This Was My Thursday

Today I spent a lot of time trying to stay busy

 and not really getting a lot done.

I worked on school papers and listened to internet

 radio and was just generally distracted.

I played with the cat.

So let's recap.

 School work.

Internet radio.



Distractions.

Did I mention I played with the cat?

Winning A Coin Toss

What's a girl to do after such a life changing event at our home?

Go to Starbucks, of course.

I've been sitting here working on school papers, listening to sometimes irritating music, and wondering about the youth of America hard at work behind the counter. And I keep pinching myself in wonderment at all that has happened.

You know, on the outside nothing has changed. I'm still waiting for that teaching position to open up. Still trying to figure out how we are going to pay for the second round of braces. Still dealing with intermittent moodiness.

But, boy, something has changed on the inside. My husband said he felt lighter yesterday; that he felt like a huge burden had been lifted. I knew exactly what he was talking about. We hauled in the trash and he took me for an ice cream. Just another Tuesday night.

And the whole time I was thinking how great life is.

We made the kids mad (or maybe just annoyed) when we shut off everything at nine o'clock last night. We had every intention of going to bed early and doing a little Bible reading together. But somehow we ended up sitting in the living room with the television off and two guitars strumming.

The oldest trying to show his dad a few tricks.
The middle presenting his viewpoint on life.
The youngest trying to stay mad but having a very hard time.

And that entire time, I was just sitting there watching it all unfold.

Once again, we announced our intentions of going to bed and wished everyone a good night and turned off all the lights and all those other end-of-the-day instructions. We put on our pj's, climbed into bed, and heard a knock at the door.

The youngest came in because it is impossible for her to stay mad.
The oldest followed because he is naturally nosy like his mom.
And the middle poked his head in to see what he was missing.

We ended up having three teenaged kids gathered around our bed. I read Ephesians 6:1 out loud just because I thought it might run them off (obey your parents and all that). Instead we listened to them tell us stories of times they got in trouble and I was given a demonstration of how I drive when I'm mad. They passed around our class rings and listened to tales of our own teenage years.

And all I could think was how blessed we are.

You know how when things are going good, you're almost holding your breath waiting for the bomb to drop? It's that this is almost too good to be true feeling? That's where I'm at. What a great place to be.

Who knows what tonight will bring. I'm only minutes away from a school car line and it's always anybody's guess how the night will unfold. The same kids we had to run off from our bedroom last night may very well want nothing to do with us tonight. It's kind of like flipping a coin: heads you win; tails you lose.

I'm just hoping to win that coin toss for a few more days.

Chinese Wisdom and Garlic Chicken

While sitting at our favorite little dive-of-a-place Chinese restarurant (the same one where the old guy wants a piece of my hair to carry around in his pocket), the little Chinese lady (not the one that thinks my husband is funny, the other one who calls me Mama and Heath Daddy) came over to our table and asked if everything was all right. Only one out of five was actually eating and two of the five were nowhere to be seen.

No. Everything was not all right.

She looked so concerned, though, so instead of giving the customary Oh, we're fine or Everything's good, I looked her straight in the eye and said Family Drama. I bet you had your own share of days like that.

She didn't smile or nod her head and hurry off to her other tables. Instead, she sighed heavily and in broken English, began to tell me her story. Moments like this I tend to memorize and although I'm sure I don't have it word for word, but I think you'll get the general idea. This is what she said.

I have only one son, not many children like you. He was ten when my husband died and it has only been me and him. We depend on each other. When my husband died, I only have my son and I not speak hardly any English when my husband died. So my son go with me everywhere and he tell me what is going on. He read the map and tell me where to drive. We lean on each other. He is thirty-six now and a good son. We lean on each other twenty-six years ago. Just my son and me. I didn't raise him; he raised me.

Then she smiled and spread her hands out over our near empty table and scarcely eaten food. What you have here is family. You have fun and you fuss, but you have family. You are good family. You fuss, but you are together. You good family. Mama and Daddy and children. Good family.

Yeah. At this point I was about to cry, too. She patted one kid on the back and went on her way. The missing two members joined us about a minute later and the entire atmosphere had been changed. I got a thumbs-up from one, and at the same time everybody started reaching for the rice and garlic chicken and saying please and thank-you. We laughed and talked and ate and read fortune cookies out loud. The fussing was over and the good was back.

She was right. We are a good family. We are together. We fight and argue and bicker, but we are together and I think after tonight and the wisdom of a little Chinese lady that calls me mama, I think we're all a little bit better.

Me? Grumpy? Never.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am in a bad mood. My mood went from zero (on the bad mood scale) to sixty (the maximum limit) in about ten seconds flat. Now my head hurts, my neck hurts, and I'm just plain mad. I've got a Starbucks sitting on the kitchen table getting cold and I don't even care.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Those were my thoughts last night about one hour before I called it a night and went to bed. Amazingly enough, I slept very well. Not surprisingly, the headache was still there when I woke up.

What set me off? Oh, a multiple of things really. Was any of it important? Not really. Did I regret my bad attitude? Nope.

I mean, it's not like I was going around yelling at people or throwing stuff around. I outgrew that during my first two years of marriage (well, the throwing stuff around part). I like to think that I've come a long way in controlling myself and my temper (while my immediate family chuckles and rolls their eyes at this part). Sometimes, though, things just hit you wrong. Sometimes you think no one has a clue. Sometimes you just get mad.

My problem is that I get over-loaded. I get too much going on at once and then like a pressure cooker gone wild, my top pops and I blow off steam. Actually, that picture I'm not too sure about, but you get the general idea. Papers to write, kids in demand, and a Superbowl weekend? You have got to be kidding me.

So I got mad last night because I was frustrated. I had started the same paper five times, could not figure out an answer to a question, and my feet were cold. My husband offered me a Starbucks which I thought was super-sweet... until I figured out his ulterior motive in getting out was to run a few extra errands. I had things to do, and they did not include fighting traffic in the pouring down rain.

This is why by the time we got home, the Starbucks no longer appealed to me. All I wanted was to pout, think unhappy thoughts, and go to bed. Which, by the way, is exactly what I did and in that order.

Of course, there he was this morning, smiling at me and telling me he knew I could do it (school and all that stuff). He was proud of me, I was going to be the first in my family to get a college degree, blah, blah, blah.

Oh, who am I kidding? His pep talk always works and he knows it. Haven't I always said he is my biggest fan? I had my morning coffee, spent quality time with the youngest who needed her mom (mom's wallet, to be exact), transported the oldest to a birthday bowling bash (which he absolutely loved), and was thoroughly entertained watching my middle try on suits (and in case you didn't know, they now make with built-in ipod pockets). Papa John's delivered supper and I'm thinking about giving that paper one more try.

But I really don't want to. I would much rather put my feet up, snuggle with a warm blanket, and mindlessly flip channel for the next few hours. Then again if I do that, I will be re-living that bad mood all over again tomorrow night when I've got deadlines to meet. Guess I better be believing in God to do the impossible and tackle this mountain tonight.

And there is no way I'm going out for a Starbucks.

Do Chips And Salsa Make A Happy Heart?

This morning while watching people wearing red discuss the benefits of heart health, I dined on chips and salsa. Not my usual breakfast by any means, but it was left over from last night's dinner and just sounded good. As I listened to doctors and experts count off the warning symptoms of heart attacks and the importance of living a healthy lifestyle (and yes, I do see the irony of all this considering my first meal of the day), I thought back to a particular morning almost twelve years ago.

It was the Friday before our oldest son's sixth birthday. Around five that morning, my husband woke me up complaining of chest pains. I told him to quit bothering me and go back to sleep. Harsh, I know, but seriously, who would have thought there was something more to that? The man was twenty-eight, didn't drink, never smoked, worked out when he could. Looking back, though, we now know the signs were there. He was working seven days a week at a job he didn't like and had been experiencing fatigue and sharp (but very brief) pains in his chest in the months leading up to the Friday in question.

He kept those brief pains to himself, in my defense, so when he woke me up that morning my first self-absorbed thought was Leave me alone and let me sleep! Along with our almost six-year old, we also had a three-year old boy and a newly turned one-year old little girl running around. He wasn't the only one exhausted. I learned to treasure sleep and wasn't about to give it up easily.

About a half hour had went by when he woke me up again. He simply said, Something is wrong with me. This time I actually sat up and looked at him in the dim light. He didn't look right. At that point I did what any good wife would do... I called my mom.

I think it went something like this: I called my mom who called my grandma who then called me. To be honest, most of that is a blur. I do remember Grandma telling me to give him aspirin. We didn't have any aspirin. We were a family with toddlers, for crying out loud. Do you remember all that doctor-ly advice about never giving aspirin to young kids with fevers? Well, I paid attention to all that. Not an aspirin bottle in the house. Only Tylenol. And Tylenol isn't aspirin.

We lived out in the country and Grandma said she was her way. She showed up, gave him two aspirin to take, and stayed with the still sleeping kids while we went to the hospital. At no time was he ever in extreme pain, more like a dull ache, I think. In fact, by the time we got to the hospital, he was in zero pain. We even sat out in the car debating if we should go in or not. I told him we were there, the kids were fine, we might as well go through with it.

He was whisked back immediately at the mention of chest pains and went through the customary rounds of pokes and prods. While the early hours may have been a blur, this part is crystal clear. He was reclined on the bed, I was standing by him, and we were joking about what a waste of time and money this was going to turn out to be. He mentioned that we might as well eat breakfast before we headed back home and relieved Grandma of her babysitting duties. That's when we heard people talking. More specifically, nurses talking.

Twenty-eight year old male.
Took aspirin.
Definite heart attack.
Get him admitted.

Those words still send shivers up my spine. He grabbed my hand and I could see fear in his eyes. I remember pressing my forehead against his and praying for peace. Praying for healing. Praying for anything to get us through this. That short moment was shattered as he was whisked away to a cardiac unit and I found myself filling out form after form. I used a pay phone and a calling card to begin making the expected calls. Mom and Grandma promised to take care of the kids, his parents promised to head our way, and our pastor promised to spread the word.

I look back on those days now and although I can't say I can smile about it all, I do get a warm, fuzzy feeling. I didn't have to worry about our kids at all because I knew my family was taking care of them (and remember, one celebrated a birthday the very next day); his family showed up long enough to drive up his blood pressure to the point they were asked to leave (oh, the stories I could tell); and our Sunday School rallied around us so much that I was never alone in a waiting room. We were very much taken care of.

He recovered quickly. The heart showed signs of damage, but no further intervention was ever needed. His cardiologist released him from his care six months later with no prescriptions or follow-up required. His only advice? Take an aspirin a day.

And aspirin is something you will definitely find in our house now right alongside the Tylenol. I'm also a better listener, too, in case you're wondering. In fact, I'm probably a little too over-protective now if I see him rub his chest or complain that he's not feeling good. It's my own heart health I need to work on.

A girl just can't survive on chips and salsa for breakfast, even if it was awesome at nine o'clock in the morning.

 

Giving Myself A Pep Talk

Allow me a moment to convince myself all is well.

Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

 Stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed;

and do not permit yourselves to be fearful

 and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.

 (John 14: 27, last part, Amplified Bible)

Me thinks I'm going crazy.

Maybe crazy is too strong of a word.

But for right now it fits.

My morning was all set for a round of papers regarding the Spanish and French colonization of the Americas, something that, next to the American Revolution and the Civil War, is one of my favorite subjects (not a Roman emperor involved!). I went grocery shopping early, thoroughly enjoyed my Starbucks Via and fried egg-n-cheese sandwich, and got a kick out of watching Hoda and Kathie Lee throw a beach party in the dead of winter. Satisfied that I had gotten my fill of the outside world, I fired up the computer and got ready to do some serious writing.

And that's when I saw the email.

And the craziness started.

And so did the prayer.

Actually, the prayer had already been taken care of; in fact, the last person I prayed for this morning was the very person the email was about. God works in mysterious ways. Nevertheless, a little more prayer never did hurt.

I'll go ahead and apologize for giving you this teaser and then not actually going into detail. Can we just say teenager and leave it at that? I suppose it's about time for this next round. It's been relatively quiet around here for a few days.

And so I've been mumbling to myself for the last hour or so. The Spanish and French are taking a backseat for a bit while I sort things out in my head. I mumbled while I threw in a load of laundry. Mumbled when I went out to get the mail. Mumbled as I puttered around the kitchen. In all of this incoherent nonsense, I've been trying to remember my teenage years.

It's all a strange blur.

Junior high only comes back in bits and pieces. I remember two girls at volleyball or basketball practice who made fun of a t-shirt my dad had given me. I am painfully aware of the day a boy thought it would funny to tuck toilet paper into the back pocket of my Jordache jeans. I remember the nasty water fountain that reeked of rust. I remember hating pre-algebra.

High school memories are a little happier. I remember having a job and a boyfriend and thinking that was all I needed to survive (hysterical laughter in the background of my mind). I remember mixed chorus and DECA and practicing for graduation. I remember hating Algebra I, flunking Algebra II, and only mildly disliking geometry.

Blurred memory or not, I guess I turned out all right. This too shall pass. Today's email was no world-stopper; just a medium-sized speed bump in the role of raising teenagers. Compared to the jumbo size we've seen before, I think we'll weather this one just fine.

You see how this works? I pray, I think, I write. I am perfectly calm.

At least until school gets out.

Snowstorms and Sweet Tea

I'm sitting here thinking about all this snow and so very, very glad it's not at my house.


Courtesy of Mom & Her Awesome Picture Uploading Skills




I sat outside this morning with my cup of coffee. Sat in the sunshine with temps in the low 60s.

Courtesy of Tony (Even Though I Swiped It Before I Asked)
*He's my brother. I can do that.*

I keep telling my parents they need to fly south for the winter. I mean, come on. A little of this stuff is pretty...


Courtesy of Sharon, My Best Teaching Friend

 


But then it kind of gets ridiculous. And these pictures aren't even from the Northeast. Now those people have something to cry about.

More of Mom's Uploads



My youngest was too little to partake in the shoveling duties when we lived in the Midwest; my middle watched from the front window with me.  My oldest remembers the pain all too well.


And yet another. Thanks, Mom!




To be fair, the snow is something awesome to behold. There is something peaceful about the quietness of it all. I use to like snow.


Courtesy of Judy, My Sister-In-Law
 High Above the Rocky Mountains




I use to like bundling up in long-johns and sweaters and coats and hats and mittens and boots (with the mandatory three pairs of socks underneath).
 

Courtesy of Raylene, Senior Class of '89 Rules!




Then again, I use to like unsweetened tea.


Courtesy of Me & My Favorite Place To Be



*Thanks to all my Facebook family and friends for letting me share their pictures

of The Great Snow Event of the Midwest, February 1-2, 2011. I've enjoyed your

sledding stories and snow ice-cream recipes from afar. See you in the summer!