Dear Anonymous comment #9...

Anonymous said...
Why do you allow the kids to rule the home?
11:54 PM

Dear Anonymous,

First, and most importantly, kiss off.

Seriously, you are a piece of work. Try as I might, I simply do not understand people like you. I do not understand what it is about going out of your way to be cruel and insenstive and 100% devoid of any compassion that is so attractive to you. I just do not understand why you delight so much in your inhumanity. Can you explain? Can you tell me what is going through your head? What happened to you to make you bitter, mean, and ashamed of yourself? To paraphrase your own question, why do you allow evil to rule your heart? Perhaps if you share, we'd all know better how to pray for you...

In the meantime, I just wanted to make sure I express how grateful I am to so many of you who have offered your time to me, and your prayers. They are certainly coveted. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful fellowship surrounding me...y'all are good.

Always,
Katie

A toast...to the end of an era...

Alright, this post will be brief (as I am procrastinating thoroughly right now, but really don't have the liberty!) I just wanted to share something that has been on my mind for the last week or so... life, as I know it, is over.

Tomorrow morning, at 8 am, I start my final year of nursing school (assuming I do not fail out!) I'll study, and slave, and work my little butt off to keep my grades. Tommy and I will run a schedule tighter than Daisy Duke's daisy dukes. The kids will have baseball, ballet, tae kwon do, tap dancing, birthday parties, first grade, and ten million other things sure to come up on a daily basis. Tommy officially will take on a management role, after 6 months of studying, training, testing, and jumping through hoops of fire. And in May, when I graduate, I will be a real live nurse. Everyone and their mother has heard that there is a nursing shortage, so there is no worry that I will find a stellar job right after, if not before graduation. I'll take that job, and love it, and slave, and work my little butt off to do well. Tommy and I will run a schedule tighter than Daisy Duke's daisy dukes. The kids will have baseball, ballet, tae kwon do, tap...etc, etc, etc. Catch my drift?

Today is the last day of my summer break. Tomorrow, I begin the journey that doesn't end until retirement. Sure, maybe I am being a bit overdramatic, but in lots of respects, it really feels like today is the last day of an era in my life, and tomorrow is the first day of another.

Kinda depressing, kinda cool. Anyhow, wish me luck...

Minty Fresh!!!

Around our house, bedtime is 8:00, give or take a bit. Some folks might balk at that, thinking that 8:00 is ridiculously early, heck it isn't even completely dark then. However, walk a day in my shoes, and you will soon see why those last fifteen minutes until the witching hour may as well be fifteen years.

Our day starts at a decent hour, depending on the whims of the children. Typically, it's around 8 am. The tricky part is that it is a daily gamble on whether or not the children will choose to head right in to get mom and dad moving, or make a pit stop somewhere first. By pit stop, I basically mean "find something that they are forbidden to play with, and simply go to town!" Examples of previous adventures? Permanent marker all over the computer monitor, white-out everywhere (including themselves), more selections of "artwork" on the walls than I can even count, the consumption of literally pounds of candy(which was stored on top of the fridge, mind you!) I'm sure I am missing plenty (oh yes, the time they covered Maya's entire bedroom with a fine layer of baby powder, that was fun!) but you'll have to take my word for it, we've been through the ringer.

I might add that there are many "misadventures" gone on with my children that have taken place at other times of day than the wee hours of the morning, such as the day that I was in the shower, pregnant with Isaiah, and had "trapped" the children upstairs with me via baby gate. Unfortunately, I had neglected to double check that there were no safety scissors within reach (yup, not the real ones, I'm talking about the stupid round tip, don't cut anything including paper dumb ones.) Midway through my 3 minutes of (relative) peace, I heard Maya's little voice from the other side of the shower curtain. "Mommy, Denver gave me a mullet!" Slowly, I peeked out to find that he had indeed. Diligently, yet quickly, he had lopped all the hair (and only the hair) on top of her head to a half-inch length. It was awful. The only way to salvage anything was to cut all of it, her whole head to that length, and call it a pixie cut. If you have never seen it, and want a good laugh, let me show you some pictures. Trust me, Maya's head is far too round for that look!

Or recently, for example, during the 15 minute visit from our mortgage people to have some papers notarized, I sent the children to the basement playroom, and chatted with the friendly notary. I actually said the words "uh oh, it is just too quiet! I wonder what they are up to..." After the kind woman left, I wished I could have eaten my words, so badly did murphy's law bite me. It turns out they were hungry, so they saw no problems with sneaking to the kitchen to grab a bag of groceries not yet unpacked, and make a snack. I am pretty sure it has happened to all of us at one point, as we have made ourselves a peanut butter sandwich...one thought: I should get some shampoo, and make a giant sculpture with it and this peanut butter. No? Never happened to you? Well then I guess my kids are the first! It was quite impressive, but a monster pain to clean up. (Normally, I'd make them clean it themselves, but I had visions of the bubbles created by a full bottle of shampoo and thought better of it!) I sent the two older kids to their room, and let Isaiah follow me around as I cleaned. When I went upstairs 25 minutes later, I noticed something odd, almost funny, but clearly odd. A perfect little "trail" of toys, shoes, odds-and-ends, in a neat little line, leading from the front door up the stairs, to the open door of the bedroom, which was empty. I ran outside, baby on my hip, and panicked. No kids in sight. I called out their names, normally at first, but then louder, and finally yelling. Just as I was about to have an actual freak out, they appeared around the corner...two blocks up. They had packed their little suitcases, loaded them into the wagon, and decided to run away. I was simply beside myself with anxiety, scared out of my wits, and at a complete loss for what I needed to change for disciplinary action.

I've tried everything...time-outs, spankings, hot sauce on the tongue, confiscation of toys. I must point out that I am a no-holds-barred mom. When I take a toy to be thrown out...it is thrown out. A spanking is a bare butt, "spare the rod, spoil the child" sort. A time-out is sitting alone on the naughty chair being ignored completely. I'm at my wits end.

Recently I perused a book from a dear friend, Debbie, and it has been insightful. Just today, I reread Dare to Discipline by Dr James Dobson, a favorite of mine even just as a reminder that I am not an idiot, that discipline is real work. I needed to reread it this evening due to the behavior last night. After 2 hours of completely ignoring my requests for them to sleep, (some of those requests were nice, others were yelled, and everything in between) I left them alone, and sat for a half an hour reading my school books for my classes starting monday, and talked to a friend on the phone. When I went to check on the progress, I found them wide awake, and very minty. They had taken not one but FOUR tubes of toothpaste, and emptied them everywhere. The bathroom was a disaster, my bed was covered, a bucket of water was dumped on the rug in my room. It was very icky. They got the works from me. Yelling, spankings, a tablespoon of toothpaste for each of them to swallow, even a proclamation that I am not their mom anymore tonight. (I made them call me Mrs Michel and everything!) I went downstairs, waited, and listened. That seemed to hit home, as they wailed that they still wanted a mommy, and they needed someone to take care of them. After awhile, they talked, and decided that they had in fact done a very bad thing, and agreed that they should really be good. We talked about it this morning, and they have been pretty well behaved. Even still, I am exhausted. Fried out. Beaten up. Just plain beaten.

Don't get me wrong, I am certainly not alone. There are gwadzillions of other moms out there in the same boat. But at the same time, I can't speak for anyone but myself, and for me...I need to get proactive. I need to follow through on the promise I made to my shrink, and acknowledge step #1 according to Dr Dobson on how to maintain my sanity. I need to ask for help. I need to ask people who want to help me to step in and help me. Perhaps it is the desperation of last night, the thing that is making me actually agree, not just theorize about how it is a good idea, but that's cool, because my rope is fraying rapidly, and I need a break. No wait, not a break, many breaks. Dr Dobson says "#1. At least once a week the mother should go bowling, or shopping, or 'waste' an occasional afternoon. It is unhealthy for anyone to work all the time, and the entire family will profit from her recreation." My personal good ole Dr Dunlap wrote me a "prescription" for it, to hand over to my loved ones, since I feel far too guilty to come right out and ask. I've gotten gutsy enough to ask two people that I love, and both have agreed without hesitation. Even still, I hate putting people out...but not today. Today, my hands are still tingly from the menthol and I probably have fluoride poisoning from the amount of toothpaste I cleaned up. Today I have circles under my eyes, and even I can tell that I am getting sickly looking. I am stressed, and I need some help. I need a break...ASAP.

On that note...anyone want to babysit tomorrow night? (Or any night, really! That's the downside of Tommy's work schedule, I'm in school in the morning, and he leaves at 1 for work, so he does what he can) It's last minute for sure, but it would be a great gift to me this weekend in particular. Several of my old Fridays/small group/Willow girls are going for a girls only camping weekend. Cindy, Lindsey, Lisa... women who lift me with laughter. If there's anybody out there who might be willing to take the kids Saturday night, it would matter. It really would. (Oh, don't worry, the kids only like to terrorize me, everyone else is pretty safe!)

Furthermore, if the mood ever strikes, and you feel like enjoying my children, I'm humbly asking that you will. I know that admitting that I am simply not strong enough, smart enough, or cool enough to do this whole mom thing alone is a big step, a step that I know many moms aren't taking. For those moms (and you know who you are!) please call me, and know that the barter system of babysitting works wonders!

Well, it's been a half an hour since the kids went to bed...time to assess the damage...much love to y'all...

weeping, wailing, and throwing punches...and proud of it

Recently, I had another moment in the garden, me vs. the weeds, except this time, it wasn't a garden, it was a deserted parking lot late at night, and it was my steering wheel that caught the brunt of my rage. Sitting in my car, doors locked, lights off, CD of "Laurie songs" playing loudly, so loudly that I could barely hear my screams.

Right at this moment, my eyes fill with tears, because I can still taste the wail in my throat. That guttural wail of absolute brokenness, like your damaged heart itself is trying to escape it's cage via your lips. It's the kind that you cannot control, it is not so much a sob as it is you... the very core of you, the ugliest, dirtiest, most pain-saturated part of you, and it is desperately and forcibly making it's way out into the world.

There are so many ways that I am healing, and getting better, perhaps even better than I was when she was here. There are parts of Katie that are coming to the surface and blossoming. There are things that God has uniquely blessed me with, things that are completely and totally Katie and Katie alone, that are showing up on the outside of me, released from the bottle I have stuffed them in for so very long. There are pieces of Katie that are good, very, very good.

But along with that, there is the sense of "I-still-miss-her-more-than-I-even-want-to-think-about." There is a ache with every beat of my heart, an ache for my sister. A desperate, wailing ache.

And that is where I am.

I have bruises on my hands where I pounded on my dashboard. I have puffy eyes. I have astonishing people in my life who are reaching out to me every day, praying me through the grit. I have a Father who is using all sorts of tools to show up for me, songs that tell me I am "held," books that tell me "I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters." I have a sense that it is okay for me to be in the exact place that I am, in my grief, in my growth, in me...even if that place is somewhere between "full of hope" and "hopeless."

Where are you? How is your garden, your parked car, your pillow to scream into? How is your journal, your diary, your blog, your safe place to express your ups and downs, no matter how ginormous or petty? Has someone told you today "I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters"? May I tell you?

I hope you realize how much your family, your friends, your church, your community, and this world need you. Don't allow who you truly are to be lost, buried, or devalued...what is most truly you matters.

What color is your blood?

I know what color mine is! I got a tattoo last April, on the front of my right hip. Yup, before you asked, it hurt very, very much. But worth every single wince of pain. What is it? About the size of a silver dollar, a beautiful Cubs insignia. Breathtaking, I swear... That night, after I was able to remove the initial bandage, I had a moment of joy even through the pain. On the bandage was the perfect mirror image of my new tattoo, a mix of blood and ink...my blood, Cubbie blue. Aahhhh. Beautiful. (and yes, I saved the bandage!)

So the other day I got a copy of a pretty new book on the market. It's called "Cubs Nation" by Gene Wojciechowski. Basically, it is a brilliant, intimate detailing of each and every game of the 2004 season of the Chicago Cubs. Actually, the details about the games are brief, but each day he tells a new story of Cubs lore, whether it is an interview with a player, or a beer guy, or a bleacher bum, or whatever. It is fantastic, definitely one of the best reads yet to date, in my book. (and not simply because of my blood type...)

On the other hand, the book did give me a moment of pain that I hadn't visited in a while. That stabbing I-miss-my-sister-and-I-wish-I-could-share-this-with-her kind, the sort that hits you from out of nowhere. Right smack in the middle of a story about the author's tour of the place where each player's uniforms are custom made, I realized how much Laurie would have LOVED this book. Laurie was born in June of 1984, just a few weeks before The Sandberg Game, was 14-years-old and oblivious during the 1998 semi-boon with Kerry's 20 KOs and the Sosa/McGwire chase of Roger Maris. She had just begun her real devotion to the legacy, she was just starting to see what color her blood was... this book, it would have grown her up. It would have taught her all sorts of little things unknown, about baseball, about the Cubs, about life. (Seriously, its that good!) It would have showed her little details about our beloved boys in blue that simply watching the game wouldn't expose (like the 3 things Matt Clement relies on to get him through the tough times: religion, family, and Greg Maddux. For crying out loud, he named his only child Mattix!) or that Eddie Vedder is so devoted, he owns an actual full Kerry Wood uniform displayed on a moving mannequin! It would have been so fun to share this crap, and that just ain't gonna happen. That sucks.

To some of you, this may have been the most boring post in the history of blogging. To the rest of you...read the book, you'll know that "ouch-I-miss-her" feeling that will make you want to read more and more...