"You need an attitude adjustment."
If I had a dollar for every time my mom uttered that phrase in my presence, I probably wouldn't need to worry about paying off student loans as much as I do.
As a child or teenager, I didn't put much stock into that statement. It was just one of the things my mom would say that meant we weren't currently on her good side. It didn't hold any weight. Now, as a mom, I can definitely say that my boys need an attitude adjustment from time to time and I probably will catch myself saying so to them in the same hopes that my mother said it to me.
But are there times when that statement rings true for me as well? Yes, I think so. And I think now is one of those times.
Lately I've been feeling really down. It comes from a lot of things, both big and small "issues" in my life at the moment. And I've always been the kind of person to make light of any kind of struggles I'm facing. I'm always the type to say "Everything is okay" when asked, even when things aren't okay at the moment. I guess it's because I know that things will be okay. And I know that things could be much worse. I'm known for being a happy-go-lucky and positive person and I'd like to continue to be known for that. Because I believe I am that person. Even when times are a bit tough.
But, given that I tend to keep my problems to myself, I can often start to dwell on them and let them overtake me. This leads to a change in behavior on my part and that comes as a surprise to anyone around me.
The other day I was just going about my business and my mom stopped to ask me if everything was okay. "Yeah, everything is fine" I responded. Then she said something I wasn't ready for: "Well, you seem a little on edge."
Me? On edge? No, that's not how I want to be. I'm not on edge. I'm patient, happy, positive Robin. I'm fun. Right?
Wrong. I stopped to think about what could make her think that I was on edge and realized that, well, I'd been on edge.
I'd been snapping easily at the boys. I'd lost motivation to do things around the house or run the errands I needed to run. I was becoming easily annoyed and argumentative with my husband. I didn't really want to be bothered by anyone and the tension in my household was high.
Some of my behavior is due in part to some hormonal issues I'm dealing with and hopefully those will be cleared up soon. But some of it is just plain and simply a bad attitude.
I've been in a place of feeling sorry for myself these last few weeks and I guess I wasn't hiding it as well as I thought. It was becoming apparent to those around me that something was under my skin. And honestly, I hadn't even realized that something was bothering me enough to change me until I looked at it from the outside in.
It's okay to feel the way I do about certain things. And I guess maybe trying to hide them only makes it worse.
I'm sad that I've left my church, my friends, my normal life of the last 5 years. I'm anxious about starting over, learning this new place, meeting new people.
Having to meet new people and make new friends always reminds me of how much I miss my old friends. It always leaves me nostalgic and wishing for a time that we're all in each others' daily lives. And it always leaves me breathless knowing that a time such as that may never happen again.
Like I said above, I've been dealing with some hormonal stuff and that's made me feel pretty bleh a lot of days. I'm also really struggling with my weight and while I could write and entire book about the way that affects my life, I'll just sum it up here by saying that it's scary and overwhelming to know you have every reason to change something, to know that you want and need to change something, but then to continue to fail to do so each time you try. It's draining.
My marriage isn't perfect. We're still very much in love, but we've hit some rough patches readjusting to life with each other every day and while it's good for the most part, working out the kinks can be tiring.
The boys are both in difficult, demanding, all-consuming stages right now and when patience is already running thin, that can be disastrous.
Even though my little ones run me ragged, somehow my heart aches for another baby. I don't want to accept or believe that the season of newborn cuddles is past. I can't bear to imagine an empty womb from here on out, an empty crib, an empty place on my chest that a baby fits so perfectly. And while I know we don't know what the future holds--my husband could change his mind and I suppose so could I--it's the unknown that bothers me.
And so I've felt like I have a lot to complain about. I've felt bitter and sad and angry.
And although I know that I'm blessed, I've allowed myself to think more about the hardships.
I need to practice an attitude of gratitude.
My life is not perfect. There are fears and tears and clenched fists and "just make it through one more day"s. There are times when I feel like I'm failing as a mother, as a wife, as a friend. There are nights that I lie awake wracking my brain for solutions to problems that I can't even explain.
And yet, I am blessed. I am blessed beyond measure. I am blessed and even if nothing else in my life ever goes right again, I have been blessed. I have much to be thankful for. And I am grateful.
So why do I let myself forget that? Why do I spend more time crying out to God for help, or even admittedly avoiding him than I do pouring out my heart in thanks?
I may miss my friends, but at least I've been blessed with people that are so easy to miss. I may argue with my husband or feel defeated sometimes but I know I'm loved and I have a partner all my life. I may be at my wits end and in tears some days with my boys, but they are mine and they love me and there is no greater gift than them. I may long for another baby, but I've been lucky to carry and deliver two healthy children and nurse them and cradle them as they grew. I may be overwhelmed with school work but I am free to have an education and free to pursue any career I choose.
And I have been given the simple things--I am living and breathing. I am writing this from the comfort of my warm home..using my nice laptop and high speed internet. Last night I had dinner and this morning I had breakfast and this afternoon I'll have lunch. I sent my little man off to school this morning and I, too, grew up going to school. I graduated. I got married. I moved into a place of my own.
So often we mistake life's grandest treasures for the mundane or the guaranteed. And they are neither. And some people aren't lucky enough to experience the things we expect to experience each and every day of our lives.
Starting today I'm going to try to remember that. I'm still going to allow myself to feel upset, sad, or let down, but I'm not going to allow those things to build up until they change my demeanor or leave me "on edge". That is not the person I want to be. I want to be a person with an attitude of gratitude. It's time for an attitude adjustment.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
Modern Warfare: How Social Media Turned Motherhood Into An Epic Battle Royale
Picture it: June 3rd, 2009. The day my life began.
Not really. I had a meaningful life long before I had my first son. But motherhood was definitely a new and uncharted part of life for me. One filled with wonderment, grandeur, and of course the occasional (when the occasion comes more often than not) "failure". Part of motherhood [and by motherhood, you can assume I mean parenthood in general, although I will use the term motherhood because I am a mother, not a father], perhaps the biggest part, is being faced with decisions and realizing that you are making them for another human being. I don't know about others, but before actually lacing up my mommy shoes, I never really thought about that. Every single decision I have made from that point on affects not only me, but my children. And many of those decisions are solely geared toward their well-being, and theirs' alone.
From the moment they come into this world: Do you vaccinate? Do you breastfeed or formula feed? If you breastfeed, do you pump too? If you formula feed, what brand? Do you rock them to sleep or put them down awake? Do you let them use a paci to comfort themselves or do you see it as unnecessary or even possibly a hindrance to your breastfeeding? Will you use a stroller or will you always wear your baby? Will baby always be held or will you "hand them off" to a swing or bouncer? If you have a boy, will you circumcise? If you have a girl, will you pierce her ears? When will you introduce solids? Will you cosleep? Will you put baby in his or her crib right away? What if it takes baby too long to sleep through the night? Will you sleep train? Use CIO? How long is too long before they STTN, anyway? Will you push your baby to learn new things like crawling or walking or talking or will you sit back and let it come on its own? Will you use a carrier or convertible car seat? And when will you turn that car seat forward facing? Will you take your child to church, involve them in your faith or will you teach them to feel it out on their own? Will you spank, use time out, just try to reason with them? Will you homeschool or send your child to public school? Will they go to school with organic packed lunches or will they eat what the school serves? Will you give your child an allowance? Make them work for it? What about when they turn 16? Do Mom and Dad buy their first car or should the child buy his/her own?
You will be making decisions for your child from the moment they are born until they are well into adulthood.
Before becoming a mom, I would think about these things from time to time and think "No big deal, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." And sure, there were some that I immediately answered "No way." or "Of course."
I knew all of these decisions would be of some importance in my children's lives. I probably didn't realize of how much importance.
But what I definitely didn't realize was how important my decisions would be to nearly every other mother I know. Now, keep in mind I said "nearly". I just want to point that out before I continue.
When I was a child, I remember overhearing my mom talk with her friends about my brother and I. Occasionally she'd seek parenting advice from one of her close friends, a church lady or my grandmother and aunts. Honestly, though, I think my mom's philosophy was this: Love them, feed them, clothe them, show pride in them, discipline the wrong, praise the good, and wing the rest.
Were there times she made the wrong decisions? Of course. But I don't recall many specifics. And I also don't recall anyone ever saying to her, face to face, "Oh no. You can't do that. You can't spank your kids. That causes brain damage." Or "You really had your son circumcised? You know that's inhumane, right?" Or "That's really sad that you had a C-section with your second. That's like you didn't even give birth to her."
Yet, I see these things on a daily basis now. Let that sink in. Daily I see mothers being constantly and obsessively criticized for the way they raise their children.
It has become so easy. Moms everywhere are using their fingers and keys as deadly weapons on the battlefield of Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. And every other social media site you can think of.
Why is this okay?
Sure, it's great that you are able to offer instant advice for mothers who are struggling with some of those tough decisions. But more often than not, that advice is really just pokes and prods, meant to be hurtful, aimed at frail women seeking some kind of support during some of the hardest days of their lives.
And what's worse is that we've all been there. As a mom, in this technologically fueled environment we live in, we have all gone to our respective outlets and vented our frustrations about a baby that's been up every 25 minutes for the last 7 hours. We've all posted that article that seems to state just what we were thinking about vaccinations, or circumcision, or sleep sacks, or whatever. And we've all posted that celebration status about breastfeeding for a year now or having a baby that walks at 8 months or rear-facing for 3 years or potty training at 18 months.
And it's all fine. But when you posted that you needed help choosing a formula, you never dreamed someone would actually comment "None. Breast is best." And you never dreamed that comment would lead to several other people discussing how giving formula is mistreating your baby and you should be ashamed. And how your child would be getting the nutrition he or she deserves if you would just have had the gutso to stick it out. When you posted that article that talks about how vaccines save lives you never thought someone would accuse you of poisoning your baby. When you posted that your baby was trying her first green bean and loving it, you never dreamed someone would give you a lecture about how solids aren't good for your child before 8 months or even necessary before a year..that is if you were breastfeeding like the mother you should be.
And 'round and 'round we go. And we get our feelings hurt, so we have to retaliate. Or at least, we have to defend. And that can get messy. And tiring..my goodness, does that get tiring.
You know what standard I want to live up to? I want to teach my kids to love God, to love others, and I want to provide them with food, shelter, and education. I want to do those things the way that my husband and I have decided to do them. And if we're happy and our kids are happy and healthy, then I want that to be that. The end.
When I reach out for help, I want just that. I don't want to be shot down or told how I'm wrong.
Newsflash--we're all wrong. Isn't there always room for improvement? I can't be perfect and I can't do every thing the best way. I try, but I know that there are going to be times that it just doesn't work.
And those are the times when I, as a mother surrounded by other mothers, need support. Not criticism.
Seriously, to all fellow mommies out there. To the mommies-to-be..to the TTCers..sit your weapons down and walk away. Motherhood is a hectic, tender, and sometimes very fragile state we're in. It's hard enough making the big decisions for the lives that you took on the responsibility of bringing up. It's even harder when those decisions are being scrutinized by everyone around you.
So, I leave you all with this:
The only battle that should take place in your state of motherhood is the battle between your own will and the will of your tiny, courageous, world-changer. Not between you and all other mothers.
You are doing just fine and your children can survive, can thrive, in many different circumstances and situations. Our children are going to make up the world's population one day and they will be thankful that they are all unique.
So, step back. Step down. Disarm.
Not really. I had a meaningful life long before I had my first son. But motherhood was definitely a new and uncharted part of life for me. One filled with wonderment, grandeur, and of course the occasional (when the occasion comes more often than not) "failure". Part of motherhood [and by motherhood, you can assume I mean parenthood in general, although I will use the term motherhood because I am a mother, not a father], perhaps the biggest part, is being faced with decisions and realizing that you are making them for another human being. I don't know about others, but before actually lacing up my mommy shoes, I never really thought about that. Every single decision I have made from that point on affects not only me, but my children. And many of those decisions are solely geared toward their well-being, and theirs' alone.
From the moment they come into this world: Do you vaccinate? Do you breastfeed or formula feed? If you breastfeed, do you pump too? If you formula feed, what brand? Do you rock them to sleep or put them down awake? Do you let them use a paci to comfort themselves or do you see it as unnecessary or even possibly a hindrance to your breastfeeding? Will you use a stroller or will you always wear your baby? Will baby always be held or will you "hand them off" to a swing or bouncer? If you have a boy, will you circumcise? If you have a girl, will you pierce her ears? When will you introduce solids? Will you cosleep? Will you put baby in his or her crib right away? What if it takes baby too long to sleep through the night? Will you sleep train? Use CIO? How long is too long before they STTN, anyway? Will you push your baby to learn new things like crawling or walking or talking or will you sit back and let it come on its own? Will you use a carrier or convertible car seat? And when will you turn that car seat forward facing? Will you take your child to church, involve them in your faith or will you teach them to feel it out on their own? Will you spank, use time out, just try to reason with them? Will you homeschool or send your child to public school? Will they go to school with organic packed lunches or will they eat what the school serves? Will you give your child an allowance? Make them work for it? What about when they turn 16? Do Mom and Dad buy their first car or should the child buy his/her own?
You will be making decisions for your child from the moment they are born until they are well into adulthood.
Before becoming a mom, I would think about these things from time to time and think "No big deal, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." And sure, there were some that I immediately answered "No way." or "Of course."
I knew all of these decisions would be of some importance in my children's lives. I probably didn't realize of how much importance.
But what I definitely didn't realize was how important my decisions would be to nearly every other mother I know. Now, keep in mind I said "nearly". I just want to point that out before I continue.
When I was a child, I remember overhearing my mom talk with her friends about my brother and I. Occasionally she'd seek parenting advice from one of her close friends, a church lady or my grandmother and aunts. Honestly, though, I think my mom's philosophy was this: Love them, feed them, clothe them, show pride in them, discipline the wrong, praise the good, and wing the rest.
Were there times she made the wrong decisions? Of course. But I don't recall many specifics. And I also don't recall anyone ever saying to her, face to face, "Oh no. You can't do that. You can't spank your kids. That causes brain damage." Or "You really had your son circumcised? You know that's inhumane, right?" Or "That's really sad that you had a C-section with your second. That's like you didn't even give birth to her."
Yet, I see these things on a daily basis now. Let that sink in. Daily I see mothers being constantly and obsessively criticized for the way they raise their children.
It has become so easy. Moms everywhere are using their fingers and keys as deadly weapons on the battlefield of Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. And every other social media site you can think of.
Why is this okay?
Sure, it's great that you are able to offer instant advice for mothers who are struggling with some of those tough decisions. But more often than not, that advice is really just pokes and prods, meant to be hurtful, aimed at frail women seeking some kind of support during some of the hardest days of their lives.
And what's worse is that we've all been there. As a mom, in this technologically fueled environment we live in, we have all gone to our respective outlets and vented our frustrations about a baby that's been up every 25 minutes for the last 7 hours. We've all posted that article that seems to state just what we were thinking about vaccinations, or circumcision, or sleep sacks, or whatever. And we've all posted that celebration status about breastfeeding for a year now or having a baby that walks at 8 months or rear-facing for 3 years or potty training at 18 months.
And it's all fine. But when you posted that you needed help choosing a formula, you never dreamed someone would actually comment "None. Breast is best." And you never dreamed that comment would lead to several other people discussing how giving formula is mistreating your baby and you should be ashamed. And how your child would be getting the nutrition he or she deserves if you would just have had the gutso to stick it out. When you posted that article that talks about how vaccines save lives you never thought someone would accuse you of poisoning your baby. When you posted that your baby was trying her first green bean and loving it, you never dreamed someone would give you a lecture about how solids aren't good for your child before 8 months or even necessary before a year..that is if you were breastfeeding like the mother you should be.
And 'round and 'round we go. And we get our feelings hurt, so we have to retaliate. Or at least, we have to defend. And that can get messy. And tiring..my goodness, does that get tiring.
You know what standard I want to live up to? I want to teach my kids to love God, to love others, and I want to provide them with food, shelter, and education. I want to do those things the way that my husband and I have decided to do them. And if we're happy and our kids are happy and healthy, then I want that to be that. The end.
When I reach out for help, I want just that. I don't want to be shot down or told how I'm wrong.
Newsflash--we're all wrong. Isn't there always room for improvement? I can't be perfect and I can't do every thing the best way. I try, but I know that there are going to be times that it just doesn't work.
And those are the times when I, as a mother surrounded by other mothers, need support. Not criticism.
Seriously, to all fellow mommies out there. To the mommies-to-be..to the TTCers..sit your weapons down and walk away. Motherhood is a hectic, tender, and sometimes very fragile state we're in. It's hard enough making the big decisions for the lives that you took on the responsibility of bringing up. It's even harder when those decisions are being scrutinized by everyone around you.
So, I leave you all with this:
The only battle that should take place in your state of motherhood is the battle between your own will and the will of your tiny, courageous, world-changer. Not between you and all other mothers.
You are doing just fine and your children can survive, can thrive, in many different circumstances and situations. Our children are going to make up the world's population one day and they will be thankful that they are all unique.
So, step back. Step down. Disarm.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Third Time's A Charm
Hello, bloggies! My, how it has been a while.
What have I been doing this past year, you ask? Well, I spent a good portion of it missing my other half, going to church, working, doing school work, chasing after kids, cleaning house, trying to find time for a shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes. I spent a good portion of the last year surviving my husband's 3rd, perhaps last, and longest deployment.
February 7th, 2013 we drove down to the pier and braved the cold in order to bid my husband, and the boys' daddy, farewell. It was a difficult morning--one we'd been anticipating for months. The boys didn't quite understand what was in store and as we watched the ship slowly float away, I'm sure our thoughts were much different. The boys, I'm sure, were thinking Daddy would be gone for a few weeks and back again. They were amazed at the size of the boat, in awe at all the sailors in their dress blues manning the rails. It was the 3rd deployment Xander had been through but the first I felt he would truly feel the severity of the separation. It was Archer's first deployment experience all together.
The thoughts in my head were much less like awe and excitement and much more like dread and worry. I could already feel the loneliness creeping up inside me--not just for me, but for my boys. I was already envisioning each holiday and birthday that would be missed and the looks on their faces when they realized that this time Daddy was going to be gone for a very long time.
But, I knew we'd get through it. What is another 6 months apart when you have forever together to spend? I knew with a lot of prayer, a brave face, a little determination, and a lot of love and support from my family and friends, we would make it through this deployment with flying colors just as we had all the rest.
We were less than a week into the deployment when I went to strap my son, Xander, into his car seat and noticed he had silent tears running down his cheeks. It was late--we were leaving church after a Wednesday night service--and I assumed he was tired and ready to get home. "We'll be home soon, Sweetie.", I said. His reply took me off guard. "I'm not sad about not being home..or being sleepy. I'm not even sad about wanting to play my games or watch a show or play cars. I'm sad because of my Daddy. And I just want him home and he's not. And I just don't know when he will be again."
Shew. Immediate tears. Gosh, I usually make it through month 1 or 2 without having a good, hearty deployment cry. But not this time. I realized then that this deployment was going to be by far the hardest one I'd ever been through. I had experienced the antsy toddler who asked for Daddy at bedtime and carried around Daddy's picture to kiss when he got sad. I expected that. And I knew I'd have that with Archer this time around. I hadn't yet experienced the preschooler who was a little too smart for his own good..who realized that Daddy was going to be gone a long time and who was able to express that in such a breathtaking way.
Now I had both ages and both stages. It was going to be a challenge. But again, we could do it.
We knew what day he'd be home--August 4th. I used special days to help the boys countdown to Daddy's return. We'd get through February and celebrate Valentine's Day. We already made up cards for Daddy to take with him and open that day. We'd get through March and look forward to the cold, dry weather leaving and the warmer winds of spring blowing in. April would bring a trip home to Ohio for us and we'd be able to spend time with our family. We'd send Daddy another package for his birthday. In May, Xander's school year would end and summer break would begin. In June, we would celebrate Xander's 4th birthday and send Daddy a Father's Day package. July we'd plan some fun trips to the beach and enjoy the long days of summer. And once July had come to a close, we'd welcome my love home.
But, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
In May we got a phone call from Robert early one morning. It was much earlier than he normally called and I almost missed the call because I was asleep. I was excited to hear his voice. He didn't get to call often--that was probably the second phone call we'd had. My excitement was quickly deluded when he said he had some bad news. Their deployment had been extended for six weeks; they'd be home September 16th.
Sigh. Okay..no big deal, right? I was lucky enough to have my mom living here with us and helping entertain the boys and keep the loneliness at bay. It was just another month to tack on to the countdown. He'd miss Archer's birthday, September 8th, but we'd just celebrate it when he got home a week later.
I explained to the boys that we'd be waiting another month on Daddy and although they were a little disappointed, it didn't seem like it changed much.
Shortly thereafter, my husband reenlisted in the Navy for another 5 years. He got a new set of orders. We found out we'd be relocating to Pensacola, FL and we were set to move on October 1st.
Whew, that means we'll only have 2 weeks between when he returns home and when we leave this area, I thought. I didn't want to spend that time hectically packing or organizing, so it became my mission to do so before the hubby returned home. I busied myself with organizing the garage, the shed, the walk-in closet. I cleaned out all the clothes closets, sorted through and boxed up most of the electronics, the books, the DVDs. As September approached I felt good about what I'd gotten done around the house and we began to officially countdown until Homecoming day.
The last week of August, I headed in to our housing office to turn in our notice and sign the paperwork stating we'd be moving October 1st. Things were coming together. I needed my husband to review some paperwork so I emailed him about it. I waited for a response and didn't hear anything for a day..3 days..8 days..I began to worry. One of the great things about having a husband that works on the electronics on the boat is that he has access to the internet often and he normally doesn't go more than a day without emailing me. Something was up. I began to really pay attention to the news. The last time something like this happened, I flipped on CNN and saw my husband's ship launching tomahawk missiles at Libya. I had a feeling that something like that had to be happening...and I was right. I saw all the things that were going on in Syria and I knew my husband was involved. Over the next few days, I spent my time bouncing back and forth from actively stalking news channels and websites to actively avoiding them. Still no word from my husband. His homecoming date was quickly approaching and yet, I had no clue where he was or what he was doing.
I finally heard from him. He had fallen and cut his knee. He needed stitches and was able to quickly email me from Medical. He said he was fine, not to be worried, but that the schedule had changed and "when we'll be home is up in the air right now."
Sigh. Really? It became apparent that they were awaiting orders from President Obama on what to do about the Syria conflict. Would we attack? Would we retreat? Those were the questions. Amidst the debate of whether or not to move in on Syria in some way, we also had Russia to worry about. Putin announced he was moving ships to the Med as well. Everything was escalating so quickly.
I had my own questions circling my mind--Was my husband truly okay? Were they in danger? Would he be home before our move date or would we be moving to Florida without him?
I later found out that during the time that my husband wasn't able to speak to me, they were being tracked and followed by Russian ships. Those are the times when you realize how thankful you are for information you don't know.
September 16th came and went. No word on when my husband would be here. The boys and I stopped counting down--what could we count down to? Toward the end of September I was able to chat with my husband. He told me that they had a new homecoming date. "I'll be there the day after your birthday", he said. Awesome! My birthday wasn't too far away..just a couple weeks. I began to plan once again.
The next day, my husband called me around noon. He told me that the Captain had called a meeting on the ship--they wouldn't be home on October 3rd as planned. In fact, they wouldn't be home in October at all. "Sometime in November" was the only time frame they could give us.
I cried. For the first time in receiving extension information, I cried. How many times was this going to happen? How many times would I tell my sons that "Daddy would be home soon" and realize just days later that was a lie? What would happen with my husband's orders to Pensacola? We had already turned in our notice to move on October 1st..would I have to leave Virginia for Florida not even knowing when my husband would be back on US soil?
Thankfully, I heard from my husband about a week later that his Chain of Command was taking care of everything with our housing office and had succeeded in getting his orders to Pensacola extended. We could wait here in Va Beach for his return and we'd move to Pensacola sometime in December.
In the back of my mind I thought "Yeah, that's the plan until we find out you're not coming home until January." I was beginning to become a bit of a pessimist. But, as a mom of two little ones who are confused and missing their Daddy, you can't be pessimistic. We decided we'd make Daddy a Halloween package and send that off. It'd been a couple months since we sent a package, since we didn't know how long he'd be gone. We had a blast decorating it and my 4 year old seemed to think that when his Daddy opened it he'd be so scared that he'd jump right off the ship. Lol.
Toward the middle of October we received another Homecoming date. They'd be pulling in on November 8th. Would this really be it?
As we began to get nearer and nearer to the date, things started to come together. Our Homecoming brief with the FRG was scheduled and perhaps the best news of all--the ship had actually left the Med. They were actually on their way home! Our household reeled with excitement. Homecoming shirts for the boys were made. I got my hair cut, bought my Homecoming dress. Notified our Homecoming photographer of the 4th change in his return date.
This was it. This was the one.
Up until 3-4 days before he returned, I still wondered--would I get yet another phone call? I could not bear to hear that word "extension" again.
And, to God's glory, I did not! On November 8th, after over nine months of separation, my husband returned home. After 3/4 of a year, 4 extensions, 4 birthdays, Father's Day, Mother's Day, several new milestones met..274 days..my family was whole again.
What a whirlwind. I can't say it was easy. This deployment brought a lot of emotions, some arguments, a whole lot of stress, some "I can't do this" moments, loneliness, and tears. But it also brought the one thing that makes all that worthwhile--a strengthening of our family unit. The resiliency that grows and prevails during those long months of separation is something that I find it hard to describe. There is a sense of euphoria when we come back together--that first embrace, that first kiss, the smiles of pure joy on the boys' faces..they all represent the reason we do this. Love. Love can conquer all things and it does. That moment that we are made complete again does not erase the hardships of this lifestyle. However, it shines a light on them that makes them seem much less significant than they did at the time. It provides us with the willingness to do it all again because, in the end, we can look back and say "totally worth it".
What have I been doing this past year, you ask? Well, I spent a good portion of it missing my other half, going to church, working, doing school work, chasing after kids, cleaning house, trying to find time for a shower that lasted longer than 5 minutes. I spent a good portion of the last year surviving my husband's 3rd, perhaps last, and longest deployment.
February 7th, 2013 we drove down to the pier and braved the cold in order to bid my husband, and the boys' daddy, farewell. It was a difficult morning--one we'd been anticipating for months. The boys didn't quite understand what was in store and as we watched the ship slowly float away, I'm sure our thoughts were much different. The boys, I'm sure, were thinking Daddy would be gone for a few weeks and back again. They were amazed at the size of the boat, in awe at all the sailors in their dress blues manning the rails. It was the 3rd deployment Xander had been through but the first I felt he would truly feel the severity of the separation. It was Archer's first deployment experience all together.
The thoughts in my head were much less like awe and excitement and much more like dread and worry. I could already feel the loneliness creeping up inside me--not just for me, but for my boys. I was already envisioning each holiday and birthday that would be missed and the looks on their faces when they realized that this time Daddy was going to be gone for a very long time.
But, I knew we'd get through it. What is another 6 months apart when you have forever together to spend? I knew with a lot of prayer, a brave face, a little determination, and a lot of love and support from my family and friends, we would make it through this deployment with flying colors just as we had all the rest.
We were less than a week into the deployment when I went to strap my son, Xander, into his car seat and noticed he had silent tears running down his cheeks. It was late--we were leaving church after a Wednesday night service--and I assumed he was tired and ready to get home. "We'll be home soon, Sweetie.", I said. His reply took me off guard. "I'm not sad about not being home..or being sleepy. I'm not even sad about wanting to play my games or watch a show or play cars. I'm sad because of my Daddy. And I just want him home and he's not. And I just don't know when he will be again."
Shew. Immediate tears. Gosh, I usually make it through month 1 or 2 without having a good, hearty deployment cry. But not this time. I realized then that this deployment was going to be by far the hardest one I'd ever been through. I had experienced the antsy toddler who asked for Daddy at bedtime and carried around Daddy's picture to kiss when he got sad. I expected that. And I knew I'd have that with Archer this time around. I hadn't yet experienced the preschooler who was a little too smart for his own good..who realized that Daddy was going to be gone a long time and who was able to express that in such a breathtaking way.
Now I had both ages and both stages. It was going to be a challenge. But again, we could do it.
We knew what day he'd be home--August 4th. I used special days to help the boys countdown to Daddy's return. We'd get through February and celebrate Valentine's Day. We already made up cards for Daddy to take with him and open that day. We'd get through March and look forward to the cold, dry weather leaving and the warmer winds of spring blowing in. April would bring a trip home to Ohio for us and we'd be able to spend time with our family. We'd send Daddy another package for his birthday. In May, Xander's school year would end and summer break would begin. In June, we would celebrate Xander's 4th birthday and send Daddy a Father's Day package. July we'd plan some fun trips to the beach and enjoy the long days of summer. And once July had come to a close, we'd welcome my love home.
But, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
In May we got a phone call from Robert early one morning. It was much earlier than he normally called and I almost missed the call because I was asleep. I was excited to hear his voice. He didn't get to call often--that was probably the second phone call we'd had. My excitement was quickly deluded when he said he had some bad news. Their deployment had been extended for six weeks; they'd be home September 16th.
Sigh. Okay..no big deal, right? I was lucky enough to have my mom living here with us and helping entertain the boys and keep the loneliness at bay. It was just another month to tack on to the countdown. He'd miss Archer's birthday, September 8th, but we'd just celebrate it when he got home a week later.
I explained to the boys that we'd be waiting another month on Daddy and although they were a little disappointed, it didn't seem like it changed much.
Shortly thereafter, my husband reenlisted in the Navy for another 5 years. He got a new set of orders. We found out we'd be relocating to Pensacola, FL and we were set to move on October 1st.
Whew, that means we'll only have 2 weeks between when he returns home and when we leave this area, I thought. I didn't want to spend that time hectically packing or organizing, so it became my mission to do so before the hubby returned home. I busied myself with organizing the garage, the shed, the walk-in closet. I cleaned out all the clothes closets, sorted through and boxed up most of the electronics, the books, the DVDs. As September approached I felt good about what I'd gotten done around the house and we began to officially countdown until Homecoming day.
The last week of August, I headed in to our housing office to turn in our notice and sign the paperwork stating we'd be moving October 1st. Things were coming together. I needed my husband to review some paperwork so I emailed him about it. I waited for a response and didn't hear anything for a day..3 days..8 days..I began to worry. One of the great things about having a husband that works on the electronics on the boat is that he has access to the internet often and he normally doesn't go more than a day without emailing me. Something was up. I began to really pay attention to the news. The last time something like this happened, I flipped on CNN and saw my husband's ship launching tomahawk missiles at Libya. I had a feeling that something like that had to be happening...and I was right. I saw all the things that were going on in Syria and I knew my husband was involved. Over the next few days, I spent my time bouncing back and forth from actively stalking news channels and websites to actively avoiding them. Still no word from my husband. His homecoming date was quickly approaching and yet, I had no clue where he was or what he was doing.
I finally heard from him. He had fallen and cut his knee. He needed stitches and was able to quickly email me from Medical. He said he was fine, not to be worried, but that the schedule had changed and "when we'll be home is up in the air right now."
Sigh. Really? It became apparent that they were awaiting orders from President Obama on what to do about the Syria conflict. Would we attack? Would we retreat? Those were the questions. Amidst the debate of whether or not to move in on Syria in some way, we also had Russia to worry about. Putin announced he was moving ships to the Med as well. Everything was escalating so quickly.
I had my own questions circling my mind--Was my husband truly okay? Were they in danger? Would he be home before our move date or would we be moving to Florida without him?
I later found out that during the time that my husband wasn't able to speak to me, they were being tracked and followed by Russian ships. Those are the times when you realize how thankful you are for information you don't know.
September 16th came and went. No word on when my husband would be here. The boys and I stopped counting down--what could we count down to? Toward the end of September I was able to chat with my husband. He told me that they had a new homecoming date. "I'll be there the day after your birthday", he said. Awesome! My birthday wasn't too far away..just a couple weeks. I began to plan once again.
The next day, my husband called me around noon. He told me that the Captain had called a meeting on the ship--they wouldn't be home on October 3rd as planned. In fact, they wouldn't be home in October at all. "Sometime in November" was the only time frame they could give us.
I cried. For the first time in receiving extension information, I cried. How many times was this going to happen? How many times would I tell my sons that "Daddy would be home soon" and realize just days later that was a lie? What would happen with my husband's orders to Pensacola? We had already turned in our notice to move on October 1st..would I have to leave Virginia for Florida not even knowing when my husband would be back on US soil?
Thankfully, I heard from my husband about a week later that his Chain of Command was taking care of everything with our housing office and had succeeded in getting his orders to Pensacola extended. We could wait here in Va Beach for his return and we'd move to Pensacola sometime in December.
In the back of my mind I thought "Yeah, that's the plan until we find out you're not coming home until January." I was beginning to become a bit of a pessimist. But, as a mom of two little ones who are confused and missing their Daddy, you can't be pessimistic. We decided we'd make Daddy a Halloween package and send that off. It'd been a couple months since we sent a package, since we didn't know how long he'd be gone. We had a blast decorating it and my 4 year old seemed to think that when his Daddy opened it he'd be so scared that he'd jump right off the ship. Lol.
Toward the middle of October we received another Homecoming date. They'd be pulling in on November 8th. Would this really be it?
As we began to get nearer and nearer to the date, things started to come together. Our Homecoming brief with the FRG was scheduled and perhaps the best news of all--the ship had actually left the Med. They were actually on their way home! Our household reeled with excitement. Homecoming shirts for the boys were made. I got my hair cut, bought my Homecoming dress. Notified our Homecoming photographer of the 4th change in his return date.
This was it. This was the one.
Up until 3-4 days before he returned, I still wondered--would I get yet another phone call? I could not bear to hear that word "extension" again.
And, to God's glory, I did not! On November 8th, after over nine months of separation, my husband returned home. After 3/4 of a year, 4 extensions, 4 birthdays, Father's Day, Mother's Day, several new milestones met..274 days..my family was whole again.
What a whirlwind. I can't say it was easy. This deployment brought a lot of emotions, some arguments, a whole lot of stress, some "I can't do this" moments, loneliness, and tears. But it also brought the one thing that makes all that worthwhile--a strengthening of our family unit. The resiliency that grows and prevails during those long months of separation is something that I find it hard to describe. There is a sense of euphoria when we come back together--that first embrace, that first kiss, the smiles of pure joy on the boys' faces..they all represent the reason we do this. Love. Love can conquer all things and it does. That moment that we are made complete again does not erase the hardships of this lifestyle. However, it shines a light on them that makes them seem much less significant than they did at the time. It provides us with the willingness to do it all again because, in the end, we can look back and say "totally worth it".
*Special thanks to Kimberlin Gray Photography for being so patient during this deployment and for capturing our special day for us.*
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Start Counting
I've heard that if you are one who has trouble controlling your temper, when something begins to anger you, you should start counting.
Take a moment and count to ten. It's something I've seen my husband practice and it's something I'm sure I will be teaching our sons (who inherited their father's short fuse).
But maybe, for me, "start counting" means something different. Maybe in order to be the best person I can be, I need to start counting something other than numbers.
On Thursday, I attended my bi-weekly Women's Bible Study, as per usual. The lesson, given that day by our minister's wife, was entitled Don't Waste Your Trials. We began our lesson by reading James 1:2-8, but for the sake of this blog, I will simply share James 1:2--Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.
Pure joy during trials? How can that be?
As we went over the lesson, we discussed what "joy" really meant to us, and how we could achieve that joy even amidst life's many trials. Remember, joy itself doesn't always mean happiness. Joy is a reason to rejoice. And, maybe, if we look deep enough, we can find a reason to rejoice in ALL things. Even our struggles. Even our disappointments. Even our pain.
I ended up spending Thursday afternoon/evening in the ER (7 hours to be exact). No worries, I am fine. That is a completely different story.
As I sat there, I fought off the urge to become restless and even annoyed as the hours passed by. But I chose to remember our lesson from that morning and embrace the blessings that came along with that waiting room silence.
Silence. A blessing in itself. And the fact that I spent that quiet time reading a book, Sacred Influence about be a blessing to my husband? Even better.
The fact of the matter is, sitting in the ER, no matter what may have been going on with me, it's not the end of the world or anywhere near it. There were many blessings to be found in that commonplace, slightly annoying, mildly frustrating situation. And that principle applies to every circumstance in our lives, no matter how challenging.
Let me take a moment to share a couple (very opposite-end-of-the-spectrum) examples of my own:
In November of 2010, my husband and I suffered a miscarriage with our second child. It was devastating to us. We had been trying to conceive for a few months and were feeling so happy and blessed that it had happened so quickly for us. My husband was set to deploy in just a couple short months and things seemed to be falling right into our time-frame and plan. But our plans are mere ideas, dust in the wind. God's plan is the only real plan.
Finding out I was in the process of losing the baby we had only known existed for exactly one week was one of, if not the hardest, things for me to go through.
Within a few days of finding out the news, I decided to call my dad and let him know what was going on. He had called me the previous week to congratulate me, as he found out I was pregnant through a common family member who found out on Facebook. (Yes, I know. I dropped the ball there. But my dad and I are not close and we very rarely talk.)
When I called him and told him about losing the baby, I expected he would say "Oh, I'm sorry." and that would be the end of it. But I heard my dad's voice shake. And he asked me something I had never had someone ask me outside of a church building, and certainly not over the phone: "Would it be okay if I prayed with you?" Of course I wasn't going to turn it down. And so there we were, hours and miles apart, and yet together in the eyes of God. My dad prayed for healing for my body and my soul. And it is one of the most precious memories I have of my father.
Maybe it is because we aren't close, and yet we were sharing such an intimate moment...or maybe it was because I felt like he truly believed that God would take care of it, and so could I...but, something changed in me after that phone call. I decided to try (let's face it, it's not easy) to accept the loss and understand that everything happens for a reason, even if I didn't yet know that reason. Even if I never would know that reason.
Three weeks later I got pregnant with Archer. And here he is now, 1 year old, full of life and energy and smiles.
Shortly after finding out I was expecting Archer, my cousin lost her second baby. Over the past couple of years, many ladies I know have gone through miscarriages and losses of children. Just recently, a very dear friend of mine miscarried her first baby.
And I can't say with certainty that my words truly help them. I can't say that I am a comfort to them, although I hope I am. What I can say is this: I know that my trial prepared me to be a better blessing to them. When I say "God is your comfort.", I really mean it. When I tell them "God has a plan for your family.", I deeply trust it.
And I can rejoice in the trial I faced because I can use it to bless others.
Just yesterday, I found myself having a hard time with the kids. I wasn't feeling in my best shape, the house needed cleaned, I needed to email admissions advisers about school and put in some more applications and and and...And the kids were, well, being kids.
Xander decided to bring his bike into the house and proceed to ride it all throughout, and of course when I told him he needed to take his bike outside, he refused. I gave him the option of taking it out himself before I removed him from the bike and took it outside myself, leaving him kicking and screaming. Then I planted his little toosh in time-out. After telling him to get back in the chair three or four times and doing my best to avoid his flailing arms and legs as I sat him back in the chair each time, I was getting pretty frustrated.
"Mommy, you're dumb!!"..All it took was those three words to set me over the edge. [SN: The downfalls of preschool: new, colorful language]. I lifted him out of the chair and I swatted his butt. Hard. Harder than I should've.
At that point I went and sat myself in time-out. I knew I couldn't continue to stand there and let his actions control my own. I sat down on the couch in the other room and prayed this prayer:
God, thank you for my children. Thank you for the blessings that they are and the joy that they bring me each day. Please guide my hands to help them and not hurt them, and please build my patience with them. I pray that I can be humble in front of them and in front of You. Amen.
And I walked back in and apologized to my son. Not for putting him in time-out, and not for disciplining him, but for losing my cool while doing so.
Later on, when it was just about nap time and Xander was slap-happy and singing at the top of his lungs..and Archer was walking into the walls and stumbling over his own feet...and I was trying SO hard to just simply get the floors swept, I had to take another moment to stop and find joy in my trials. I thanked God for a house to clean. I thanked him for a place to lay my kids down for a nap. For food that leads to dirty dishes. For a husband that may not be home to help me so much, but only because he is working endless hours serving our family and our country. For a mother who is willing to be here, in a place that is not her own, making less money than she was before, in order to help me out with the day-to-day activities.
I simply thanked God for my life. And everything in it.
And you know, after doing so, finishing up those floors and taking time away from cleaning to lay down with my Goob wasn't so bad. It was good. It was joy.
So, try to take some time to truly appreciate life's blessings, even if they are laced with struggles. Even if your life is mostly struggles, you cannot claim you are not blessed. Do you love? Are you loved? Then you're blessed.
If you're going through a trial and you can't find the blessing, that's fine. Do these four things and see what happens:
Ask yourself if, under different circumstances, would this be a trial?
(Example: If I didn't have a ton of housework and another screaming child, would I have gotten so upset over Xander's misbehavior? Probably not.)
Ask yourself if your struggle can be seen as a blessing to someone else.
(This may be difficult, but I think if we dig deep enough, helping someone else can feel like a blessing to us as well.)
Ask yourself if there is anything you can change in order to turn your trial around.
(Of course sometimes it's completely out of our hands, but others, we can. We've all heard Let go and Let God. Sometimes that means seriously, just let go. But other times, more often, it means let go of the control, and let God lead your actions.)
And finally, pray. Ask God for direction. Ask him for comfort. Ask him for wisdom. And thank him for all He is, all he has made you, and all he has done in your life.
It's not easy, but it's simple. In ALL things rejoice.
Get ready, Get set...
Start Counting.
Take a moment and count to ten. It's something I've seen my husband practice and it's something I'm sure I will be teaching our sons (who inherited their father's short fuse).
But maybe, for me, "start counting" means something different. Maybe in order to be the best person I can be, I need to start counting something other than numbers.
On Thursday, I attended my bi-weekly Women's Bible Study, as per usual. The lesson, given that day by our minister's wife, was entitled Don't Waste Your Trials. We began our lesson by reading James 1:2-8, but for the sake of this blog, I will simply share James 1:2--Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.
Pure joy during trials? How can that be?
As we went over the lesson, we discussed what "joy" really meant to us, and how we could achieve that joy even amidst life's many trials. Remember, joy itself doesn't always mean happiness. Joy is a reason to rejoice. And, maybe, if we look deep enough, we can find a reason to rejoice in ALL things. Even our struggles. Even our disappointments. Even our pain.
I ended up spending Thursday afternoon/evening in the ER (7 hours to be exact). No worries, I am fine. That is a completely different story.
As I sat there, I fought off the urge to become restless and even annoyed as the hours passed by. But I chose to remember our lesson from that morning and embrace the blessings that came along with that waiting room silence.
Silence. A blessing in itself. And the fact that I spent that quiet time reading a book, Sacred Influence about be a blessing to my husband? Even better.
The fact of the matter is, sitting in the ER, no matter what may have been going on with me, it's not the end of the world or anywhere near it. There were many blessings to be found in that commonplace, slightly annoying, mildly frustrating situation. And that principle applies to every circumstance in our lives, no matter how challenging.
Let me take a moment to share a couple (very opposite-end-of-the-spectrum) examples of my own:
In November of 2010, my husband and I suffered a miscarriage with our second child. It was devastating to us. We had been trying to conceive for a few months and were feeling so happy and blessed that it had happened so quickly for us. My husband was set to deploy in just a couple short months and things seemed to be falling right into our time-frame and plan. But our plans are mere ideas, dust in the wind. God's plan is the only real plan.
Finding out I was in the process of losing the baby we had only known existed for exactly one week was one of, if not the hardest, things for me to go through.
Within a few days of finding out the news, I decided to call my dad and let him know what was going on. He had called me the previous week to congratulate me, as he found out I was pregnant through a common family member who found out on Facebook. (Yes, I know. I dropped the ball there. But my dad and I are not close and we very rarely talk.)
When I called him and told him about losing the baby, I expected he would say "Oh, I'm sorry." and that would be the end of it. But I heard my dad's voice shake. And he asked me something I had never had someone ask me outside of a church building, and certainly not over the phone: "Would it be okay if I prayed with you?" Of course I wasn't going to turn it down. And so there we were, hours and miles apart, and yet together in the eyes of God. My dad prayed for healing for my body and my soul. And it is one of the most precious memories I have of my father.
Maybe it is because we aren't close, and yet we were sharing such an intimate moment...or maybe it was because I felt like he truly believed that God would take care of it, and so could I...but, something changed in me after that phone call. I decided to try (let's face it, it's not easy) to accept the loss and understand that everything happens for a reason, even if I didn't yet know that reason. Even if I never would know that reason.
Three weeks later I got pregnant with Archer. And here he is now, 1 year old, full of life and energy and smiles.
Shortly after finding out I was expecting Archer, my cousin lost her second baby. Over the past couple of years, many ladies I know have gone through miscarriages and losses of children. Just recently, a very dear friend of mine miscarried her first baby.
And I can't say with certainty that my words truly help them. I can't say that I am a comfort to them, although I hope I am. What I can say is this: I know that my trial prepared me to be a better blessing to them. When I say "God is your comfort.", I really mean it. When I tell them "God has a plan for your family.", I deeply trust it.
And I can rejoice in the trial I faced because I can use it to bless others.
Just yesterday, I found myself having a hard time with the kids. I wasn't feeling in my best shape, the house needed cleaned, I needed to email admissions advisers about school and put in some more applications and and and...And the kids were, well, being kids.
Xander decided to bring his bike into the house and proceed to ride it all throughout, and of course when I told him he needed to take his bike outside, he refused. I gave him the option of taking it out himself before I removed him from the bike and took it outside myself, leaving him kicking and screaming. Then I planted his little toosh in time-out. After telling him to get back in the chair three or four times and doing my best to avoid his flailing arms and legs as I sat him back in the chair each time, I was getting pretty frustrated.
"Mommy, you're dumb!!"..All it took was those three words to set me over the edge. [SN: The downfalls of preschool: new, colorful language]. I lifted him out of the chair and I swatted his butt. Hard. Harder than I should've.
At that point I went and sat myself in time-out. I knew I couldn't continue to stand there and let his actions control my own. I sat down on the couch in the other room and prayed this prayer:
God, thank you for my children. Thank you for the blessings that they are and the joy that they bring me each day. Please guide my hands to help them and not hurt them, and please build my patience with them. I pray that I can be humble in front of them and in front of You. Amen.
And I walked back in and apologized to my son. Not for putting him in time-out, and not for disciplining him, but for losing my cool while doing so.
Later on, when it was just about nap time and Xander was slap-happy and singing at the top of his lungs..and Archer was walking into the walls and stumbling over his own feet...and I was trying SO hard to just simply get the floors swept, I had to take another moment to stop and find joy in my trials. I thanked God for a house to clean. I thanked him for a place to lay my kids down for a nap. For food that leads to dirty dishes. For a husband that may not be home to help me so much, but only because he is working endless hours serving our family and our country. For a mother who is willing to be here, in a place that is not her own, making less money than she was before, in order to help me out with the day-to-day activities.
I simply thanked God for my life. And everything in it.
And you know, after doing so, finishing up those floors and taking time away from cleaning to lay down with my Goob wasn't so bad. It was good. It was joy.
So, try to take some time to truly appreciate life's blessings, even if they are laced with struggles. Even if your life is mostly struggles, you cannot claim you are not blessed. Do you love? Are you loved? Then you're blessed.
If you're going through a trial and you can't find the blessing, that's fine. Do these four things and see what happens:
Ask yourself if, under different circumstances, would this be a trial?
(Example: If I didn't have a ton of housework and another screaming child, would I have gotten so upset over Xander's misbehavior? Probably not.)
Ask yourself if your struggle can be seen as a blessing to someone else.
(This may be difficult, but I think if we dig deep enough, helping someone else can feel like a blessing to us as well.)
Ask yourself if there is anything you can change in order to turn your trial around.
(Of course sometimes it's completely out of our hands, but others, we can. We've all heard Let go and Let God. Sometimes that means seriously, just let go. But other times, more often, it means let go of the control, and let God lead your actions.)
And finally, pray. Ask God for direction. Ask him for comfort. Ask him for wisdom. And thank him for all He is, all he has made you, and all he has done in your life.
It's not easy, but it's simple. In ALL things rejoice.
Get ready, Get set...
Start Counting.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Hot Wheels Season
We've all heard of the Monday Blues. As we get back into the swing of
week-day living and emerge from our two days of rest, relaxation, and
family time, I think we all feel that small sense of dread. By Tuesday,
we're coming to terms with the fact that the weekend is truly over and
it's time to get back into our weekly routine. And by Wednesday, we're
counting down the days until the weekend again.
This Monday was a bad day for me--and it really had nothing, or very little, to do with what day of the week it was.
I was awoken by Xander climbing into my bed. "The sun's out, Mommy." It was 830, a more than acceptable time for him to get up, but I had been up with the baby a few times through the night and 830 felt a lot earlier than it should have. I convinced him to climb into bed with me and turn on some cartoons. "Want to go downstairs, Mommy." I just shut my eyes and ignored the request. Maybe if I give him a few minutes to "get into" his show, he'll decide that staying up here isn't too bad, I thought. And then I heard Archer fussing.
Well there you have it. Time to get up.
Robert and I had had a bit of an argument Sunday night, and I left him in bed while I went to go read my Bible and do my nightly devotional. By the time I got back into the room, he was fast asleep, as I had expected him to be. But Monday, the fact that we went to bed on less than wonderful terms was weighing heavily on my mind.
Monday also marked one week of my new dieting plan--Weight Watchers, Zumba, as much water as I can stand, vitamins..the works. And my looming weekly weigh-in was in the forefront of my mind as well.
I slipped on my shorts, gathered the baby's things, and carried him downstairs with Xander in hot pursuit. I waded through the ocean of Hot Wheels that was my dining room floor and immediately stepped on the scale.
Up .5lbs. Lovely.
It seemed from that moment on, nothing went right. I'm not sure if it was my general bad mood, or if the boys were truly testing me, but they were both grating on my last nerve.
Archer was walking around whining. He was hungry, but had no desire to hold still long enough to eat. He'd take a couple drinks of the bottle, throw it down, walk around aimlessly whining, and repeat.
Xander was making it his very mission to say "No" to me as many times as he could in one period. I had been up barely an hour and I was more than ready to go back to bed. But as you mommies out there know, that was not an option.
I made breakfast, checked my email, cleaned up the house a bit..the basics. I went through the motions.
I thought if I could get myself through until the baby's nap time, I'd have a chance to relax and hopefully that would be enough to turn my demeanor around.
I was wrong. I was feeling so stressed out and so detached that those feelings weren't easily extinguished with one child being self-contained for an hour or two.
With Archer in bed, there were plenty of things I could've and should've been doing (cleaning up the Hot Wheels and other miscellaneous toys I had already picked up three or four times, trying to work off that extra half pound, etc.) But, I chose to be lazy and self-loathing. I decided to lay down on the couch and watch some TV.
Our couches are leather and I wanted to spread a blanket out before I laid down, but of course, Xander was finding every way he could to hinder that. He just wanted to play, but I was at my wits end.
"Let Mommy put this blanket up on the couch and THEN you can get covered up." I kept repeating. "NO!" was always the resounding answer. If I heard that word with that attitude one more time I was going to lose it. And I did hear it one more time. And I did lose it.
I yelled at him in my angriest tone. I spanked his butt. And he looked at me like I terrified him. And I felt like the biggest failure on the planet.
Yes, he was defying me. But had I been out of my own mind and my own petty troubles, I would have had plenty of patience for his playing, and his defiance would not have been prompted.
I immediately snatched him up, cuddled him, and apologized. We settled in to relax and I vowed to force myself out of this funk I was in. But, our relaxation couldn't last long. We had errands to run--things to do, places to go, people to see. And as our busy day continued, I found myself reaching my brink around every corner. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my bed with a good book or a bad show, stuff my face with fattening food, and go to sleep for about three hours.
I didn't feel like being Mommy, Wife, Friend, Daughter--any of it. I felt like being Robin..alone. Just for a little bit. Not that I wanted to relinquish those titles at all, but I wanted to relinquish the responsibility that comes with them. If only for a while.
I went to bed that night feeling defeated, but praying for a better day ahead of me.
Tuesday I met with some ladies from church for a Bible Study. Since becoming a disciple, I've been doing follow-up studies once every week or so and this was one of them. In confiding in one of my friends about some of the struggles I was facing, she said "This is only a season of your life."
I've heard some of the members of the church say this at different times, and I always just thought "Yeah, everyone is at different stages in their lives. This is a stage. This is a time period."
But when she said it to me this time, I really thought about what that meant.
Seasons aren't just periods of time. They are distinct periods of time, marked by individual characteristics shared with none other. Each season brings new experiences that we partake of and new sights that we see.
This is a season in my life. Different than every other part.
But unlike the seasons we experience annually, this life season will never be repeated.
Imagine only getting one go at each of the four seasons. And then, imagine missing out on some of the best things that season has to offer.
Wouldn't it be so sad to have gone through your only Spring and never seen a flower in bloom? Wouldn't it be beyond disappointing to look back on your only Summer and realize you never went swimming, saw the ocean, or had a family cook-out? How about passing through your only Autumn without seeing the leaves change? And wouldn't it be a tragedy to put your only Winter behind you and never experience a snow fall?
I believe it would.
This is a season of my life that I will never again experience. And there are distinct characteristics that mark it:
Sleepless nights. Tantrums. A messy house.
Sticky kisses. Milestones. "I wub ooo"s.
Bottles. Baby food. Diapers.
Potty seats. Training wheels. New Friends.
Car seats. Boo-Boos. Favorite toys.
Bedtime books. Mid-day cuddles. Unconditional Love.
The fact of the matter is, this is a season. And this season will be over before I know it, never to return again.
There may be difficult days. I may sometimes have to plaster on a smile and trudge on through. But the real smiles will be much more frequent. I may sometimes want to steal away to a hot shower or my comfortable bed. But, the times where I'm content to snuggle up on the couch with some Sesame Street and two little dudes will be much more frequent.
And I have to do my best to remember that.
So, in conclusion, Ladies & Gents,
It's Hot Wheels Season.
And I'm going to enjoy the weather.
This Monday was a bad day for me--and it really had nothing, or very little, to do with what day of the week it was.
I was awoken by Xander climbing into my bed. "The sun's out, Mommy." It was 830, a more than acceptable time for him to get up, but I had been up with the baby a few times through the night and 830 felt a lot earlier than it should have. I convinced him to climb into bed with me and turn on some cartoons. "Want to go downstairs, Mommy." I just shut my eyes and ignored the request. Maybe if I give him a few minutes to "get into" his show, he'll decide that staying up here isn't too bad, I thought. And then I heard Archer fussing.
Well there you have it. Time to get up.
Robert and I had had a bit of an argument Sunday night, and I left him in bed while I went to go read my Bible and do my nightly devotional. By the time I got back into the room, he was fast asleep, as I had expected him to be. But Monday, the fact that we went to bed on less than wonderful terms was weighing heavily on my mind.
Monday also marked one week of my new dieting plan--Weight Watchers, Zumba, as much water as I can stand, vitamins..the works. And my looming weekly weigh-in was in the forefront of my mind as well.
I slipped on my shorts, gathered the baby's things, and carried him downstairs with Xander in hot pursuit. I waded through the ocean of Hot Wheels that was my dining room floor and immediately stepped on the scale.
Up .5lbs. Lovely.
It seemed from that moment on, nothing went right. I'm not sure if it was my general bad mood, or if the boys were truly testing me, but they were both grating on my last nerve.
Archer was walking around whining. He was hungry, but had no desire to hold still long enough to eat. He'd take a couple drinks of the bottle, throw it down, walk around aimlessly whining, and repeat.
Xander was making it his very mission to say "No" to me as many times as he could in one period. I had been up barely an hour and I was more than ready to go back to bed. But as you mommies out there know, that was not an option.
I made breakfast, checked my email, cleaned up the house a bit..the basics. I went through the motions.
I thought if I could get myself through until the baby's nap time, I'd have a chance to relax and hopefully that would be enough to turn my demeanor around.
I was wrong. I was feeling so stressed out and so detached that those feelings weren't easily extinguished with one child being self-contained for an hour or two.
With Archer in bed, there were plenty of things I could've and should've been doing (cleaning up the Hot Wheels and other miscellaneous toys I had already picked up three or four times, trying to work off that extra half pound, etc.) But, I chose to be lazy and self-loathing. I decided to lay down on the couch and watch some TV.
Our couches are leather and I wanted to spread a blanket out before I laid down, but of course, Xander was finding every way he could to hinder that. He just wanted to play, but I was at my wits end.
"Let Mommy put this blanket up on the couch and THEN you can get covered up." I kept repeating. "NO!" was always the resounding answer. If I heard that word with that attitude one more time I was going to lose it. And I did hear it one more time. And I did lose it.
I yelled at him in my angriest tone. I spanked his butt. And he looked at me like I terrified him. And I felt like the biggest failure on the planet.
Yes, he was defying me. But had I been out of my own mind and my own petty troubles, I would have had plenty of patience for his playing, and his defiance would not have been prompted.
I immediately snatched him up, cuddled him, and apologized. We settled in to relax and I vowed to force myself out of this funk I was in. But, our relaxation couldn't last long. We had errands to run--things to do, places to go, people to see. And as our busy day continued, I found myself reaching my brink around every corner. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my bed with a good book or a bad show, stuff my face with fattening food, and go to sleep for about three hours.
I didn't feel like being Mommy, Wife, Friend, Daughter--any of it. I felt like being Robin..alone. Just for a little bit. Not that I wanted to relinquish those titles at all, but I wanted to relinquish the responsibility that comes with them. If only for a while.
I went to bed that night feeling defeated, but praying for a better day ahead of me.
Tuesday I met with some ladies from church for a Bible Study. Since becoming a disciple, I've been doing follow-up studies once every week or so and this was one of them. In confiding in one of my friends about some of the struggles I was facing, she said "This is only a season of your life."
I've heard some of the members of the church say this at different times, and I always just thought "Yeah, everyone is at different stages in their lives. This is a stage. This is a time period."
But when she said it to me this time, I really thought about what that meant.
Seasons aren't just periods of time. They are distinct periods of time, marked by individual characteristics shared with none other. Each season brings new experiences that we partake of and new sights that we see.
This is a season in my life. Different than every other part.
But unlike the seasons we experience annually, this life season will never be repeated.
Imagine only getting one go at each of the four seasons. And then, imagine missing out on some of the best things that season has to offer.
Wouldn't it be so sad to have gone through your only Spring and never seen a flower in bloom? Wouldn't it be beyond disappointing to look back on your only Summer and realize you never went swimming, saw the ocean, or had a family cook-out? How about passing through your only Autumn without seeing the leaves change? And wouldn't it be a tragedy to put your only Winter behind you and never experience a snow fall?
I believe it would.
This is a season of my life that I will never again experience. And there are distinct characteristics that mark it:
Sleepless nights. Tantrums. A messy house.
Sticky kisses. Milestones. "I wub ooo"s.
Bottles. Baby food. Diapers.
Potty seats. Training wheels. New Friends.
Car seats. Boo-Boos. Favorite toys.
Bedtime books. Mid-day cuddles. Unconditional Love.
The fact of the matter is, this is a season. And this season will be over before I know it, never to return again.
There may be difficult days. I may sometimes have to plaster on a smile and trudge on through. But the real smiles will be much more frequent. I may sometimes want to steal away to a hot shower or my comfortable bed. But, the times where I'm content to snuggle up on the couch with some Sesame Street and two little dudes will be much more frequent.
And I have to do my best to remember that.
So, in conclusion, Ladies & Gents,
It's Hot Wheels Season.
And I'm going to enjoy the weather.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The X Files: Part 3
My little Goob is now 3 years old. Hard to believe, that's for sure.
But, here are some little glimpses into a 3-year-old big boy's world:
Not too long ago, we were in the car getting ready to head out and he said "Mommy, do you have your phone?" And sure enough, I had to run back in and get it. Then he asks "Mommy, do you have your card for the store?" "Yep, sure do. We're ready"..Then, as I'm pulling out, "Mommy, your purse!" It was on the hood. Good thing I have such an observant co-pilot.
He loves scaring or surprising people. But, he uses the word "boo" instead of "scare". Yesterday my mom was napping on the couch. He says "Shh, mommy..I'm gonna boo Nanny." Then snickers, runs and jumps on her, and yells "Boo!!"
Today, I walked into the kitchen to find him wearing only a shirt, squatting on the counter top and peeing into our shot glasses.
Never a dull moment.
But, here are some little glimpses into a 3-year-old big boy's world:
Not too long ago, we were in the car getting ready to head out and he said "Mommy, do you have your phone?" And sure enough, I had to run back in and get it. Then he asks "Mommy, do you have your card for the store?" "Yep, sure do. We're ready"..Then, as I'm pulling out, "Mommy, your purse!" It was on the hood. Good thing I have such an observant co-pilot.
He loves scaring or surprising people. But, he uses the word "boo" instead of "scare". Yesterday my mom was napping on the couch. He says "Shh, mommy..I'm gonna boo Nanny." Then snickers, runs and jumps on her, and yells "Boo!!"
Today, I walked into the kitchen to find him wearing only a shirt, squatting on the counter top and peeing into our shot glasses.
Never a dull moment.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Same old, Same old..
I post an apology for not posting. I post regularly for a short time. I go months without posting. I post an apology for not posting.
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
I've come to realize I'm not a very good blogger. And for that reason, and perhaps the fact that I'm also just boring, I'm quite sure no one reads this blog anyway. Which, is fine. I'll continue to post when I feel like it, because I do love to write and I enjoy blogging from time to time. But nothing regular. My blog is near the end of a long list of things I need to keep up with and for that reason it often gets neglected, in fact, for weeks upon months at a time it completely slips my mind.
So, if there is anyone left out there still reading, I can promise you this: I WILL post eventually..sporadically. And that's about all I can commit to. Lol.
I hope everyone is doing well. With any luck, you'll hear from me again soon. ; )
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
I've come to realize I'm not a very good blogger. And for that reason, and perhaps the fact that I'm also just boring, I'm quite sure no one reads this blog anyway. Which, is fine. I'll continue to post when I feel like it, because I do love to write and I enjoy blogging from time to time. But nothing regular. My blog is near the end of a long list of things I need to keep up with and for that reason it often gets neglected, in fact, for weeks upon months at a time it completely slips my mind.
So, if there is anyone left out there still reading, I can promise you this: I WILL post eventually..sporadically. And that's about all I can commit to. Lol.
I hope everyone is doing well. With any luck, you'll hear from me again soon. ; )
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