Thursday, December 31, 2009

Ringin' In Twenty-Ten

Twelve years ago tonight I said yes to Seth, to our lives together.

Sometimes, on nights like last Friday/Saturday, I get all frustrated and think, "This is not the life I envisioned then."

And it's not.

At all.

But that's not such a bad thing, ya know?

I had no idea how full my heart could get when I'd hear my six-year old son singing to his baby brother a made up lullaby about how much he loved his sweet baby brother.

I had no idea that I could love harder, faster andso fiercely over time than I did at 18, but I can, and that is a beautiful thing.

I had no idea that to grow we often must break first, and that these broken pieces can be fashioned into a new you that makes a devastatingly beautiful mosaic.

I know now that my mosaic is still being patterned and fashioned.... I'm finding theat letting go is the greatest thing we can do for ourselves, especially when we remind ourselves that we have chosen to let it go, meaning things are not going to turn out as we may have hoped or previously planned for.

My resolution is to more consciously let go of the things that I want to have my own control over and hand them to my God.

Tonight is a family night, watching movies, eating a good dinner in, and getting up in the morning to snowshoe (which we're hoping to make our NYD tradition now that we all have snowshoes! Well...Christopher has a backpack to ride in).

Be Blessed.



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, December 26, 2009

"This is NOT How I Wanted You to Remember Today"

 
So groaned my husband late last night early this morning.

Christmas was great - both sides of our family significantly downsized the presents aspect, something I've craved for years, everyone got along despite the lack of sleep afforded by Christmas Eve, and the juggling between my family and Seth's was a piece of cake this year - no guilt-inspired tug of war.

And yet, at about 11:30 I fell apart and sobbed on my husband's lap in front of my in-laws for a good ten minutes. Exhausted.

****

We sing a song in the children's programs at church:
The wise man built his house upon The Rock, his house upon The Rock....

The foolish man built his house upon the sand, his house upon the sand....
****

Tuesday night we experienced one of Kelsey's sensory superfits. While we saw the beginnings of one over Thanksgiving, we hadn't seen a big one in a LONG time. Like long ago enough that sensory integration dysfunction seemed like a distant memory.

Well, Tuesday not only recalled that memory but brought it front and center.

Sleep has been an issue of late for Kelsey. She's had trouble with insomnia, and calming her engine enough that she can successfully relax and induce herself to sleep. Result: chaos for an already disorganized brain.

Add to it that her school was in session Monday and Tuesday, yet really, all bets were off re: attempting normal schedule.

Mix in one mother, caught up in the holiday hustle and bustle, also deprived of sleep because of one teething infant, whose hypervigilance at waiting for the other sensory shoe to drop has been greatly reduced, and well, I completely missed the triggers.

At bedtime, we had a battle royale about sleep and it escalated such that I had to put her in her room and hold her bedroom door shut for a prolonged period (45 minutes...have I mentioned that the child is stubborn in addition to neuro-atypical?) while she screamed and beat at the door. It broke my heart to see her like this again. It made me want to crawl into a hole when she proclaimed that I was the "meanest mama ever," because when I tried to see things from her eyes I could see how she felt betrayed by me essentially locking her up, BUT I knew it was for her own good, lest I hurt her or she me.

****

It's Christmas night. We've just returned to Seth's folks after eating with my folks, exchanging gifts and playing Wii.

It's late.

I told Kelsey it's time to get ready for bed and she protested. She wasn't one bit tired! She wanted to read!

This is stubbornness, not a sensory issue, it seemed.

I told her she could read in the entry room but that the adults were playing a game and she didn't need to be in the same room.

And the melt-down began.

I want to cry and scream and pitch a fit because I am bone tired after Christopher's weeks of teething have been topped off with traveling sleep, which means none.

But I called upon some reserve somewhere within me.

After Seth had tried to reason with her, and failed, I began to see this was going sensory. She was hysterical and repeating that she'd never be able to get to sleep, all while having that other worldly look on her face. Nothing penetrates this look. Just gotta take the wild wave and ride it.

Manic, she flailed at me, screamed, shook her head and just fell apart as I tried to touch her, hoping that the deep pressure could bring her back to me. Her eyes held a look of fight or flight, terrified at what was going on inside her. I almost broke at the helplessness of knowing her neurons were in chaos and firing excessively - lot of good knowing what does when there is no rhyme or reason to alleviating the why of the problem.

Eventually, I got her to a spare bedroom. There I cradled my biggest baby like when she was a newborn and we rocked while she continued to huff and puff and slow her engine down.

At this point my sister-in-law entered the room, tears streaming down her face.

At first, I interpreted her tears as those of the "I can't stand her pain, make it stop" variety and felt a twinge of defensiveness raise its ugly head.

"What...can I do...to help? I want to help her....and you." Her face crumpled and her tears fell faster.

It was then that I sensed that she'd gotten a glimpse of what it is for me to mother Kelsey, this bittersweet hellish rollercoaster that I ride, along with two other children who need me just as much. Her words from our morning present-opening (we make a point of having the gift-giver tell their giftee why they love them before each gift is opened) echoed in my mind, "You're so brave."

I motioned her over to the bed with us. And she just sat while I numbly and automatically did joint compressions on Kels to calm her down. I remember at one point squeezing her hand so hard that my knuckles turned white and Kelsey whispered, "Harder, Mama." As I could feel her body quiet, I began to murmur to her that I knew it was beyond her control, that I wasn't mad and that I just wanted to help her come back. My sister-in-law asked Kels what would help her, which caused her to stiffen. She couldn't have known that in this state an open-ended question is just more chaos for Kelsey's disorganized brain. So I intervened.

At home Kelsey and I have a nightly prayer together before bed, but when traveling this nighttime rite is often tossed aside. Routine and ritual help soothe her. So I prayed while I held my girl, all gangly limbs curling over my arms, one of the longest, most heartfelt prayer I've prayed with her. It was long after she fell limp in my arms that I closed the prayer, my own eyes moist and damp.

I hefted her 75lb, nearly as tall as me frame, into her bedroom and tucked her in. Asleep.

Mission Accomplished.

But at what cost? Would she be mortified in the morning? And how can I keep this from happening? What's she gonna do when she's at college and noone knows to squeeze her feet, hands and compress her other joints?

These and other racing thoughts plagued my exhausted mind such that I gave voice to them with the hiccuping sobs that I melted into on Seth's lap. It was now 11:30. We'd battled for right at an hour and a half.

****

Sometime after midnight, we settled into bed. And Christopher awoke. Inconsolable.

We each took turns trying to soothe him. But no amount of rocking, nursing, Orajel, Tylenol, or Motrin would help.

Around 3am was when Seth made his statement re: how this day was going to go down in my mind's history.

It was then that the childish song popped into my mind, and I realized how this incident might have undone someone else, that someone else might have slipped into their own sleep-deprived, incoherent raging.

But that reserve from which I drew?

The rock upon which my faith is built, from which I draw my strength.

****

This week has been hard, as the sleeping has still yet to resume back to N-O-R-M-A-L, whatever that is anyway. But I have to say that the fact that my husband is an angel, my sister-in-law's empathic gesture of just BEING with me, and a silly little song have all helped remind me that I'm not alone and I don't have to do this all by myself.



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, December 24, 2009

For Those Who Didn't Get a Card From Us

Click here for our Christmas newsletter.

2009 was a wild and crazy year, best summed up by Kutless' song "What Faith Can Do:"
Everybody falls sometimes
Gotta find the strength to rise
From the ashes and make a new beginning
Anyone can feel the ache
You think its more than you can take
But you are stronger, stronger than you know
Don't you give up now
The sun will soon be shining
You gotta face the clouds
To find the silver lining

I've seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn't ever end
Even when the sky is falling
And I've seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand new
That's what faith can do

It doesn't matter what you've heard
Impossible is not a word
It's just a reason for someone not to try
Everybody's scared to death
When they decide to take that step
Out on the water
It'll be alright
Life is so much more
Than what your eyes are seeing
You will find your way
If you keep believing

I've seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn't ever end
Even when the sky is falling
And I've seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand new
That's what faith can do

Overcome the odds
You do have a chance
(That's what faith can do)
When the world says you can't
It'll tell you that you can!

I've seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn't ever end
Even when the sky is falling
And I've seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand new
That's what faith can do
That's what faith can do!
Even if you fall sometimes
You will have the strength to rise
My illness threw us for a loop this spring, but faith in God's promises have gotten us through, per the letter.

May you all be blessed with such faith, hope and love this Christmas and for 2010!



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

It Doesn't Hurt...

Seth is not as addicted to observant of the e-mail as I am.

Nor has he ever really read my blogs without first being told to do so.

Which means, he did not look at the Invisible Woman e-mail his mom sent the other day, entitled "FW: Merry Christmas, Please Watch."

Last night, he sat down and looked at the e-mails in our inbox and he points to it, and asks me, "This any good?"

While it is the kind of e-mail that is easily relegated to the genre of "chick flick," I told him, "Yeah. It is."

Afterward, all he said was, "I see you too, though often it is in hindsight. Thanks for all you do."

And so ladies, perhaps that might be a reason to forward the e-mail on to all the men in your life - as they might need a prompt to tell their special lady who feels none so special, invisible even, something similar.

P.S. Note he WATCHED the e-mail, which means the video not the text one. This is important when sending to men!



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Monday, December 21, 2009

The Invisible Woman

I believe that God speaks to us through many different media.

There are written words, both those breathed by the Holy Spirit in Scripture and those penned by people (who often will not know their impact) in tomes of literature, on display of a computer monitor or some other format.

Nature speaks to me, not audibly to my ears, but to my heart and soul which "hear" things my ears never could.

Music speaks to me in a way that integrates all the senses.

The analysis of a series of events often conveys messages to me - though some might call it superstition, I feel it is more of a discernment and intuition.

I could go on, but that would take me away from the point at which I'm trying to arrive.

I also believe that God, when He really wants our attention, will cause the same thing that speaks to us to lend itself to repeated surfacings. In the past I'll have read a certain passage in Scripture and then it will come up in class or a sermon, or in conversation with a friend - usually a combination of all of those, too!

Recently, I got an e-mail from a friend called The Invisible Woman. The words, dealing with the frustrations of being a mom who often comes last, can be found below. A few days later, I received the same e-mail with the message being spoken by the lovely and talented Nicole Johnson.

God's doing it, trying to get my attention. The overall theme of The Invisible Woman is directly applicable to my life, particularly the part about God seeing ME and caring about what I do or don't do and His admonition to keep at it.

And the timing....could it come at a better time? No, in the midst of several attempts to do fun things with the kids for the holidays (salt dough ornaments and then the painting of them, holiday baking with the kids' help, gingerbread cookies and then the decorating of them) and their quick lapses into complaints of "We NEVER get to do ANYTHING fun," not to mention my recent little pity parties, I'd say the timing on this is nothing short of perfect.

I'm going t share it with y'all, in the hopes that it uplifts you and speaks to your heart. Blessings!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YU0aNAHXP0&hl=en_US&fs=1&]
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?? Â I need that now Mommy!

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' Hurry Mom, I'll be late!

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!?

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it t o me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'



In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fuelled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof, No one will ever see it. And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.'

No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become. At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there..'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.




© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Friday, December 18, 2009

The Christmas Card Photo

(Alternate title: In Which I Realize I am NOT This Great Photographer/Mommyblogger, Nor This One, Nor This One Either. Also, Not Her.)

(Alternate title II: Santa, I Can Haz Mad Camera Skillz? Plz?!?)

I'm late to the party, I know. 

But the cards will be in the mail TOMORROW.

We HAD to take a family photo.

But, uhm, not a lot of disposable cash, so we went about it amateur style: by ourselves.

Our camera has a timer, so it wasn't impossible, but it was patience trying, for sure.

whoopsies!
 
Whoah, Chris has three hands....

 
We can't just get "normal" smiles, we have to have the dreaded cheesey faces..."

Wow, normal smiles, but oh no! Chris isn't looking....grrr...

 
Colton sez..."Are we done yet?"

Chris sez..."I'm gonna pull sister's hair and see what she does." Scream, naturally....oy vey.

We hardly ever get couple pics so I insisted!

Our card photo - as none of them were quite the "it" picture alone, but together they are great!




© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Monday, December 14, 2009

I was perusing my blogroll the other day and found a great post of Megan's over at Velveteen Mind.

She quotes from Meet the Robinsons:

From failing you learn. From success...not so much.

Lately, I feel as if I am failing everything (perfectionist) and everyone (people pleaser) though, and it gives me pause to wonder what it is that I('m supposed to be learning.

For example, this morning Kelsey and Colton were in prime form, willfully disregarding my entreaties to, "Please eat! ... Please quit reading riddles and get ready for school! ... Get your socks and shoes on, now please!... Eat your breakfast! ... Socks and shoes! ... Leave the dogs alone and do what I've asked you to please! :repeated ad nauseum: " I quickly transformed from harried, albeit polite, mother to a harsh monster as their mouths got smarter and sassier, not to mention none of the morning necessaries had gotten done yet. As my normal voice had gone unheeded three or more times already, I morphed into yelling. And that didn't work either. So then the flood of emotion started to build, as my inner dialog focused on my inadequacies as a mother - surely I was a failure as my children wouldn't obey me in getting ready for school, surely it was my fault that my daughter's eyes were rolling every time my mouth opened, surely this lack of respect for authority was going to wind them both up in prison on down the road - and they sensed it. Colton ran over to me, breakfast STILL uneaten, and tried to hug me when I leaped over the edge.

"I DON'T WANT YOUR &*%# HUGS, I WANT YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!!!"

Yes, I swore at him. Yes, I felt like my stature went from 5'5" to miniscule in mere nano-seconds. FAIL!

Kelsey and Colton both chimed in chorus, "You hate us," and pouted.

I had to regain my composure instantaneously.

"No, guys, I do not hate YOU."

"Yes you do!!!"

"No, please, let me finish. I am very sorry for swearing at you and yelling, and wish that I could take it back. That was very wrong of me."

Deep breath.

"Can we please just get along, follow instructions and have a relatively easy morning from here on out?"

Solemn nods.

And that's just one example.

I feel like I'm floundering in so many ways. And I'm left wondering, what is the lesson in this floundering?

All I can come up with is that I can't make it all better on my own. I can't do all of this on my own. And that I am NOT a perfect person.

But God is, and was, and will be. And I just need to lean on Him more in times like these. Forget pulling myself up by the bootstrap and ask Him to help pull me out of the slimy pit I'm in, to ask Him to put my feet on a firm rock.



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Three Dog Nights and Two Dog Days

It's been a frozen tundra here in NoCo lately.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas indeed, as the snow we got last week has yet to melt. In other words December has arrived. And with it, some frigid temperatures that have kept me housebound. I'm in need of a good long run but it's too cold outside and I have no indoor substitute - no treadmill, no gym membership, and no indoor track that I'm aware of.

Christopher has been teething and as a result has become extremely clingy and light in his sleeping. Monday he got all of 30 minutes in daytime sleep. As a result his wakeful time was quite irritable and fussy. So, Tuesday when I got him to sleep I held him long enough to ensure he was really out, then carried him over to the swing and began to lower him down ever-so-gently when POP! went his eyes. I quickly retreated to the couch and sat with him, where he fell back asleep and we were one flesh for 2 hours. I was so glad that he slept that long, but was frustrated that I was rendered unable to get any of the household things done, and they need done badly as I've been sick and let a lot of things go while trying to recuperate from this nasty sinus bug.

My other beef with the temps is that our dogs have been indoors for a week and are beyond squirrely. Sometimes they wrestle to get out their energy, but that is LOUD and not exactly the safest with a baby crawling around. Consequently, I feel like I am shouting "No!" all day long and trying to divert their attentions to other pursuits.

I've been wrestling with parental guilt too as Kelsey and Colton have gotten into some bad habits of late, and I find myself wondering at the end of the days what I have done to foster such whiny, selfish, and disrespectful behaviors. I know that a lot of this is them being cooped up too - indoor recesses for a week due to the cold - as well as me being sick and thus not sticking to our routines, but....sometimes having an understanding doesn't always help the experiencing much.

I've been trying to find more activities to engage them to try and curb the insolence and I'm getting mixed results. I had the kids make salt dough ornaments with me last weekend and we painted them together when we were done, which was fun. They've been helping me out more with cooking - just last night they helped me fill and roll enchiladas for our supper and they really seemed to enjoy it. But the bickering and the obstinence over daily minutiae (what to wear, what to eat for breakfast, not following directions etc.) continues. Kelsey's sensory issues seem to be popping up in the nature of her fits at home, so I'm having to re-discipline myself into making sure there's structure and interjecting little ways for her to receive input here as school has pretty much determined that she's compensating well enough at school and thus there is no need for them to intervene - something that I agreed to at the beginning of the year as things were going really well.

So...pity party for me, lol. It's been a hard few weeks, and I sometimes forget that "This too shall pass."



© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Monday, December 7, 2009

I've made a move...

I won't be blogging here anymore.

You can find me (and all of this blog too) at http://ramblinred.wordpress.com. Please update your blogrolls accordingly.

Peace!




© 2009 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Friday, December 4, 2009

Been a Little While...

[taps] Is this thing on?

So, yeah, it's been a loooooooooong time since I sat down and pounded a keyboard.

Why so long?

Maybe because everything in the world has been on my shoulders and because I've been living the life of an ostrich (i.e. my head has been covered by sand, into which said head was thrust in hopes of acquiring the bliss said to be brought with ignorance)?

Maybe because everything is both so very right and yet so very wrong at the same time?

Maybe because I'm not at all anonymous in my blogging anymore, as my blog, due to a thoughtless click of a button, is now shared with all facebook friends, read: IRL people who KNOW me, or at least KNEW me at some point in time and not the random strangers or friends that the internet has offered me over the years. Funny, I used to think that I had carte blanche to say whatever I wanted when I was pseudo-anonymous (total anonymity is a farce, right?), but now I find myself censoring, wondering "What would that person think of me if I used PG-13 language," or "Would this hurt so-and-so's feelings?" or "Could this potentially be misinterpreted and held against me?"

I've been sick lately, so running has been out (and even if not sick, this week's arctic temps have kept me confined as I have a running partner who really needn't be exposed to brrr-freaking-cold air for the heck of it). Running has sort of taken the place of blogging as my sounding-off, head-clearing activity. Sort of. In that usually when I'm sounding off while running it is a sort of dialog between me and God. Not always verbalized, but a consciousness of themes and events in life that seems to make its way to Him in a Romans 8:26 fashion.

Money sucks. I hate this necessary evil with every fiber of my being. Yes, we are struggling. Yes, we have made dumb mistakes, repetitively even. Yes, some of the burdens were beyond our control, but no, we have not made the sacrifices we probably needed to to make ends meet. Relatively speaking, we are probably better off than many Americans, but personally, I hate this place we are in. I vacillate between thinking that I ought to go back to work and realizing that even if I could find something right now it probably would only cover childcare and possibly insurance. In other words, me working is not the magic cure-all.

Lil Guy is growing faster than I'd like. He's sitting up and starting to army crawl quite frequently now. He's my joy-bringer, that one. His smile, often accompanied by this one raised eyebrow thing that he does that implies a deeper understanding of the circumstance at hand than that possible of an infant, melts so much of the gray of life away that I wish I could just bottle it up for those all-too-frequent mentally rainy days.

Well, Lil Guy is awakened, so this is it for now.






© 2009 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved