At my parents' house, Wednesday was typically called "Wednesday Night Dinner." Our regular crew would sit around the dinner table, eat and banter. And the topics? Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was a deep, deep well. Sometimes my brothers and I would participate in the game we affectionately dubbed Who-Can-Make-Mom-Blush-First. (For those curious souls, my brothers were the regular victors in that game with LilBro taking top prize for making Mom ask what a "Fluffer" did for a living. And before you ask, no, I won't be relaying that conversation here.)
Of course, regular obligations and some rotation in our regular crew have made the original Wednesday Night Dinners a thing of the past. Now Wednesday Night Dinners take place on Sunday evenings; sometimes they are on Sunday afternoons. (Or Saturday evenings. Or Tuesday evenings. You get the picture.)
One of our more recent topics was love languages. According to author Gary Chapman, there are five of them: words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time and physical touch.
(Guess which one would be a Fluffer's number one?)
Approximately five seconds into our conversation, everyone was trying to guess everyone else's bottom love language--you know, the one your spouse needs that you could do without.
Don't judge. All conversations have to start somewhere.
Turns out, guessing is unnecessary because there is a very convenient and telling online quiz here. (Go ahead. This post will be here when you finish.) That discovery led to the quietest dinner I've ever had with those people in my entire life. People stared at cell phones, clicked and chewed for an half hour.
(I'd like to share everyone's individual results. I have a great story about Gloria's results and the reactions around the table, but I'm not all about laying everyone's personal business out on the interwebs.)
(Alright. That's a lie. OF COURSE I'd share personal business if I thought it would get a laugh. But some things require a foreknowledge I just can't explain here.)
The results were pretty telling, though. For instance, I would feel loved if you cleaned my house, brought me a present and then offered to hang out. I do not, however, need you to tell me you like me or hold my hand. In fact, I need those things so little, they barely scored on the charts (both with a score of 1). The top three, however, scored a 10, 9 and 8 respectively.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I appear to have no feelings.
Mystery solved.
Take the quiz and share your interpretation of your results. I'd love to hear them.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Peace: On Becoming Who I Want To Be
One of the constant themes in last summer's Women's Bible Study (Kelly Minter's Nehemiah) was "What is your purpose?" That question was analyzed in conjunction with Nehemiah's actions throughout the book, and (for me) ended with my mom's eye-opening proclamation: "I am a selfish Christian."
I still haven't recovered from her statement. And, lame or not, it makes me think of Anne Hathaway's declaration from The Princess Diaries: "And then I realized how many stupid times a day I use the word 'I.' And probably all I ever do is think about myself."
When I think of the things plaguing my sense of peace, I almost never think selfishness is the culprit. But, in a lot of ways, the I'm-what's-most-important mentality is at the heart of my unrest. It takes a hundred different forms--from "I deserve..." to "I suck..."--but each form rests firmly in a self-centered focus.
Frankly, though, a good portion of my day revolves around satisfying myself. If I'm tired, I come home and do nothing. But I rarely afford Favorite the same luxury--silently mouthing him for any housekeeping failure I deem important. Needless to say, my silent suffering does little to encourage my sense of gratitude.
But that's where peace resides.
When I walked into my house today, I noticed a couple of things: Favorite had unloaded, reloaded and started the dishwasher; he fixed the faulty light in our bathroom and reattached the light fixture that had been down for the last three months; he finished two loads of laundry.
In the last month, he's noticed sleep has been hit and miss for me. The declarations that pregnancy does get uncomfortable haven't been wrong--though I've been blessed only to be affected at night. Fortunately, he hasn't just catalogued that information; he's used it to inform his activities for the day. Now, he regularly does things around the house just because he wants to give me as much time to rest as possible.
He loves me well.
That's a large part of who I want to become--a person who loves well.
The upheaval over the last few years of my life has been evidence that so many things are temporary. We get a season--a short season at that--to love the people who touch us, and truly loving them well sometimes means putting aside the things that bring immediate personal gratification. (At least, until my desires get a bit of an adjustment.)
In the last few weeks I've purposefully put distractions aside to enjoy my people fully. While I'm surrounded by a great community of people, I really feel like I have the opportunity to invest in a few of them deeply. It means reducing my screen time and really listening to what another person has to say. It means being aware of a change in demeanor and really attuning my heart to the needs of others. It means practicing daily gratitude just for the gift of these people.
I don't always get it right. But when my life is over, the one thing I want my husband and my son to say is that I made people feel like they were the only ones in the room when I was around. And that I loved them well.
That's who I want to be.
I still haven't recovered from her statement. And, lame or not, it makes me think of Anne Hathaway's declaration from The Princess Diaries: "And then I realized how many stupid times a day I use the word 'I.' And probably all I ever do is think about myself."
When I think of the things plaguing my sense of peace, I almost never think selfishness is the culprit. But, in a lot of ways, the I'm-what's-most-important mentality is at the heart of my unrest. It takes a hundred different forms--from "I deserve..." to "I suck..."--but each form rests firmly in a self-centered focus.
Frankly, though, a good portion of my day revolves around satisfying myself. If I'm tired, I come home and do nothing. But I rarely afford Favorite the same luxury--silently mouthing him for any housekeeping failure I deem important. Needless to say, my silent suffering does little to encourage my sense of gratitude.
But that's where peace resides.
When I walked into my house today, I noticed a couple of things: Favorite had unloaded, reloaded and started the dishwasher; he fixed the faulty light in our bathroom and reattached the light fixture that had been down for the last three months; he finished two loads of laundry.
In the last month, he's noticed sleep has been hit and miss for me. The declarations that pregnancy does get uncomfortable haven't been wrong--though I've been blessed only to be affected at night. Fortunately, he hasn't just catalogued that information; he's used it to inform his activities for the day. Now, he regularly does things around the house just because he wants to give me as much time to rest as possible.
He loves me well.
That's a large part of who I want to become--a person who loves well.
The upheaval over the last few years of my life has been evidence that so many things are temporary. We get a season--a short season at that--to love the people who touch us, and truly loving them well sometimes means putting aside the things that bring immediate personal gratification. (At least, until my desires get a bit of an adjustment.)
In the last few weeks I've purposefully put distractions aside to enjoy my people fully. While I'm surrounded by a great community of people, I really feel like I have the opportunity to invest in a few of them deeply. It means reducing my screen time and really listening to what another person has to say. It means being aware of a change in demeanor and really attuning my heart to the needs of others. It means practicing daily gratitude just for the gift of these people.
I don't always get it right. But when my life is over, the one thing I want my husband and my son to say is that I made people feel like they were the only ones in the room when I was around. And that I loved them well.
That's who I want to be.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Over Christmas, I Took a Break
The holiday season is over. That brings a sigh of relief from a lot of people and a lot of frustration from others. For me, it's a mixed blessing. I remember how difficult Christmas has been for Favorite and I in the past; however, it's also the one time during the year we see and spend time with our entire family.
This Christmas brought a variety of blessings. First of all, my mom retired.
My date was MIA due to work. Favorite was actually mandated twice over my Christmas break, and I sincerely hate he has to work these holidays. Thankfully, I have a cousin who is willing to pinch hit--or at least sit beside me during a meal--so I don't feel so alone.
This Christmas brought a variety of blessings. First of all, my mom retired.
My brothers, SILSheena, Nik-Nak, Gloria & Jason and PastorJosh and the CCL (and Tu-Tu) managed to keep a secret, invite friends, get food together and talk Mom into coming downstairs in order to make the surprise happen.
Pictures, of course, might be a bit more explanatory.
 |
| She turned her back to us because she was crying. Her first reaction was "My kids are here!" because BigBro and SILSheena actually came in a day before they told her they would be in. Then she realized all of these people were there for her. My picture of her initial reaction wasn't good, but she was shocked--she even dropped her purse. |
I can't believe we managed to keep it a secret, but we did. It was a good night filled with old friends, new friends, family and lovable people. I gotta tell you this: there's nothing like calling people, making a request and then knowing those people will wholeheartedly back your endeavor to the best of their ability.
Not only did we have several people help with food, there were several people who helped clean up our mess and even more who brought a sincere attitude of celebration (like Roger!) for the sake of my Mom's accomplishment.
I wish I would've taken pictures at Christmas. Apparently, I failed to even get my camera out for our holiday. I was too busy hanging out with family, I guess. It means I have no pictures of BigBro and SILSheena at Christmas :( And I also failed to get pictures of the monstrous snow we got the day after that kept BigBro and SILSheena stranded at our house until we could get my car our of my terrifying driveway.
For the new year, my family and I celebrated at a local watering hole with PastorJosh, the CCL and Num-Num the WonderChild.
Tim and Nik-Nak were there and KK got to sit with her new best friend.
Seriously, though, KK is the cutest kid ever. Over Christmas she kept tapping my belly and saying, "Who's in there?" I would respond, "I don't know. Who's in there?" And she'd scream, "BABY RYAN!"
Things got a bit more interesting when she asked me if he was coming out through my belly button (umm...not quite, but something almost as uncomfortable) and if he could come out and play now. Then, new year's eve, she tried to cut him out of my belly with her play knife for cutting her velcro veggies.
She's adamant Ryan needs to play. And surely he'll love her little face.
Thankfully, she'll be around to entertain him since LilBro and Nik-Nak are getting married next May.
My date was MIA due to work. Favorite was actually mandated twice over my Christmas break, and I sincerely hate he has to work these holidays. Thankfully, I have a cousin who is willing to pinch hit--or at least sit beside me during a meal--so I don't feel so alone.
It was a sincerely awesome break. I didn't accomplish anything revolutionary, but I really enjoyed having the opportunity to lay around and visit with people I love.
And now, I'm waiting for my rockstar retired mom to figure out a crib sheet pattern so we can get on this nursery business.
Before you know it, I'll be posting a baby announcement. And we can't be unprepared.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
The Magic of 12/12/12
I feel like I should mark the monumental occasion of 12/12/12 by posting a random listing of stuff surely someone will read and comment on.
Truthfully, I had a few pictures I wanted to share along with a few random statements that aren't really enough to make an individual post so I'm lumping them all in one.
* Today is my mom and dad's anniversary. They've been married for 37 years. Isn't that an awesome accomplishment these days?
* I love my classes this year. My advanced class moved from a 78% average on their first test to a 90% average on their most recent exam. Can you believe that?! And I just love 5th hour. They are such a diverse group of kids, but they are genuinely interested in each other. Today, after a few informative speeches, they asked the respective speakers so many intelligent questions. It was a proud moment to be a teacher.
* A couple of weeks ago, Favorite and I did a belly comparison:
Truthfully, I had a few pictures I wanted to share along with a few random statements that aren't really enough to make an individual post so I'm lumping them all in one.
* Today is my mom and dad's anniversary. They've been married for 37 years. Isn't that an awesome accomplishment these days?
* I love my classes this year. My advanced class moved from a 78% average on their first test to a 90% average on their most recent exam. Can you believe that?! And I just love 5th hour. They are such a diverse group of kids, but they are genuinely interested in each other. Today, after a few informative speeches, they asked the respective speakers so many intelligent questions. It was a proud moment to be a teacher.
* A couple of weeks ago, Favorite and I did a belly comparison:
They're alarmingly similar, are they not? (On a side note, I tried to get them to post side by side, but I'm not tech-savvy and blogger wasn't cooperative. Use your imagination.)
* I still can't talk about this gift my mom got me without saying all these things that apparently make my readers cry. (You're an emotional group, aren't y'all? HA!) But, honestly, I can remember seeing it in Hallmark and repeatedly wishing I would have a reason to make the purchase.
* Speaking of gifts, I have several I need to post here so you can get an idea of how awesome my support system is. My Aunt Diane gave Ryan an Ugly Doll (which matches his nursery perfectly), and since she saw it and knew how much I loved Sock Monkeys, Gloria gave me this:
He plays peek-a-boo, guys. And then giggles with this little kid voice. So.Very.Cute.
* Favorite has been busy finishing up the closet in Ryan's room and the closet in our guest room. When they come next week, BigBro and SILSheena may even be able to hang their clothes instead of unfolding everything from the suitcase. And Ryan's room has closet doors. When those rooms aren't disaster areas, I'll try to get some pictures up here for you all to see.
* And just for fun, we drove out to the road to see our Christmas tree in the front window of our house. That picture didn't turn out well, but the one of our tag-alongs was pretty indicative of their personalities:
We are stocking-less this year since I couldn't find any I really liked. (Or, more accurately, I was unwilling to pay $35 a pop for the Sock Monkey stockings I found and llllluuuurrrrvvvveeeddd.) But I'm almost completely done wrapping presents and have just a few more things to grade before I can officially relax.
And then? I'll be chillin' until January 7th.
Which is about as merry as it gets :)
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
A Fogless Weekend
There was fog hanging just above the farm as far as I could see this morning. It's a weird image. Almost like we lived on the moors referenced in Wuthering Heights or some other equally mysterious book. For me, though, that fog clarified how hazy things have been in the last few months. Since July, I felt like I've been living on fast forward and things have only just slowed to normal speed this month.
Fall does that. Or maybe October requires a slower pace--one that requires four day weekends, deeper breaths, an appreciation for color and time with family.
For a few days, I left my immense pile of grading and didn't feel badly to take a couple of days hanging out with my family near LilBro's current residence.
And since all vacations begin with Favorite in a hat...
Here he is in all his gansta glory. And if you can't read it, his shirt says, "I keep it real." What other caption could a big man in a teal shirt need?
Favorite and I stayed overnight so we could visit Babies 'R' Us to finalize a few decisions regarding bigger items that don't necessarily require a positive gender identification. The coolest thing about our visit?
The only problem is now Favorite believes all places of business should have a few parking spaces dedicated to expectant mothers. I tried to explain that even if they did? I would probably park farther away and walk. His argument was undeterred.
We also decided we will likely purchase one of these (or something similar):
The Jeep stroller comes fully outfitted with an iPod hookup and speakers. It's a sweet ride, yo. Frankly, though, after walking/running with friends and pushing three different types of strollers, Favorite and I have agreed that a jogging stroller may be a good choice for us.
While I am walking some now (and maybe running occasionally...depending on who is reading this), I do intend to return to my running schedule after Little Navajo is born, and I do intend to work toward competing in at least one 5K and working my way up. I doubt I'll ever be marathon material, but I do enjoy this whole I-never-thought-I-could-run-except-now-I-do high.
The family arrived the next morning and we spent the day shopping and hanging out. We exhausted ourselves early enough to eat dinner with anyone over the age of 65 (around 5 o'clock) and LilBro chose a restaurant with the intention of developing "The Meat Sweats."
"The Meat Sweats" come as the result of eating a large portion of meat in one sitting. And even though that was his goal, I'm not sure LilBro was altogether successful.
He ordered the build your own burger platter and might have exceeded his expectations by a bit.
Not that he wasn't up for the challenge...
He even got a little support from JaketheSnake who had been his running buddy earlier in the day.
Eventually, though, he succombed to the glory that was the build-your-own-burger.
When dinner ended we went our separate ways because a few of us had a two hour drive back to the ole homestead.
Frankly, I was glad to be heading back to my king-sized bed. You don't know how small a queen is until you've been sleeping in a king for a while and you try to fit your slightly overgrown butt into the same bed with a man who approximately the size of an adolescent buffalo.
My long weekend ended with some time with prezi.com--a successful encounter, I might add. Since my first experience, I feel like I've become at least a capable user. And it was cool to seamlessly include pictures and videos without constantly googling instructions about embedding.
Oh, and I saw a movie with my mom:
I don't know what this says about my personality, but I couldn't resist a movie where a group of girls remixes Blackstreet's "No Diggety." Don't judge me. The movie itself was a bit blah, but I love remixes and acapella groups so the music was a lot of fun.
Then my mom convinced me that the shellac manicure was worth it, so even though I never wear nail polish, I sat for forty-seven layers to end up with this:
(There should be a picture here, but my computer just stopped reading my car for some reason. I'll try to fix if I have some time tonight.)
Verdict? A good weekend. And a reminder to appreciate what's in front of your face instead of moving on fast forward all the time.
A lesson that bears repeating, no?
Fall does that. Or maybe October requires a slower pace--one that requires four day weekends, deeper breaths, an appreciation for color and time with family.
For a few days, I left my immense pile of grading and didn't feel badly to take a couple of days hanging out with my family near LilBro's current residence.
And since all vacations begin with Favorite in a hat...
Favorite and I stayed overnight so we could visit Babies 'R' Us to finalize a few decisions regarding bigger items that don't necessarily require a positive gender identification. The coolest thing about our visit?
We also decided we will likely purchase one of these (or something similar):
While I am walking some now (and maybe running occasionally...depending on who is reading this), I do intend to return to my running schedule after Little Navajo is born, and I do intend to work toward competing in at least one 5K and working my way up. I doubt I'll ever be marathon material, but I do enjoy this whole I-never-thought-I-could-run-except-now-I-do high.
The family arrived the next morning and we spent the day shopping and hanging out. We exhausted ourselves early enough to eat dinner with anyone over the age of 65 (around 5 o'clock) and LilBro chose a restaurant with the intention of developing "The Meat Sweats."
He ordered the build your own burger platter and might have exceeded his expectations by a bit.
Frankly, I was glad to be heading back to my king-sized bed. You don't know how small a queen is until you've been sleeping in a king for a while and you try to fit your slightly overgrown butt into the same bed with a man who approximately the size of an adolescent buffalo.
My long weekend ended with some time with prezi.com--a successful encounter, I might add. Since my first experience, I feel like I've become at least a capable user. And it was cool to seamlessly include pictures and videos without constantly googling instructions about embedding.
Oh, and I saw a movie with my mom:
Then my mom convinced me that the shellac manicure was worth it, so even though I never wear nail polish, I sat for forty-seven layers to end up with this:
(There should be a picture here, but my computer just stopped reading my car for some reason. I'll try to fix if I have some time tonight.)
Verdict? A good weekend. And a reminder to appreciate what's in front of your face instead of moving on fast forward all the time.
A lesson that bears repeating, no?
Friday, September 21, 2012
The Shock That Was My Diagnosis
The day we found out I was pregnant, I expected to schedule surgery. That is God's honest truth, but I should probably start from the beginning so you get a better idea of how I got to that point.
Most of you will probably remember the fact that I had been participating in Made to Crave and had committed to training for a 5K with the CCL earlier in the summer. We were militant in our consistency to train. It was rare we missed more than two nights of walking/running and logged food every.single.day. Due to my PCOS, my weight loss had been slow, albeit consistent.
Then, all of a sudden, weird things happened. To start, I couldn't eat much of anything without getting really sick to my stomach. I would run anyway, stopping only to throw up a few times before I continued my pace. My belly felt distended and gross, and food just didn't sound appetizing.
My super encouraging running group consulted one evening and decided I would go to the emergency room--which I refused. (And not graciously.) The CCL, a nurse with only good stories to share (ha!), was convinced I had a bowel obstruction. Every symptom I had seemed to fit with that diagnosis and PastorJosh and my mom were concerned that this really was something serious I was treating like a mild rash. To ease their concerns, I swore I would go to the doctor the very next day. The next morning, my mom actually called to confirm I was following through with that promise.
Favorite and I drove to the clinic together and the doctor I saw was an energetic little guy. He went through all my symptoms and asked me to jump up on the table. When he pressed on my right side, I almost punched him. "Oh, so you're a little tender there?" he said with a smile. "Yep. Looks like gall bladder. We can do a screen with our machine. Just have a run a couple of tests first."
"What kind of tests?" I asked.
"Oh, you know, a pregnancy test. Can't expose you to all that radiation if you're pregnant."
My response? I laughed. (Looking back, I totally understand how Sarai could've laughed at the Angel who told Abram they would conceive. That was such a ridiculous conclusion. How could it prompt anything but giggles?) Then, I spent the next ten minutes explaining why the pregnancy test was a complete waste of time and resources, and ended by asking the doctor to please perform the scan anyway.
He hesitated, agreed and left the room.
He came back in two seconds and told me he just didn't feel right about abandoning protocol and asked me to take the test. I grumbled but complied. It was a waste of time, but it would satisfy his requirements and then we could move on.
About 3 minutes later, he walked back into my room and said, "Well, we won't be performing any scan on you today!"
I responded, "Oh? Is your machine broken?"
He looked at me completely bewildered and said, "Um. No. You're pregnant so we can't run the test."
Pregnant? Me? The guy must have been kidding. In fact, the nurse ran a second test just so I would believe what they were saying. I stared at those little strips in complete disbelief. It was surreal. How was I pregnant? (Logistically, I know how one gets pregnant. But the likelihood that I would be, particularly when one considers my history, changed this scenario a bit. I should also probably mention that I also had gall bladder problems--likely caused by the pregnancy per my doctor.)
Since Favorite was in the waiting room, the doctor went to get him. We were both completely shocked and the doctor was so giddy he could hardly stand it.
Our first ultrasound came almost a week later as the result of a bleeding scare. And on the screen, Little Navajo was timed perfectly with my last period. I don't mean that to be TMI, but for someone with PCOS, this is a huge deal. Huge. And that day we got to see Navajo's little heart fluttering away on the screen.
At my last appointment that same heart was beating a mile a minute--which is the whole reason Favorite believes Navajo is a girl. Me? I'm not so sure yet.
In the time I waited to tell, I debated how much pregnancy information should go on my blog. In the end, I concluded that this is the only type of scrapbooking I do, so there will likely be weekly updates and pictures (if I can manage to fix my camera).
Mostly, I hope that my story gives others hope in the waiting.
"What kind of tests?" I asked.
"Oh, you know, a pregnancy test. Can't expose you to all that radiation if you're pregnant."
My response? I laughed. (Looking back, I totally understand how Sarai could've laughed at the Angel who told Abram they would conceive. That was such a ridiculous conclusion. How could it prompt anything but giggles?) Then, I spent the next ten minutes explaining why the pregnancy test was a complete waste of time and resources, and ended by asking the doctor to please perform the scan anyway.
He hesitated, agreed and left the room.
He came back in two seconds and told me he just didn't feel right about abandoning protocol and asked me to take the test. I grumbled but complied. It was a waste of time, but it would satisfy his requirements and then we could move on.
About 3 minutes later, he walked back into my room and said, "Well, we won't be performing any scan on you today!"
I responded, "Oh? Is your machine broken?"
He looked at me completely bewildered and said, "Um. No. You're pregnant so we can't run the test."
Pregnant? Me? The guy must have been kidding. In fact, the nurse ran a second test just so I would believe what they were saying. I stared at those little strips in complete disbelief. It was surreal. How was I pregnant? (Logistically, I know how one gets pregnant. But the likelihood that I would be, particularly when one considers my history, changed this scenario a bit. I should also probably mention that I also had gall bladder problems--likely caused by the pregnancy per my doctor.)
Since Favorite was in the waiting room, the doctor went to get him. We were both completely shocked and the doctor was so giddy he could hardly stand it.
Our first ultrasound came almost a week later as the result of a bleeding scare. And on the screen, Little Navajo was timed perfectly with my last period. I don't mean that to be TMI, but for someone with PCOS, this is a huge deal. Huge. And that day we got to see Navajo's little heart fluttering away on the screen.
At my last appointment that same heart was beating a mile a minute--which is the whole reason Favorite believes Navajo is a girl. Me? I'm not so sure yet.
In the time I waited to tell, I debated how much pregnancy information should go on my blog. In the end, I concluded that this is the only type of scrapbooking I do, so there will likely be weekly updates and pictures (if I can manage to fix my camera).
Mostly, I hope that my story gives others hope in the waiting.
Not to us, Lord, not to us
but to your name be the glory,
because of your love and faithfulness.
--Psalm 115:1
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Our Most Sincere Thanks
Well, I learned that cutesy doesn't always work with announcements. I used the announcement picture on my blog to share our big news with friends, family and colleagues; however, I learned quickly that many of them didn't understand why I was moving when I just built a house last year?
So a lot of confusion ensued.
In case others were confused, here's the big news: Favorite and I are expecting a baby in late March. When we told my niece, she said we should name the baby Navajo. So, for now, that'll be the nickname I'll use here on the blog.
Right now, I need to tell you how grateful I have been for the texts, emails, comments, etc. We feel so blessed to have the opportunity to walk this road, but it's and even bigger blessing to know this isn't just personal for us. So many people have commented that they've been praying for us--more often than not, those people have been interceding on our behalf for years. Years, ya'll. How do you thank that kind of faithfulness? It's humbling. So, so very, bend-your-knees-to-the-only-One-who-could-have-ever-provided-this-kind-of-support humbling.
People have hugged me. Cried. Screamed until I couldn't understand what they were saying. Asked questions. Jumped up and down. They've stared at me in dumbfounded silence and breathed quick prayers of gratitude for our miracle.
Little Navajo is a miracle, yo.
I have a whole story about how we found out I was pregnant, and an even more amazing witness as to how far along I was during my first ultrasound, but I'll save that for another post. For now, I need you to understand how very humbled and grateful I am for any type of support or encouragement that's been extended over the last seven and a half years.
You.Are.Incredible.
This summer as we completed our women's study in Nehemiah, my mom continued to point out that Nehemiah sought the Lord day and night for four months. That's a minimum of 240 prayers. And when I think of what went up on our behalf? Sheesh. Heaven must have been groaning under the weight of your burdens for us.
Prayer works. It sustained us while we waited. It carried us to this new part of life, and I believe it will sustain us there, too.
From the bottom of our hearts. Thank you. A million times over.
Crys, Favorite, Little Navajo
Monday, September 17, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
I Can't Be Sad Because I Don't Have Feelings
It happened.
I'm turning into my mother.
(I love you, Mom. I know you read. Sometimes. But hang on for the rest of it because I promise it's not too insulting. Mostly.)
My brothers and I have recounted a few moments of our childhood in which my mom wasn't known for being the most sympathetic person. She believed if the sick and downtrodden (namely, us) were going to be at the house, we might as well make ourselves useful. We joke that she would call home and say things like, "I know you're puking, but do you think you could paint the front porch? That would be really helpful. Just take a bucket outside to puke in." Or, my personal favorite, "I know you're not feeling that well, but the kitchen floor really needs to be mopped. And, well, you're home, you know..."
In her defense (you're welcome, Mom), she held herself to the same standards and I recall she rarely missed work when I was a child. Actually, I can recall her allowing herself to get so sick that I had to call Gloria one night in complete terror because Mom needed to go to the hospital, none of us were old enough to drive and my dad was working a job 3 hours away.
Honestly, she just had little tolerance for wasted time or illness and did her best to instill her "pick yourself up by your bootstraps mentality." There was no such thing as an excuse. (See what I mean? No sympathy.)
Sometimes, though, I have difficulty doing that in my classroom. In the last few years, I've been working toward instituting a policy that requires students to be responsible for their work while giving them space to screw up because they are, after all, teenagers. Here is the policy as it appears on my syllabus:
(And, ladies, if you're feeling brave about your role as a wife or woman, you should click over and read this.)
I'm turning into my mother.
(I love you, Mom. I know you read. Sometimes. But hang on for the rest of it because I promise it's not too insulting. Mostly.)
My brothers and I have recounted a few moments of our childhood in which my mom wasn't known for being the most sympathetic person. She believed if the sick and downtrodden (namely, us) were going to be at the house, we might as well make ourselves useful. We joke that she would call home and say things like, "I know you're puking, but do you think you could paint the front porch? That would be really helpful. Just take a bucket outside to puke in." Or, my personal favorite, "I know you're not feeling that well, but the kitchen floor really needs to be mopped. And, well, you're home, you know..."
In her defense (you're welcome, Mom), she held herself to the same standards and I recall she rarely missed work when I was a child. Actually, I can recall her allowing herself to get so sick that I had to call Gloria one night in complete terror because Mom needed to go to the hospital, none of us were old enough to drive and my dad was working a job 3 hours away.
Honestly, she just had little tolerance for wasted time or illness and did her best to instill her "pick yourself up by your bootstraps mentality." There was no such thing as an excuse. (See what I mean? No sympathy.)
Sometimes, though, I have difficulty doing that in my classroom. In the last few years, I've been working toward instituting a policy that requires students to be responsible for their work while giving them space to screw up because they are, after all, teenagers. Here is the policy as it appears on my syllabus:
Late Work
Occasionally, life happens
and assignments go missing. I am aware
that every student faces difficult situations that might also serve as a
blockade to the completion of homework.
If one of these events should take place, the student is required to see
me before school begins to
receive any sort of
consideration for the assignment.
Otherwise, I do not accept late work.
Please note: Blatant misuse of this policy
will result in less consideration on my part.
I'm comfortable with this policy because it puts all responsibility into the hands of the student. My department policy states we do not accept late work so in order to comply with the policy while still feeling I'm giving students the benefit of the doubt, I allow them the opportunity to talk to me in the morning before the bell rings. If the student believes the situation is important enough to warrant a morning interview, they likely need a little extra consideration.
On Wednesday, one student came to discuss the homework assignment and the reason she wasn't able to finish. She was near tears and terrified, but even had she been fine I would've given her an extra day because she followed the policy set forth in my syllabus. She was standing in my classroom at 7:45 am. Nothing screams responsibility quite like that.
Unfortunately, few of the rest of my clan took that rule seriously. Of 25 students, I received a sum total of 8 completed assignments. Several tried to plead their cases. Honestly, I was a little calloused toward the lot of them (just a little like my mom and personal illness) because I felt the policy clearly stated they had a responsibility to see me before school began.
So I guess this is the year I have no feelings, but I'm really so proud of myself for getting to this point.
And I know my calloused Mother will high-five me for it ;)
(Kidding, Mom. I'm only kidding. Sort of.)
(And, ladies, if you're feeling brave about your role as a wife or woman, you should click over and read this.)
Saturday, June 16, 2012
The CrazyCowLady
I'm running a 5K.
Since I hate running with the fiery passion of one thousand suns, this wasn't really part of the "the plan." (Though, I'm currently realizing that whatever semblance of "plan" I had going on is collapsing around me.) And it wasn't really my idea.
See, I have this friend. Since it's her life ambition to ride a cow, we're going to refer to her as the CrazyCowLady or CCL for short. We're adding "crazy" to the beginning of this sentence because the CCL has this impeccable way of jumping in feet first and totally believing everything is going to be fantastic. Forget glasses and water. This girl sees life through a kaleidoscope.
And, to be realistic, this thing didn't really start with a 5K. It started with Bible study. All I did was offer to help her organize the Women's Bible Study for the summer. I had some ideas and I'm used to handling the administrative side of things. She agreed and it was pretty smooth sailing. (And a blast. She's hilarious, ya'll.)
Then she asked me to go to another class with her; her step-mom was teaching Made to Crave on Monday nights and we could go together. We could encourage each other! We'll lose weight! It'll be awesome! Almost every woman who has taken this class has lost 30 lbs!
I had read Made to Crave and believed that the accountability of a group would be a good thing (and I have a lot of free time in the summer) so I agreed to go with her. And, truthfully, it has been a good thing. We're both working with the LoseIt! app on our phones (joined by my mom and my aunt) and there has definitely been a lot of encouragement and accountability that has come out of the first two weeks of this book.
Right now, our word is "Determination." That's been a rough one for me. There have been a litany of circumstances that have demanded determination in my life, but sheer distrust in my ability and hatred for my body usually come out ahead.
But the CCL? Believes that having a buddy cancels out all negativity. Which led us to a 5K.
Yesterday, I got a text:
CCL: I want to sign up for the Color Run...Think about doing it with me! PLEASE!
Me: You're killing me.
CCL: Listen, it won't be hot, we can have a fun weekend and we have a long time to train. We can walk/run!! Come on, Friend. It's a good goal!
Me: You'd be an awesome drug dealer.
CCL: LOL! You can't stall life. We can walk it/run it. It will be so fun.
Me: Right. Fun is not a worry I have. Dying while doing something I hate? Different story.
CCL: You won't die. I promise. The odds are good we can do it. Come on buddy!!
Me: (sigh that wasn't a part of the text) Ok. I'm in.
CCL: Woo Hoo! I'm so proud of you!
And that's how ended up committing myself to the Color Run in Memphis, TN. My goal is to be able to run at least half the race, but we'll be training to run the whole thing. Thankfully, walking is acceptable.
You ever had a friend like the CCL? One you didn't know you needed until God slapped her in your life? Tell me about her. Reassure me that I'm not the only one :)
Since I hate running with the fiery passion of one thousand suns, this wasn't really part of the "the plan." (Though, I'm currently realizing that whatever semblance of "plan" I had going on is collapsing around me.) And it wasn't really my idea.
See, I have this friend. Since it's her life ambition to ride a cow, we're going to refer to her as the CrazyCowLady or CCL for short. We're adding "crazy" to the beginning of this sentence because the CCL has this impeccable way of jumping in feet first and totally believing everything is going to be fantastic. Forget glasses and water. This girl sees life through a kaleidoscope.
And, to be realistic, this thing didn't really start with a 5K. It started with Bible study. All I did was offer to help her organize the Women's Bible Study for the summer. I had some ideas and I'm used to handling the administrative side of things. She agreed and it was pretty smooth sailing. (And a blast. She's hilarious, ya'll.)
Then she asked me to go to another class with her; her step-mom was teaching Made to Crave on Monday nights and we could go together. We could encourage each other! We'll lose weight! It'll be awesome! Almost every woman who has taken this class has lost 30 lbs!
I had read Made to Crave and believed that the accountability of a group would be a good thing (and I have a lot of free time in the summer) so I agreed to go with her. And, truthfully, it has been a good thing. We're both working with the LoseIt! app on our phones (joined by my mom and my aunt) and there has definitely been a lot of encouragement and accountability that has come out of the first two weeks of this book.
Right now, our word is "Determination." That's been a rough one for me. There have been a litany of circumstances that have demanded determination in my life, but sheer distrust in my ability and hatred for my body usually come out ahead.
But the CCL? Believes that having a buddy cancels out all negativity. Which led us to a 5K.
Yesterday, I got a text:
CCL: I want to sign up for the Color Run...Think about doing it with me! PLEASE!
Me: You're killing me.
CCL: Listen, it won't be hot, we can have a fun weekend and we have a long time to train. We can walk/run!! Come on, Friend. It's a good goal!
Me: You'd be an awesome drug dealer.
CCL: LOL! You can't stall life. We can walk it/run it. It will be so fun.
Me: Right. Fun is not a worry I have. Dying while doing something I hate? Different story.
CCL: You won't die. I promise. The odds are good we can do it. Come on buddy!!
Me: (sigh that wasn't a part of the text) Ok. I'm in.
CCL: Woo Hoo! I'm so proud of you!
And that's how ended up committing myself to the Color Run in Memphis, TN. My goal is to be able to run at least half the race, but we'll be training to run the whole thing. Thankfully, walking is acceptable.
You ever had a friend like the CCL? One you didn't know you needed until God slapped her in your life? Tell me about her. Reassure me that I'm not the only one :)
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Letter Series: On the Occasion of Our 9th Anniversary
Dear Favorite,
Tomorrow we will celebrate nine years of marriage. And all I can think is they have been a hard fought nine years. People who believe marriage is held together by some sort of magical love fairy have obviously not been on the other side of some of our more epic battles.
I actually think that's part of what has made this work, though. We've learned, together, to fight fairly and only with one another. I'm sorry it took the better part of those nine years to realize how important that aspect of marriage is...particularly since it's something you seemed to get from the beginning.
Actually, there were a lot of things that just made sense to you. Provision. Protection. Support. Encouragement. While I was busy believing laundry was a need to be met, you were careful to acknowledge the less tangible needs in me. To acknowledge those gifts is to openly acknowledge that our marriage has gotten to this point due to your continued persistence.
That's just you, though. You would never admit it, but as soon as someone tells you something is impossible, you have a goal--to prove him or her wrong. Your tenacity and super strange sense of humor have been rallying points for us whether you've realized it or not. And those gifts are mostly the reason we've notched our belts for nine whole years.
It's funny, though isn't it? To wake up and realize that none of this looks the way we planned it, but to know that I would've chosen you over and over. To me, that is the most accurate depiction of love--the fact that we have chosen each other in spite of circumstances that statistically ruin relationships.
I wonder if being a little bit broken meant we fused as we healed? If that's true, I wonder what our relationship will look like when grief isn't a part of most days--when it's just you and me and not you and me and the could-have-beens. It can't be less than beautiful, because I'm highly convinced that the flaws and blemishes are the story behind beauty. And we certainly have our own fair share.
But whatever jumbled, beautiful mess it may be, we're right in the middle of it together.
And in the end, I want to be standing at the beginning with you.
I love you--as deeply as you've taught me to love.
Crys
Tomorrow we will celebrate nine years of marriage. And all I can think is they have been a hard fought nine years. People who believe marriage is held together by some sort of magical love fairy have obviously not been on the other side of some of our more epic battles.
I actually think that's part of what has made this work, though. We've learned, together, to fight fairly and only with one another. I'm sorry it took the better part of those nine years to realize how important that aspect of marriage is...particularly since it's something you seemed to get from the beginning.
Actually, there were a lot of things that just made sense to you. Provision. Protection. Support. Encouragement. While I was busy believing laundry was a need to be met, you were careful to acknowledge the less tangible needs in me. To acknowledge those gifts is to openly acknowledge that our marriage has gotten to this point due to your continued persistence.
That's just you, though. You would never admit it, but as soon as someone tells you something is impossible, you have a goal--to prove him or her wrong. Your tenacity and super strange sense of humor have been rallying points for us whether you've realized it or not. And those gifts are mostly the reason we've notched our belts for nine whole years.
It's funny, though isn't it? To wake up and realize that none of this looks the way we planned it, but to know that I would've chosen you over and over. To me, that is the most accurate depiction of love--the fact that we have chosen each other in spite of circumstances that statistically ruin relationships.
I wonder if being a little bit broken meant we fused as we healed? If that's true, I wonder what our relationship will look like when grief isn't a part of most days--when it's just you and me and not you and me and the could-have-beens. It can't be less than beautiful, because I'm highly convinced that the flaws and blemishes are the story behind beauty. And we certainly have our own fair share.
But whatever jumbled, beautiful mess it may be, we're right in the middle of it together.
And in the end, I want to be standing at the beginning with you.
I love you--as deeply as you've taught me to love.
Crys
Monday, April 30, 2012
The Letter Series: Dear CIA
Dear CIA,
I understand that you think you have the market cornered on this whole "psychological warfare" dealy, but I think you are largely missing what it means to screw with someone's head. I mean, sure, water boarding can definitely lead to an outbreak of crazy, but doesn't the beauty of screwing with someone lie in the ability to deny any sense of mea culpa in the incident? Clearly, taking a towel and a pitcher every where you go screams, "Stuff is going to hit the fan and I'm going to be in the middle of it", no?
With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you to the more subtle sensibilities of Favorite, my husband, who is turning psychological warfare into an art. Here, I will recount a recent story that documents his creative genius, and you can determine if his strategies are more effective than the routes you currently prefer.
Favorite's current employment does little in the way of encouraging employees. Often that means the employees find their own sources of entertainment. That fact alone should be enough to explain the reason Sasquatch shows up in more conversations than the state of our economy. Many people believe discussions over his arguable existence are a waste of time, but not Favorite. Favorite is willing to entertain the fantastic possibilities often ignored by regular people--like the Loch Ness monster, Area 51, and, of course, Sasquatch.
Really, though, Favorite's willingness is mild compared to those of his coworkers. One man was so convinced of Sasquatch's existence, he made sightings and footprints regular conversation topics. He referred to the beast as "Samscratch" and whole-heartedly believed someone, someday, would catch it, and the world would be privy to something he knew all along.
Favorite decided to make that happen.
In the name of science (or psychology, if you prefer), he set out to make this man believe he experienced a real Samscratch sighting.
For weeks, Favorite attempted to procure a Samscratch suit but was unsuccessful. After randomly sharing his endeavors with a family member, he discovered a man who had purchased a gorilla costume at a yard sale because "it was a good price." Believing there were similarities between Samscratch and a gorilla, and knowing the dark and the woods would make up for any discrepancies, Favorite took a chance.
He gathered his crack team of professionals and set out on the aptly named Samscratch adventure.
Three grown men (all over the age of 25) called a partner in crime to determine when the Believer left work and would be taking his usual route home. Then, they set up camp off the side of the road, dressed in the gorilla suit and waited for the magic to happen.
Ten minutes into their wait, the Believer turned down his road. Since the boys were aware of his headlights, they cued Samscratch who ran across the road--from one wooded area to another wooded area. Then, they waited.
The Believer, who normally drove 30 mph, sped up to 60 mph, found a drive way and quickly turned around. He slowly drove back to the area of the sighting carefully looking for the alleged Bigfoot. The Partner in Crime, who was behind the Believer and also witnessed the "sighting", slowly drove past on his way home. Eventually, the Believer left the scene of the crime and, we assume, made his way home.
The next day at work, the Partner in Crime asked the Believer about what he saw. The Believer commented, "Well, that's something you just don't talk about unless you have a body." He refused to discuss the incident with anyone else, and, according to Partner in Crime, freaked out about the whole ordeal. And, honestly? Who wouldn't? It's not every day Samscratch ambles into the woods right before your very eyes.
I naively believed the experiment would end at this point. The boys would share their story, everyone would get a laugh and we would finally move beyond the adventures of Samscratch.
But Favorite wasn't done.
He let the story marinate. Every day, the Believer became a little more jumpy. Every day, Favorite giggled a little more.
Finally, on the day of the Believer's retirement, Favorite gave him a card that included a picture of Samscratch...except, this time, Samscratch wasn't wearing a mask and he was standing with the rest of the crew who made the impossible a little more believable.
You'd think an experience like this would force the Believer to abandon any belief in the existence of BigFoot, but apparently it reinforced his faith in the mythical creature.
That said, I'm pretty sure this story is just one example of how your agency could create mental disturbance for its own use without all that "Ack, I'm drowning" nonsense.
Think it over. Favorite is available to strategize to help central intelligence reach its full potential.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Gorilla Samscratch
I understand that you think you have the market cornered on this whole "psychological warfare" dealy, but I think you are largely missing what it means to screw with someone's head. I mean, sure, water boarding can definitely lead to an outbreak of crazy, but doesn't the beauty of screwing with someone lie in the ability to deny any sense of mea culpa in the incident? Clearly, taking a towel and a pitcher every where you go screams, "Stuff is going to hit the fan and I'm going to be in the middle of it", no?
With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you to the more subtle sensibilities of Favorite, my husband, who is turning psychological warfare into an art. Here, I will recount a recent story that documents his creative genius, and you can determine if his strategies are more effective than the routes you currently prefer.
Favorite's current employment does little in the way of encouraging employees. Often that means the employees find their own sources of entertainment. That fact alone should be enough to explain the reason Sasquatch shows up in more conversations than the state of our economy. Many people believe discussions over his arguable existence are a waste of time, but not Favorite. Favorite is willing to entertain the fantastic possibilities often ignored by regular people--like the Loch Ness monster, Area 51, and, of course, Sasquatch.
Really, though, Favorite's willingness is mild compared to those of his coworkers. One man was so convinced of Sasquatch's existence, he made sightings and footprints regular conversation topics. He referred to the beast as "Samscratch" and whole-heartedly believed someone, someday, would catch it, and the world would be privy to something he knew all along.
Favorite decided to make that happen.
In the name of science (or psychology, if you prefer), he set out to make this man believe he experienced a real Samscratch sighting.
For weeks, Favorite attempted to procure a Samscratch suit but was unsuccessful. After randomly sharing his endeavors with a family member, he discovered a man who had purchased a gorilla costume at a yard sale because "it was a good price." Believing there were similarities between Samscratch and a gorilla, and knowing the dark and the woods would make up for any discrepancies, Favorite took a chance.
He gathered his crack team of professionals and set out on the aptly named Samscratch adventure.
Three grown men (all over the age of 25) called a partner in crime to determine when the Believer left work and would be taking his usual route home. Then, they set up camp off the side of the road, dressed in the gorilla suit and waited for the magic to happen.
Ten minutes into their wait, the Believer turned down his road. Since the boys were aware of his headlights, they cued Samscratch who ran across the road--from one wooded area to another wooded area. Then, they waited.
The Believer, who normally drove 30 mph, sped up to 60 mph, found a drive way and quickly turned around. He slowly drove back to the area of the sighting carefully looking for the alleged Bigfoot. The Partner in Crime, who was behind the Believer and also witnessed the "sighting", slowly drove past on his way home. Eventually, the Believer left the scene of the crime and, we assume, made his way home.
The next day at work, the Partner in Crime asked the Believer about what he saw. The Believer commented, "Well, that's something you just don't talk about unless you have a body." He refused to discuss the incident with anyone else, and, according to Partner in Crime, freaked out about the whole ordeal. And, honestly? Who wouldn't? It's not every day Samscratch ambles into the woods right before your very eyes.
I naively believed the experiment would end at this point. The boys would share their story, everyone would get a laugh and we would finally move beyond the adventures of Samscratch.
But Favorite wasn't done.
He let the story marinate. Every day, the Believer became a little more jumpy. Every day, Favorite giggled a little more.
Finally, on the day of the Believer's retirement, Favorite gave him a card that included a picture of Samscratch...except, this time, Samscratch wasn't wearing a mask and he was standing with the rest of the crew who made the impossible a little more believable.
You'd think an experience like this would force the Believer to abandon any belief in the existence of BigFoot, but apparently it reinforced his faith in the mythical creature.
That said, I'm pretty sure this story is just one example of how your agency could create mental disturbance for its own use without all that "Ack, I'm drowning" nonsense.
Think it over. Favorite is available to strategize to help central intelligence reach its full potential.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Gorilla Samscratch
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Thankful Thursdays: Mom and Dad
When I was doing my student teaching, my cooperating teacher asked me, "How did you become a good disciplinarian?"
Her question caught me off-guard because:
1. I didn't realize I was a good disciplinarian.
2. I didn't remember receiving any training regarding discipline.
She shared that it was one of the things she struggled with the most so I promised I would honestly consider her question so I could answer her. The next day, I told her, "My discipline strategies are a natural reaction to the actions of the students. I learned that from my parents; they were great disciplinarians."
It's a true statement. Active model discipline was alive and well in my house when I was growing up, and I suppose I internalized more than I thought. I learned to respect authority and honor the position of the person in authority over me. (*ahem* That doesn't mean I never tried to flex my verbal muscle at the authority figure. But I definitely knew what was right. And when I forgot? I was clearly reminded.)
But now that I consider some of the things for which I'm most thankful, I realize how much I internalized from my parents' example. As I discussed the concept of fluency with my grad class, I realized I am a fluent reader because my parents valued reading and education. My mom constantly read to us and made us view the regular book fairs with as much anticipation as our own birthdays.
They expected from me--not just in matters of education, but also in social situations. I can clearly remember a circumstance from jr. high in which several of my classmates and I mercilessly played a cruel joke on another girl in the class. When my mom heard about the situation, she called the girl's mother, asked for an address, put me in the car and drove me to her house. The entire way there, I got a lecture on appropriate ways to treat others. When we arrived at our destination, I wasn't just expected to apologize to my classmate. I was expected to share the story with her mother and apologize to her also.
That story is just one in a long string of incidents that taught me what it means to see and value other people. (My brothers have their own stories.) While I can promise that I wasn't a quick learner on that front, I can also guarantee my parents' consistency in teaching me what it means to appreciate others. The fact that I can observe and understand people decently is a testament to their dedication.
Mom and Dad painted a beautiful portrait of marriage. When I make that statement, I don't mean their marriage was always perfect. But they made the relationship look enticing. I knew early on that marriage is never perfect, but it can be completely fulfilling. Mom and Dad showed us the necessity of the unified front. It was a rare event if Ronnie, Tim or I were ever able to "divide and conquer" in order to get what we wanted.
Dad and Mom taught me that parents fulfill a lot of different roles over the course of a child's life. When I got married, they rarely offered opinions and encouraged me to make decisions with Favorite. But when I was 15? They weren't just a part of the decision making process--they were the Supreme Court of decisions.
Mostly, I think I want to be a parent because of the way they value their relationships with me and my brothers. If I can be a tenth of what they were to me, I would consider myself an awesome success.
I am thankful to have them around because they are teaching to navigate some of the rockier parts of life. They encourage me to do it with my eyes on Christ, but they don't have delusions of grandeur about their own downfalls. Instead, they are a realistic example of the refinement process.
I've been blessed to have them. To learn from them. To laugh with them. Now that I'm an adult (*sigh*), I realize that I need parents less than I need friends--but they've been exemplary in that position, too.
I've got a lot to learn about patience, consistency and encouragment. But I have some pretty solid examples who are taking the modeling process fairly seriously. By now, they probably realize their job as role model is never really over.
And I'm so grateful.
Her question caught me off-guard because:
1. I didn't realize I was a good disciplinarian.
2. I didn't remember receiving any training regarding discipline.
She shared that it was one of the things she struggled with the most so I promised I would honestly consider her question so I could answer her. The next day, I told her, "My discipline strategies are a natural reaction to the actions of the students. I learned that from my parents; they were great disciplinarians."
It's a true statement. Active model discipline was alive and well in my house when I was growing up, and I suppose I internalized more than I thought. I learned to respect authority and honor the position of the person in authority over me. (*ahem* That doesn't mean I never tried to flex my verbal muscle at the authority figure. But I definitely knew what was right. And when I forgot? I was clearly reminded.)
But now that I consider some of the things for which I'm most thankful, I realize how much I internalized from my parents' example. As I discussed the concept of fluency with my grad class, I realized I am a fluent reader because my parents valued reading and education. My mom constantly read to us and made us view the regular book fairs with as much anticipation as our own birthdays.
They expected from me--not just in matters of education, but also in social situations. I can clearly remember a circumstance from jr. high in which several of my classmates and I mercilessly played a cruel joke on another girl in the class. When my mom heard about the situation, she called the girl's mother, asked for an address, put me in the car and drove me to her house. The entire way there, I got a lecture on appropriate ways to treat others. When we arrived at our destination, I wasn't just expected to apologize to my classmate. I was expected to share the story with her mother and apologize to her also.
That story is just one in a long string of incidents that taught me what it means to see and value other people. (My brothers have their own stories.) While I can promise that I wasn't a quick learner on that front, I can also guarantee my parents' consistency in teaching me what it means to appreciate others. The fact that I can observe and understand people decently is a testament to their dedication.
Mom and Dad painted a beautiful portrait of marriage. When I make that statement, I don't mean their marriage was always perfect. But they made the relationship look enticing. I knew early on that marriage is never perfect, but it can be completely fulfilling. Mom and Dad showed us the necessity of the unified front. It was a rare event if Ronnie, Tim or I were ever able to "divide and conquer" in order to get what we wanted.
Dad and Mom taught me that parents fulfill a lot of different roles over the course of a child's life. When I got married, they rarely offered opinions and encouraged me to make decisions with Favorite. But when I was 15? They weren't just a part of the decision making process--they were the Supreme Court of decisions.
Mostly, I think I want to be a parent because of the way they value their relationships with me and my brothers. If I can be a tenth of what they were to me, I would consider myself an awesome success.
I am thankful to have them around because they are teaching to navigate some of the rockier parts of life. They encourage me to do it with my eyes on Christ, but they don't have delusions of grandeur about their own downfalls. Instead, they are a realistic example of the refinement process.
I've been blessed to have them. To learn from them. To laugh with them. Now that I'm an adult (*sigh*), I realize that I need parents less than I need friends--but they've been exemplary in that position, too.
I've got a lot to learn about patience, consistency and encouragment. But I have some pretty solid examples who are taking the modeling process fairly seriously. By now, they probably realize their job as role model is never really over.
And I'm so grateful.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Whatever Is True
For the new year, my congregation has been focusing on Philippians chapter 4. PastorJosh has encouraged us to memorize this passage and meditate on the Truth in it. As we read that passage collectively in morning worship, my stomach fluttered with recognition over verse 8:
I'd like to write to each of these themes--not just because they are some valuable parts of my life, but because I want my mind to gravitate to the true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy in life. (And couldn't we all use a few more of those things?)
Here's something true:
Favorite and I attended four years of high school together without speaking. He was a jock; I wasn't. Our crowds didn't attend the same sorts of events. He maintains that we spoke once at a party during high schoo. I remind him that party was at McClain's house and it was a post-graduation party. I'm not even entirely sure said exchange happened. Clearly it meant more to him (*wink*).
College took us separate directions. He went to a small school about two hours away from our home town while I stayed to attend community college. Because he was a home town football hero (on a team that couldn't win a game), my parents became familiar with his plans to play football at his small school.
When my mom and dad were young, my dad had a fairly impressive car. (I don't recall the make or the model, but they tell fond stories of its impressiveness?...impressivosity?) Because the car was black and red, my mother crocheted a matching afghan for my father to keep in the car on the what-I-assume-to-be leather seats.
They kept that afghan until they learned Favorite was attending a school and the colors were black and red--the same colors of the afghan. Without my knowledge, that afghan passed into the hands of Favorite's mother so she would have something to use during the football season.
He played for one year and then returned home to attend the university near our small town. I finished my degree at community college and then transferred to the University of Illinois to pursue a degree in advertising.
I was dating someone seriously during my tenure at U of I, but we briefly broke up sometime during the spring semester. Devastated, I called my mother. "You know, I was talking to Sherri (Favorite's mother) today, and she said Chris is interested in taking you on a date." Since I was angry, I told Mom I would be glad to go on the date. "Set it up" were my last words.
That date never happened. Boyfriend and I reconciled, and when I transferred back to the local university, my relationship was intact.
But not for long.
That summer I found myself single and no longer looking. The previous relationship had a few issues (I won't be sharing them on my blog. What's done is done.), and I really thought it was a good idea to embrace singleness for a bit of time.
Which lasted for about six months. Then, there was the rebound. The rebound also will not be discussed, didn't last a long time, and ended at my choice.
LilBro was wrestling for hometown high at this point, and my friend, Kate, and I decided to make an appearance at the invitational. Oddly enough, Favorite, who was also a high school wrestler, was helping run the tournament.
Just before I had to leave to go to work, Favorite sauntered his arrogant self across the gym to strike up a conversation. I don't remember what we said, but it couldn't have been important. I didn't understand why a guy I'd never spoken to in school would want to speak now.
When he walked away, Kate looked and me and said, "That man is your husband."
I've had some surreal moments in my life, but this one will go down in history. I looked at her with no response. What would I have said?
The next day was SuperBowl Sunday. I had to work after church, and had been working at Walmart for a few months. At two o'clock, I was a little confused when I saw Favorite saunter (he did that a lot) by the jewelry counter. Again, he started a conversation.
We agreed to meet for dinner near the university the next day. He was 20 minutes late, and it was the most horrific date in history.
But somehow...here we are. That was ten years ago.
We were engaged three months later and married after a year long engagement.
Our marriage has had its fair share of vomit-inducing workouts, and we aren't the same idealistic people we were when we said "I do." Thankfully, he taught me what it is to love someone else--not perfectly, and definitely not blindly.
But Favorite? Is true. And what we have is true. And I think that's worth a moment.
(Oh, and my mother-in-law still has that afghan. It's still in my family. Who knew a piece of history between my Mom and Dad would also become a piece of our history?)
Whatever Is True Part Two
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.
I'd like to write to each of these themes--not just because they are some valuable parts of my life, but because I want my mind to gravitate to the true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy in life. (And couldn't we all use a few more of those things?)
Here's something true:
Favorite and I attended four years of high school together without speaking. He was a jock; I wasn't. Our crowds didn't attend the same sorts of events. He maintains that we spoke once at a party during high schoo. I remind him that party was at McClain's house and it was a post-graduation party. I'm not even entirely sure said exchange happened. Clearly it meant more to him (*wink*).
College took us separate directions. He went to a small school about two hours away from our home town while I stayed to attend community college. Because he was a home town football hero (on a team that couldn't win a game), my parents became familiar with his plans to play football at his small school.
When my mom and dad were young, my dad had a fairly impressive car. (I don't recall the make or the model, but they tell fond stories of its impressiveness?...impressivosity?) Because the car was black and red, my mother crocheted a matching afghan for my father to keep in the car on the what-I-assume-to-be leather seats.
They kept that afghan until they learned Favorite was attending a school and the colors were black and red--the same colors of the afghan. Without my knowledge, that afghan passed into the hands of Favorite's mother so she would have something to use during the football season.
He played for one year and then returned home to attend the university near our small town. I finished my degree at community college and then transferred to the University of Illinois to pursue a degree in advertising.
I was dating someone seriously during my tenure at U of I, but we briefly broke up sometime during the spring semester. Devastated, I called my mother. "You know, I was talking to Sherri (Favorite's mother) today, and she said Chris is interested in taking you on a date." Since I was angry, I told Mom I would be glad to go on the date. "Set it up" were my last words.
That date never happened. Boyfriend and I reconciled, and when I transferred back to the local university, my relationship was intact.
But not for long.
That summer I found myself single and no longer looking. The previous relationship had a few issues (I won't be sharing them on my blog. What's done is done.), and I really thought it was a good idea to embrace singleness for a bit of time.
Which lasted for about six months. Then, there was the rebound. The rebound also will not be discussed, didn't last a long time, and ended at my choice.
LilBro was wrestling for hometown high at this point, and my friend, Kate, and I decided to make an appearance at the invitational. Oddly enough, Favorite, who was also a high school wrestler, was helping run the tournament.
Just before I had to leave to go to work, Favorite sauntered his arrogant self across the gym to strike up a conversation. I don't remember what we said, but it couldn't have been important. I didn't understand why a guy I'd never spoken to in school would want to speak now.
When he walked away, Kate looked and me and said, "That man is your husband."
I've had some surreal moments in my life, but this one will go down in history. I looked at her with no response. What would I have said?
The next day was SuperBowl Sunday. I had to work after church, and had been working at Walmart for a few months. At two o'clock, I was a little confused when I saw Favorite saunter (he did that a lot) by the jewelry counter. Again, he started a conversation.
We agreed to meet for dinner near the university the next day. He was 20 minutes late, and it was the most horrific date in history.
But somehow...here we are. That was ten years ago.
We were engaged three months later and married after a year long engagement.
Our marriage has had its fair share of vomit-inducing workouts, and we aren't the same idealistic people we were when we said "I do." Thankfully, he taught me what it is to love someone else--not perfectly, and definitely not blindly.
But Favorite? Is true. And what we have is true. And I think that's worth a moment.
(Oh, and my mother-in-law still has that afghan. It's still in my family. Who knew a piece of history between my Mom and Dad would also become a piece of our history?)
Whatever Is True Part Two
Friday, November 25, 2011
Woo
You all.
My mom hates to shop. HATES. IT. But about a week before black Friday, every conversation with her is the same: "We're going shopping on Friday, right? Right?! RIGHT?"
It's like declaring you hate running, and then a week before screaming "IT'S THE NEW YORK MARATHON. WOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Yep. Woo.
My mom hates to shop. HATES. IT. But about a week before black Friday, every conversation with her is the same: "We're going shopping on Friday, right? Right?! RIGHT?"
It's like declaring you hate running, and then a week before screaming "IT'S THE NEW YORK MARATHON. WOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Yep. Woo.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Roots and Wings
My new shoes did a good enough job on my foot that it's now swollen and a little infected. I guess I should've treated the sore. So this evening, I've sat on the couch with my foot in a bowl of peroxide boiling out whatever might have infected my foot.
And I'm going to sit here and talk about that so I don't have the talk about the fact that my brother is leaving.
He got a job, and there is no one of this planet who is happier for him than I am. A hundred years ago, when he left school I knew he would eventually find something that would suit him. I knew he would be fantastic at it. I guess I just didn't know it would take him ten hours away
Today, as my STBSIL tried on her wedding gown in front of us, I thought about what a blessing they are. I thought about how lucky Ohio will be to get them. And I thought about how very much I'm going to miss them.
I guess the problem with putting down roots is that sometimes the people you love the most grow wings.
And I'm going to sit here and talk about that so I don't have the talk about the fact that my brother is leaving.
He got a job, and there is no one of this planet who is happier for him than I am. A hundred years ago, when he left school I knew he would eventually find something that would suit him. I knew he would be fantastic at it. I guess I just didn't know it would take him ten hours away
Today, as my STBSIL tried on her wedding gown in front of us, I thought about what a blessing they are. I thought about how lucky Ohio will be to get them. And I thought about how very much I'm going to miss them.
I guess the problem with putting down roots is that sometimes the people you love the most grow wings.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Oh Vacation 2011
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| I'm not on drugs. I just blinked when I snapped the picture. |
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| Our first day at the beach. See my pretty feet? |
We spent the first day on the beach. It was awesome. I love the water, and I love the sun. Panama City has an overabundance of both. For the sake of a cheaper hotel rate, we stayed in an adjoining city, but our drive over was simple. Five minutes and we could sit on the beach as long as we wanted.
Favorite and I walked along the beach, jumped in the waves and spent an awesome day relaxing. Water may not be for everyone, but I feel completely at home next to the ocean.
That evening, Favorite and I decided to go to a local place and eat fresh seafood. The highest ratings went to a place called The Captain's Table, a small locally owned restaurant near the pier.
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| I should've put something next to it to show scale. This plate was HUGE and FULL. |
But it was DELICIOUS. Since crab isn't caught locally, we didn't eat any that night. What we had made up for it, though. You can see in any picture I post on my blog that I have obviously never turned down a meal, but when this was over, my plate was still full.
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| The clean plate club is overrated. |
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| The water was gorgeous. Completely blue and warm. I could see straight to the bottom. |
We had a little extra gear, because Favorite really wanted to snorkle. So, of course, we rented snorkling stuff.
Previously, I had stated that I would not be snorkling. The whole concept scares the beejeezus out of me. I know that sounds weird, but my mind is a steel trap full of worst case scenarios. I imagined that we would view things underwater, come face to face with a shark and then die. Reasonable? No. Totally in my head? Yep.
But I agreed to snorkle because I'm a good sport. At least I am on vacation. And it was seriously cool. We spent a lot of time around the rocks in the picture above and I saw tons of cool fish and crabs, etc.
(OH..and come to find out, a man actually was killed by a bull shark while snorkling on Shell Island. That happened in the eighties. Thank God I didn't find out until the next day.)
It was a beautiful day...with one exception. Shell Island has NO shade. We brought an umbrella, but it was a poor substitute for actual shade. Since my skin is the color of paper, constant reapplication of sunscreen and sitting under the umbrella didn't really help me much. I was R.E.D. by the time we left. So that meant the next day was going to require a lot of time OUT of the sun. Even though I love it doesn't mean it loves me back.
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| The entrance to the swimsuit shop. Clever, aren't they? |
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| There he is: Mr. MLB. |
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| Arm wrestling requires intense concentration...and facial expressions. |
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Ok. That's a lie. It's a kiddie ride. But that doesn't really fit into all the other terrific manly feats he managed that evening. (Fun fact: Favorite didn't want to swim with the dolphins because dolphins "freak him out." Who knew?)
The next day we went parasailing. It was amazing, but I don't have any pictures for you, because I might be brave enough to go a few hundred feet in the air, but I am not brave enough to take my brand new digital camera on a banana boat in the ocean.
Once I was in the air, the world got really peaceful. Things went much more slowly up there, and I could see the entire city. Plus, the ocean was really clear out there so I could look down and see tons of stuff. Favorite wasn't super excited about trying it out (he's not a fan of heights), but he agreed that it was an awesome experience.
We were in the boat with a family of five--a fifteen year old among them. She was annoying and kept asking the guys running the boat if she could get out and swim. One of the guys said he didn't even swim in this water and then proceeded to tell us about a 15 ft. shark that was spotted under the pier next to us in March.
Favorite and I thought he was blowing smoke, but turns out, it's a true story. Google "shark under panama city pier" and see for yourself. The good news is the shark was a harmless basking shark. But if I were the guy in the kayak, it wouldn't have mattered if a fish that big was harmless or not.
After parasailing we spent some time at Ripley's Believe It or Not (you know, because it's indoors). I won't bore you with those pictures with the exception of one:
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| Doesn't he look like a circus performer? |
We got up the next day and drove a ridiculous amount of hours to get to Atlanta to go to the aquarium. I didn't take pictures there because of the glass, but I do have two things to share with you that completely wrap up my personality:
Tell me that doesn't make you smile.
We had a great time, but I'm glad to be home. I missed my dog. And my bed. But driving was awesome because we got through more than half of Game of Thrones. So far? Mesmerizing.
And now that I've updated you about vacation, I'll hopefully be able to get back to some sort of regular blogging schedule. And I'll try to give you more pictures.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Buzzkill
Me: I think a jetski would be a really good time.
Favorite: Yeah, but that's a waste of money to buy something we would only use three times a year. If we had a lot of disposible income, I would probably consider buying jetskis. Then it would be worth it.
Me: Yeah, but then we'd spend every three months in Cabo. And I would get a personal trainer.
Favorite: That would be a waste of money.
Me: Why? I think it would be good to have someone encouraging me to exercise.
Favorite: Yeah, but I don't see that working for you. He'd say, 'Go run a mile!' and you'd say, 'Um...no.' Not only that, but if he tried to make you do anything you didn't want to, you'd fire him. 'You need to lift more weight.'
'Yeah...um...you're fired.'
Me: *Grumble*
Favorite: Yeah, but that's a waste of money to buy something we would only use three times a year. If we had a lot of disposible income, I would probably consider buying jetskis. Then it would be worth it.
Me: Yeah, but then we'd spend every three months in Cabo. And I would get a personal trainer.
Favorite: That would be a waste of money.
Me: Why? I think it would be good to have someone encouraging me to exercise.
Favorite: Yeah, but I don't see that working for you. He'd say, 'Go run a mile!' and you'd say, 'Um...no.' Not only that, but if he tried to make you do anything you didn't want to, you'd fire him. 'You need to lift more weight.'
'Yeah...um...you're fired.'
Me: *Grumble*
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Falconing
Favorite has come up with his fair share of crazy schemes, but one has stood the test of time: he wants to become a falconer.
He's convinced that if he and one of his buddies can catch a hawk out here, he can train it and it will be his own, personal falcon.
(I have no idea where he gets these plans. Maybe I need to have higher expectations for things on the house. Then he has no time to create these crazy schemes.)
Anyway, it should be no surprise that Big Bro automatically thought of Favorite when the new State Farm Commercial started airing.
Watch in wonder at the fact that there are other people in the world who think just like my Favorite...and find it terrifying.
He's convinced that if he and one of his buddies can catch a hawk out here, he can train it and it will be his own, personal falcon.
(I have no idea where he gets these plans. Maybe I need to have higher expectations for things on the house. Then he has no time to create these crazy schemes.)
Anyway, it should be no surprise that Big Bro automatically thought of Favorite when the new State Farm Commercial started airing.
Watch in wonder at the fact that there are other people in the world who think just like my Favorite...and find it terrifying.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
We Were Strangers Starting Out On A Journey...
Favorite and I celebrate eight years of marriage today.
Eight years. It doesn't seem possible that we've been together that long--particularly when I realize that all but 2 years of my adult life have been spent with him. And we've certainly grown up in that time period.
We've learned to navigate trailer living--even when the roof blows off on the morning of the New Year. Turns out landscaping rocks can weight a tin roof fairly well. Together, we also figured out that hot water is extremely nice, but not completely necessary. And when we were finally done freezing our behinds off in the shower, we learned that you really need very little to survive in a new house.
We've learned, together, that losses never stop aching, but there is solace in truly understanding one another. I wish I could tell you that every year of our marriage has been easier than the last, but that's just not even close to the truth. Fortunately, the core of that relationship has definitely grown stronger even when things haven't gotten easier.
He is the man God planned for me. He's the one who is strong enough to carry me. He is the one who provides for our family. And he's the one who has reminded me that things will get better. Thankfully, today, I can tell you that he IS my better.
I love you, babe.
In the end, I want to be standing at the beginning with you.
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