A Vacation after a Break

I am always a better mom after a break. It doesn't need to be a dramatic break--it can be short, like running a few errands alone or taking a walk around the block. There seems to be a correlation, though. The longer the break, the better able I am to deal with my kids.

I will not insult your intelligence by defensively saying "of course I love my kids," because anyone who reads this post and/or knows me already has that information in spades.

It's been a long few months in our house. Lots of illness, lots of malaise, lots of isolation. We had a few extra days off of school a few weeks ago (after two weeks off of school, during which some of us were under the weather). It was almost too much to bear.

This hospital stay was a tough one for me. There was not a lot of opportunity to be out and about. I didn't get a lot of breaks because Brian was home caring for the boys. Coming home was definitely a welcome move. The problem is that of course reality is lying in wait for you, ready to pounce as soon as you walk in.

Mine took the form of household chores. Any mom knows that though there is time off from the family, it's like taking time off from work. Your responsibilities aren't cared for, they are simply set to the side for you to tackle when you are back home.

I was hoping to attend my MOPS meeting tomorrow as a way of celebrating being home. No such luck, as I have to take Bekah to a follow-up doctor's appointment in the morning. I am not able to do my normal Wednesday night thing because I want to make sure all things are ready to go for tomorrow morning. Jeremy woke up telling Brian he had a stomachache, but seems to be just fine. He is going off to school, as is Doug, who has been off the past few days for illness and then today (non-illness related).

Clothes have to be washed and folded, lunches have to be made, bread has to be baked, dinner has to be cooked, things need to be picked up, vacuumed, dusted, put away, etc., etc. I am grateful to not be in the confines of my hospital room, sleeping on a vinyl recliner, trust me. I am grateful that my daughter seems to be making a full recovery. That is encouraging as well. I just wish there was some transition period for these instances. (Ideally, I would love to have a housekeeper and a short, by-myself vacation somewhere, but now I'm just operating in the realm of fantasy.)

Lest my readers think all I do is lament and complain, take heart. The bright spot in coming home was reuniting the kids. I assumed that Jeremy would be most happy to have Bekah home, but I was wrong. Doug was giving Bekah kisses quite freely and wrestling with her, all without prompting. He is an affectionate guy, but he normally doesn't give out kisses unless he's prompted. Jeremy was pretty distracted by the iPad, but pretty soon after Bekah got home he was sitting on the couch and she was next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The two of them are so incredibly close and she and Doug apparently have a close bond as well.

Though this next piece of sunshine may have a dark twist, it's still a piece of sunshine. As with any stomach flu or illness, we end up saving on groceries. It had been my plan to start cooking the pork chops, chicken breasts, ground beef and roast that I had purchased on sale last week. In my absence, the main food of choice have been Kirkland chicken nuggets. Pizza is up on the docket for this evening and it's one of my favorite family treats. Meanwhile, now we have stretched our groceries even further. I did spend a bit more than I normally would have on eating away from home, but it seems to have balanced out with the savings I'm going to see in next week's grocery trip.

Finally, when your vehicle stays in one place (say, a hospital parking lot) for almost 3 days, gas consumption is stagnant. I still have half a tank of gas that should last me until next payday. Delightful.

All of this means I should be able to go clothes shopping with a friend next weekend. Bekah's party should be financially manageable and that is also a good thing, as it is approaching quickly on the horizon.

Maybe I'll consistently start making it to my morning obligations. I'm not hopeful right now but then if I would, my readers would probably send someone to check on me.

After the Crisis

I'm sorry I've not written in a few days. My daughter, Bekah, can home from school on Friday with the stomach flu. We have spent the last day and a half in the hospital. She is fine and we are going home tomorrow. She was severely dehydrated but is otherwise okay. I am glad she's okay, as I am looking forward to eating real food again. 

My friends have been very generous with their time and resources. I have two friends visit me today, which was great. I have had an abundance of texts, emails, Facebook messages and Scrabble games, all of which have kept me busy and fed me emotionally. 

I am feeling much less frustrated/angry than I was last week. I am not completely at peace with everything, but I am not seething and/or foaming at the mouth, so there's that. 

Post-crisis mode can be a tricky thing, emotionally. It's good that things with Bekah are better. Doug also had the stomach flu, though it was not as virulent or long-lasting. Overall, though, the illnesses that seem to have our family in a vise-like grip are very isolating. We had plans for a Super Bowl party that have fallen through. Play dates have dried up. This happens and is understandable, but that doesn't mean it's not a little tough to take. 

I feel like I am able to hold it together during a crisis because I have to. I am mom. I can't be seen falling apart for fear it will make Bekah or others fall apart. I am not sleeping well-I wasn't sleeping well even before the hospital because I was sleeping on the couch with Bekah. I am not eating foods that are good for my body. I am not working out. Again, all understandable in the face of a crisis but not fantastic or edifying emotionally. 

I am fearful that this is not the last we will see of illness. I am fearful that all of this poor eating and sleeping will mean that I will be the next one under the weather. Then it's really over because I really can't get out and about. Some might say, don't worry about it. I'll counter with "I'm playing the odds."

Ugh. Just wishing we could skip ahead to spring. I don't care so much about the weather, though it would be nice to be able to send everyone outside for a bit. I'm more concerned with ending this non-stop illness. 

I don't feel like taking part in my normal activities for the rest of the week. It's a strange thing for me--isolation tends to beget more isolation. I don't want to be blamed for any illness people may contract from being in my presence. 

In other words, I'm the same stupid, neurotic person I was except more so. 

I am glad Bekah and Doug are well, I am glad we have Blue Cross Blue Shield back, I am glad we maxed out our FSA. Hopefully we will still have something leftover after this is paid for. 

I will be glad to (hopefully) sleep in my bed tomorrow night. 

Anger, I Loathe Thee

Ho boy. I don't really want to write this post. Honestly, I'm kind of tired and all cried out. I had therapy tonight and it was probably the toughest, emotionally speaking, I've had since I started.

I was doing fine today. Well, mostly fine. It's been a few days since I've seen the sun. This is no good for me. I need at least a peek of sun, even if it's in an obnoxious, streaming-into-my-eyes-while-I'm-cooking-lunch way. Last night, Tuesday, Doug decided he would both not stay in his crib and stay up until 11:30 PM. It was really awesome.

Then this morning, my kids forgot again how to get ready for school. I had to tell them basic things like, "get dressed, put your snow pants and boots on, eat your breakfast, don't forget to take your shoes with you." Oh, and I told them each line at least 4 times. Each. Good times.

I had to run a bunch of errands, which I hate doing as a general rule. I don't like to spend money and I especially hate to travel to multiple stores to do so.

The really bad part of the day started when I made an attempt to complete my Bible study homework.

(As an aside, I am a quick study in profanity. This is not something I advertise. There are a few friends who know that about me. I clean up my act for appropriate company, but there are times when "shut the front door" and "gee whiz" just don't cut it. This will be an important point in a few minutes.)

So I started on my homework. It was a nightmare. I tried to take a nap, which was a fail. I started doing the homework when the big kids got home. Doug hadn't napped, so he was a pill. The big kids were all over me, I had to start dinner, etc., etc. I have been doing this Bible study since September, but I've only been present in class twice. I've missed it all other times due to illness of either my children or myself.

Consequently, I've not kept up with my homework. I haven't seen a need since I've not been there. Every time I stare at the cover of my binder, my scalp prickles. It's a precept study on Philippians and the tag line is, "how to have joy."

I typically like Philippians. A lot of my favorite verses are contained in Philippians. Seems like a nice enough book of the Bible.

The problem is that the chapters for today were talking about suffering, how really God uses suffering for good, how it produces good things.

Yeah.

My family and I have been suffering/struggling/fighting and clawing for almost 7 years. It has been at turns humiliating, depressing, soul-crushing and just plain awful. We have been praying for Brian to get a new job, a better-paying job, for five solid years. We have been praying for provision, for all sorts of things.

Our friends and family have been incredibly generous with us. We have had our basic needs met. I understand that we live better than most of the people in the world. In my logical mind, I can see some blessings.

It. Has. Been. Painfully. Slow. Progress. Back. To. Normal.

I was reading these scriptures today and getting more and more frustrated. The text was referring to Jesus, who came to earth as a man, suffered and died and was raised again. I get all of that. I believe all of that. It talked about Jesus' suffering. My issue is that Jesus had to know what the grand plan was. He had to know that he would be suffering, but in the end his death would mean that millions of people would be able to be redeemed. So it sucked, but the whole time he knew that there was a purpose and what the purpose was.

Yeah, I don't know the big picture of my life. I don't see any grand plan. I have no idea what the purpose is for any of what I'm going through. In the moment, as I was reading through all the scriptures, I felt like God had abandoned us. I felt like all of the goodwill he tries to convey in the text was like a taunt. Like Jeremiah 29:11, "for I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you..."

We have not prospered for at least 7 years. I don't see that we will be prospering in the foreseeable future. I'm sure that "prosper" doesn't mean financially, but really, in 2015, there is no way to prosper if you don't have money. Any idea I can come up with for my family to do/enjoy/see/etc. this year involves money in some way, shape or form. I have no intention of selling all of my possessions and moving overseas. My place is here in Crystal Lake, where they take dollars, not goats, for goods and services.

Am I prospering spiritually? Not so much. I am feeling angry and bitter with a God who seems to be hearing my prayers and doing nothing more than holding his finger in the universal sign of "wait one minute, I'll be right with you." It seems like he is interested in doing nothing more than giving us dribs and drabs of provision. I can't imagine that God, in his infinite wisdom and knowledge, can't find another job for my husband. Or help in any other measurable way.

And now the swearing. The question in the study, which I don't really remember but was somewhat condescending and rose-colored, talked about what reading all of these texts meant to us. I will paraphrase my answer, but basically I said that I think it's all bullshit. God says in Matthew that he wants to give rest to those who are weary. I tell you what. My family and I are weary. We are heavy-burdened. We have been given brief, momentary rest. Not anywhere close to the magical rest God seems to promise.

I feel like we have been asking God for water to slake our thirst and in response, he's been giving us water from a dirty stream.

I am sick of platitudes, of "hang in there" and "it's gonna all work out, just wait and see." I am livid at God right now, for being mute and unmoved when I am begging him, pleading with him, to show up not for me but for my husband. It's true that I would benefit financially from my husband getting a better job, but that doesn't mean it's a selfish prayer. I think it's unselfish to ask that my husband, who is giving maximum effort, would be able to see some more fruit from his labor.

I have had to scrimp and save for a long time. It's taught me a lot, like how to go to direct marketing parties and not buy anything. Or how to rarely go on a date with my husband, or how to never ever go on vacation with my family (in fairness, that last one is probably for the best--my kids are nuts and I don't have enough energy).

I was never a clothes horse, but all of this has meant that I very, very rarely get new clothes. Then, when I do, they are from a consignment shop. (I have tried to go to Savers but it always seems like a sad garage sale. Can't do it.) I last purchased jeans in December of 2013, also consignment. I have worn them almost every day since then, even in the summer. They are fraying at the cuffs, thinning out in the legs and are now baggy.

The thing is, I feel guilty for going to get new jeans. I feel like I shouldn't do it, that I'm wasting money that could be better spent elsewhere. Every financial decision that I have to make causes anxiety and stress. I have to make sure I make exactly the right decision, I do the right thing, I choose wisely. There are no margins for error. It is frustrating and feels sisyphus-ian. I feel like no matter how wise I try to be, it's just never going to be enough. I'm trying to put together a 1000 piece puzzle with only 900 pieces.

It's exhausting. All of it, the day-in, day-out practice of working at 100% power and not getting anywhere, is exhausting. I feel like I am walking the wrong way on a moving sidewalk without any hope of getting where I need to go.

I don't want to keep doing this Bible study. I feel lied to and betrayed by a God who I have learned my whole life is never far away. I don't want to go tomorrow and hear about how much God loves all the people in my study. I feel like I am set apart from the rest of the class, on the outside looking in. Everyone else seems to be basking in the glow of God's love and I am out in the cold.

I want to rest. I want to work 100% power and get 100% results. I was taught that if I worked hard, things would work out. God doesn't close a door without opening a window. I have to say, we've been sitting in the dark for so long the light, when it does finally come shining in, is going to burn my corneas. Not that I'm holding my breath.

I hate to write like this. I guess I'm hoping that in twenty years, when we maybe start to see some relief, I can look back on this and laugh at my former self.

Okay, forty.

I plan on attending this Bible study. I will not read the comment where I use the word "bullshit" (or even the one where I used #sarcasmfont). I will probably sit there, quietly, while trying to bite back the urge to yell and scream at how angry I am at God right now.

And probably swearing under my breath.

A Pit of Passion

There is something freeing for me in using my words. I was up until about 3 AM last night, working on a novel I started during the Christmas season in 2013. I never thought I really had a novel lying around between my ears. I started writing then and got about 60 pages (in a Word document) completed.

Then, of course, life got in the way. It's not healthy or practical to stay up until 3 AM (ever really, but even to do it a couple of nights a week really takes it toll. The solution would seem to be that I should write while Doug is napping. In reality, I am exhausted usually by the time he is napping. I like quietly sitting on the couch, watching Bones and playing on my phone.

I think fundamentally, though, I am a creative type who can't have fulfillment or peace if I am not creating something. I desire to get my house in order so that I can start scrapbooking again. I started scrapping back in 2002 and then I started working at Hobby Lobby. That meant I accumulated a lot of scrapping stuff but never really had time to scrap.

My kids have started studying one of the two scrapbooks I've completed and they seem to enjoy them. I will say, I don't make exquisite layouts or craft masterpieces, but I am good at telling stories that accompany the pictures. That, to me, is an important and enduring quality for scrapbooking. Someday, I won't remember what it was like to show Scout and Rascal snow for the first time. But my kids can look at the book and the words I've printed will help them.

I get so stuck in the mire of my depression (from what I've been told, very creative people are quite prone to depression...and alcoholism, for that matter) that I forget how soothing it is to immerse myself in creative activities.

I recently reread the Hunger Games trilogy. In the second book, Catching Fire, Katniss and her cohorts encounter a deadly fog in the arena. It leaves them with awful sores all over their bodies. After they manage to drag themselves out of the jungle, they crawl to the water. Katniss is the first to discover that putting her damaged skin under the water draws the poison out. I think I can understand the feeling she has, which is described as both painful and wonderful.

That's how I feel when I write, create, dream, draw, etc. It's funny because I had written about 60 pages last year. This past Christmas, when I went to revisit the novel, I realized that by some twist of fate, about 40 pages had gone missing. Not sure what happened and I am not taking extra measures to save my work. That being said, the novel is progressing in a different way than I thought it would when I started a year or so ago.

It was tough to find out I had lost so much effort, but then it's been wonderful to be able to keep moving forward in the direction I want (without having to go back and change as much). I don't expect that this novel will make me rich and famous. That's really okay with me. I was glancing at the stats for this little blog, the one with a squidgy focus and a small readership.

I am reaching people in Poland, Canada, Russia, places I've never visited. That blows my mind. I have decided that I appreciate the fact that my words are universal to all walks of life. I am going to pursue this passion I have for writing. I don't know where it will lead. (I'm not gonna lie, if they ever make it into a movie and I get to meet some celebrities, that would be mind-blowing. Not at all probable, but it's something I daydream about. Have to be real about what is going on in the grey matter.) I am hoping that it leads me closer to feeling fulfilled and peaceful.

I hope my readers will stay with me for this journey. I promise, you'll probably have a good time.

Words, Words, Words

I'm going to prepare you now for some eye-rolling. Go ahead, stretch those eyes. I am fairly positive that one or more of my most loyal readers will be rolling their eyes at some point during reading this. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had a really rough week last week. Very dark. Probably one of the darkest weeks I've had since early last summer. I didn't write about it, I didn't talk to anyone about it, I didn't reach out to anyone for help. When it gets that dark in my head, I don't want to have to describe the darkness. Even considering how to describe it gives me the shivers. I am grateful that all I had were thoughts and not actions. I am grateful that the part of my brain governing logic was not asleep at the switch.

I wrote a lot last year about my struggle with depression and my family's financial struggles. That was tough for me to do, honestly. For those who know me, it may seem laughable to think there is a topic about which I don't talk. In reality, I use words as a buffer.

I had a therapist when I was in high school. Her name was Linda. I loved her. I had a series of therapists from age 11 on and she has always been my favorite. I remember sitting in her office one time, chattering away about school, swim team, church, etc. She sat there, a small smile on her face, and let me talk myself out.

After I finished, she said, "okay, now how are you, really?"

And then I really told her.

I am so good at words. Big words, small words, emotive words, encouraging words, ten-dollar words, ridiculous words. They are the bricks out of which I build a fortress around myself. I let almost everyone in, really I do. I have been told I shouldn't play poker because I can't hide my emotions well.

The problem has become I don't feel like I can be me, the real Sue, around too many people. (Cue eye rolling.) Yes, I know. My friends, my true friends, (of which there are many) love me unconditionally. There is nothing off-limits. They accept everything about me.

I am afraid, though, that there really is something off-limits, but it's not been discovered yet. I know off-limits territory is there. I am a navigator operating in the dark, pushing my toe further and further out to find the boundary. Until I've found it, I'm fairly certain I need to hedge my bets because once I find it, I will lose these friends, the ones who are so loving and accepting.

I stopped blogging about my depression because I didn't want to scare people. I also didn't want people to think they had to intervene. Words are the bricks in my fortress but they are also heavy to carry around. Sometimes I use them to build gravestones, to commemorate something I've lost or can't have. I need a place to offload them but am not always ready to mourn them publicly.

The other reason I stopped blogging had to do with people's generosity. It's interesting how the mind works, because sometimes I mis-remember things. Shocking, I know.

See, when I talk about how my family is struggling, I am frustrated and venting. I am not intending that people will act on what I write. There are two reasons for that. First, this blog is not very widely-read. That's really okay, for now. Second, I hate for people to be nice to me.

Let me clarify.

I find certain aspects of myself tolerable. I like my hair, my sense of humor, my laugh, my verbal abilities, my random knowledge of useless trivia and my thighs.

The rest is a toss-up. On some days, I enjoy that I cry randomly at odd intervals. It's endearing. Mostly, though, I want to constantly tell myself to suck it up and get over myself. No one should be crying over their daughter receiving a brand-new pair of ballet shoes (for example). There are times when I am thoughtful and compassionate. This is a good thing. Just as often, I am prickly and curmudgeonly and unkind to people. Okay, maybe not out loud to people and maybe not on purpose, but still! I have really ugly thoughts a lot. I am judgmental and thoughtless and callous.

Now, when one lays eyes on me, they will probably see the former, the funny, clever, word snob lady with nice thighs (well, not that you'd mention it because I usually always wear pants, but trust me, they are nice thighs). Reading my blog, one would see that this nice lady's family is in need. It might occur to you to be kind to said lady.

So let's say you decide to be kind. My immediate response is tears (because oh, lord, there are always tears). Then, I start scrolling through all the hateful things I've ever said and done. I might even go to the tapes, the ones that show me being ugly and awful to many, many people. Upon reviewing the evidence, I would conclude that I don't deserve said gift.

As an aside, yes, this is probably why I'm exhausted most of the time. My brain operates about 10 times faster than my mouth and my mouth runs like the Ramones. So, yeah. I wouldn't recommend a vacation to my brain.

In any case, I had a couple of friends be very kind to me last year. It might have seen like small things, these kindnesses, but they absolutely meant the world to me.

And here's why it's important to sometimes hang onto things.

I am in the process of organizing my house. I am taking 14 weeks to do it. I am following a strict program, I have lists, I am going slowly, not trying to multitask and being methodical. In cleaning my kitchen, I came across a letter one of the kind friends wrote me along with some money to buy a new CD player.

This friend told me that she (I'm paraphrasing and so forgive me...she is a very precise person and probably still has the letter, so I will beg forgiveness if I'm misrepresenting what she wrote) was glad I was writing about my struggles. She applauded me. After receiving her letter, I texted her and thanked her profusely, saying I wanted to find a way to thank her.

Here's the thing. She told me specifically that she knew I wasn't trying to solicit money or help with my blog post. I told her that I hope one day I can financially bless people. I am going to quote her text here, because what she said has stuck with me: "I just wanted to do something to support and love on you. The time will come when you will be able to bless others with money, but until then you will bless others in other ways: with your spirit, your faith, your humor, your story. You have blessed me with all of those already."

See, I had only known this chick for a few months at the time this happened. It was so humbling to hear, from a new friend, that she had already been blessed just by knowing me. It was painful to hear, of course, because I'm the prickly cactus of a person on the inside. Nice things hurt because I have to let the prickly out to allow room for the nice. And that can be a painful process, not unlike draining a wound in order for it to heal. Not pleasant, but for really deep wounds to heal, they need to need to be drained.

2015 was supposed to be our year. We felt like we had a foothold on things, that this was the year we were actually going to be able to climb above all of it. Then, of course, another setback. I found out about it almost two weeks ago. I didn't tell anyone about it immediately because I didn't know how. I wasn't sure how to insert, "the guys my husband works for are jerks and I hate them" into polite conversation.

It all spilled out at small group last week. I cried, not tears of sorrow but the bitter tears of anger, frustration, resentment and disgust. It kills me that my husband, who is college-educated, intelligent, articulate and talented, is wasting away at a company that doesn't recognize or appreciate his talents. It's a special kind of hell to see the one you love torture himself for shortcomings that are not of his own making.

It's been tough, too, because our things are starting to give out. My pots and pans are losing their teflon and shape because they have been used as drums, boats and hats. My favorite lifter is starting to deteriorate. My oven mitts are all crusty and gross.

I mentioned all of this not because I wanted all the things. I mentioned it because my crappy kitchen stuff is a daily reminder of the struggle we've been walking through for years, the one I thought would only last for a little while. I have delayed and delayed getting new things because I figured the next paycheck would allow me to do so...and then the next one...and so on. Instead, I've had to be a crazy steward with every penny and not been able to see fit to get new things.

Of course, the people in our small group love us. They, in the words of my friend, wanted to do something to support and love on us. So they got us a gift card to Bed, Bath and Beyond. They gave it to me in a bag with new oven mitts, which in itself I considered an amazing gift. Really, if it had just been oven mitts I would be writing the same post and crying at the same points. I am a dork about small gifts.

The thing is, when I got home and realized how generous they had been, it was painful. And I knew I had to write about it. Well, to be fair, I started thinking of ways I could thank everyone. Mostly with my baking, which I will. Cause I do that well. Just sayin.

I had another friend be generous with me Saturday. And I have had other unexpected kindnesses. And they all hurt. I am fairly certain I deserve none of them. (Cue more eye rolling.)

I keep hoping for the time I will be able to be financially generous. I hate that my generosity seems to end up looking like a kindergartner's art project, homemade with pasta and glitter. I want it to look crisp and pretty.

God seems to have a different story written for me. Naturally, I want to help him edit it. Naturally, he has password-protected the document and hidden it from me. Being humble is something I would never have asked for on my own. It's less painful, in my opinion, to be able to do for myself, to be self-sufficient. It's less messy, less emotionally involved.

God doesn't want less from me. He wants more, and he doesn't mind pasta and glitter. He knows that what I offer to people is my best, even if it's not as pretty as some of the other gifts. (Please note that my description of my gifts as children's crafts and others as pretty is my own construct. I am not trying to disparage any gift that we have received. Rather, I am disparaging my own.)

Of course I hate all of this. I spent most of last week feeling snarky and prickly and angry. I walked around feeling like I was wearing an itchy sweater. I wanted to fling myself to the ground and have a good, old-fashioned tantrum. I didn't really, but I feel like I may have been unkind to people. Because lastly, words are my weapons. I am not agile with my legs but am quick to throw words like ninja stars. They have surprising accuracy and are deadly.

So thank you, to all who have shown me kindness and have built into my family by praying for us. We appreciate all of the prayers and know that God has us in his hands. My apologies, for the unkind words and lack of disclosure about my dark times. I'm a work in progress and am working to break down rather than build up walls. It's a new skill and I'm clumsy at it still.

Thanks for reading, really. There's something powerful in knowing that people are connecting with my words and thoughts. I appreciate all of you.