Motive/7x70

I've been doing my best to keep this blog post at bay all weekend, but here it is.  These are things I need to get out because if I keep them in my head any longer, I feel like I will explode.  I have done my best to occupy myself with happier moments for the last 48 hours, but now the emotions and tears are crashing in around me, threatening to crush me.

Noah and I (and Shawn and Avery) had two of his friends over yesterday and I watched happily as Noah was just a normal, 10 year old little boy, romping around the yard all day long with his friends, Avery doing his very best to keep up with the 3 older children.  Even when they climbed a tree in our backyard, Avery was still at the bottom, barking orders at them.  But my thoughts and emotions were still in the back of my mind.  


Shawn and Noah set up camp in the backyard Friday night and have yet to come in the house this weekend.  Noah has been cooking on the campfire, showered only for church this morning, helped his little brother make s'mores and told ghost stories with his dad.  I happily (and secretly) watched from inside the house at 5:30 yesterday morning when he got up before Shawn to gather wood for the breakfast campfire, building it just to the camping book's specifications, so he could make his dad proud (he did).  But my thoughts and emotions were still in the back of my mind.


This morning in church, I listened to a much needed message about Motive.  About my own and about second-guessing the motives of others when they hurt you.  This was a message I clearly needed to hear because it was perfectly aimed at the thoughts and emotions in the back of my mind:  For years after the family fight that followed my parent's divorce and my father's remarriage, I have filled in the holes of what I don't know for fact with my own imagination.  I have disobeyed God and been un-Christlike by filling the story in with possible false negatives instead of concentrating on the positives about the people in my own family.   In doing so, I have judged my father and my sister (perhaps wrongly; either way, it's not up to me judge them, their motives or their actions) and sunk to their level, allowing the devil to place strongholds in my life (Ephesians 4:26).

So, what started this whirlwind of thoughts and emotions I've been trying to keep at bay all weekend?  Several weeks ago, I received an odd message from God that I would have a chance to apologize to my sister and ask her forgiveness.  It completely threw me off kilter and left me reeling.  My sister and I have not spoken in nearly 5 or 6 years.  How was I going to have the opportunity to ask her forgiveness (Matthew 19:26)?  For those of you who don't believe in messages from God, I do, and they do happen, you just have to be receptive to them (and you have to be able to discern if they really are from God).  Maybe if I explained how it happened, it would make more sense, but this isn't the blog for that.  The next day, my dear niece gave me an invitation to her youngest brother's birthday party that she was giving him, telling me that my sister would be there.  BINGO.  Ever since, I have been on edge, anxious and nervous.  My "daddy issues" have been larger than life and my old feelings of anger and bitterness have been slowly working their way back into my life.  Thank goodness Dear Old Dad wouldn't be there.  I've felt like the teenager on her way to prom with the popular guy--"Is he going to like me?!", only I've been wondering that about my own sister.

I got my answer today.  I hugged my youngest nephew, thrilled with the chance to see him and to be able to wish him a happy birthday.  He was close to two by the time I actually even knew about him, closer to three before I met him.   Upon seeing my two oldest nephews, whom I haven't seen in several years, I burst into tears.  I couldn't believe how tall they've gotten and how handsome they are!  I was totally taken by surprise by my own emotions.  My dear sweet niece, always so aware of everything, asked if I needed some time alone, but I wanted to get things over with, so I headed into the kitchen where my sister was, ready to beg her forgiveness for everything I said so many years ago. We both said some very nasty things, but because of who we each are, I've always known the apology would have to come from me first. I wanted to hug her (and for her to hug me back), to tell her how much I miss her (and to hear that she missed me), to tell her how much my family is going through and how much I desperately need a sister right now.  Maybe I even needed to hear that she desperately needed me, too.  Then I wanted to run as fast as I could from my niece's house when my own sister wouldn't even acknowledge me.  She wouldn't say hi to me, she wouldn't even look at me.  She did her best to ignore me.  My own sister wouldn't even acknowledge my sons, including the 22 month old nephew she's never even met.  She never introduced herself to Avery, she never said hi to Noah.  I never did get the chance to ask my sister's forgiveness, but somehow managed to survive the party.

I constantly tell myself that my family is the reason God has gifted me with such wonderful friends, but sometimes, as much as I love and appreciate my dear friends, I just really want a sister.  I can't walk through Hallmark and not feel like crying when I see those silly, mushy-gushy, sister-love signs and cards.  I can't help but feel a bit jealous when two sisters I know have such an exceptional relationship.  I know that is wrong of me because I really do have terrific friends who are almost like sisters, and in many ways, better.  They know my secrets and love me anyway!  When I hugged Noah tonight and apologized for the way my sister treated him, I tried to concentrate on the positives:  "This is why we have Mrs S and Mrs B and Miss H and so many others!  They love you just like one of their own."  He looked at me, smiled and said our made-up word for the friends God has given us to make up for family: "Fremily," but I could see the hurt and pain in his eyes.  Noah already faces so much rejection and criticism, that to face it from the people who, in his mind, are supposed to love him unconditionally, hurts even more.  As a child who craves acceptance and only wants to please everyone, this cuts him deeply, to suffer for the sins of his mother.  Avery doesn't know the difference because he's never met her, but some day he'll wonder and I worry that I'll see the hurt and pain in his eyes, too.   If I can't explain her behavior to myself, how am I supposed to explain her rejection to them? I'm angry for the way my children were treated today, for the way they've been treated over the past several years.

Somewhere, in all of this, I need to just learn to let go.  My father doesn't care, my sister doesn't seem to care.  I need to move on because the only person I'm hurting now is myself, and in that process, I'm hurting my children and my husband.  I'm teaching my children to stay stuck, I'm teaching them to hang on to strongholds.  I'm teaching them anger, bitterness and ungratefulness.  Instead of setting a Christlike example for my children, I am displaying that of a sinner.  I also need to just forgive myself for my actions in the past, which will be a big part of moving on.  I made a huge mistake and yes, it cost me my sister and father, but looking back, just how healthy were those relationships to begin with?  If time can't heal these wounds, if my own father has allowed his wife to choose herself over his daughters for him, if my sister can't see the forest for the trees: Are these people I should have in my life, and in my children's lives, in the first place?  I also need to forgive them.  Forgiveness has been a popular theme on the radio recently, thanks to a new song called "7x70" by Chris August.  Because of this song and everything leading up today, forgiveness has also been on my brain.  I just want this part of my life over with.  I need to rid my heart of this pain, anger and bitterness; forgiveness for myself, my father and my sister are the only way to do that.  I need to stop playing The Blame Game.

I wish I could sum this blog up on one of my standard "so I solved my problem with my usual sunny/snarky disposition" anecdotes, but unfortunately, I know I will still struggle with this.  I will lose sleep tonight and I will cry a little longer.  I need to wallow a bit.  As I've learned through my grief training, it's okay to wallow as long as I don't allow it to consume me and I snap out of it in a day or two.  I keep telling myself it's time to move on with my life.  I needed to know if things had changed between me and my sister.  Now I do, and they haven't.  Now it is time to concentrate on the important, positive people in my life: my immediate family and our fremily.

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me?  Up to seven times?"

Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."

Matthew 18:21-22 (NIV)

"When Does the Joy Come?" (Life Through Noah's Eyes, Part I)

This morning, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  Noah was having a meltdown because he couldn't reach the cereal.  We're working on his problem solving skills, so even though the easiest thing to do would have been to reach for it myself, or tell him how to get the box down, I couldn't.   I had to wait for Noah to figure it out on his own, even if it meant he starved until lunch.  He is perfectly capable, there was no reason other than stubbornness for the meltdown.  Avery bit Noah during his own temper tantrum. Oh good, it appears he has all of his teeth now.  Time out for Avery, ice for Noah.  Breakfast was burning, my morning dose of caffeine wasn't loading fast enough, I was wondering why I got up in the first place, and things were going haywire rather quickly.  While I contemplated either banging my head against the wall or smashing it in a cupboard, I glanced up and saw the sign someone had given me at Avery's baby shower.

"May Peace and Love Fill This Home."

I was sure there as a blog post in that moment, I really was.  Instead of banging my head against the wall, I hid in the shower until Shawn had sorted most of the problems out.  Yay me!  Anyway,  I never did 'find' my blog post in our morning fiasco and my teaching moment came much later in the day, courtesy of Noah, minus the meltdown.  

Listening to the radio while getting lunch ready, the song "Before the Morning" by Josh Wilson came on.  Noah looked at me, as he does sometimes will all the weight of the world on his shoulders, and asked, "Mom, when DOES the joy come?"  Thinking we might finally be talking about why he has AS and other kids don't (he has yet to ask), I asked him what he meant.  My son always surprises me.  Instead of what I was expecting, he said, "Why is there so much hurt in the world?  I mean, why do we have to have war?  Why do bad things have to happen?  Why do there have to be bad people?"  Now the weight of the world was on MY shoulders.  I said, "Well Noah, I don't know the answers to those questions.  What I DO know is that for us, the joy comes in our Lord.  The joy comes every morning when we wake up, take that first deep breath and get to put our feet on the floor.  The joy comes in the first morning hug and the first morning smile.  The joy comes in knowing that what is important to us aren't things, but the people we love and can count on."  Thankfully, he seemed satisfied with those answers.

And now, I remember why I got up in the first place this morning:  Because even though I really wanted to bang my head against a wall, they really do bring me joy.  They are the reason I take that first deep breath and the reason my feet hit the floor.

Psalm 30:5:  "For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning."  (NIV)

Dear Friends, May peace and love fill all of your homes, today and always.  May you always find the joy in the morning.

Why I Have Gray Hairs at 34

This is Avery, my little monster, cleverly disguised as a 22 month old.  My miracle, my pride and joy, my child who isn't supposed to be.  He's also the reason I doubt my parenting abilities more than ever, and I'm quite certain, the reason for most of, if not all of, my gray hairs.  He is stubborn, strong-willed, independent and opinionated (gee, I wonder where he gets THAT from...).  I love him dearly and wouldn't trade him for anything or anyone.  I am so grateful to have him in our lives.  Along with the challenges, he brings me great joy and a lot of laughter.

Raising Avery has been different than raising Noah from the very beginning.  Where Noah was colicky and "difficult" as an infant (that sounds horrible, doesn't it?  I'm certain it had to do with the parents as much as with the child), Avery has always been happy-go-lucky and smiley.  Avery has always just gone with the flow and has easily entertained himself.  As a parent, the differences between my boys are very interesting.  When Noah was younger, time out was the ultimate discipline tool.  Noah would tell me when he was even thinking of doing something wrong, then ask if he should go sit in time out.  With Avery, it quickly became apparent that time out was not going to work (even though we still try it).  Time out became a game to him.  He would purposely do something naughty, then go sit in the time out chair.  No, I'm not kidding.  The first time I spanked him, he literally turned the other (butt) cheek to me as if to say, "Yeah, so?  Your point is---?"  Again, I'm not kidding.

During one temper tantrum, out of all the books in our bookcase that Avery could have chosen, he threw Dr. James Dobson's "The Strong Willed Child" at us.  Yes, we've read it cover-to-cover and even highlighted a few portions of it.  We're pretty certain that even though it was written many years ago, it was written specifically about Avery.  Do you think it's possible Dr. Dobson can see into the future?

The other night, while Avery played with his little workshop table, he put his little stuffed bear under the battery  operated drill press and drilled his bear.  "Avery!  NO!  That's mean!  We don't drill our bears!  That hurts him!  You need to hug him and tell him you're sorry," I told him.  He picked up his little bear, hugged him close and said, "I sowwy bwear, I wuv you."  As I walked out of his room, satisfied that my job was done, Avery laughed mischievously, jammed his bear back under the drill press and proceeded to drill his bear again.  I emailed my mom that night and asked her how I'm going to raise this one.  Her response?  Very carefully, and with one eye open at all times.

I love watching Avery's personality develop.  Avery loves the nursery at church, preferring one of the caretakers in particular over all the others (No offense to the rest! They are all wonderful and I think it's terrific that we even have some dads in there!).  He knows he "belongs" in the nursery, taking our hands and walking us back to the nursery whenever we go to church, even if it's not a Sunday.  He loves his daycare playtime away from Mommy when I go to work on Thursdays and he loves his playgroups.  He loves to sing into the microphone at home; his favorite tv shows are Blues Clues and Fresh Beat Band.  He loves anything to do with music and dancing and is frequently caught trying to carry the kitties around the house (usually when I hear the kitties crying for help!).  I love the way he carries his blankie and his llama with him everywhere he goes, how he sleeps with his butt in the air, how he yells, "AMEN!" at the end of his prayers and grace, the way he reaches up for my hand when we walk together, instinctively knowing Mommy is right there.  I love the way he bats his little baby blues when he knows he's done something naughty, how he announces, "Ta-DA!" to everything he does, how he puts his little finger to his nose and says, "I'm cute!"  I love his sloppy little kisses and his great big hugs.  He's also a great after-nap snuggler.

I have watched this little boy like a hawk from the moment that first test told me I was pregnant (word from the wise: if you live in a small town and haven't told your friends you have been trying to get pregnant, don't go to the small town drugstore for the tests.  Make the drive to the next STATE for them.  I didn't make the drive and ran into most of my friends in the store.  Those I didn't run into were on my answering machine when I got home, eagerly awaiting the results.  And don't try hiding the tests behind your back; that doesn't work, either!  I should have saved myself the trouble and taken out a newspaper ad.).  Between my issues and Noah's differences, I have taken stock of Avery's development every step of the way.  We had a few scary moments during my pregnancy, then he decided to arrive a little earlier than scheduled after a very frightening and difficult delivery, during which our doctor, the nurses, Shawn and I were afraid we were going to lose him, and finally, he was readmitted to the hospital as a newborn for jaundice.  We overcame a low APGAR and some breastfeeding struggles so quickly that people (i. e., complete strangers) began to wonder what I was feeding my baby.  I literally have a checklist in my head, "Okay, he's doing that and Noah didn't.  Noah did that and Avery isn't."  I know it isn't fair to compare children, but as a mother of a child with special needs, I frequently find myself doing so.  So far, I see many differences between him and Noah, so ASD is the last thing that concerns me, but I do worry about sensory issues because of what I know about them (knowledge is power, but sometimes too much knowledge can be a bad thing).  Avery is an INTENSE child.  I call him my little thrill seeker, my "faster-higher-scarier-zigzaggier" child.  I tell myself these are only observations, to file them away.  He's just a toddler exploring his world, I tell myself.  I don't want to second-guess myself a second time, but I also don't want to pin unnecessary worries on a child if there is no reason for them.

As I watched him playing outside with the three older boys (mine and my friend's) the other night, clad only in a t shirt, diaper, his dress shoes and his plaid golf hat (he dressed himself, can you tell?!), I realized just how different life would be without him, and not in a good way.  A piece of my heart would be missing. We are so blessed by this sweet little terror, even if my entire head is gray by 35.

      

I've Learned a Few Lessons This Week....

It's been a rough week....  

The past few days in particular have been difficult.  I set this week aside to deal with medical insurance issues (Angry Mommy--that would be me--is still trying to get our company to cover speech pragmatics for Noah), make follow up appointments for Noah (something I have been trying to do since February, but have been unsuccessful in doing, due to the system(s) I have to deal with) and accomplish various other tasks.  So far, I have been unsuccessful in accomplishing any of these, although not for my lack of trying.  Along the way, I've learned a few lessons.

First, for whatever reason, our insurance company is closed this week.  I have yet to figure out why, because this is a HUGE, nationwide company.  I find it difficult to believe they would close for Easter week.  Of course, I didn't find this out until I had jumped through their many phone-related hoops, though.  I received yet another phone recording telling me their office was closed and to try again during normal business hours, 8am-8pm, my local time.  It was 10am when I made the phone call.  I have yet to figure out the lesson learned here, other than they will have to deal with Angrier Mommy come Monday.

Noah was diagnosed in January and we were told to make a follow up for June ("Congratulations, your son has Asperger's Syndrome, we'll see you in 6 months.").  I have been trying to do that since the end of January; as of three weeks ago, I was told the doctor hadn't turned in her June schedule and I would have to keep calling back.  At that point, I asked if we could just schedule for May because I was getting tired of this little game:  "I'm sorry ma'am, but she's booked for May."  When I called back this week, I was told she was booked through June and I would have to schedule for July.  I lost it at that point because this was just unacceptable.  It's unfair to Noah and he deserves better.  I explained in no uncertain terms that my son is already a patient of this doctor's, that this was simply unacceptable, and I would be calling back every single day until they figured out how to fit him into her May or June schedule.  The scheduling person offered to have the doctor's nurse call me back; I said that would be great, as I've been trying to get in touch with her for several weeks now, also.  That night, I emailed the doctor my frustrations: how I have tried several times to get in touch with her nurse and the run-around I have been given in trying to schedule a follow up appointment for my son.  I had an almost immediate response the next day.  I was surprised to find out that her June calendar has been up since January, and even better, she's going to have her nurse call us next week to fit us in the first week of May.  Lesson learned:  When all else fails, forgo patience, give in to frustration and go straight to the source.  Of course, now I have to hope the nurse actually calls back.  I'm so tired of wait lists, closed wait lists, hearing that our insurance isn't accepted, and so on.  It's enough to make me cry most of the time.  I'm only trying to get help for my son.


I also learned a valuable lesson in being specific with a child with AS.   You'd think I'd know this by now.  Shawn actually remembered to pack his lunch the other day, but then forgot it on his desk here at home.  He called me to double check, then said he was turning around to come back for it.  I should have asked him how far away he was.  I handed it to Noah and told him to run out to meet his dad with it.  I should have been more specific:  Wait at the stop sign for Daddy and don't go any further.  We live at the end of a cul-de-sac a little far back in our neighborhood, there is a busy street at the end of our neighborhood, then a major 2-lane highway at the end of the that busy street.  I soon got a panicked phone call from Shawn:  "DO YOU KNOW WHERE OUR SON IS?????"  "Yes, he's at the end of the court at the stop sign, waiting for you, right?"  "NO!!!  He's almost to 28!"  WHAT????  Our son had made it almost to the major 2-lane highway.  In his pajamas.   I had told my son to run and he did just that.  Just like Forrest Gump, he started running and kept running.  My poor child.  When he got back home, I just hugged him and we went over what Mommy should have said.  I didn't even bother asking him my usual, requisite question: "What were you thinking?!"   I know what he was thinking:  "Get Dad's lunch to him."  I'm just lucky he didn't make the 45 mile trek into Shawn's office on foot.  This time, I was the one who wasn't thinking.   Lesson learned:  Be specific, VERY specific, in my instructions to Noah.


I don't know if there's a lesson in this one.  It was more of one of those "Dear Lord, how am I going to get through raising this child?" moments (the grace of God and good pharmaceuticals for both of us?!  Kidding, just kidding....).  Noah was literally running laps around the checkout stand at the grocery store (I normally have a better handle on things, but it was turning into one of those days) and begging for a Mello Yello (WHEN HAVE I EVER LET HIM HAVE SODA????).  The woman in front of me was actually taking pity on me, instead of giving me that "Control your child, lady" look that I usually get.  Maybe it was the look on my own face, I don't know.  Whatever it was, God bless her for not judging us.  I yanked Noah to me by his shirt collar (desperate times call for desperate measures) and explained that I did not need him towing my car home and therefore there would NOT be any soda (I also latched his hands onto the cart and told him not to move).  The woman in front of me burst into laughter, then immediately apologized to me, saying it was the funniest thing she'd heard all morning and she couldn't believe how matter-of-fact I was about it.  I explained to her that if I allowed my son to have this soda, he would be able to tow my car home, then return and do the same for her (a la the old Mike Myers/Nicole Kidman SNL jungle gym/playground skit).  *I think Shawn and I are finally seeing eye-to-eye on the medication issue.  Or maybe I'm just wearing him down.  I think he is understanding that if we don't do something soon, we'll be medicating me, in a padded cell where I can wear one of those nifty self-hugging jackets.  And he'd be raising our lovable little hellions on his own.  I don't want a zombie or a child I can control, I just want a child who can function in society.


I've also learned just how much I can love someone else's child.  Avery is in love my friend's oldest son (13 years old) and now, her son has also taken on looking after Noah.  At least he did the other night.  We're in a delicate situation with several of our neighbors.  They are one of the reasons we moved Noah to private school.  As much trouble as we've had, for whatever reason, Noah still wants to be accepted by these kids.  To avoid engaging in gossip, I won't say anything more than that.  My friend was over with her children Monday night and all the neighborhood children were out in the court playing.  In spite of our instructions to play in the backyard, we looked out the front windows to see Noah and his friends in the front yard, inching closer and closer to the court and the basketball hoop where all the neighborhood kids were gathered.  My friend gave the signal that it was okay for her kids to go and my heart ached.  Noah wanted so badly to join them, but experience told me it would not be good.  I watched Noah climb the tree in our front yard and my heart shattered.  I called him inside, talked with him and then gave him permission to join the other kids.  Shawn, my friend and I staked out the driveway to watch.  My friend grabbed her son to say something to him, but before she could, he said, "Mom, don't worry, I got this."  From then on, he cheered my son, watched over him, made sure he got plenty of time with the ball and just looked after him.  It made my heart sing and I wanted to hug him. Later that night, I thanked him for being so good to my boys.  He told me that it's okay, it's nothing.  But it isn't "nothing," it's everything to this mommy.  And to my son, it wasn't just a tidbit of normal, it was a gigantic moment of normal.


Last but not least, I learned that not everyone is educated about the Autism Awareness ribbon.  A woman noticed my pin on my blouse and asked if I'm a survivor.  In typical Amy fashion, my mouth worked before my brain and I jokingly replied, "Yes, I survive it everyday, I suppose!"  She gave me a puzzled look and said, "I'm sorry to hear that.  I hope you recover quickly and easily."  It was my turn to give her a puzzled look.  It took me a few more seconds to realize that most people equate the awareness ribbons with cancer.  Neither one of us were on the same page and this was my moment to educate her.  I quickly let her know that the multi-colored puzzle piece ribbon is the symbol for Autism Awareness and my son has been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a high-functioning form of Autism.  "Ooohhhh."  Yes, I survive it everyday.....  In left field....


*As I was typing this, God stepped in to make my week a little brighter.  A phone call I have been waiting on for over three months (and hassling the respective clinic about on a weekly basis) called to double check all of our information and to let me know that I will soon be receiving another phone call from a new caseworker for Noah.  How soon "soon" is, she couldn't tell me, but this means we've been bumped up on the waiting list and Noah will soon be receiving the rest of the testing (educational, social/emotional, cognitive, etc)  that was started back in February.  These tests will give us more insight into the AS diagnosis, possibly confirm an ADD/ADHD link (which he has not yet been diagnosed with and which I question), tell us if Noah could have any other learning disabilities and give us suggestions on how to handle all of this in his best interest.  Finally, things are beginning to fall into place there!  I also received a second phone call from the nurse, giving us an appointment for the first week of May with the diagnosing physician.  Praise God!  Now, if I could just channel with someone from our insurance company and have them call me to approve speech therapy......

The People in My Head

Yes, I have people in my head (don't tell the men in white coats, okay?).  I have frequent conversations with them.  I tell myself it is more like me having a conversation with myself, making decisions and forgetting to let the rest of the world in on them.  Yes, we'll go with that.  Unfortunately, it is a hazard of the combination of my medications, illnesses and MOTHERHOOD.  The losing of my mind, that is.   It annoys my husband because I tell my 'head people' things, but forget to let him and the kids in on our decisions.  He tells me I'm doing this more and more often.  Sometimes it can be a little scary.

This morning, for example, he was drinking the orange juice I had reserved for Easter Sunday breakfast.  I gave him my Wife Look and said, "That's for Sunday morning."  Frustrated, he announced, "You had another one of those conversations, didn't you?!  Could you let the rest of us in on it when you and your people make these decisions, please?!"  Yes, dear.

Unfortunately, this won't be the last time it happens.  And unfortunately, it will probably get worse and it will probably not get better!  Fortunately, I do have a great husband who helps me keep my sense of humor in all of this.  And fortunately, I have an understanding husband who is not keeping count of all the times I talk to the people in my head and lose my mind!  Right, dear?

Surviving, Thriving and LIVING

As a person with chronic illness, I find word phrasing to be an important part of my life.  Some people call me nit-picky, but I really do believe that our wording can have a negative or positive impact on our attitudes, and in turn, on our health.  When I hear someone say, "I suffer from _____," I ask them to try rephrasing their statement to "I live with _____" or "I have _____."  To me, the wording can make all the difference between allowing my illnesses to conquer me, or me conquering my illnesses.  Much like the old Tylenol commercial:  "I have arthritis, but arthritis doesn't have me!"  I have experienced a partial physical healing, but for me, my true healing came when I accepted what was happening inside my body.  I decided to start LIVING rather than, well, dying.  Celebrating life and what I've been given is a much better way to live.  I suppose, in a way, it's my own mission statement.  This is the example I want my children to see me setting for them.

I was reminded of my mission statement twice today in less than five minutes in the grocery store parking lot.  As I pushed my own weary body, kids and overflowing grocery cart uphill through the parking lot, I passed one license plate with the pink breast cancer ribbon that was personalized to announce that not only was the driver a survivor, but pregnant!  As I was marveling over the blessings in that family's life (and yes, smiling through my happy tears for someone I don't even know), another car passed with a wheel cover announcing that the driver is a Lupus survivor.  I did feel compelled to leave a congratulatory note on the first car (from one mommy and survivor of another kind to another), but I couldn't quite muster up the courage to knock on the window of the other car and thank that driver for sharing my viewpoint (the word stalker comes to mind...)!

So, here I am, surviving, thriving and LIVING...  In left field, of course!

My Apologies to Toyota

Let me begin by saying that in today's economy, I am grateful our family can have two cars.  Let me also say that some days, I fail in my Christian walk. . .   And yes, today was one of those days.


My husband drives a Prius.  Several years ago, he gave up his big, manly truck.  I'm pretty sure he cried when he swapped the keys for his truck with the keys for the Prius.  He was making a sacrifice for our family and doing the 'right' thing.  Shawn takes a lot of teasing for driving such a small, unmanly golfcart, but he tries to be a good sport about it.  To make matters worse for my dear husband, it also happens to be a "sparkly blue Prius," a la Jeff Dunham.  I drive a Jeep.  A top-down, 4 door, 4WD, standard-shift, fun-to-drive, 2 car-seats-in-the-back, Jeep Wrangler.  We bought it right before we conceived Avery, having traded in my mini van.  I came home in tears one day, telling Shawn there was no point in having a mini van if we weren't going to fill it.  Three months after buying the Jeep, we were finally pregnant again.  God is funny that way!  :)


I had to drive Shawn's car into "the city" today.  Remember, I'm a small-town girl, so anything out of my comfort zone is "the city."  Am I grateful we have two cars?   Yes.  Do I like driving Shawn's car?  ABSOLUTELY NOT, especially in rush-hour traffic with all the crazy people.  I like the safety of my tank.  I feel very claustrophobic in Shawn's car.  I also feel very small.  I tend to forget that I don't need the key to start it, that I don't have to shift (I keep a water bottle in the cup holder for this purpose, which makes people laugh; I have yet to figure out what to do with my left foot for the clutch, though!) and that it has all of these supposed "smart" features.  I think what Toyota forgot in the smart-feature process though, is the operator of the vehicle.  In this case, that would be ME.  


The Prius has this nifty little thing called a Smart Key.  It does not have a Smart Driver.  Just by standing next to the car with the key on your person and pulling on the door handle, it is supposed to unlock.  Well today, it didn't.  I argued with the car for about ten minutes.  I double and triple checked my purse to make sure the Smart Key was in there. Then I took to waving the Smart Key in front of the door handle while pulling on the door handle.  I tried jumping up and down with the Smart Key in my hand while pulling on the door handle.   I kicked the tires.  I called it names.   I called the Toyota manufacturers names and I think I might have said something about their mothers, also.  This was not one of my finer moments and I was so glad my children were not with me. I yelled, I argued, I pleaded, I begged with it to Please.  Just.  Unlock.  Then I looked in the windows.   Noah's booster seat wasn't in the back.  No library books on the floor.  I walked around to the back:  No Camp PMI sticker on the back window, either.  I had been arguing with someone else's car.  


Now, that's not a mess you can just nonchalantly walk away from....

--OOPS--