it starts now) to January (when it finally ends). God forgive me, I even want to snarl "Bite me" when someone wishes me a Merry Christmas.  There's so much to be done, so much rushing, so much not stopping to enjoy the season.  Everything, including breathing, just becomes such a chore.  It's the over-commercialization of it, the greed, the intensity of the buy-buy-buy mentality, the need to rush through a day of thanksgiving with our families just so we can go out and buy MORE STUFF that very same night! I get cynical and disillusioned.  We are lucky we are able to provide for our children year round, and sometimes the idea of 'having' to buy them more for one particular day, well, it frustrates me.  Yes, I want to give my children gifts, but the societal pressure--oh my gosh.    The sight of--the need for--angel trees makes me cry.  As a mom, I cannot fathom having to rely on the kindness of strangers to provide for my children.  We chose two little girls from the tree at church--and you know what they asked for?  Winter coats.  It broke my heart.  Then I start thinking about everything Mary must've gone through--did she want to run and hide her child away, knowing the prophesy over him?  My heart breaks for her, mom to mom.  Knowing that little baby boy's future, what he would do to save the world, and everything his mother went through--I cry with gratitude, as well as sadness.  I have delayed decorating because I'm just not feeling it, and I know that's not fair to the boys.  Christmas music makes me either dissolve into tears, or want to throw something.  I won't even get into what those schmaltzy annoying Hallmark Christmas movies make me want to do--well, the commercials anyway (I wouldn't even make it five minutes into the actual movie).  Ugh.  We did finally do some decorating this weekend, but we did it to the 80's hard rock station on Pandora because the thought of Christmas music made me want to curl up in a ball and die.  Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train....

I try to keep the magic alive for my boys.  I try to remember to do fun things, but at times I just don't have the energy for it.  I want them to remember the joy of this season, the magic, and the reason.

Instead, I start feeling like--and acting like--a cross between Scrooge and Grumpy Cat, rather than the Tiny Tim and Mrs Claus combination my family deserves, and needs me to be.

Major Mommy Fail.

I promised myself I would not do this.  Perfection, and the ensuing stress, were the theme of the holidays in my house growing up.  Christmas was nice, but it was just plain stressful and not always enjoyable.  Much of the time, it was miserable, and like the other 364 days of the year, it was dysfunctional. While my parents strived to make it different, it ended up being just another day of the year, albeit with decorations and presents. Perfection always backfired, and there was plenty of blame thrown around.  I promised myself my children would have a different holiday experience.

I want to find my joy.  I want to teach my children to celebrate their joy.

All of this makes me feel as though I'm being incredibly ungrateful. Then I feel guilty.  We do have so much to be thankful for--and so many people to be thankful for.  Our lack of family at the holidays doesn't even bother me anymore (I've come a long way to be able to say that) because God has provided so many friends for our boys, so many people who speak into their lives, so many people who love them.  I am grateful that our boys are so covered, that we are able to provide for them, and I'm grateful that we have money leftover to help others during this season.  That's another thing that had me in tears (a pregnant woman bawling her eyes out in the toy section of Walmart is NOT a pretty sight)--I am feel overwhelmingly blessed and grateful for all that we are able to do.

Again, I know much of this is biological and beyond my control.  While I cannot control the misfiring neurotransmitters and poorly moderated brain chemicals, I know I can control how I react to all of this.  It's up to me to take control of that much, and do what I can to turn it around.  I know I put too much pressure on myself, and that in itself is overwhelming.  I know I need to step back, reevaluate what is truly the most important, and start from there.  I can tell myself that if XY and Z don't get done, it will not be the end of the world.  Isn't it more important for my children to have a fun, meaningful Christmas filled with Jesus, rather than the perfect Christmas with the perfect gifts?  The answer there is a resounding YES.

Big girl panties pulled up...  Here we go.  Once I'm finished hiding in the corner in the dark, of course.

Getting Out of Our Box, uh, Seats

As I've mentioned before, Shawn and I are a bit on the painfully introverted side.  We want to be able to interact as little as possible, do what we need to do and keep moving so we can hide in the dark corners of our home.   Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration....

As I've also mentioned before, God seems to have big plans for us in this new church of ours.  In the past year we've been attending, He's moved us from our comfortable row in the back to the middle, He's got us attending Bible studies, and now He's got us sort of serving and becoming more involved.   There's no more hiding or blending in.  People know our names now!  *gasp*  This is difficult for us; we love serving others, we love being able to do for others--but we are background people, as in, please don't make eye contact with us, please don't acknowledge us!

God is not finished with us yet, though.  He is no longer satisfied with our roles as background, behind-the-scenes people.  He is still pushing and pulling us out of our comfort zones.  More like kicking us in the bums right out of the nest.

One of the things we struggle with is the greeting at the beginning.  Most churches cap the morning greeting off at around 30-60 seconds, so all we've had to really do before is nod our heads, smile and shake a few hands.  We did not have to get out of our seats.  We did not have to move around.  We did not have to venture out of our comfort zone.  In this church, the greeting lags on for a 'torturous' 3-4 minutes.  The first time our pastor announced that time, I know I panicked.  How long?  He's kidding, right?  RIGHT?  Shawn and I have not-so-joked about having to use the bathroom during that time, coughing uncontrollably so people won't want to shake our hands--just silly things in order to avoid what we are not comfortable with.

Another thing we struggle with--our pastor has introduced a new prayer routine.  At the end of worship, he has us praying out loud for two minutes.  What is this man thinking????  Okay, all silly sarcasm aside--if ever there were a time for me to escape to the bathroom, this would be it.  I am not used to praying out loud.  I am not comfortable enough, or confident enough, in my own voice.  What if I say the wrong thing?  What if I sound stupid?  I know the reality of this is--if everyone else is praying the way we've been called to, they aren't listening to what I'm saying.  And, if I'm praying the way we've been called to, I'm not listening to what they're saying.  Right now, the best I can do is raise my hands in praise, turn my face to the heavens, and pray inside my head.  Along with this, he has us praying over those around us who ask for prayer at the close of the service.  This also requires praying out loud.

I know there is an example we need to be setting for our children.  We are not unfriendly people, we are not stuck up or better than anyone else.  We are not anti-social, just socially awkward. This is a struggle for us.  Entirely out of our comfort zone.  We need to step out.  No one is going to bite us, and we do like the people we attend church with.  I know our pastor has only good intentions for his flock when he does this, as with anything he does.  He wants visitors to know they are welcome and part of a family, and he wants long-time attenders to know they are loved, seen, and heard.  This is an opportunity for us to interact, so pick up on needs someone may have, a chance to just love on each other.

This is a teaching church, and we are learning so much.  Our pastor is a leader, a good one, and I'm grateful for the way he's helping God drag and pull us out of our comfort zones.  Part of his job is to grow us, to stretch us, to make sure we are not stagnant in our faith.  I'm not sure he understands the kind of um, 'fight,' he has on his hands with this particular family, buttttt, gotta give him credit for continuing in his efforts!  Our pastor is faithful to his flock, working hard for our benefit, working hard to bring salvation and the message to us.  He works hard to make our church a no-judgement zone, and he works hard to make sure we are comfortable and welcome, yet growing.

So, grow we shall.

Thank Your Spouse

I hate traffic.  And when I say 'traffic,' I'm talking about the rare 2-3 instances a week I have to deal with a 30-40 minute drive in moderately heavy everyone-needs-to-get-to-where-they're-going-before-everyone-else traffic, while Captain Motormouth talks about everything and anything in the back seat, and Admiral Backseat Driver analyzes anything and everything from the front seat, all of it making my head spin.  I fume at the texters, the fiddlers, the not-paying-attentioners, all putting my children at risk because their secondary task is more important than their primary task, which is driving.

Then there's my husband.  He drives 5 times a week, 1 1/2-2 hours to and from work, in heavy kill-or-be-killed traffic.  He expertly (I say 'expertly' because he makes it home alive and in one piece every night) maneuvers around the texters, the fiddlers, the ones with better things to do than drive, carefully making his way to work, or home to us.  At the end of his drive, the last thing he wants to do at night is take over for me, breaking up fights, putting Avery through the bath, and getting the boys through their bedtime routines; he does not want to head back in the direction he just came from to take Noah to Scouts, hang out in town until it's time to pick Noah up from practice, or go to Bible study so that he doesn't get home until 9 pm--but that's what he does. And he does it for us.  Because he loves us.  What I can do for him is have dinner on the table, and his soda in my hand when he walks through the door (don't worry, I draw the line at a smoking jacket and slippers....).  I can greet him with love, enthusiasm and a grateful heart.  He comes home tired and worn out, but he still has a smile for us.

Traffic makes me all the more grateful for my husband. It reminds me to be patient with him, and of all the things he does so I don't have to.  It reminds me that I get to stay home with our kids, which is something we decided is important to our family.  Traffic makes me grateful for all he does for our family, and everything he sacrifices.  I really don't know how he does it.  Four hours on the road each day means four hours lost with our kids, it means time lost for us as a couple, and as a family.  It means his stress level goes up, along with his frustration and blood pressure.  His health takes a huge hit.

Don't forget to thank your spouse.  Tell him or her why you're grateful for all they do, and remind them daily you are thankful just because they're who they are.

Thankfulness.... In 90 Seconds or Less

Shawn and I have been asked to share our testimony concerning infertility with our church as part of the November sermon series on thankfulness.  The catch?  We have to sum up 10 years of angst in 90 seconds or less.  What WHAT???  Don't they know me?  Please tell me they really meant 90 minutes...  Oh heck, just let me do the whole sermon series!

I asked a friend today if I can just say, "God is amazing, medical science can suck it."  Can I say "suck it" in church?

I really don't even know where to start.  I thought maybe if I sat down and started this post, divine inspiration will strike.  Or, maybe somewhere in this post, Shawn and I will find the testimony God wants us to give.

Don't misunderstand me, I know my testimony.  Shawn and I know ours.  What I'm getting hung up on is the 90 second part--what is the most important part of our testimony? What, out of this entire mess, do others need to hear the most?

We've seen my lab results. I've had countless tests, and we've seen the results over and over and over.  We've heard the damning words from my doctors, over and over and over. This past May, my latest work up showed I had no discernible female hormones at all.  My thyroid and adrenal levels were in the dumpster.  My endocrine system was so incredibly out of whack, my doctor wasn't even sure if we could fix it well enough for me to function, and certainly not well enough for me to conceive.  On paper, we never should've been able to conceive.  Between illness and the medications necessary, my body was just destroyed. When my doctors told us there was no way we would have another child after Noah, I believed them.  Things looked even more dire after Avery.  Medical science cannot explain our children.

I can.

Here's the other thing I'm getting hung up on--the whole thankfulness thing.  It's taken us a while to get to this point--maybe me more than Shawn.  I've journeyed through some massive bitterness to get to the point where I woke up and realized I already had Noah, and then when we had Avery--we already had two incredible kids, and there I was, bitter because God wouldn't give us a third child, in my time frame?  Bitter because God wasn't doing things my way, so I what I heard was, "NO!" rather than, "Not yet."  The death my doctors spoke to us sent me into a tailspin that lasted years, and I couldn't hear anything other than their words.  I couldn't hear anything other than my own anger.  I couldn't hear the life God was so desperately trying to speak to me.

I feel like a hypocrite telling people I was thankful through the entire ordeal.  It won't ring true to anyone's ears.  I know that I can't start there.  I have to start at the beginning with the tears, the devastation and the anger.

The truth is, Shawn has been more trusting and faithful through all of this than I have.  When I wanted to give up, when I yelled about my stupid body, when I was angry, when I screamed and cried about the injustice of it all--Shawn was the rational one.  He would reply, "Doctors are stupid.  God is good.  Trust Him."  He would remind me that we don't know what God can do, but we do know He is the great healer, that nothing is impossible for Him.  Shawn loved me through it, and in that, I hit my breakthrough and started to trust more, to believe more, to know more.

So, why am I thankful?  I'm thankful to have a Father and a husband who never give up on me.  I'm thankful to have the blessing of two amazing boys, and another child on the way.  I'm grateful for these people in my life I never thought I would have.  I'm grateful for the problems we have, that other people would love to have.  I know how 'lucky' we are, and I try to not take that for granted.  I'm even thankful that I know everything that can go wrong, because those trials are what make me appreciate what I do have as much as I do.

It's Not What I Expected... and I'm Glad

I had the tv on this morning, just noise in the background while I took care of some chores.  I wasn't paying much attention, but something caught my ear and made my head whip around.  I actually rewound the movie to be sure I heard it correctly.

One of the characters was confronting her estranged mother after years of not speaking.  The mother bitterly replied, "Motherhood is not what I expected, and you kids weren't exactly easy."  The mother then continued to blame the adult daughters for everything that she felt had gone wrong with her life.

I've heard this before, and not from a movie.  Maybe not in so many words, or so succinctly, but there it was.

So, here's the thing--motherhood is certainly not what I expected either.  From day one, it has not been the romanticized version I had built up in my head.  I can tell you that I never expected my children to have such varying age ranges, I did not expect to have boys, I did not expect to be raising a child on the spectrum, and, at one point, I didn't even expect to have more than one child.  I also did not expect the many daily rewards, the hugs, and feelings of self worth, the pride and love that make my heart swell until I'm in tears.  While it may not be the romanticized version I dreamed of, it's certainly not the absolute worst, dysfunctional movie version either!

Are my kids easy?  Oh, heck no!  There are days I might trade that for a little bit less exhaustion, but it certainly would be boring if my kids were easy!  There are good days, and that's what we concentrate on.  There are also the days I realize that it's me, not my children, who is the difficult one, and those are some pretty serious lightbulb moments.  When things are going sideways, it's my attitude that counts.  It is up to me to keep things in perspective, and remind myself that I am the adult.

Is anything ever what we expect?  If everything always went as we expect, where would be the joys, the surprises, the spontaneity, the fun (the need for God, prayer and friendship...)? What would be the point to a scripted life? There are challenges in everything, but we work through them.  And then we embrace them, for they are what make us who we are.  There is also joy to be found in everything!  Those challenges and joys are how we grow, and how we learn.  If we don't do so, we become stagnant and bitter.  And at the end of the day, we agree, this life is not what we expected, but it sure is worth it.

I don't want to be the mother lamenting to her adult children about what horrible people they are, or blaming them for things beyond their control.  I want my children to know they are loved and cherished. Even more importantly, they need to know they are liked and wanted, and to know that it is an honor and a blessing to be able to raise them.  I want them to know that I need them just as much as they need me, if not more.  Being their mom is not what I expected, and I'm happy with that.

When You See It

Noah is quickly approaching 14 (how does this happen???).  I have to remind myself daily, and sometimes hourly, that he is not like 'most' kids his age.  Aside from his diagnoses, there are many other differences also, many of them I can easily embrace, sometimes easier than I can embrace the differences associated with his diagnoses.  I remember the things I was doing at 14, the things I was responsible for, and I wonder if, how and when we will reach that point with Noah.  I positively hate allowing his diagnoses to be used as crutches or excuses, but if I'm being honest with myself...  Well, anyway.  As a parent in general, I hate excuses.  As Noah's parent in particular, I hate hearing, "Noah isn't like other kids..."  I try to teach my kids personal responsibility, and to own their actions, behaviors and decisions--and consequences--no matter the road blocks.

Noah is a very capable child.  He really is.  However, he is also the teenage boy who consistently forgets deodorant and zipping his fly.  He is often too lazy to tie his shoelaces, and he is King of the Half-Finished Chore.  'Sloppy' is his preferred style, no matter what I encourage him to choose when we shop (our latest excursion found us in trendy mall shops, me begging him to pick something out, ANYTHING!), often choosing whatever is easiest to throw on in the morning without much (any) planning or thought. He would often rather take the easy way out, than put forth the extra effort and feel the success that comes with hard work.  I am often in his face about the deodorant and other things, lamenting "How can you forget such important things?"  It hit me--he has never remembered such things, so chances are better than good he may not ever.  Even with signs hanging in various key places around the house, things are forgotten.  Even with chores and tasks spelled out, step by step, never changing, posted where he can see them as he does them--yep, they still don't get done.  We try to drive home the point of doing a job right the first time, taking pride in hard work and being pleased with a job well done--but I'm certain we sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown.  "Wah wah wah wahhhhhhh."  There are days we are knee deep in teenage attitude; then there are other days when I catch a glimpse of the young man and gentleman he is becoming.  He stands nearly eye to eye with me now, but the times we see eye to eye are becoming fewer and farther between.  Welcome to the bipolar years....

Shawn and I talk a lot about things we want to be able to allow Noah to do, but we just don't see the maturity necessary for such activities.  We worry that Avery will be able to accomplish these things before Noah, and how we will handle that.  Sometimes, we worry we are concentrating on the wrong things--okay, so he stinks and is only half dressed, but look at the initiative he took with XYZ.  Maybe we are looking for maturity in all the wrong places.  Maybe, if we give him the opportunities, the maturity will come.

This is life with Noah.  Much of it, as with any child, is two steps forward, four steps back.  And you start over the next day.  For me, I have to work hard on acceptance and just loving him where he is.  I work hard to mold him into the man I know he can be, and I'm hard on him because I know he is capable of so much more.  I know he is better than how he sometimes behaves.  I know it is in him.  He reminds me a lot of myself, and sometimes that makes things harder in raising him, but it also helps me remember what he needs from me as his mom--as well as what he doesn't need from me.

And lately--I've discovered, it really is in him.  He can do this.  Even better, he's discovering it's within him, himself.  I'm watching prayers being answered right before my eyes.

Back in August, he began running.  Our routine has become that I drive up to his school for his backpack and violin, we swap out sneakers, and he runs home (the first week I strategically followed him, hazard lights blinking obnoxiously).  Shawn helped him map out a better, longer course, so he is running 1.6 miles daily, sometimes more if he runs in PE at school.  Shawn has been challenging him, showing him proper form, really working with him--and we realized Noah is challenging himself, all on his own.  He has trained on his own in the rain and wind, in the cold and in the heat, head up and determined. We found a 5k for him to train for, and he ran that in September with a time of 32:31.  Noah ran his second race today, shaving almost 8 minutes off his first time, coming in SECOND OVERALL at 24:25!  Standing by the finish line, I watched the first runner cross, heard them yell "Second runner," and thought, "Oh, it couldn't be Noah and Shawn yet, but it will be soon"--and realized it was my son turning the corner!  I couldn't believe it, there I was, crying, screaming his name and jumping up and down, cheering him through!  The look on Noah's face said it all, and I can't remember a time when I've been more proud of him.  For him to see his hard work, determination and dedication pay off--absolutely priceless.  We found two more timed races in November and December for him, and he will have the charity race for his riding therapy center in March.  Today, he won first place for his age group, and second place overall.  For him to see this today, to accomplish this--wow!

I will be honest with you here--even more pleasing to me, was seeing Noah go back to the finish line and cheer the other runners through, and meeting Avery at the end of his 1 mile run to cheer his little brother through.  He jumped and shouted for the younger children, showing himself to be a good sport and possibly even a good leader.  Possibly, some of those talks we have about setting the example and being a good role model, and how younger children look up to older children, are getting through!  Also, a young man from the high school Noah will attend next year, a cross country runner who placed fifth, came over to congratulate Noah and talk to him about joining when he gets there.  That was truly a God moment, as Shawn and I have been dropping major hints and getting nowhere... After all, we are just the stupid parents!  But now a peer has said, "Hey, great job, you should really do this!" *thumbs up*

As a congratulatory gift, Shawn gave Noah a GPS watch we've been saving aside, and helped him get set up on with a running app Shawn and his co-workers use.  He's also been promised a PS4 for Christmas for breaking the 30 minute time...  I hung his medal and certificate on his brag wall, up there with his horse ribbons and trophies.  We want him to see how proud we are of him, and take pride in all of this himself.

In addition to running, getting straight A's in school and keeping up with Boy Scouts, Noah has continued working with the sound/audio and worship team at church.  I'm completely amazed by how quickly he learned, and how well he does with it.  His mentor will soon be leaving the sound team, and that leaves Noah to step up and become an even more major component to the team.  I beam, I really do!  The adults on both teams have really accepted him as one of their own, treating him less as a child and more like a peer.  They've really given him free reign, and listen to what he has to say, often taking his advice. Noah's mentor has expressed great confidence in him, even telling me that if he were still working gigs, he wouldn't hesitate to hire Noah. I always marvel at how comfortable he is on the stage, before, during and after the service, and moving with such quiet stealth (usually he and I are the ones walking around with TP stuck to our shoes, knocking things over when we're trying to be quiet), knowing exactly what needs to be done.  In the sound booth, he's in his own element. The things the members of both teams speak into his life, and all that is happening there!  I'm sure I'm not even fully aware of even half of what goes on.  Two weeks ago, I noticed Noah took his violin with him to practice, but I didn't know if they would give him the chance to play with them, or how that would work.   I didn't say much, because I really didn't want to get his hopes up, but I also did not want to crush his spirit. I did let him know how much I admired him for stepping out, for putting himself out there like that.  I should've known better!  When we picked him up, what I saw left me crying and speechless--my boy was playing with the worship band, and keeping up.  Oh my goodness!  He said he had a little trouble at first, but once one of the band members showed him how to convert the chords to notes, he got it (just like that!).  Last week, he took both his guitar (which he has started teaching himself) and his violin; he filled in for one of the other guitar players, and even played both instruments in one song.  I'm blown away!!!

Oh, and he's researching and rebuilding a 1970-77 era console radio/record player/cassette player we found at a thrift store for $20.....

Much of being a mom is reminding yourself that, in reality, they are only in each stage for a little while, even when it seems like an eternity.  Embrace your child, and understand the nuances of each stage.  They WILL come out of it, and as long as we continue to guide them, they will come out of these trials and stages with flying colors.  To see your child succeed, and concentrate on those successes, rather than the things he forgets, half accomplishes, or won't do it all--that's the important thing.  And just let go of the other crap.  And pray.  Pray a lot. Daily reminding myself that yes, Noah IS ONLY 13--and not just on the spectrum, and not just a boy.  He's 13.  He's only 13.  And man, he is blowing it away.

Sign me--Proud Mama.

Adventures in Pregnancy

I was going to title this one "Thank God for Zofran"--but let's start with some other news, first!

We have a due date!  May 6!  Seeing our little Lochemet swimming around and waving to us was definitely right up there in the land of miraculous and amazing.  Wow!  We could see the heartbeat, but that little baby was so busy showing off her dancing skills (or his football skills?) that we couldn't hear it!  Definitely a huge relief, a major stress off our shoulders, and just plain bliss.  Shawn recorded the ultrasound so the boys could see it (Avery is very eager to hear the heartbeat), and we couldn't stop watching it the rest of the day.  Eating lunch--we watched it (and shared it with our waitress!).  Walking through Target--we watched it.   Sitting in the passenger seat while Shawn drove home-I watched it. Tears flowed heavily and gratefully.  I'm still so amazed!!!

As for the "adventure" part to pregnancy--I have yet to really return to the land of the living.  I'm exhausted, more so than I was with either boy at this point, my palms have itched so bad I've considered just amputating them (that is apparently a symptom of surges of estrogen)--and, if you want details, I haven't stopped puking.  Sooooo pleasant.  I haven't dared venture further than the mile it takes me to pick the boys up from their schools.  We've made it to church, but not without a few sprints to the bathroom (I did finally make it through an entire message this past Sunday!  Woo!  I have to wonder what on earth the usher I always pass must think though--has he figured it out, or is he shaking his head that I haven't figured out partying on Saturday nights just isn't worth it, and he's just glad I'm in church?).  When I have had to venture out, I'm certain I've seen the inside of every toilet within a 45 mile radius.  I've thrown up in the parking lots of both schools, in the field at Noah's riding center, at Bible study, Walmart--you name it.   I was mildly nauseous for a short time with the boys, but this is an entirely different ball game here.  It got so bad that my OB sent us to the ER the other night for fluids and Zofran.  My head was killing me, I had bad muscle cramps, hadn't kept anything down in several days, and I was just plain dehydrated.  The nurses and PA were excellent, and I really did receive good, gentle, caring, well, care!  I have Zofran here at the house now, and life is slowly returning to what qualifies as normal (I ate two whole meals yesterday!)!  Shawn has been great through all of this--picking up where I need to leave off, making sure the boys are fed, helping out, and perhaps most importantly--retaining a sense of humor and making me laugh.

The thing is, the nausea and vomiting have been my reassurance in all of this.  Yeah, it sucks--but at least I've known everything is okay (i.e., I'm still pregnant).  Even the itchy hands have been mildly funny.  Trust is something that is difficult for me, even with my faith.  I wonder how I will calm my fears in between the nausea stopping, and being able to feel Lochemet move.  (Yes, I know the answer to that....)

We certainly have a lot of stories already to tell Lochemet, and as I told Shawn--maybe she (he....?) is getting all of this out of her system now, and the teenage years will be a breeze!  Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh....

Arriving in Spring 2015

There is a very important update on our family to share with all of you....






















Avery: "I'm going to be a big brother!"
Noah: "I wanted a horse."
Lilly: "If Lochemet is a girl, I don't have to wear dresses anymore!"

Yes!  We are having a baby!  Go ahead, squeal--we did!  I stared at the word "pregnant" on that stick for several minutes, shaking, crying and laughing, before I could form the words to tell Shawn.  Finally, I settled for shoving it in his face and pointing!  We are still in "Wow, is this real?" land.  To have prayed for a child for so long, to have so many doubts, to have so many discouraging words spoken to us by doctors--yes, this is REAL.  God given and blessed, this baby is real.  Praise God, and hallelujah sing!

We have chosen the name "Lochemet" until we know the baby's gender.  In giving our child a name, we can avoid words like "it" and "the baby."  We chose Lochemet because it means fighter in Hebrew.  I'm quite certain the name is relatively self explanatory, especially if you've read past posts.

We are truly overwhelmed by God's grace and overwhelmed with joy.  We are filled with intense gratitude.  We were told we would not have this chance again, and well, here we are!  Noah and Avery are happy and excited; Avery talks to his baby (sister, he's insistent....) and sings to Lochemet.  It is the dearest thing!

Avery is very curious, wanting to know how our baby is growing, and what it's like "in there." He also wants to know when his little sister (I told you, he's VERY insistent!) is going to stop making Mommy so sick!  Bedtime stories seem to be more enjoyable for Avery, as he now has the big brother responsibility of choosing a book for both of them.

We do ask for prayer.  We have not yet had a sonogram to confirm the due date (that is in 10 very long days).  I keep telling myself I will be able to relax and feel better once I see our baby's heartbeat on that screen.  We've had blood work to confirm that everything is progressing as it should, but I have not yet relaxed.  Even with news this joyous, and God's reassurances, I have not been able to give up the fear and anxiety that plague me.  When you finally receive something you have wanted so badly, something you have prayed for so hard and so long, there is an intense fear of losing it.  This child has been loved for so long, there are many great plans our Father has for her (alright, or him...), and I can't wait to tell Lochemet all about it.  There are times I already do.

""For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.""  Jeremiah 29:11

In Defense of Perfectly Capable Husbands (and Dads)... Including My Own....

I'm noticing a shift in a trend. Not an immediate shift, but one that has happened over the past decade or more.  I don't know if I'm just more sensitive, and therefore more aware, or if maybe it's always been this way--but Hollywood and the like seem to be shifting from portraying women as bumbling, incompetent fools (thank you, Lucy and Ethel... personally, I never found that show anything other than insulting.  Yeah, go ahead, call me a fun killer.  I've been called worse.) to portraying all men as such.  I don't understand the trend.  It's insulting, quite honestly.  What's the deal here?

One movie in particular has recently drawn my ire (and sparked this blog post....).  While most of the themes were spot on, and it was a good movie, the underlying theme seemed to focus on how incompetent the husbands were.  They couldn't figure out what to pack in the diaper bag, or how to use a wipe.  Scenes showed three fathers outnumbered by children who ran amok, with the wives envisioning two of them wrapped together with duct tape, while another hid behind a counter with his eyes closed.  Seriously?  Part of me wanted to yell, "Oh for crying out loud, MAN UP!"  I'm not entirely sure if I would've been yelling at the characters, or the writers, directors and producers, though.  I realized yelling at the movie probably wasn't a good idea though, as I was at our pastor's house watching it with his wife and other church women who are still getting to know me....

In this day and age, we have dads leading sporting events, coaching teams, leading Scouts and other various groups, attending school events, taking a day off to chaperone field trips or volunteer in their  child's classroom. We have single dads with full custody of their children.  Annnnddd... get this.... there are even dads who stay at home, or work from home, not because they are simply out of work, or have to, buuutttttt.....  because they want to!  *Gasp*  There is an entirely new generation of hands-on dads who are embracing their role.  It's another trend I'm noticing, because honestly, I can't name one husband among my friends who fits the Hollywood stereotype of 'bumbling idiot.'  These are the men who notice when something needs be cleaned, when the milk is running low, when a child's fingernails need clipping--and they take care of it themselves, even if their wife is a stay at home. These are the men who don't divvy up "women's work" and "men's work."  It's all for one, and one for all.  And God bless them!

And please note, I'm not addressing deadbeat divorced husbands and fathers, or even married deadbeats (that's another entire blog I really don't have the Xanax for), I'm talking about the husbands who are truly hands-on.  The dads who are in the trenches, right alongside their wives, and yes, in some cases, their ex-wives.  These are the good guys.

Maybe I'm spoiled, or perhaps my husband really is part of a minority, but I do not see incompetence when I watch him with our children.  He does not shy away from the responsibility of raising our boys, he meets it head on.  He picks up where I need to leave off, most of the time without me having to even ask.

Whatever the case is--I'm grateful.  I know how lucky and blessed I am to have the husband I have.  I know I am spoiled, and I am loved.  And because of who Shawn is as a dad, our kids know they are too.

Grace and Forgiveness

Noah and I had a knock-down-drag-out last night.  I'm not proud of any of it.  I was certainly not the adult in the situation, nor did I behave maternally.  I was at my wit's end with some of his recent behaviors, my anxiety and stress levels have been sky high, and I took it out on my child.  I said something no mother should ever say to her child, I blamed him for something, and I was just plain wrong.  I knew the second the words were out of my mouth, I had gone too far.  WAY too far.  I saw the look on his face, and my heart fell.  I knew I needed to apologize, but at that point in the argument, I was going for shock value.  I wanted to get his attention, and I had done just that.  I sent him to bed and stomped off.

Once I calmed down, I begged forgiveness from God. I was so far off the maternal train tracks.  I went to Noah's room to apologize, but he was (pretending to be) already asleep.  I kissed him good night, whispered that I love him, then went to the kitchen table to write out an apology.  No excuses, no explanations--just, "I was horribly wrong, and I'm so very sorry."  I left the note on the kitchen table for him to find this morning.

In the same way I'm grateful for God's continual grace and forgiveness, I'm incredibly grateful my son forgave me.  He came in and gave me a hug, we both apologized for our part in last night's fight, and we hugged.  Hard.  We agreed today is a new day, and to start over.

Apologizing is hard sometimes.  Most of us don't like to admit it when we're wrong.  Here's what I think though--there's no room for that kind of pride in parenthood.  There are times when we are wrong, and we must admit it to our children.  Forgiveness can be even more difficult that apologizing.  It only hurts us when we don't though.  I'm proud of Noah for being able to forgive me, especially when I certainly did not deserve it.

Here's the other thing--words hurt.  They sting, and they stick around.  Our voices, and our words become the tape our children play in their heads.  What I did was horribly wrong.  Noah may have forgiven me, but now I worry he's hearing what I said in his head.  My intention, my mission, as a mom has always been to only build my children up.  Yes, there are times they need to hear something that isn't so good, that isn't so uplifting--but that's not the tape I want playing in their heads.  At the end of the day, I am responsible for what I put in their heads, what they hear, and what I help them choose to believe about themselves.  Last night, I tore my child down.  I may have done permanent damage, and he could end up blaming himself, the way I blamed him.

I can't undo what I said.  I can't take it back.  I can apologize, he can forgive me, but I cannot erase it from his mind.  I know the inside of his brain because it's just like mine, and I know what I said will resonate with him for months, possibly even years, to come.

In the end, Noah may forgive me--but can I forgive myself?

Living Life to the Fullest

My grandmother died this weekend.  Part of it still doesn't seem real to me, and there's part of me, the all-to-aware-part, that is in avoidance mode.  I am sad, but I am also okay.  My grandmother is finally at peace, a peace she has long deserved.  I am grateful to be able to rest in knowing she is whole again, in both body, mind and spirit.  I serve a God who keeps His promises, so I know she is with Him, and I am grateful for this reassurance I have.  We are blessed to serve a God of hope, of miracles, of love.  I am relieved and grateful she is no longer suffering.  I rejoice for her freedom from this world.

I am grateful she got to meet our boys, and that they have pictures, and memories.  I will always be grateful for the time spent with her.

I learned so much from her.  I went to church with my parents growing up, but it was Nan who taught me to read the bible.  She wasn't a bible-upside-the-head type, she wasn't a lecturer--she led by example.  I saw her reading it, and I wanted to know what was in there. Nan was such an amazing influence in my life, and I will always be grateful for how she loved me, even when I didn't deserve it, even when she didn't quite know what to do with me.  I learned joy from her, laughter, and how to live life to the fullest, no matter one's age.  It wasn't until the past few years she started 'acting' her age.  It was difficult to watch her decline, knowing the amazing, vibrant life she led.  She was a woman balanced well between tough love and compassion.  Nan taught me so many things, just in the way she lived her life.  Enjoy the little things, for they are really the big things.  Leave the big things to God, and let Him work them out.

I used to think a lifetime is too long.  I did not want to live to a ripe old age.  Thinking about it the other night, Shawn and I realized that if we are blessed enough to live as long as Nan did, we have 54 years left here.  ONLY 54 years left.  Only 54 years with each other, our friends, our children, our grandchildren--and if we are blessed as Nan was, our great-grandchildren.

A lifetime is no longer long enough.  A lifetime is too short.  Pack in as much love, as much joy, as much LIFE, as you can.

I don't normally like to mix my faith with other religions, but I found this quote, and it does pertain to this post, so here goes: "Life is a song--sing it.  Life is a game--play it.  Life is a challenge--meet it.  Life is a rearm--realize it.  Life is a sacrifice--offer it.  Life is love--ENJOY it."  --Sai Baba

I love you Nan, I miss you.  Thank you for an amazing life with you.

Community and Motherhood

Due to an overwhelming variety of factors, I isolated myself as a new mother.  It felt as though all Noah did was cry, and I did not know where to take him, how to launch myself into a community, or how to turn my constantly red-faced, screaming infant over to a sitter.  My main sources of interaction were my mother, Shawn, and my friend at the time--she herself a newly single mother with a newborn and two older children, and her own overwhelming set of issues. Healthy, right?  I did not have a community.

Depression was a pit, and I had dragged my infant into it with me.  It mired me, and consequently, it mired Noah.  Looking back, I have to wonder how much of his crying was due to being stuck at home with Mommy, 24/7!  I did eventually try a few moms groups and a few other things.  They weren't for me though, and really only served in making me feel (in me making myself feel) even more inadequate and incapable as a mother.  I know that, as a result, Noah became isolated and socially challenged, leading to many chicken-or-the-egg questions in the back of my mind about his Asperger's. And there continued the cycle of feelings of inadequacy and incapability.  Still no community.

Anyway.

Fast Forward.

With Avery, I was in a much better place emotionally, spiritually and physically. I had built up a better friend 'bank' and had plenty of support, but not really any close friends with infants or toddlers.    I knew I needed to be involved with moms experiencing life the way I was, and I learned that there is NOTHING wrong with turning a red-faced, screaming infant over to a sitter!  I knew that for both of us, for our mental and physical health, we needed community.  This time around, I was going to get it right!

I really didn't know where to start though.  I was kind of lost with it.  We had just begun attending a new church, and I'm really not much of a joiner, so I looked at the lists of studies offered and thought, "I should be attending one of these.."  It's something I have to force, and I'm really more comfortable hugging the wall than I am socializing (until I get to know you, and I'm comfortable with you--then, trust me, you'll wish you had duct tape and a straight jacket for me and a glass of wine for yourself).  God bless her, the women's ministry leader worked with Shawn, trying to pull me out of my shell.  Have I mentioned how resistant I am to socializing????  She had her work cut out for her.

I tried a few bible studies in the new church, some playgroups, but nothing really clicked.  Avery and I went to toddler gym where we met with the same group of moms each week, but it wasn't really community.  A friend then approached me about joining MOPs, where she was president.  What???  Was she kidding?  There will be PEOPLE there!  Was she CRAZY????  I did end up going, and I will always be glad I did.  I will admit that, in the beginning, I went to support her in her role, and because she had invited me.  Then I discovered... I was enjoying myself!  *Gasp*  We had....  COMMUNITY.

Avery aged out of MOPs and I stopped going.  We moved to another church last fall, and, even though it's taken me almost a year, I did finally start attending bible studies.  One in particular, in the home of another mom, has been a saving grace. COMMUNITY.  There's that word again.  I can't tell you how necessary it's become for me.  There aren't many of us, just a few of us with small children, and we support each other.  I've even become comfortable enough that they've begun searching for my straight jacket and their glass of wine. We talk about our kids, the trials of motherhood, the ministry that is motherhood. We do have a book so we can have guided discussions, but well, you know how that goes.  And you know what?  We don't sit around complaining about our children, it's nothing like that! And I love that about our group!  Even in the trials, there is only lifting up, laughter, and prayer.  I leave each week with a smile, set straight(er) on my path, reminded that I am not the only who experiences motherhood the way I do, that so much of what I experience is normal.

If you are a new mom, or even if motherhood is old hat to you--I would encourage you to find a community.  Please don't isolate yourself, and your child.  Trust me, believe me, I know how painful stepping out into the world can be, how scary it is!  You, and your child, will thank yourself for doing so though, I promise you.  Even if it's just for coffee once a week, it's an important venture to make.  Think of it as an investment in your health, and your child's well being.  

Oh gosh!  I almost forgot the most important part!  Find a community with a built in sitter!  That's the key!  :)

Living Without Fear

In one way or another, I've always been a fearful person.  There are times it leads me to feel that I am betraying my God, betraying my faith.  Ironically, it causes more fear that I am letting my Father down, that I am telling Him that His promises are not enough for me.

I wish I had the answer to that one, I do.  All I know is that there are times when fervent prayer is called for more than other times.  This is one of those times.

The enemy of my soul has been coming like a thief in the night, trying to steal my joy.  He has been whispering nonsense and lies in my ear, and visiting in my dreams.  I have truly felt under attack.  He knows, and he takes advantage, turning my brain into his playground. He has been dancing with my fears, feeding the fire they are built on.  It has been so bad that I am waking up in the night, and saying out loud, "I rebuke you! Get out!  I will not give you this power!  You cannot have this!" This certainly makes for some interesting looks from Lilly and Shawn at 3 am...

But really--NO.  I will NOT give the enemy this power over my joy.  He canNOT have this.  This joy is God given, it is a gift, it is a blessing.  God speaks the truth here, and ONLY God.  I will not live in fear, and I will not allow my joy to be stolen from me.  My Father has declared this joy His, and that is all I need to know.  That is good enough for me.

We have a good life, an excellent life.  Our home and our family are full of blessings.  This is God's home, not the enemy's playground.


"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."  Isaiah 41:10

Speak Life

I'm opening this post with these two life-saving links.  The phone number for the national suicide prevention hotline is 800-273-8255.  If you, or someone you love is in crisis right now, please don't delay.  Please head straight to the emergency room and get help.  I can't stress that enough.  You are special, you are loved, you are important, you are needed and wanted.  You deserve help, your family and loved ones deserve for you to help yourself.  Your life has value and meaning.  There is a reason for you, please don't give up.

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=urgent_crisis_hotline

I don't normally react to the deaths of celebrities.  I just don't.  Yes, it is sad that someone has died, that family and friends have lost a loved one.  I'm not heartless, but it is sadder to me when someone I know, or someone a friend dearly loves, dies.  I don't see how a celebrity's death is any sadder or more important merely because the person was famous.  Besides that, nine times out of ten, their deaths are due to some sort of stupidity that was entirely preventable.  So, I'm not normally rattled by their deaths.

However, Robin Williams' death has slammed into me.  I did actually cry.  Why?  Not really even because of who it was, but how it was that he died.  It hits close to home.  It's sad, it's tragic, it's awful. I'm all too familiar with the type of depression that can lead to suicidal thoughts and actions.

Depression is not merely being sad.  Depression is a deep, dark pit from which you cannot simply crawl out of and get over.  There is no "today is going to be a great day" mindset that needs to be changed.  Depression can rule, run and destroy lives.

What hits home is that I've been there.  The desire for the pain to just be over with.  'Knowing' that your family and friends will be better off without you dragging them down--they'll move on and find someone better who will treat them how they deserve to be treated, right?  WRONG.  There is no replacing you, there is no finding someone better.

Suicide is selfish.  I never gave a second thought to leaving my son childless, to leaving my husband without a wife and life partner.  I had given up, and did not want to continue on.  I gave no thought to who would find me, how they would find me--it was all about myself.  I did not consider the damage it would do to my son, knowing that I had chosen death over him, that I had chosen suicide over watching him grow up and being there for him. I just wanted out.  I was desperate for the pain to be over.  Now I am desperate to live.  I will not let this depression rule our lives.  I would've missed out on so much now.

You might think things will get better for you, but think of your family left behind to pick up the pieces.  They might blame themselves.  They might wonder why they didn't see the signs, what they could've/should've done differently.  What about the person who finds you?  What if that person is your child?  The emotional damage you are leaving behind is far worse than anything you can imagine.

Suicide is selfish, but I can still understand how easily and quickly it can get to that point when you are in those depths.  It seems there is no way out.  Looking back, I see the way out now.  When you're in the midst of it, it's so very hard to see that light, but it is there.

I urge you, implore you--if you are suffering, please talk to someone you trust.  Get help, and don't put it off any longer.  You are so loved, you are so precious. You are not alone.  I know it doesn't feel like it now, but I can tell you without a doubt--your family is never better off without you.  Get healthy, find something to cling to, and hang on to that.  You are here for a reason.  Speak up for yourself.

Watch your children carefully. Watch new parents closely.  Keep an eye on your friends and family.  Know the signs, symptoms and risk factors.  Ask questions.  It's better to ask and know, than it is to have regret.  Be the light, speak life.  Be more afraid of what could happen if you don't speak up, than what could happen if you do.  Many times, those of us with depression don't know how to ask for help.  We don't know what to say, or we are so far down that rabbit hole that we can't.  Our self esteem rules the 'voices in our heads' and we tell ourselves we are unworthy of help.  Sometimes, it takes a friend to say, "Hey, you are important, I love you, and I see you suffering."  Say it with love, without anger, without judgement.

If you are watching your friend or loved one suffer,  I know you are also suffering.  I think back on everything I've put my husband and sons through, and my biggest regret is not getting help sooner.  I urge you to also get help, and to do what you can for your loved one.  Please take the time to understand and learn about depression and suicide.  Please don't ever tell someone to 'just get over it.' This is not something that can just be gotten over.  Your loved one is sick.  I urge you to walk that fine line between helping and codependency, to help your loved one get help.  Whatever you have to do within your power, please do it before you lose your loved one forever.

I Already Have a Job

My children will soon by returning to school.  Noah is in eighth grade, and Avery is starting *gasp* kindergarten. Can I just say I'm grateful I don't have to conquer high school AND kindergarten in the same year?  Both boys being in school full time has led to the inevitable question by many: "So are you getting a job? Returning to work? What will you do with yourself and all that free time?"

My answer is quite simple:  I already have a full time job.  I am a mom.  I am blessed that I am able to continue to be a stay at home mom, with all the, um, perks and frills.

I understand what they are really asking is if I will get a job outside of the home.  If, in fact, I will get a life.  Hmmm.  They are, for the most part, making polite conversation.  Society tends to view SAHMs as tied down and burdened by our children, and full time school is a chance to break free from those full time children-chains, right?  A chance to reassert ourselves as women and individuals, to obtain our identity once again as someone other than a mother.

*Ahem.*

My plans are simple.  I hope to return to the gym, find some time for myself, and take part in Bible studies with my church.  I want to volunteer more.  If possible, I'm hoping maybe Lilly and I can start doing some agility training.  I think she would really love that, and it would be healthy for both of us.  These are things I've wanted to do, but would've required being away from my children and leaving them with sitters.  My goal is to concentrate on my health, physically, emotionally, and spiritually, so I can be healthier for my family.  I even hope to have the chance to properly clean my house!

No, I will not be looking for a job outside of the home.  I am a mom first and foremost.  I am fulfilled here, and we are blessed that I don't need to work.  My kids still need me full time.  This is where I am needed most.  Motherhood is where I am called to be.

Maybe some day I will "get a job and return to work."  But not today.

What I Hope I've Taught My Children

As parents, we hope our children never stop learning from us.  As Avery's and Noah's mom, I often panic, putting things in a time frame, "Oh no, I only have five more years before Noah leaves for college, how am I going to fit everything I still need to teach him into that?"  Only five more years.....

Every so often I will actually ask them what they've learned from me so far.  What have I taught you?  What will be my legacy?  What will you remember from me?  I want to make sure I'm 'doing right' by my children.  I want to leave a legacy of love, a full life well lived, good examples they will carry on with their own families.

My brain works fast and won't stop, so I thought I would try to write down some of the things I want them to remember.  Some day I will share some of my blog posts with them, maybe have them printed in books for them--and this will be among their stories.

My Dear Boys,
*Remember to make eye contact.  It lets people know you are listening, it shows respect, and it shows the person, and what he is saying, is important to you.

*Use your manners, even when others aren't--especially when others aren't. Yes maaam, no maam, thank you, please, you're welcome.  Hold doors open for others, and when you do, wish them a good day.  When paying at a cash register, ordering food, interacting with others, don't multi-task.  Put your phone down and give the other person the respect and time they deserve.

*Love your brother.  When Daddy and I are gone, you two are all you will have.  Choose each other, love each other, talk daily.  Have family vacations together, and spend time together.  Family is important.

*Build friendships that will last.  Have plenty of best friends, and acquaintances.  Treat your friends like family, love them, spend time with them.

*Go to church.  Remember to thank God for all He has given you.  Remember everything He has done for our family.  Follow His examples as daddies to your children, and as husbands to your wives. Follow His advice, His ways, His instructions in life, and you can't go wrong.

*Stay clean.  Wash your clothes, yourself, keep a clean home.  Keep your mind as clean as your body.

*Revere, cherish and honor your family.  When you marry, marry your best friend.  Find someone who loves you just as you are, who makes you laugh, holds your hand, walks with Christ, shares your values and morals.  Raise your children with love and laughter.  Remember they are children, and forgive them always.  They need you, and you need them.  Your family will complete you.

*Find your passion, and follow it.  Do what you love, and love what you do.  Make sure you are happy.  You will need an identity outside of being dad, husband, co-worker, but don't allow your passion to be a detriment to your family life.  Family comes first.  Make sure your wife has a chance to pursue an identity outside of motherhood as well.  Together, pursue a life outside of parenthood.  Cultivate your marriage, for one day your children will be grown, and it will just be the two of you again.

*I will always be proud of you.  There is nothing you can do in life to lose my love.  You are my joy, my pride, my passion, my peace, my strength.  You've made me cry, you've made my laugh, you've made me grateful for so very much.  You've taught me so much about parenting, myself, and life in general.  I will always be grateful I got to be your mom.  That said, don't ever take my love for you for granted.  Please don't disappoint me.

*Never stop learning.  You are a student in life, whether you are in school or not.  There is never a point at which you know everything.

*Forgive.  Unforgiveness eats away more at you, it hurts you more than the other person, and it makes you the worse person.  It does not bother the other person.  There are times we must continually forgive the same person for the same thing.  There are things we must accept about some people when we love them.  In the same token, when you've been wrong to someone, ask forgiveness.  And mean it.  Always say you're sorry.

*In accepting things about people we love, don't put up with abuse and toxic people.  You don't need that, and you don't deserve that.

*Be you, and be proud of who you are.  Be true to yourself, your roots, and what your dad and I have taught you morally and ethically.  Don't compromise yourself or your values.  Remember, weird is the new awesome, and your parents made you awesome!  Embrace your unique character, embrace your differences, don't ever try to be anyone else.

*Read.  For knowledge, for fun, for family time.

*Get good grades.  They are not the end all and be all, but they are very important, and will help you get where you need, and want, to be in life.  Study what you want, and do well.  Go to college, go to a trade school, further yourself and your education.  Provide well for your family, always put them first.  Be the best you that you can be so you can put them first.  Whatever you choose to do, be the best at it.

*Cook with your family.  The best magic happens when everyone is working together and laughing in the kitchen.

*Don't forget to be silly, and remember to laugh.  Life is what we make it, so make it fun.  Dance with your wives and daughters, wrestle and sword fight with your sons.  Go for family hikes, go to the park, the pool. Camp in the backyard, and teach your children how to cook over a fire.  If there is a photo booth in the middle of the mall, it's a chance for some good family portraits! Wake your children up for meteor showers and moonlit snowfalls.  Don't forget to make memories.

*My goal with you has to been to be a better parent to you than my parents were to me.  I have always wanted nothing more than to be the mom you deserve to have.  Some days I make it, other days I miss that mark entirely.  I am not perfect, but I'm trying.  Please do the same for your children--I want you to be a better parent than I am, to be the dad your children deserve.  Remember what you've loved about how I've raised you and use that, and remember what wasn't so good, and change that.  Don't repeat unhealthy cycles--your dad and I have worked hard to break cyles, and I hope that's something you remember in raising your own children.

*Compliment your wives and children every day.  End each day on a good note. That will get harder in the teenage years!  :)  Always remember to tell them you love them, read them stories, and make bedtime routines.  Don't go to bed angry.  Don't punish your children, discipline them with love instead.  Teach them, lead them by examples.  Play with your children; be Ken to your daughter's Barbie, be Bumblebee to your son's Optimus.

*Play in the rain.

*Spoil your wives.  Don't just tell them you love them, SHOW them.

*Always have a servant's heart.  Serve others with grace and love.

*Remember there are those who have less than you, emotionally, spiritually, and materially.  Many times those with less than you are those who have more than you, and those with more than you actually have less.  If I've done my job well, you know the difference, and know what I mean by that.

*Don't be a doormat to others who treat you poorly.

*Go on dates with your children, not just your wives.

*Mistakes happen, you're human.  Learn from them, and don't let them happen again.  When you don't, mistakes become habits.  When possible, learn from the mistakes of others so you don't fall into the same traps.

*Respect all life, every life has meaning and value.  Have a sensitive heart.  Help others when you can.  Defend those who can't defend themselves, be the one who stands up for them.  I've raised you both to be world changers, and I want you to remember that.  Be the one who makes a difference.  "To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world"--Dr. Seuss

*There will always be someone who is having a worse day than you, so remember to smile at those you pass by.  You never know how much of a difference that could make to someone.

*Pray. Daily, always, about everything.

*Listen.  Be still, be quiet, and listen.

*Be honest.  Don't lie.  The truth is always the best route, even when it will get you in trouble. Dishonesty will only get you in deeper.

*Be respectable.  In a world where I've taught you not to judge others, you are being judged.  You are being judged on your behaviors, your actions, your words, your manner of dress,  how you treat others--everything you do is up for judgement.  So, be above that.  Ask yourself, "What would Mom say if this got back to her?"

*Don't hold grudges, and settle your differences.  Holding on to bitterness only hurts you.

*When you ask someone about their day, how they are doing, and other 'social niceties'--MEAN IT.  Really mean it.  Be genuine.  Sometimes you have to say, "No, really, how are you REALLY doing?  I want to know because I care."  Most people ask these questions just to start a conversation, and don't really want a true answer, so most people respond with the expected "Fine."  Be the person who cares about hearing more than "fine."

*Attend your children's school, church and extracurricular functions, games, ceremonies, clubs and activities.  Know who your children are friends with, and know their parents. Make sure they know you, and always require phone numbers. Meet your children's teachers, club sponsors, youth leaders, coaches and anyone else who plays a role in their lives.  Make sure they know who you are.

*Raising children is not easy.  It's made easier by having other adults who speak life to your children. Choose those friends and adults wisely.  Make sure they are trustworthy, and worthy of your children.  You need them.  It really does take a village to raise chidlren, and you need that village.  Your children need that village too.

*Trust your instincts.  Sometimes a cute little puppy is really a snake in disguise.  Watch out for the snakes.

*You are your child's only, and best, advocate.  Out of everyone else in their village, only you truly know them best, and have their best interests at heart.

*Be kind.  Everyone is fighting a battle.  

*Not everyone knows how to ask for help, or likes to ask for help, so offer it.

With a Little Help from My Friends

I recently made the decision to change primary care doctors.  There are a variety of reasons for the necessary change, but I won't get into that.

When I mentioned this to a few of my very good friends, they each sat me down, separately, and said, "While you're there...." and talked to me gently about my worsening depression.

If you've ever had to do that for a friend, you know it's not an easy thing to do.  You don't know how your friend is going to react; the conversation could go one of many ways.

The thing was, I knew they were right.  I needed to do something.  It's not fair to my kids or my husband, and it's not healthy for any of us.  I know I have a strong personal history of depressive and anxiety disorders, but I really wanted to just deny this.  If I ignored it, maybe it would just go away on its own.  Depression doesn't necessarily work that way, especially when it's more of a chemical imbalance rather than situational.

I knew I needed to do something.  I did ask my new doctor about medication, and we decided on one to try.  I've had undesirable side effects from these medications before, which have often made things worse, but I'm comfortable with the decision I made, and I think we found one that meets my needs.  I'm glad my friends had that talk with me, and I'm glad I had that talk with my doctor.  I've been on it for a little over a week, and I'm hopeful that it's already working.  Even though I did lose it in church two weeks ago, I'm not crying at the drop of a hat like I was before.  Words like baby, pregnancy, infertility, and so on, still tend to set me off--so obviously we've gotten to the biggest issue at hand. I am hopeful that it will continue to work this well, and even better, in the coming weeks.

If you have a friend or loved one who you suspect is suffering, please speak up.  Do so with love, and speak life.  Please don't condescend, please don't judge.  Be gentle, and offer support.  Many times, we really don't know how to ask for help, or what kind of support we might need though.  We are so overwhelmed just doing daily tasks, that having to decide to ask for help, or what kind to ask for, is even more mind boggling.

I am blessed by these dear women, and so grateful for them.  I am so lucky to have them in my life, and I love them for taking that risk in talking with me.  They spoke with love, and in doing so, offered hope and life.

Reprinted with Permission

To give you a bit of background: The grief ministry I've been involved with for almost 9 years is receiving a new property on which to build, and we had to petition the county zoning board in order to do so.  We are in desperate need of this new home for our ministry, as we are outgrowing our current rental.  I spoke to the zoning board last month, testifying to the necessity of this ministry, as did several other volunteers, board members and staff.  Our petition was carried over to this month, and last week, Shawn and Noah spoke on behalf of our cause, along with several more volunteers.  As a mom, and a wife, I can't think of a time when I've been more proud.  I am overwhelmed with gratitude, love and pride.  Noah did so well; he wrote this by himself (I made a few changes here for privacy concerns), and read it, clearly, while making eye contact with at least 10 complete strangers, and possibly 30 more sitting in the gallery behind him.  I can't tell you how much of a big deal this was for him!  As we left, several people we did not know got up to shake his hand and tell him he did a good job.  As a mom, that is just so meaningful to me!  He was amazing.

*Our ministry did receive the county's approval for our new home!!

Naturally, I did take a photo (and video!): 

Hi, My name is Noah Furr.  I am 13 years old, an upcoming 8^th grader in middle school, where I am an honors student, and I am a lifelong resident of this county.  I volunteered with this grief ministry for a year while I was in 4^th and 5^th grades.

My parents began homeschooling me in 4^th grade when I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome.   I started going to the center on Thursdays to help my mom with the Care Café, now known as Coffee and Conversation.  My social skills therapist had me working on building people files at the time, and this was a good place to do so.  An example of a people file is remembering what a person talks about, such as a pet, a child, a spouse, a job, or a life event, and asking about it the next time I see that person.  The purpose of building my people files is so I can carry on conversations, and remember to be courteous of others.  While I volunteered at the center, I worked with Chaplain L, and Miss S, and met people like Miss R and Miss  C.  I helped my mom serve coffee, tea and light snacks, and I also did some office work.

Two years ago my favorite dog, Gretta, died.  She was the best dog ever, and my best friend.  I didn’t know how to handle the grief and the anger I felt, and I wanted to know why this was happening to me.  It was the first time I had experienced real anger, and I even shoved my mom’s cat off the counter, screaming that it should’ve been her instead of my dog.  My parents and counselor helped me with my anger so I could express it in healthy ways, but it was Miss S and her Pet Loss Support Group at the center that really helped me through.  I was able to talk about Gretta and share stories and her pictures with other animal lovers who understood me and what I was going through.   I was able to learn how to mourn Gretta without being angry.

This ministry has played a big role in my life, showing me the way when there appear to be no apparent ways.  These good people helped me and my family through my diagnosis, and helped me be less socially awkward by giving me a safe place to talk, practice my social skills and grieve.

You want to know what I think about this ministry, I think it is a lovely place full of open arms ready to help you through hard times.

Thank you for your time and attention.