Finding Love

I don’t know what it is, but I keep seeing hearts lately - heart shaped puddles, wood grain, leaves - little love notes everywhere. Maybe they’ve always been there. Maybe I’m just finally noticing. 

*****

Since Hashimoto’s moved in with me in the fall, I’ve been learning to let a lot go -the house, my schedule, my expectations- and for the first time I have begun to focus less on my character flaws, feel a little less guilt, and appreciate more what I am able to do while focusing less on what I’m not.  Finding a lil' self love.

But I’ve also had to face my failures and faults in a new way. At my church, I serve in the Young Woman’s organization. It’s a busy job, and I truly love it, but it has also provided me with the challenging opportunity to see my weaknesses through the eyes of others.  Just when I have been working to forgive myself for my many failings, to be patient with this disease and all it is taking from me, I’m often being handed a mirror at my least lovely moments. It’s been humbling. 

But the other day a woman on the autoimmune page I follow posted about her life.  She was just barely diagnosed, and feeling so sad and guilty about not being enough for her children, not being able to tend to her life as before.  I wrote a note of encouragement to her. After I read it back to myself, I realized I needed these words as well...

“Sweet, sweet, darling mama. You’re going to be okay. This is hard, no doubt about it. But you can do it.  Don’t  feel guilty for putting yourself first, and taking care of yourself. Try not to use the words like “failure”, or “terrible mom” when describing yourself, because your heart is listening. 

If your sweetest, dearest friend was going through this right now, how would you talk to her? What words would you use? Would you give her permission to be sad? Would you tell her she just got this diagnosis, and it will take time to adjust? Would you tell her that she has to give the medicine time to work, the information time to sink in?  Would you tell her that she is strong, and good, and capable, and that she will get through this?

I promise you will have better days. You will have bad ones too, but not all of them will be bad. One of the things that Hashimoto’s has given me that is really a gift, is to tell me to slow down, bring my babies up onto my lap and snuggle with them.  On days when I feel bad, we read. If I don’t feel up to reading, we watch a nature show together and talk about it. We play little games, sometimes with me laying down and the game resting on my tummy. My daughter has officially labeled me, “the best pony mom in the world” because I play ponies. A world title... not so shabby for a sick lady.

Here are my new rules:

If I’m tired I sit down.

If I am sleepy, I cancel plans and take a nap.

I don’t schedule more than one "outside" activity a day if I can help it.

As far as housework goes, if I get ONE thing done a day, I am a rockstar! And if I don’t, I praise myself for taking the day to rest.

Three months ago, I spent every waking minute on the couch or in bed. Unless I was absolutely forced to go get groceries or to take a child somewhere, I was on the couch laying down.  I now take two naps a week, instead of two a day. I’m getting my house tidied up little by little. I’m doing more things with my kids outside of the house. I’m starting to work on projects again. I am more cheerful and my anxiety is decreasing. My Hashimoto’s symptoms are less intense, and I’m feeling more hopeful. 

You’re going to be okay.  It’s going to be hard, 

but you’re good at doing hard things!"

*****

I can't think of anyone to whom this simple note does not apply.  We all need to take better care of ourselves.  This world we live in, with it's schedules and expectations, is so hard on us.  We are all suffering from being overbooked, undernourished, sleep-deprived, toxicified and spiritually drained.  If we don't care for ourselves, who will?

My heart has started listening. As I have begun to feel more patience with myself, I’m feeling more for others as well. Including the mirror-holders in my life. 

I replaced a GFI outlet the other day.  I know that's not a big deal for most.  It wouldn't really be for me either (except for a slight fear of death by electrocution), but it was my ONE THING for that day, and I did it.

That makes me a Rockstar, baby.

When God Clears Your Calender

Hmmm...

Where to begin?

I’m told often by a few people who love me that there is (and has been) a lot of stress in my life. They have worried for my health. 

And perhaps it's true. I may have overloaded myself a bit; may have been swimming in a chemical sea of adrenaline and cortisol.  There's the 7:30 am retrieval of Ellie from scripture study class in town.  Ellie and Tessa combined have 8 classes, plus music lessons in far flung fields, and with Jonah, all three have horseback riding on Fridays;  I teach 3 art classes, and have a hefty calling at church and extra assignments.  We make, on average, 10 trips to town every week. And that's just school.

In mid-September, around the last time I posted here, the stress bucket sort of spilled over in the speckled spectacle of shingles; with it's searing skin, electrical shocks, flu symptoms, and aching muscles.  It carried on for three months on my entire right side, from scalp to knee.  

As shingles is triggered by stress, I would have to acknowledge the flow that filled the pail in the first place.  Guy reminded me that August saw a breast biopsy, wherein the machine broke down, leaving me locked in the clamp for two and a half hours, tools deeply embedded, tears flowing. With the happy news of a negative diagnosis, no one mentions the two challenging months of healing.

Or before that, the year of roller-coastering with non-bloggable kid drama and trauma, of negotiating our new world in the woods, of figuring out life as caregivers, and before that, all the business of fixing up and selling one house while buying another. 

Yah. I guess folks have been right. Life has loaded my plate. Or I did.

Or both.

After the shingles hit, the doctor said I needed to lighten my load.  With homeschooling there have been so many classes and commitments.  We are running all the time.  I thought about what I could cut.

Then an ache came.  It was in my wrist and thumb joint, and then migrated to the elbow.  Now it's from the shoulder down.  The jolts if pain from the shingles had finally began to fade, but for some reason the flu symptoms had gotten worse.  One day at church, I reached my hand out to receive my weekly high-five from my favorite 4 year old, Dean.  His little smack felt like a hot explosion in my hand that went on hurting for a half hour.  

I finally caved in and went to the doctor

 (I mean, Dean is a tough kid, but he's, like, 3 feet tall)  

13 blood tests.

A rheumatology visit

One positive.

A possibly-false-positive.  Because an agitated immune system can trigger a false positive.  More tests would follow after two months, just to give the shingles time to re-roof.

So far no improvement.

So I trimmed to our schedules a little.  We dropped a couple of classes for next semester, but I just really couldn't see how I could cut any more.  Not right now. 

I thought.

It rained on Sunday.  After church we ran to the van to stay dry.  My knee sort of buckled and gave out.  I hit the concrete hard.  Something exploded behind my knee.  

*****

And it turns out that there is nothing in my schedule

 that cannot be cut. 

The good news is: no broken bones, and the ligaments, tendons and ACL all seem to be intact, though badly bruised and swollen.  Crutches, ice, elevate, recheck in two weeks.

 And after years of asking,

 I finally got a referral to an endocrinologist...

*****

...and an opportunity 

to simplify.

Three Stories of Christmas: Part Two

Adam plays Rudolph with a lazer pointer up the nose

while we go to deliver Christmas goodies.  

Eh-yup.  That's my boy.

Three days before Christmas I was excited to attend my very first "Cookie Exchange" hosted by my hubby's co-worker.  If you have never heard of one, the point is that you make a booty load of one type of cookie, and trade all around with other folks so that by the end you have half a dozen different kinds cookies for your holiday-googie-tray giving.  I got a late start at making my goodies (my fabulous Toffee Bars that are more like candy than cookies), but even so, I decided it was more important that I go, than to have everything perfect.  I spread the melted chocolate topping on the bar cookies that were still warm in the pan, Googled the directions and headed out.  I was hungry for the brunch that would be served, and as I drove I tried to imagine how a Cookie Exchange goes down.  I suddenly got stage fright.  I imagined myself entering a room full of gorgeous strangers who were all tall, slim and tan, wearing flowing, trendy clothes and holding adorably packaged bundles of cookies with hand crafted tags and elegantly stamped recipe cards that matched.  I glanced at my old jelly roll pan and photo copied recipes and got a lump in my throat.

Fast forward one hour:

I am still driving.  A certain road had split and become two.  Thanks for the warning, Google.  You're a peach.  Phoneless (has anyone seen my phone?  It' been missing for 2 months.  If I have been to your house, will you check in your sofa?), I asked directions twice (I swear the first guy  I asked was just makin' crap up) and was now driving on several streets that showed up in the directions as intersecting.  However, apparently while no one was looking, some madman rearranged these streets to all run parallel to each other.  And in the scariest place I've been in since I took my last late night jaunt to the local Walmart.  Seriously, Freaky People, do you all have to shop at Walmart?  There s a creepy little Kmart not two miles away.  Go there.

You know how some stories have a last straw?  Well here it comes: upon finally reaching a street with the name of the street I was supposed to be on, and two blocks later hitting a dead end on said street just two blocks from the house number I needed, I flipped a U-turn - at which point my un-lovely recipe photo copies, along with my dang Google map and ultra-helpful directions, gracefully slid across the dash and landed in my semi-melted semi-sweet chocolate topping.

Just for kicks, let's fast forward a little more, saaaaay... one half hour?

Here you see a sad, sad girl driving aimlessly through the city, seeing the freeway just above her and not being able to find the blankety-blank on-ramp.  There are tears streaming down her cheeks.  There is chocolate smeared on her hands from the recipe rescue.  She is yelling.  Oh, yes, my friends, yelling at the top of her sad little lungs.  Oops, look away; she is wiping her nose on her sleeve.  Well, lookie there!  A two-year-old temper tantrum, complete with steering wheel pounding!  I hope, as she drove along, she landed on someones surveillance tapes along the way.  Just for kicks.

  Good times.  Good times.

Shall we time travel one more time?

Two hours from the time I left the house, I kicked the door open, chocolate coated papers in one hand, cookie bars in the other.  Oh, yeah, and hungry.  So, so, hungry.

My hubby hugged me.  He listened to me rant.  He watched as I dramatically threw the recipes into the trash and grabbed a knife to cut into the cookie bars.

I stuffed one into my mouth.

They were finally cooled off.

I, however, would not be for another hour.

*****

Chocolate Toffee Bars

Make your favorite shortbread crust recipe and press it into an ungreased pan.  Bake at 350 til just golden.

While that is baking, in a saucepan simmer: 1 can sweetened condensed milk, 2 tbsp. butter, 1/4 tsp. salt and 1 tsp. vanilla until it gets thick and starts to turn lightly golden.  Spread out on crust and then bake again until the top is a bubbly dark golden brown.  Remove from oven, spread a bag of chocolate chips on top and leave them to melt.  Spread melted chocolate evenly with a spatula or your Google directions.

Then get lost for two hours.  

Yes, that is part of the recipe.

They will be cool when you get back.

Cut and serve.  But not to the kids.  Give them the junky dollar store cookies.  

Save these in your secret hiding place.

Dang, I said too much.

Do Over

Last night we went to advent again at Kathy and Bishop's.  It made me long, yet again, for traditions.  For family.  For tender moments with my children.  For peace.  

There hasn't been much of that around here lately.  The squabbling has hit fever pitch.  The girls are shrill.  The boy, you know, that one, has been an obnox-i-teen on roids.  Even the baby has been "on one"; he has ricocheted into the hitting phase, bonking and head-butting phase and the "steal eggs from the fridge and run away" phase -all at once (well, that last one is kinda' adorable). And I am not doing much better.  My resolution to go a whole week without barking at Ethan lasted... count 'em... 18 hours.  Oh, and I hurt my hubby's feelings today.  I was in rare form.

Buy I really wanted to catch the Christmas spirit.  You know, sneak up on it, jump it from behind, stuff it into a body bag and force it to hang out with us.  So we made goodies.  We made wreaths.  We went elf-ing and looking at lights.  I wanted our night to be sweet and happy and cheerful, and sometimes there were ooo's and aaah's at the pretty lights, but mostly there were tears and complaints, teasing and whining.

My eyes filled with tears. Twice.

When we got home I went to run late night shopping errands.  I wandered the store with my list, apathetically looking at the decorations, not wanting to buy anything but coal.

***

Late last night after advent, I sat up online looking at the lovely wooden advent candle holders and nativities from Germany like the ones Kathy has.  It was like I might be able to capture the magic of that night by setting the scene just right.  I found a place to order the things I needed to make one, and placed my order.

By the time I woke up the next morning, I was having buyers regret.  What was the point of buying all of that the week of Christmas, when it wouldn't even arrive until after?  And I guess I knew that just having the pretty candles and wooden figures wouldn't change what was happening in my house.

I called the company.  I asked if there were any way I could postpone my order until later.  The sweet little lady on the phone said it was no problem.  She kindly put my order on hold.  I hung up the phone with relief. 

You know, this morning when that nice lady let me cancel my order, I felt like I had been given a do-over. 

***

While I was gone to the store tonight, an elf had come here.  

Someone was thinking of our family. 

It was a kindness that was both unexpected and so very generous.

***

Maybe tomorrow can be a do-over.

Tradition II

For many years now, I have been creating our family Christmas card.  It always includes an original drawing or painting, the blah-blah-boring family update (you know, little Johnny got a tooth, Stevie committed arson...), and of course, several over-the-top, braggy pix of my gorgeous brats.  I got it done early this year, as in "not the day before Christmas".  I have not printed them yet (what's the hurry, right?), so you get a preview, and if you're on my mailing list, this may even save me a stamp! 

It's a tradition.

I have been thinking a lot about traditions.  Kathy (you remember, buff Kathy, workout partner extraordinaire?) has invited our family to a couple of her family's advent celebrations.  She and Hubby Wayne gather their little chickens around them on the four Sundays before Christmas to sing, read stories and eat goodies by fire and candlelight.  Each time we leave, I am recommitted to trying harder to focus on that whole reason-for-the-season thing.  But by Monday, those old demons creep back in, the ones that whisper to me to be stressed out, to stop trying, and to give up on getting my family to get along, treat each other with kindness and start thinking about the needs of others. 

I guess I have made a tradition out of being overwhelmed at Christmas.

I did do things this year to leave that history behind me.  I worked on Christmas projects all year.  I began listening to carols after Thanksgiving.  I even got excited to decorate this time around.  But old habits die hard.  I may have over-reached a little, thinking I could fix my whole broken tannenbaum all in one year. 

But it is a little better, at least.  Baby steps. 

And hey, you already got my Christmas card, so we're good.

Boo! A Halloween Album

 

Adam with a beard of wool and Karo syrup glue.

* 

It is that time of year again.

  So busy.  So fun.  So stressful.  

*

I love Halloween.  My kids are thrilled by homemade costumes and the promise of all the candy their gullets will hold.  There is no disappointment.  I don't even make them ruin their costumes by wearing sweaters (not that they needed them in the balmy 74 degree evening).  They are sugar junkies and I, for one glorious night, am Mother of the Year.  I guess you could say that is my costume.  It will be shed in the coming days as the pumpkins rot and the good candy is all gone.  

Then I will just be mom again.  

Stressbucket-before-Christmas Mom.

If I were in charge if things (not that I really want that job), Thanksgiving would be at the end of the school year (now that is a time to be grateful for!) and Christmas would be in September, after a nice long summer of prep time.  

Alas, the winter cometh.  

Short days with long shadows. 

Heavy grey skies and soggy tennis shoes.

 I guess Halloween is my last hurrah 

before the world strips down to her skivies

and leaves me feeling as cold and drab as wet cement.

What a fright.

Can I book your vacation for you?

Hazel and Tink, from Watership Down and Peter Pan, the books we are currently reading.  I love it that the kids are finding new heros through our homeschool adventures.

 

Handsome soldier or burly super-hero... how is a girl to choose?

 

I made this awesome straight jacket (complete with leather straps on the back) and mask for Ethan.  It was good for a whole week of bribery.  And I quote, "I'm sorry son, but if you don't get your chores done,

I will not be able to finish your straight jacket for you."

 

It warms the cockles of a mother's heart to see her baby boy

decked out as a serial killer.  

* Sigh * weep *, that's my boy!  

 

I learned one thing this year... 

linoleum carving tools rock for pumpkin carving!

And now for something truly scary...

 

 That is the "you must hold me now!" cry.

I don't know what this is, but it cracks me up every time I see it.

Candy Corn Soup.  Yes, I put candy in the soup.  I rock, that's why.  

(it is not entirely made of candy corn, but of yams and bacon, but don't tell my kids!)

"So let me get this straight... we go up to the door, 

knock, and then we don't go in?  But I want to go in!  

And you expect me NOT to eat every piece of candy as soon as they hand it to me?  

What's the point here, people?"

~Mind reading quote from Jonah, the one legged lion.

 

OK kids... time to go Trick or... wait a minute... is that...???

 

my husband?!?!

Looks like more than one wild animal was on the lose Halloween night.  

Too bad you can't see the back of his shirt.  It reads:

"Grandma Lila's Childcare

555-HOME".

Now that's scary.