Therefore, I (with a touch of fear) proclaim that I am a Nanowrimo participant for 2006!
I mean, really? I--nor any other human--will never deal with every blow with perfect grace. A never-ending stream of perfect dinners is also never going to happen in this world, even for the best of 'em.
So I am far from some of the things I dream of. So what? That's the condition of life. Of being human. I am the woman I intend. I love my family above all else. I never stop examining myself for weaknesses and flaws-- relentlessly I pursue being the best I can be. I grow. I love. I believe. I serve. I am faithful. Even in the face of wrong I strive to do right. I don't give up.
Am I a woman who is always stumbling, always dreaming lofty dreams of loving and serving her husband and children and fellow man in amazing ways but falling short? Well God bless that woman. God bless her! That is a godly woman, and I am proud to be her.
]]>Mean words, I guess, is what I'd answer if you asked what brought this change about. Or perhaps, it's my interpretation of what was said that's the problem. See? Yet another fault in me, to read criticism into things. Am I blaming my feelings on others? The faults pile up as I fault myself for being faulty.
What a mess. What a mess I am.
Maybe they were mean words, in which case I'm at fault for having mean people in my life and allowing them to tear me down.
I don't know which way is up. I am down.
What ordinarily I see as minor flaws seem major right now. Let me present you with a list of why I am lucky to be loved. Maybe some self-preservation will kick in somewhere along the way before I implode:
I'll rest my case. The list of things I dislike about myself is much longer, even, but whether I am flabby and unable to keep a perfectly clean home doesn't really factor too much into love.
I may be loved by God, but why can't I be loved here on earth, too? I wish for a love that overcomes all these flaws and goes further, to appreciate my flaws as eccentricities and cherish everything that makes me who I am.
Comments are turned off, so you can't rush in pity to tell me how I am not all of the things I am. Or, if you were inclined to agree with me, you can't tell me that, either. I assure you I don't need any more blows.
]]>It's only 30 miles, but for this area it's so far that they call it "the North land" or "Northland" as if they're talking about the Holy Land or a country.
My excitement over our pay increase and nice home (in what I call "Rich People Land") are tempered with trepidation. I'll be 40 minutes away from everyone and everything that is routine to me now. Spontaneous YMCA trip with my teen? Not so spontaneous to say, "I'll be there in an hour!" My favorite stores are here. My doctor, dentist, eye doctor... all in this inferior "south land" (not that anyone would dignify it with its own title).
Tonight after work my husband asked me to go to the bank, so I sent texts to my older kids and got a volunteer to go with me to help with the little kids. Guess that won't really happen anymore.
Although that's it-- I don't really know what will happen. I don't know anything about the north land. I know we're moving to be closer to his job, but that's a little shaky too. (The job is guaranteed for 18 months, but what if their new service is a flop? What if we aren't really accepted by the church? We'll be all alone and so far away.)
It's a whole new world for my family. Just don't know what kind of world that is yet.
Just now he approached me at the computer desk and handed me his plastic bowl. When I took it he trotted away, looking back over his shoulder to ensure I was following. He excitedly toddled to the refrigerator, upon which sits his choices of cereals. I grabbed frosted mini-wheats and showed them to him. "Do you want this?" No, he shook his head. I put it back and grabbed banana Cheerios. "This one?" He smiled and pointed at the box. So in went the cereal into his bowl and on went the smile to his face. He understood me, and I understood him.
]]>I was raised by a very practical, down to earth, common sense, hard working woman who came by these traits in a childhood with no room for anything but farm chores alongside her father, my grandpa. You won't find farmers blowing things out of proportion or feeling sorry for themselves, at least not in my family.
So I take the news of my grandpa in a similar vein, as if I've been told tomorrow's no good for planting because a storm's rolling in. But there's a part of me that was never weeded out no matter how sternly emotion was frowned upon and this part of me is trying not to freak out. The tough part of me is very well developed, though, after a childhood full of mom, and I'm not about to write the mush that will trigger the tears I'm holding back.
Instead, I'll just inform you that I grew up in the same small town as my grandpa; he was at my house as often as I was at his. When I spent the night with him I got to go "chorin'" with him in the mornings, and I slept in his shirts. Some children aren't lucky enough to have grandpas who are good and whom they get to see with regularity. I was.
There aren't many old time Missourians like my grandpa anymore, with his distinctive way of speaking and an ornery sense of humor; his spirit, attitude and character formed by an earlier time, a lifetime of hard work and simple living. As an adult I've many times reflected on this and wished I could preserve the piece of history and the goodness that grandpa is. But isn't it amazing easily the distractive hustle of the adult life keeps you from doing what you dearly wished to?
I keep the tears in check knowing that he knows and has known how much I loved him despite not being an emotionally expressive family. He loved me, too, and I know that. And no matter how much time I'd spent with him I'd still be sitting here wishing I had more.
]]>You see Thursday I was so sick I had to go to the hospital. That's the short version of the story that involved much moaning in agony and much vomiting. They said it was gastritis--something not at all contagious--treated me a bit and sent me on my way.
Now it is Sunday night. My beloved husband who has had only a few hours sleep at best is driving this dark evening across the state through "winter advisory" weather, which means sleet, snow, ice, and stupid dangerous drivers. Meanwhile, my stomach is hurting in a way entirely too reminiscent of Thursday. I'm in too much pain to even eat and was weak and tired enough to crawl into bed earlier this evening wondering how I was going to get through the next few hours until children's bedtime. I crawled out of bed long enough to send my husband off with a kiss and admonishments for safe travel when one of my children vomited all over the bathroom. My husband cleaned it up for me before leaving on his journey, and then a second child vomited in a second bathroom. Then the first child again, on the floor on the way to the bathroom. Back and forth they volley with no one to care for them and clean up afterward but sick-and-in-pain me.
There's no refuge for me. I'm pained for my sick children, worried for them, worried for my husband, worried for my non-sick children, in pain and weary.
]]>I realized this as I was attempting to get back home from a place 90 miles away in winter weather conditions while driving a twenty year old "well-loved" stick shift car whose brake light is out and whose passenger side rear tire went flat, as well as other problems we won't mention out of respect for the faithful well-worn car.
It was my first time driving a stick.
Technically, I'd driven one before--ten years ago. For one week I drove a manual transmission car and I never got the hang of it. What little I learned then was mostly forgotten now.
I had thought I'd make a day trip to St. Louis as I really don't get to go anywhere anymore. The house is beginning to feel like a prison cell and my daughter like a ball and chain, albeit a super cute and lovable ball and chain. But after numerous obstacles I downheartedly headed back home. Dull household errands needed to be ran, and who's the dull household chore doer? Me. Reality set in like congestion in the lungs. The fantasy that I could be free of this place faded.
My adventure of getting away for a day driving a stick for the first time in winter weather was, I'd say, despite its hardships, better than another day at home doing housework. However, as I slid around the road trying to figure out what gear I should be in and which pedal to push and what to do when you suddenly need to stop because there is yet another accident on the road to navigate, I was well-aware of how stupid I was being in attempting the trip, especially with no one near to rescue me and my precious little one strapped innocently in the back seat. It was exciting! Harrowing! Action-packed! And very stupid.
]]>KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) - The first major snowstorm of the season blew across the Plains and Midwest on Thursday, grounding hundreds of flights, closing schools, glazing highways and threatening to dump up to a foot of snow on communities that had basked in balmy weather only days earlier...Coming on the heels of near-record high temperatures, it rolled through Kansas on Wednesday, coating tree limbs and power lines with half an inch of ice.
- - -
They aren't kidding. I ran to the store Wednesday in a tshirt and jeans and a sweatshirt jacket, and was very comfortable in the sunny, unseasonably warm weather. An hour later I returned to my car in pouring rain and bitter cold, to find it covered it in ice. By the time I got my purchases loaded up and myself out of the rain, I was seriously painfully cold. Real pain. Real cold.
I guess I'd forgotten what Missouri was like. Pictures
]]>Get up, send kids off to school. Visit Mom and brother. Get the mail. Apply for jobs. Write. Go to wine party with K. Catch a movie with R. Spend the night with S. Do the laundry and mop the floor. Cook dinner for children. Make brownies and popcorn. Bedtime stories. Memorize lines, perfect performance. House on Tuesday, trivia on Sunday. A glass of wine, a sushi dinner. Cook, clean, laugh, cry. Write.
And you, you were just someone to cross my web.
]]>Therefore, I (with a touch of fear) proclaim that I am a Nanowrimo participant for 2006!
The kids spent the night and don't have school today. I overslept and didn't wake until 10am--not typical of a day with kids. The rest, however, is.
I stumble out of my room to see three children, assorted Halloween candy, cartoons on tv and a living room floor that has not an inch of carpet showing. "Okay, guys, we're not doing anything today until this is cleaned up." And so I start, inch by inch. "Whose paper bag is this? J., do you need this plastic spider?" But the more I go along, the more that arises, of course. One kid gets a time out for making fun of another and being disrespctful to me, but she won't go down without a fight. One kid is playing with a hammer and nails. Another asks for coffee. Another wants cheesecake muffins, but one thinks they will take too long.
]]>Also celebrated: that J finally has gotten the hang of turning in his homework and taking care of his papers. This, too, is a huge accomplishment.
But this was all brought on by Bri's state project--a mobile display on the topic of Texas--getting a perfect score! (I had been so worried! It was a huge project, and it came due while I was away in San Francisco.) We went to school, lugged the project into the backseat, went to rehearsal, and then to Starbucks.
Me, in the car on the highway, finding my view blocked by her display: Uh, Bri, I can't see out the back window.
Bri, with mock excitement: Yes! My project is an A+, and a driving obstruction!
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