The following was shared with me by my father in law. It is a Thanksgiving prayer from Michael Holt in 1997. And it is fitting for today, for me.
Thank you, God. For the joy, privilege and even the painful responsibility for giving thanks. Some days it is so natural that it seems supernatural; a beautiful sunrise, a beautiful flower, a hug from a grandchild, an answer to a quick prayer or and unexpected provision. Sometimes giving thanks is no problem at all! I feel kissed by God!
But, then there are those other times, those dark times in my life that some days seem to overwhelm me with impenetrable sadness. On those days, Lord, there is no joy in thanksgiving; the privilege in conversing with you, My Heavenly Father, is reduced to a feeble “Help, Lord.”
And yet Lord, your Word says “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will in Christ Jesus for you.” And it says, “Rejoice” and “Pray constantly.” And I want to, but I can’t. I’m too empty, too needy, too weak, too sad!
And now, it’s “Thanksgiving!” But the encouragement of Your Word, Father, goes deeper than the Pilgrims’ tradition and bears more weight than the government’s mandate to give thanks on some special day in November. Change me Lord into a river of Thanksgiving! And even when it seems the river has run dry, raise up fresh springs so that I cannot help but thank you! Not fake, orchestrated or contrived. Not just an emotional experience, but my mind and my will joining together even when my emotions are not very interested or cooperative.
I choose, like Paul, to glory in weakness. I choose to thank you Lord, not just for blessings and all the wonderful things of life. I choose, Lord, even when Your light seems dim, to lift my weak and trembling heart to say “Thank You Lord!” When I cannot sense your presence, I will thank you. When your Spirit seems far from me, I will thank you. When the sadness chokes me into silence, with my mind I will thank you. And even if I lose my mind, let my last consciousness be of You, O Father, and may whatever be left of me give you praise and thanks forever. When I can’t understand why You allow pain and struggles that seem unbearable, I will thank You Lord! Even if it should seem dark forever, I will thank You, Lord. Because You command me; because You are worthy; because I love you - because I know my life is safe, hidden with Christ in You!
Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thanksgiving
This year I am having a hard time realizing that tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It snuck up on me. I am very thankful for the blessings God has given me, my wonderful husband, my children, my home, my extended family. The fact that I live in a place where I am free to worship my God, to homeschool my children, to live in freedom.
And yet, I am also having a hard time this Thanksgiving. I am still too focused on the loss of our sweet Hope. Despite the brief time I had knowing that she was there, growing under my heart, in my heart, or perhaps because the time was too short, I find myself in despair often. Daily. Sometimes hourly. She never had the chance to meet the family who loves her so, her father who named her, her mother who prayed for her, her sisters and brothers who mourn her loss. We never had the chance to meet her, to hold her, to let her hear our voices. And yet, she is a part of me, of us.
At first I could do no more than lay on my couch and think about my loss. Those first days I had to force myself to shower, to dress, to eat, to sleep. Never mind cooking, cleaning, laundry, school. I have now been able to force myself to do more, but my heart is not in it yet. I will be laughing with my children, and know I will not have the chance to laugh with Hope. And I cry. I look at our family portrait, taken while I was pregnant, and I see an empty space. And I cry. I sing a song in church about the hope God has given us. And I cry. I lay my head on my pillow at night and my heart is heavy. So heavy. And I cry.
And I know that I have been given so much. That others have lost more. Are losing more. We need, I need, to choose to try and be thankful in all things. I can be thankful, as Faith put it tonight at dinner, that God gave us a blessing for a short while. We do not know why it was so short. We may never know why. Why is not really important. I am choosing to be thankful that Hope was placed with us, those who love her, even for a brief time, so that she would be loved. And loved deeply.
And yet, I am also having a hard time this Thanksgiving. I am still too focused on the loss of our sweet Hope. Despite the brief time I had knowing that she was there, growing under my heart, in my heart, or perhaps because the time was too short, I find myself in despair often. Daily. Sometimes hourly. She never had the chance to meet the family who loves her so, her father who named her, her mother who prayed for her, her sisters and brothers who mourn her loss. We never had the chance to meet her, to hold her, to let her hear our voices. And yet, she is a part of me, of us.
At first I could do no more than lay on my couch and think about my loss. Those first days I had to force myself to shower, to dress, to eat, to sleep. Never mind cooking, cleaning, laundry, school. I have now been able to force myself to do more, but my heart is not in it yet. I will be laughing with my children, and know I will not have the chance to laugh with Hope. And I cry. I look at our family portrait, taken while I was pregnant, and I see an empty space. And I cry. I sing a song in church about the hope God has given us. And I cry. I lay my head on my pillow at night and my heart is heavy. So heavy. And I cry.
And I know that I have been given so much. That others have lost more. Are losing more. We need, I need, to choose to try and be thankful in all things. I can be thankful, as Faith put it tonight at dinner, that God gave us a blessing for a short while. We do not know why it was so short. We may never know why. Why is not really important. I am choosing to be thankful that Hope was placed with us, those who love her, even for a brief time, so that she would be loved. And loved deeply.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Hope
This will be the hardest blog I have ever written. Please bear with me.
A few weeks ago, or an eternity ago, I cannot be certain, we found out we were expecting our fifth little blessing. From the moment I saw the little plus sign, I was in love. I began praying, planning, hoping, and dreaming.
And then this dream started. I dreamed that at my first doctor’s appointment I was told my sweet baby had passed away. And then there was a little baby girl, dressed in a pretty white dress. And then I wake up in tears. And the next night, same thing. And the next night.
I went to my doctor’s appointment with excitement, and trying to push my recurring dream from my mind. I sat in the waiting room trying to figure out how many hours I would have to stare at the same posters on the wall. And waiting for the test that would confirm that I was pregnant, give me a due date, and schedule my next appointment. I had taken enough home tests to know for sure, had already figured out that they would tell me June 28, 2012. I also figured that I would be having a baby in July because my babies are always late.
Instead, I was told that we lost our baby, our sweet little baby. From the moment I had seen those positive tests, that was my child. I no longer considered that I had four children, it was now five children. I was rearranging furniture, planning our summer around the new arrival, and figuring the seating arrangement in the van. This was not possible. I could not imagine that my dream, my nightmare had come true. I insisted on a blood test.
I called the whole way home about the results. As I was opening the door, the call came. Miscarriage. I argued with the nurse. Then a midwife. Then a doctor. And hung up mad that they would lie to me. Four tests, and two days later the truth sunk in.
My baby, my sweet child, would be one I never get to hold this side of heaven. Never even have an ultrasound picture, let alone a picture. No baby items, no memories, just a few weeks of hope. And a dream of a little baby girl in a white dress. And so, my husband decided that our baby should have a name. He choose Hope. Hope Elaine.
Because we had told everyone about our blessing, we now had to tell our children. And they would feel the loss hard as they had already been planning with me, excited to share their rooms, sitting by the baby in the van, and changing diapers. They all wanted to change a diaper.
We sat them down, empty handed, heavy hearted, and shared the news. And we cried. And we mourned. And we talked. And cried some more. And we all grieved that there was not going to be memories. Each of my children has a memory box full of the things they loved the most at different ages. And a journal that I write letters to my children on special days. They wanted to make Hope a memory box. And so we have a beautiful box with a rose print. And full of what my other children all thought Hope would like. There are letters and drawings. A Precious Moments boy that says a prayer form David. A Spiderman watch from Isaac. His favorite. A favorite stuffed unicorn from Faith. The Bible that Angel was given when she was born. A journal that Angel made. Two roses,one from each big sister to their little sister. A ring with footprints from my jewelry box. A tiny baby. They want to buy a little sister necklace for Hope for Christmas. And they are planning on releasing balloons for Hope on the day she was due~ June 28th.
We took our little box to my mothers. Each child had a memento to show off, a letter, a drawing. They built their own memories of a baby that they will never meet here on earth, but know they will see in heaven. And we cried. And prayed. And talked. And even laughed. Most importantly, we loved. We loved each other, and our sweet Hope.
For you see, every life, no matter how short, has a purpose. Is loved by God. Every one of my children is loved and cherished. From the moment they exist. By God. By me. And each will have a place in my heart forever.
A few weeks ago, or an eternity ago, I cannot be certain, we found out we were expecting our fifth little blessing. From the moment I saw the little plus sign, I was in love. I began praying, planning, hoping, and dreaming.
And then this dream started. I dreamed that at my first doctor’s appointment I was told my sweet baby had passed away. And then there was a little baby girl, dressed in a pretty white dress. And then I wake up in tears. And the next night, same thing. And the next night.
I went to my doctor’s appointment with excitement, and trying to push my recurring dream from my mind. I sat in the waiting room trying to figure out how many hours I would have to stare at the same posters on the wall. And waiting for the test that would confirm that I was pregnant, give me a due date, and schedule my next appointment. I had taken enough home tests to know for sure, had already figured out that they would tell me June 28, 2012. I also figured that I would be having a baby in July because my babies are always late.
Instead, I was told that we lost our baby, our sweet little baby. From the moment I had seen those positive tests, that was my child. I no longer considered that I had four children, it was now five children. I was rearranging furniture, planning our summer around the new arrival, and figuring the seating arrangement in the van. This was not possible. I could not imagine that my dream, my nightmare had come true. I insisted on a blood test.
I called the whole way home about the results. As I was opening the door, the call came. Miscarriage. I argued with the nurse. Then a midwife. Then a doctor. And hung up mad that they would lie to me. Four tests, and two days later the truth sunk in.
My baby, my sweet child, would be one I never get to hold this side of heaven. Never even have an ultrasound picture, let alone a picture. No baby items, no memories, just a few weeks of hope. And a dream of a little baby girl in a white dress. And so, my husband decided that our baby should have a name. He choose Hope. Hope Elaine.
Because we had told everyone about our blessing, we now had to tell our children. And they would feel the loss hard as they had already been planning with me, excited to share their rooms, sitting by the baby in the van, and changing diapers. They all wanted to change a diaper.
We sat them down, empty handed, heavy hearted, and shared the news. And we cried. And we mourned. And we talked. And cried some more. And we all grieved that there was not going to be memories. Each of my children has a memory box full of the things they loved the most at different ages. And a journal that I write letters to my children on special days. They wanted to make Hope a memory box. And so we have a beautiful box with a rose print. And full of what my other children all thought Hope would like. There are letters and drawings. A Precious Moments boy that says a prayer form David. A Spiderman watch from Isaac. His favorite. A favorite stuffed unicorn from Faith. The Bible that Angel was given when she was born. A journal that Angel made. Two roses,one from each big sister to their little sister. A ring with footprints from my jewelry box. A tiny baby. They want to buy a little sister necklace for Hope for Christmas. And they are planning on releasing balloons for Hope on the day she was due~ June 28th.
We took our little box to my mothers. Each child had a memento to show off, a letter, a drawing. They built their own memories of a baby that they will never meet here on earth, but know they will see in heaven. And we cried. And prayed. And talked. And even laughed. Most importantly, we loved. We loved each other, and our sweet Hope.
For you see, every life, no matter how short, has a purpose. Is loved by God. Every one of my children is loved and cherished. From the moment they exist. By God. By me. And each will have a place in my heart forever.
“Praise You In This Storm”
I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
And I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You
But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
And I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You
But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Never Say Normal
After almost a year of not really going anywhere in order to get things under control in our family, we have been getting out and about a little more now. I knew we could not stay home forever, but I am tired. Physically, emotionally, and at times spiritually. So many times we have started out somewhere only to have to turn back home over mud, lights, noise, itchy clothes, or some other seemingly small issue.
Now is the time, however, to gradually make our way back into things. In recent weeks I have been taking the kids shopping with me again. We have gone to several stores, at times even several in the same day. We have gone to restaurants, even new ones. We have gone to the public pool, amusement parks, and libraries.
Things seem better now, but I think it is not the situations, the locations, or the people we run into. I think it may be that I have come to grips with our lives and the seeming lack of normalcy. I have decided that we need to do what we need to do regardless of the reactions or comments of the people around us. I have prepared in advance for situations we may be facing when we go out. Diaper bag with extra clothes for the potty training toddler. Sippy cup. Snacks. Ear plugs. Water. A dark hoodie. And some extra patience. My normal supply of patience only runs deep enough to cover my children and my husband. I have to pack a bit extra to cover all those people who do not understand why the nine year old rides in the buggy and the toddler walks. Why my daughter flaps, licks things, and bangs her head. Why my toddler is repeating the same phrase, same tone, the whole way through the store. Why my son acts as those rocket fuel runs through his veins.
Today we walked to a “new” restaurant. And went to the store. Without Andy. My children are children. They are loud when you want them to be quiet. They find things funny that seem gross to adults. They play all the time. And they are also a little more. Angel wore a head scarf and sunglasses, picture Jackie O., and I am pretty sure it was in case we ran into anyone we know. Faith brought everything that makes her feel comfortable in a new location- her purse filled with Pet Shops and Squinkies, ear plugs, an eye mask. and water and a snack in case she did not like the food. Isaac never sits still, but did pretty well today. We had to start out the door twice, though. The first time he forgot his pants. David went to the bathroom four times before our food arrived. Then he had an accident in the stroller on the way home. He also repeatedly, and loudly, insisted it is Christmas time because there was a red star on the wall. So most of his conversation was scripting from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
The restaurant was not too bad at first. We were the only ones there. Then three more tables filled up. Waitresses always treat us like we have the plague. The place was new to us. The music was a little loud. The food was good, but the fries were homemade, so Faith was rocking in her chair, beginning to get overwhelmed. David was insisting that it was Christmas night, and doing so in song. Isaac could not sit still. I could begin to see the other diners looking at us. And in those times I wish that I had a shirt that says “Don’t expect normal, because we are so over that!”
We went to the store. David wanted a dragon bracelet. I said yes. He asked for it for the entire half hour we were in the store. “Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this?” I stop answering after about three, because I know he is no longer talking to me. But other people do not know that. Faith got excited over a toy. Arms flapping, quoting the commercial. Very loud. And again, other customers stare.
At the check out Angel took David, who was still saying “Can I pay for this?”, out to ride a monster truck ride. I gave Faith and Isaac some quarters. As I was finished paying Isaac carried bags, Faith put the buggy back, and the man behind us, who had been looking at us all through the store spoke. “Nice family you have there. I like how they look after each other and help out. Don’t see that too often anymore.”
I looked around, making sure he was talking to us. We normally get ignored, or get told to discipline our children more. I have been told that a swift smack to one of my children will solve our “problems”. He was looking right at me and smiling. I said thank you, and left as Isaac held the door for us. As the door was closing, I heard him say to the cashier, “Those children are so well behaved.” I was amazed.
Sure, it was a challenge. I was exhausted. Taking them out can be draining. I often say it is like taking goats with me. Except my kids are louder. And people expect goats to chew, lick, kick, and generally have goat like behavior. Children, not so much. But I felt that the children did very well. And so did some random guy. And as we walked home, the kids stepping in puddles so their shoes could squeak like ducks, David saying “I paid for that”, I was very thankful for the afternoon of enjoying my children.
Now is the time, however, to gradually make our way back into things. In recent weeks I have been taking the kids shopping with me again. We have gone to several stores, at times even several in the same day. We have gone to restaurants, even new ones. We have gone to the public pool, amusement parks, and libraries.
Things seem better now, but I think it is not the situations, the locations, or the people we run into. I think it may be that I have come to grips with our lives and the seeming lack of normalcy. I have decided that we need to do what we need to do regardless of the reactions or comments of the people around us. I have prepared in advance for situations we may be facing when we go out. Diaper bag with extra clothes for the potty training toddler. Sippy cup. Snacks. Ear plugs. Water. A dark hoodie. And some extra patience. My normal supply of patience only runs deep enough to cover my children and my husband. I have to pack a bit extra to cover all those people who do not understand why the nine year old rides in the buggy and the toddler walks. Why my daughter flaps, licks things, and bangs her head. Why my toddler is repeating the same phrase, same tone, the whole way through the store. Why my son acts as those rocket fuel runs through his veins.
Today we walked to a “new” restaurant. And went to the store. Without Andy. My children are children. They are loud when you want them to be quiet. They find things funny that seem gross to adults. They play all the time. And they are also a little more. Angel wore a head scarf and sunglasses, picture Jackie O., and I am pretty sure it was in case we ran into anyone we know. Faith brought everything that makes her feel comfortable in a new location- her purse filled with Pet Shops and Squinkies, ear plugs, an eye mask. and water and a snack in case she did not like the food. Isaac never sits still, but did pretty well today. We had to start out the door twice, though. The first time he forgot his pants. David went to the bathroom four times before our food arrived. Then he had an accident in the stroller on the way home. He also repeatedly, and loudly, insisted it is Christmas time because there was a red star on the wall. So most of his conversation was scripting from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
The restaurant was not too bad at first. We were the only ones there. Then three more tables filled up. Waitresses always treat us like we have the plague. The place was new to us. The music was a little loud. The food was good, but the fries were homemade, so Faith was rocking in her chair, beginning to get overwhelmed. David was insisting that it was Christmas night, and doing so in song. Isaac could not sit still. I could begin to see the other diners looking at us. And in those times I wish that I had a shirt that says “Don’t expect normal, because we are so over that!”
We went to the store. David wanted a dragon bracelet. I said yes. He asked for it for the entire half hour we were in the store. “Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this?” I stop answering after about three, because I know he is no longer talking to me. But other people do not know that. Faith got excited over a toy. Arms flapping, quoting the commercial. Very loud. And again, other customers stare.
At the check out Angel took David, who was still saying “Can I pay for this?”, out to ride a monster truck ride. I gave Faith and Isaac some quarters. As I was finished paying Isaac carried bags, Faith put the buggy back, and the man behind us, who had been looking at us all through the store spoke. “Nice family you have there. I like how they look after each other and help out. Don’t see that too often anymore.”
I looked around, making sure he was talking to us. We normally get ignored, or get told to discipline our children more. I have been told that a swift smack to one of my children will solve our “problems”. He was looking right at me and smiling. I said thank you, and left as Isaac held the door for us. As the door was closing, I heard him say to the cashier, “Those children are so well behaved.” I was amazed.
Sure, it was a challenge. I was exhausted. Taking them out can be draining. I often say it is like taking goats with me. Except my kids are louder. And people expect goats to chew, lick, kick, and generally have goat like behavior. Children, not so much. But I felt that the children did very well. And so did some random guy. And as we walked home, the kids stepping in puddles so their shoes could squeak like ducks, David saying “I paid for that”, I was very thankful for the afternoon of enjoying my children.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Rest In Peace Flyzilla
This evening Flyzilla, made famous by his appearance in the world-renown blog “In the Blink of an Eye”, met an untimely death. His death was expected at least two or three days ago, making his demise today long overdue.
Flyzilla lived a full life and had an extended reign of terror in Casa de Raehl for at least three weeks. While pausing for a brief rest from buzzing loudly about while the children were going to bed Flyzilla was pinned between a sneaker and the bathroom mirror in the land of Upper Bathroomonia.
Preceded by several of his small minions, Flyzilla is survived by one semi-large underling and at least a dozen of his fruity relatives, all of whom temporarily reside at Casa de Raehl.
Services were held in Upper Bathroomia immediately following Flyzilla’s demise. Services included a private wake and burial at sea.
In lieu of flowers, please make cash contributions to the Raehl family for upkeep of the memorial shrine, a sparkling monument to peace and prosperity signifying the spot where aforementioned reign of terror ended. Upkeep will require many rolls of paper towels, several gallons of Windex, and a weekly maid to be utilized over the course of the next several years.
Flyzilla lived a full life and had an extended reign of terror in Casa de Raehl for at least three weeks. While pausing for a brief rest from buzzing loudly about while the children were going to bed Flyzilla was pinned between a sneaker and the bathroom mirror in the land of Upper Bathroomonia.
Preceded by several of his small minions, Flyzilla is survived by one semi-large underling and at least a dozen of his fruity relatives, all of whom temporarily reside at Casa de Raehl.
Services were held in Upper Bathroomia immediately following Flyzilla’s demise. Services included a private wake and burial at sea.
In lieu of flowers, please make cash contributions to the Raehl family for upkeep of the memorial shrine, a sparkling monument to peace and prosperity signifying the spot where aforementioned reign of terror ended. Upkeep will require many rolls of paper towels, several gallons of Windex, and a weekly maid to be utilized over the course of the next several years.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
An Open Letter to an Unwanted Guest
Dear fly,
I know we have been having quite an interesting relationship up until this point. You keep me wake with your loud incessant buzzing. I try to swat you only to break my flyswatter. You dive bomb me just as I begin to fall asleep. I sic the cat on you. You terrify my poor children who are afraid you may be a bee. So far it may seem like you are winning.
But I have news for you. I have a weapon you cannot imagine. It is the one thing that guarantee that I will prevail in this fight to the death. My secret weapon? A life span measured in years instead of days. For you see, I googled your kind. And what I found out is not going to bode well for you, or your descendants.
Tomorrow I will break out the big guns, and you will be helpless. Resistance if futile. Tomorrow when my husband goes to work, it would be best if you would go too. That is all I want. I do not need to see you die. I know that time is coming soon enough. Seek freedom, peace, and the wide open outdoors for your final days. If you are still here when I wake up, know that the traps I have set are for you. You will know them when you get stuck in them, for I am a master at stealth, cunning, and tricks I have learned on the Internet.
Never again will your kind terrorize my household thanks to the goodness of the people who contribute to Wikipedia. Never again will I cower in fear as you attempt your kamikaze mission while I sleep thanks to the people who have developed the Paper Chef flyswatter, with it’s handy tweezers and little dustpan feature developed to dispose of your remains. And never again will your kind scare my children in the middle of the night, sending them scurrying to my bed to tunnel like naked mole rats between my husband and I thanks to Dawn dish liquid that I am strategically placing in shallow cups of water in the places you lurk. And if those attempts to rid my home of you and your descendants fail, you should know that I have three frogs left, and I am not afraid to lure you into their home for supper.
For the final time I bid you good night, my winged nemesis.
Jenn, Ninja fly fighter extraordinaire
I know we have been having quite an interesting relationship up until this point. You keep me wake with your loud incessant buzzing. I try to swat you only to break my flyswatter. You dive bomb me just as I begin to fall asleep. I sic the cat on you. You terrify my poor children who are afraid you may be a bee. So far it may seem like you are winning.
But I have news for you. I have a weapon you cannot imagine. It is the one thing that guarantee that I will prevail in this fight to the death. My secret weapon? A life span measured in years instead of days. For you see, I googled your kind. And what I found out is not going to bode well for you, or your descendants.
Tomorrow I will break out the big guns, and you will be helpless. Resistance if futile. Tomorrow when my husband goes to work, it would be best if you would go too. That is all I want. I do not need to see you die. I know that time is coming soon enough. Seek freedom, peace, and the wide open outdoors for your final days. If you are still here when I wake up, know that the traps I have set are for you. You will know them when you get stuck in them, for I am a master at stealth, cunning, and tricks I have learned on the Internet.
Never again will your kind terrorize my household thanks to the goodness of the people who contribute to Wikipedia. Never again will I cower in fear as you attempt your kamikaze mission while I sleep thanks to the people who have developed the Paper Chef flyswatter, with it’s handy tweezers and little dustpan feature developed to dispose of your remains. And never again will your kind scare my children in the middle of the night, sending them scurrying to my bed to tunnel like naked mole rats between my husband and I thanks to Dawn dish liquid that I am strategically placing in shallow cups of water in the places you lurk. And if those attempts to rid my home of you and your descendants fail, you should know that I have three frogs left, and I am not afraid to lure you into their home for supper.
For the final time I bid you good night, my winged nemesis.
Jenn, Ninja fly fighter extraordinaire
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Like Father, Like Son: The Concussion Chronicles
For sure all of you are thinking that I am the Concussion Queen, and yes, that is true. And some of that will make a great blog that I shall write later. But for those of you who hang out here on a regular basis, which is pretty much Sarah and Anna, you have probably seen my husband hit his head. On everything in our house. It happens often, and usually goes something like this:
BAM
Me: “What was that noise?”
Andy:*grumbles*
Me: “What?” Because if that was not a kid, I am so not getting up…
Andy: “…..”
Me: “You hit your head again, didn’t you?”
Andy: “Umm……”
Me: “BWHAHAHAHA….I mean, are you OK?” Note my deep, deep sympathy.
We have that conversation almost daily. Pipes in the man room, that low ceiling as you go into the basement, open cupboard doors, open other doors, the shelf that keeps getting knocked out of the fridge, and, more recently, the wall, have all fallen victim to my husband’s forehead. So far he is on the losing end. Now he never gets a concussion, just a bruise, scrape, or a cut. But he passed his awkward-headed-ness on to poor David.
At first I blamed the head bumping on toddler hood. Every toddler I have ever know has tried the walk under the table trick when slightly too tall. Or misjudged and bumped his or her head when trying to jump up on someone or something. Or even the pew diving escape route from church has caused a few bruises in each of my children. And the parent or uncle who attempts to stop them.
David has all that down to an art and still he hits his head. Bending over by his toy shelf he misjudges how close he is standing and hits his head on the way down. And then on the way back up. Walking onto the back porch he hits his head on the railing. He frequently opens the door so that he gets hit by the door knob. He pulls, pushes, or knocks things over on his head. Occasionally the bump is a bit much and he starts getting a bit loopy.
The first time he had a concussion he tried to jump off an wooden swing. He succeeded in the jumping part, just not the getting off the swing the whole way part. He got dumped on the ground and the swing hit him in the back of the head. He fell into the mud, which to him was way worse than the bump on the head. We attempted to handle this like we normally do: an Iron Man ice pack, some hugs and chocolate. Then he started staggering around, said no to the chocolate, fell over a few times, and began talking nonsense. It was not until he kept asking who turned off the sun because he could not see that I became worried and took him to the ER. One CT scan, two orange Popsicles, some ibuprofen, a band aid and three hours later we were back at home. No sweat. The youngest of four has not thrown us something we have not handled before for at least a year.
Fast forward two months. Several small head bumps, bruises, skinned knees, and attempts to defy death later we get a second bump that sends us traipsing to the ER. I decided, against all other cautionary tales of my exercise mayhem that it would be a good idea to begin to enjoy family bike rides now that Faith and Isaac are getting good at riding their bikes without training wheels. First family trip: the park. We grab some water, jump on bikes, and head out. Angel, Faith, Isaac and I are riding, and David is relaxing in what he calls his rom-pom-pommer, but what normal people call a toddler seat, on the back of my bike. After a few blocks the kids start getting overconfident, and I have to admit I did too. They start weaving back and forth in front of me and one of them hits my front tire. My bike came to an abrupt halt and the back end, rom-pom-pommer, David and all fly into the air and land on the ground. David’s head hit first. It was kind of like that creepy nursery rhyme, Rock A Bye Baby.
Anyway, after untangling all the bikes, kids, and myself, we got David our of the pommer and his head was gushing blood. A few passersby took notice and came to our aid. I figured this was like every other bump on the head, but with more blood and embedded gravel, until David leaped out of my arms into the arms of some random guy and hung to him for dear life. He was screaming, “Daddy, you are here!” Over and over. Then a lady came and brought him paper towels, a Popsicle, and an ice pack. David said, “Thanks Grandma!” Then he proceed to shimmy away from “Daddy” stagger around and fall on his head. He proceeded to talking nonsense and falling over several times while trying to get away from me to “Daddy” until my mom got there to take us home. I had called out doctor and he recommended the hospital. Again.
.
We came home, picked up the kids, tracked down our bikes, and in the meanwhile David fell asleep in the van. We rode our bikes home, and as Andy was pulling the van into the driveway, David opened his eyes, looked right at me and asked for a ride in his rom-pom-pommer.
BAM
Me: “What was that noise?”
Andy:*grumbles*
Me: “What?” Because if that was not a kid, I am so not getting up…
Andy: “…..”
Me: “You hit your head again, didn’t you?”
Andy: “Umm……”
Me: “BWHAHAHAHA….I mean, are you OK?” Note my deep, deep sympathy.
We have that conversation almost daily. Pipes in the man room, that low ceiling as you go into the basement, open cupboard doors, open other doors, the shelf that keeps getting knocked out of the fridge, and, more recently, the wall, have all fallen victim to my husband’s forehead. So far he is on the losing end. Now he never gets a concussion, just a bruise, scrape, or a cut. But he passed his awkward-headed-ness on to poor David.
At first I blamed the head bumping on toddler hood. Every toddler I have ever know has tried the walk under the table trick when slightly too tall. Or misjudged and bumped his or her head when trying to jump up on someone or something. Or even the pew diving escape route from church has caused a few bruises in each of my children. And the parent or uncle who attempts to stop them.
David has all that down to an art and still he hits his head. Bending over by his toy shelf he misjudges how close he is standing and hits his head on the way down. And then on the way back up. Walking onto the back porch he hits his head on the railing. He frequently opens the door so that he gets hit by the door knob. He pulls, pushes, or knocks things over on his head. Occasionally the bump is a bit much and he starts getting a bit loopy.
The first time he had a concussion he tried to jump off an wooden swing. He succeeded in the jumping part, just not the getting off the swing the whole way part. He got dumped on the ground and the swing hit him in the back of the head. He fell into the mud, which to him was way worse than the bump on the head. We attempted to handle this like we normally do: an Iron Man ice pack, some hugs and chocolate. Then he started staggering around, said no to the chocolate, fell over a few times, and began talking nonsense. It was not until he kept asking who turned off the sun because he could not see that I became worried and took him to the ER. One CT scan, two orange Popsicles, some ibuprofen, a band aid and three hours later we were back at home. No sweat. The youngest of four has not thrown us something we have not handled before for at least a year.
Fast forward two months. Several small head bumps, bruises, skinned knees, and attempts to defy death later we get a second bump that sends us traipsing to the ER. I decided, against all other cautionary tales of my exercise mayhem that it would be a good idea to begin to enjoy family bike rides now that Faith and Isaac are getting good at riding their bikes without training wheels. First family trip: the park. We grab some water, jump on bikes, and head out. Angel, Faith, Isaac and I are riding, and David is relaxing in what he calls his rom-pom-pommer, but what normal people call a toddler seat, on the back of my bike. After a few blocks the kids start getting overconfident, and I have to admit I did too. They start weaving back and forth in front of me and one of them hits my front tire. My bike came to an abrupt halt and the back end, rom-pom-pommer, David and all fly into the air and land on the ground. David’s head hit first. It was kind of like that creepy nursery rhyme, Rock A Bye Baby.
Anyway, after untangling all the bikes, kids, and myself, we got David our of the pommer and his head was gushing blood. A few passersby took notice and came to our aid. I figured this was like every other bump on the head, but with more blood and embedded gravel, until David leaped out of my arms into the arms of some random guy and hung to him for dear life. He was screaming, “Daddy, you are here!” Over and over. Then a lady came and brought him paper towels, a Popsicle, and an ice pack. David said, “Thanks Grandma!” Then he proceed to shimmy away from “Daddy” stagger around and fall on his head. He proceeded to talking nonsense and falling over several times while trying to get away from me to “Daddy” until my mom got there to take us home. I had called out doctor and he recommended the hospital. Again.
.
We came home, picked up the kids, tracked down our bikes, and in the meanwhile David fell asleep in the van. We rode our bikes home, and as Andy was pulling the van into the driveway, David opened his eyes, looked right at me and asked for a ride in his rom-pom-pommer.
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