So Many Thoughts

Where to begin?

About a month ago I asked Christopher if I could document his teen years on my blog. I said, “The good, the bad, and the ugly will be on my blog. Is that okay?” He looks at me and asks if it will embarrass him. Yes, of course. He says, “Oh, I don’t care, go ahead.”  I can’t do it. I didn’t know that I would actually have something happening that I didn’t want to share with the world. He is great. I love him with everything that is in me, but there are times when my heart aches for his. I miss the part of him that showed that he needs me and loves me. It disappeared for awhile. It’s starting to emerge again. We stopped laughing together. He started sleeping a lot. I thought it was because he is 13 and growing. Then he tells me he hasn’t been eating very much and I realized that yeah, he wasn’t eating much at all. So, he sleeps a lot, spends a lot of time in his room, hides his heart from me, and doesn’t eat much. I almost vomited with the realization that his heart is hurting. I know he is  a young man and every young man pulls away from his mother, but this is different. So, we had a talk and I changed a few things. I tried being silly with him again. The day he laid on my bed and laughed uncontrollably with me was such a healing moment. I wanted to cry, but laughing was more fun. We are beginning to have more fun together. He has been a great help to me in the recent days. His attitude has greatly improved. I still pray for his heart to be healed. I pray he seeks the Father. My heart hurts for his. For the young boy who suddenly had to share his parents with 3 emotionally damaged children. For the boy who was pushed aside just so his mother could survive with the other 3. The boy who had to grow up a bit faster. For the boy whose daddy no longer lives here. For the rejection, abandonment, and hurt he feels. My boy doesn’t talk much about his heart with me anymore.

My boy likes girls and they like him. I prefer this arrangement. I’m just at a loss on how to teach him to deal with all these new feelings and hormones.

I won’t share all of the good, bad, and ugly. I will protect him.

Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m enough. I’ve had to go back to work. Work as in a real job with a boss, a time card, and co-workers. I have a schedule. I have to find someone to come be with my kids while I work. My hours are 10pm-6am, 4 days a week. I LOVE my job. [More about it a bit later.] But I have to ask myself, how will I be a good employee for 32-40 hours a week, succeed in my college courses, and meet all the needs of my children. Do I love them enough? Do I spend enough time with them? Do they know I’m working because I love them and want to be able to provide for them?

I work then I come home to sleep. I find Ireland in my bed every morning when I come home. Christopher gets up with the kids and keeps things in order until I get up. I had a rough night last night at work. My body was aching. I twisted my right ankle, the one I always twist. It just gets stupid sometimes. Christopher tries to keep Ireland away from me so I can sleep. She is quick and sneaky. She always asks me 1. Can I watch a movie? 2. Can I play on the computer? 3. Can I have chips? That girl could live on chips alone! He also tries to keep them quiet, but the younger 3 have never learned how to be quiet. They’re pretty much the loudest kids I’ve ever met.  What’s up with that, anyway? I can hear them through a shut door, a fan, and my ear plugs. All in all, Christopher has done a great job of making it easier for me to sleep.

My job. I love my job. I’m a caregiver in a memory care unit at an assisted living facility. My heart swells for the residents there.

I cried as I held the hand of a woman with Parkinson’s. She was uncomfortable, lonely, and crying. A man told me he loves to read the Bible and asked if we should form an evangelistic team and evangelize the world. I’ve only known these people about a week and they’ve found themselves a home in my heart. I don’t get frustrated with them. I have been exasperated, but not upset. I  mostly wonder about who these people were before their bodies and minds began breaking down. You can catch the humor in some of them sometimes. One man was eating his chocolate ice cream bar and I said, “You sure like chocolate, don’t you?” He smiled and replied with a chuckle, “Oooh, I looooove chocolate!” I told him he’s a man after my own heart. He laughed at that.

I enjoy my night shift co-workers. I hope they enjoy me, too. I worry most about what people say about me after I’ve left work in the morning. I know, it’s quite silly of me, but I’ve always been like that. In drama I would be the last one to leave practice for that very reason.

I should be sleeping, but my mind is full of thoughts. I bet that if I would just lie down that I’d fall asleep so quickly. I think I’ll make my to-do list before I sleep.

My iPhone is busted. It won’t sync and it won’t restore. Christopher’s phone, which was my very old phone, is also not working well. I really don’t want to spend my first check on phones. It’s ridiculous.

I have a lot of laundry to do. I spend my work nights sweeping, mopping, cleaning bathrooms, and folding laundry. That’s exactly what I need to accomplish tomorrow…among a few other things.

I am tired, but this has to be done. The realization that I am a single mother hits me afresh every day. I must toughen up. I must work. I must go to school. I must do what I can do to be part of the healing of my children’s hearts. I may end up not actually having any friends since I’ll be so busy. There is so much to accomplish. I will have to learn to work harder than I ever have before. Can I do it? Am I strong enough, smart enough, tough enough? Some say that  yes I am, as long as I have God or He has me. Some just say that yes, I am a strong woman and that of course I can do it? Where do they get their information? I am not strong? I’ve never been strong? Well, I did do that biggest loser contest and boot camp at the gym. I was stronger, but not strong. I have so far to go.

Birthday Letter to My Boy

My dear Christopher,

You are now 13. You are noticeably taller than myself and you act surprised every time you notice it. Your voice is lower than it was last year. I wonder how much deeper it will get. I wonder a lot of things about you.

But mostly I know you are amazing.

I have watched you over this past year. You have handled the pain and trial with strength. You have struggled to find who you are in this family as the oldest male in the house. You have been my greatest asset in overcoming the obstacles I couldn’t see past. When my heart had been broken you made sure the kids were fed and had their naps. I didn’t even know what time it was. You shared your broken heart with mine. The life that we knew had crumbled and we were all left to pick up the pieces. You were amazing!

You heard God speaking to your heart in your brokenness. I held you as you said through your tears, “I think God wants me to minister to young boys whose fathers have left them.” I don’t doubt that. God takes our trials & brokenness then redeems it for His purpose. He brings goodness out of something that seemed so bad.

You have grown so much. I think the thing I appreciate the most about you is your honesty. When I ask a question like, “How can I improve in my relationship with you guys?” You tell me exactly how I can do that. You don’t seem to hold anything back. I may look sad when you say such things, but it is because I know it is true, but I respect you so much for your honesty.

One day I was having a tough time. You grabbed me in the hallway, wrapped your arms around me, and prayed for me. That was a wise, loving, and manly thing to do. Thank you. Thank you for being quick to pray for me.

Thank you for your kisses, hugs, cuddles, and pleas to be with me. I know I seem put off by it sometimes, but I realize what a gift it is to have a big boy that isn’t afraid to kiss his mama in front of his friends.

Oh hey, here’s another thing I’m proud of you for. You get up 3 times a week for your job. You’ve never complained. Even when you made your way through several inches of snow only to never have the bus arrive. You waited for 20 minutes and I’m sure you weren’t dressed warm enough. You are not a money waster. You are generous with what you have. I love that about you. I love that you gave me money so your little brother & sisters could give you a gift, but let’s not tell them about that.

I love that you listen to Dave Ramsey and are on board with us getting out of debt.

I love that you have embraced art. Your drawings are amazing!

I love that you have been faithful in ballet for 7 years now. SEVEN years! Wow.

I love that you can talk to me about the girl you like and that you let me tease you about it. I like that you know there’s nothing you can do about it so you just go on being friends.

I love that you are friendly, outgoing, and not afraid to talk to strangers. You make friends quickly. Quicker than I am able to.

You are 13. You are at an age that none of us want to revisit so enjoy it. Be wise with your time as a 13 year old. You will, no doubt, do foolish things. Be quick to recognize when you do them and wise enough to not do them again. Choose your friends wisely. Do hard things. Don’t follow the path of least resistance. That means to not follow whatever seems the easiest. The easiest isn’t always the best. Make choices that will benefit you later down on the line even if it makes things harder now. Work hard. Talk to Jesus. Seek him. Ask Him about all the things that hurt in your heart. Draw near to him. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

I love love love you. I love you forever, I love you for always, as long as I’m living, your mommy I’ll be. I love you to the moon and back.

And please, for the love of our neighbors, could you mow the lawn soon?

Love,

Your mama

p.s. I posted this on my blog with a picture of you. I didn’t edit out that little booger in your nose. Sorry.

p.p.s. You probably know that already since I probably didn’t have time to write it in your journal first. Probably because I can’t remember where it is and my room is so very messy.

one more thing: you probably shouldn’t use the word “probably” so often in such a short amount of time.

Here’s the story…part 2

So, here we are living with the midwife until after I give birth. The plan was for me to move back into the foster home and continue the job I had. After all, I can pick up a 250lb. man on my due date. I rocked that place. I loved them and they love me. [Oh, the stories I could tell. My people there are long gone, but my heart melts when I think of them.] They delighted in watching me get huger and huger.

Anyway, we had been there for 2 weeks and still no baby. I had already downed castor oil in an effort to start labor and that didn’t work. It did make me want to throw up and I ended up sitting on the toilet a lot. {Is that too much information?} My due date was May 21, it was now June 4, but really it was miscalculated and I wasn’t overdue at all, but I had the perception that I was. So, we travel up to Portland for an ultra sound. The friendly doctor says, “It looks like you’re right on time. Not overdue at all. You might want to let your midwife know that the baby does have a large head, but it’s ok. Don’t worry. If you want to induce labor you can try taking black and blue cohosh, use the breast pump, and [one more thing that I really don't want to mention- it makes the very pregnant wives cringe and the husbands grin]. I was far too tired to try all that today so the next morning I decide to give the herbs and the pump a try. Lo and Behold! Contractions start. Sporadic at first. Then every 5 minutes. Kelly is out watching tv so I tell him, “I’m in labor. I think.” He looks at me blankly, says, “Oh.” Then he gets up to go trim the hedges. Huh? Poor guy was in shock, I guess. So, I go back to my room. The phone rings and it’s my dad. I tell him that I think I’m in labor. He’s overjoyed. I realize we should probably go get some groceries so Kelly will have food to eat. So, we head out to the store, but first stop in at the foster home to check on my people and pick up a few things from my room. They are all so happy. The old men are telling me to go home and have a baby and the old ladies are smiling and rubbing my tummy. Contractions are now at 3 minutes apart & lasting 45 seconds. After our errands we head back home. After unloading the car, putting groceries away, and tidying up my room I am feeling tired. Contractions are at 2 minutes apart lasting 45 seconds and I can’t talk through them anymore. So we let our midwives know and call my doula, who is now a midwife.

Labor labor labor, lots of peeing, lots of wondering when it was going to be over. I took 30 hours to dilate to 10 cm. I was getting tired. I started getting delirious. I had to stop drinking because the baby was making it so I couldn’t pee. My dad kept calling. My midwives wanted me to go to the hospital and I just kept saying, “No. Women have been having babies for millions of years, I am not about to fail at this.” I don’t even believe the earth is a million years old, but I wasn’t backing down. As I mentioned in another post, I did finally go to the hospital after my dad told me to go. It was probably the only time I ever obeyed him. So, we headed into Stayton hospital.

I’m in so much pain, by the way. Not just the normal labor pain, but Christopher had turned posterier & lodged himself against my pelvic bone. He was not getting out like that.

We get to the hospital and Dr. Yeager comes in and says, “I’m choosing to give you a C-section. We can’t find the baby’s heartbeat. If you don’t want a C-section you may call in another doctor. I am giving you one because I have a woman in the hospital right now that was in a similar situation. She chose vaginal birth and it was so traumatizing to her and the baby that they are not bonding. They’re both in shock. I’m not doing that again. You will not need a C-section again, you will most likely have a very good home birth next time.” I chose to bond with my baby.

Now I’m sitting on the edge of a hospital bed having these contractions every 30 seconds or so. Crying. Scared. Then the anaesthesiologist comes in, tells me he’s going to poke me in the back during a contraction, then I can lie down. I really wanted to see the needle. I asked Kelly to look and he swooned a bit then informed me that he was not looking at that thing.

Now, I’m pain free. I’m lying on my back being prepped for the surgery. I’m extremely loopy now. Talking about all kinds of things. My drug doctor, Chris, was part chinese & grew up in Hawaii. So we talked about that. I asked him to hold my hand. He said, “Don’t you want your husband to hold your hand?” I do have 2 hands. They each held one. He tells me that I will be numb from the chest down and won’t be able to feel myself breathing, but we’ll keep talking and I’ll know I’m breathing since you can’t talk without breathing. A few seconds later I look at him, my new love, and gasp, “I [big gasping breath] can’t [big gasping breath] breathe! [big gasping breath]. Then I laugh because I rememer what he said before, but who can blame me. I was numb! Have you ever had your lungs feel completely numb? Didn’t think so.

So, sweet baby Christopher was carved out of my body. Kelly holds him above me & proclaims through tears, “It’s a boy!” I look up and see baby but and the biggest set of…well, there was not doubt, it was indeed a boy. Kelly leaves to show him off and I’m still there holding the hand of my drug doctor. (I’ll just say right now that I am not in favor of drugs during labor, but man, did it make me happy and I didn’t have a choice.) So now they’re sewing me up and I’m getting impatient. I keep asking, “How much longer?” “What are you doing in there anyway?” “Is that your fist in my uterus?” “I felt that”. On and on. I couldn’t stop talking. I even said, “Why can’t I stop talking? I sound so dumb.” They were a good audience, though…and I’m still holding the man’s hand. Finally, I go into the recovery room. I’m naked. It’s just me and the Dr. Chris. He has to stay with me to moniter me. It’s June. I’m hot. I’m not into the warm blankets they kept putting on me. I kept throwing them off. I finally realize that I’m in here ’cause I had a baby and I haven’t even held him. I’m horrified! Aren’t I supposed to nurse that baby very first thing? So, Christopher comes floating in. Okay, he didn’t float, but I can’t remember who brought him in, but I remember seeing him being brought to me. Mind you, I am still numb from the chest down. I can somewhat control my arms, but they are also numb. So, I look at this completely perfect baby and say, “Oh my goodness, he looks like a conehead.” I’m sure I kissed that little conehead, too.

Now, this is where I really really embarrass myself. I decide to nurse the baby, but not having much control over my body I ask Dr. Chris to help me. He paused then asked, “Do you want to wait for nurse Inga?” Ummm, nooooooo. I will paraphrase here, I tell him I’ll hold the baby and he can just put ‘it’ in the baby’s mouth. What? Are you serious? I just told a man to do what? It ends up that sweet Christopher didn’t want to eat until about 8 hours after he was born. That child didn’t cry one bit. He just looked at me. He didn’t even sleep. The nursing ordeal went on for some time and I was so matter-of-fact about it. I really didn’t think it was a problem. I lost ALL inhibitions. Next up, the wheel me down the hall to my room. I keep throwing off the blankets and telling them I’m hot. I’m stark naked. Fortunately it was the middle of the night so there weren’t many people around, but Kelly’s mom and pastor were there. I don’t know what they saw. I don’t want to know what they saw!

All night long I look at Christopher and he looks at me. I cry. He doesn’t. I’m in awe. He was so perfect. I couldn’t understand why God chose me to be his mama. I still don’t understand. Especially since I’m so far from perfect. God seriously knew Christopher before he was formed in my womb. Who am I to deserve such a gift? I sang a song to him that I learned from a friend.

I am so small
You are so great
How did you notice me
Out here in space
I am but one
You made it all
How’d you remember me
When I am so small

[chorus]
What am I Lord
that you are mindful of me
mindful of me
care about me
say you love me

Were I a star
You’d be the sky
You were so far
So was I
A bit of sand
Upon your beach
So close at hand
You were out of my reach

[chorus]

I heard a tale
How can it be
You sent a man
As small as me
As big as you
but just my size
you sent him all this way
just to open up my eyes

[chorus]

Oh, I guess I should mention that I had refused to allow them to give me more pain meds because I didn’t want my baby getting them. Dr. Yeager explained that he had just sliced through 7 layers, I had a major surgery, but he would honor my request. I could call the nurses when I was ready. I was sure I wouldn’t be needing anything. I’m tough.

I’m not so tough. It was nice to get feeling back, but when it was about 6-8 inches above my incision I could feel it beginning to burn. I thought I could just breath through it. I’d be fine. So I don’t call. I start sweating. Sweating bullets. I’m in so much pain. I’m trying to lie perfectly still. I’m trying to breathe. I don’t want to call in a nurse now. She might wake Kelly and he had a big test to take in a few hours. So, I wait as long as I can. I finally call a nurse in and calmly say to her that I’d like a little something for the pain. She smiles. I tell her that on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the highest that I’m about a 20. She comes back & gives me shot in the butt. That drug made me sick to the stomach and now the perfect baby wants to nurse and I’m starving. I nurse him and realize this is what being a woman is all about. These things on my chest that are so bothersome actually has a purpose. I am woman, hear me roar…or moo, as the case may be.

Dr. Chris & Dr. Yeager come in. I am now in complete control of myself and am covered up to my chin, as if it would matter now. I am so mortified. I remember every sordid detail. Dr. Chris, thankfully, goes first. He needs to check up on me. Tells me I’ll have some nerve damage in my thighs from pushing so hard for so long. Tells me not to worry about last night. No problem. Kelly says, “You probably see that all the time, right?” The doctors look at each other and chuckle. Apparently the answer was that they didn’t. I never saw that drug doctor again and I’m so glad for that.

This story is so much better when I’m telling it, but since you don’t have the pleasure of sitting on my couch & listening to the story this is the next best thing.

Now, I really must be on my way. I still haven’t really cleaned my house or gone grocery shopping and I don’t want to. WAHHHH!

Here’s the Story…

Christopher’s birthday is tomorrow. I should be cleaning, listing {that’s making lists}, cooking, balancing {the money}, showering {the body}, and a host of other things. But I can’t seem to focus on those things right now. I’m thinking about where I was 13 years ago right now. At the time of this writing [9 a.m.] I had been in labor for about 24 hours. I want to tell the story of Christopher, because it really is a miracle. So hold on to your hats and get ready for a LONG post.

It really goes back to August 1995. I had started to feel crampy in my abdominal area & I thought, “Oh great, it’s that time of the month again.” I take a shower to see if it will help the pain. I suffered excruciating cramps back then. By the end of my shower I couldn’t stand up I was in so much pain. I called my friend, Ana, to get her advice. She encouraged me to get to the hospital. I didn’t want to go, but I did. That whole ordeal was ridiculous. They made me wait forever then gave me the wrong diagnosis which made me pay for the wrong antibiotic. A couple of days later they called me to tell me that I actually had Pelvic Inflammatory Disease caused by a sexually transmitted disease that went untreated. I seriously didn’t know I had one. I was mortified. Especially since it was my fault. I had been with a handsome black man I worked with while I was going to Bible School. Yes, you read that right. [That's an entirely different story that very few know of.] So, I had this STD for 2 years or so and it had been wreaking havoc in my uterus. I never felt any pain or discomfort, until this fateful night. I was also told that there would be extensive scarring and that it was doubtful I could ever carry a child to term. I could get pregnant, I just couldn’t host the baby in my body. Do you know how devastated I was? My world crashed down. I was being punished. Disciplined. I was forgiven, but still bearing the consequences of my foolish & sinful behavior. I came to terms with it & enrolled in the community college to pursue the calling I felt tugging on my so strongly.

Now I’m in school taking 18 credit hours & working 20 hours a week. I’m loving this new life. I’m riding my Trek mountain bike to school every day. It was about a 5 minute ride except that you had to wait so long just to cross the street. We lived in a small apartment in north Salem. Life was on track. There was one problem. I was so very very tired. I told my good friend, Lani, “I took a 4 hour nap yesterday and slept 10 hours last night AND my boobs have been hurting for like 3 weeks. I thought I would’ve started my period by now.” She stopped what she was doing and said, “Sweetie, you’re pregnant.” No I’m not. Impossible.

We were very poor at the time, but I rode my bike to Wal-Mart and bought a $10 pregnancy test. I pee on the stick, look at it immediately, and it’s quite obvious that I’m pregnant. I start pacing the apartment. Why did the Lord have me give up the idea of mommyhood? Why did He put on my heart the nursing school thing? Why? The phone rings. It’s Kelly. Only days before he had said he was so glad we weren’t having a baby because he didn’t know how he would provide for it and how he could pursue being a rock star. [He was serious, by the way.] So, I tell him I’m pregnant. He’s silent. I say, “Are you breathing?” He replies, “barely”. He ends up coming home early from work because he was in such a state of shock.

A couple months after this I apply for a job as a resident manager in an elderly foster care home. About 5 minutes after getting the phone call that I’m hired, Kelly walks in the door. He had been fired. So, for the next several months I took care of 5 lovely elderly people. My last day was my due date. [This is also an entirely different and highly entertaining story that will play into the next blog post that will catch you up with the rest of my life.] I moved in with my midwife for awhile to help the labor along. The idea of giving birth to my baby in my elderly foster care home was daunting. It would be like I was working and laboring all at the same time.

This is becoming quite the long blog post. I think I’ll nap then finish up, but before I do let me leave you with these birthday posts:

2006

2007

2008

Ok. Ok. I hear your cries for more!

I’m sitting here staring at my computer screen while my almost-thirteen-year-old puts away clean dishes while the three youngers pretend to play fairy coffee shop. I am tired from not sleeping well. My bedroom/office/creative happy spot is absolutely in disarray. Much like my thoughts….

So, I have been asked to update my blog. So here I am. I read over my past entries and am appalled that it’s been almost 3 months since my last entry. I feel like I’m constantly writing something. Then I realized that I’m not actually writing it all down. It’s just running around in circles in my head. It reminds me of an old REO Speedwagon music video where there’s all these things spinning around his head. I can’t remember the song. I didn’t have MTV. I watched it on TBS Night Tracks. It had hours of videos every Friday and Saturday night.

I’m not sure where the time goes. I mean, I do. I am a busy woman, but I do also waste time. I’m sure none of the amazing mothers do that, but I’m short of amazing. I’m pretty normal.

I am really really really really happy about the warm weather. I will never complain about the heat again. I missed out on last summer. That’s when I found out about my husband’s affair. I spent most of last summer in bed. I tried to pretend that I was doing well, but I really wasn’t. I only went blueberry picking once last year. We didn’t pick or can anything. I even let my tomato plants die that someone gave me. I will not let this summer go to the dump. I’ve already taken my kids out strawberry picking. We picked about 30 lbs. in an hour. I made 9 pints of strawberry jam and froze the rest. I haven’t had time to make bread so I’ve been eating peanut butter and jam from the spoon. So. Very. Yummy. I will be picking more and canning more. I found a preserving journal I began in 1999. A flat of strawberries was $9.99. Now it’s about $23. However, if you pick them yourself at a place like Farmer John’s it is $1 per pound and well worth it. It was far easier than I expected.

So much has happened in 2 1/2 months. I don’t know where to begin….

I will leave you with 2 things.

1. I promise to update my blog more regularly & over the next week or so i will get you all caught up on my life.

2.