ExperiMENTAL Courage

I Am the Darkness of Winter

2011-12-07T19:01:00.004-06:00

This was written for Carry on Tuesday. I do not write poetry, so please read with grace.

I Am the Darkness of Winter

In the darkness of winter, my heart is matched.

My hope of safe haven,
snuffed out like daylight.

My dream of knowing and being known,
frozen immobile like empty tree limbs.

The warmth in my heart frosted over,
covered by imperceptibly beautiful flakes.

In the darkness of winter, my soul goes to sleep.

Life once exciting my heart,
slumbers, asleep to what could have been.

Worn down and balled up,
hiding from harsh elements.

The time feels right to hibernate the longings of my heart,
to let them be sheltered from all.

The Thursday Meme

2011-12-07T16:49:00.004-06:00

Tiny Dreams

Photo courtesy of Missrockstarr

Giving into the moment, I let my head fall back, wanting the sun to soothe my face. Sparkling grains of sand, whisk through the salty air before gently resting in my long hair. When the sandshower stops, afraid of stragglers, I barely peek out one eye. The graceful woman standing over me winks, as she takes a breath to shower me again with glitter. Anticipation quickens my heart and I squeeze my eyes closed tightly. Miniature fireworks flutter down on my face and hair. Each one that lands, stings my skin with hope and promise. Each grain of sand, magically illuminated by the sun, holds a tiny dream. Tiny dreams mom dreamt for me. Laughter in unfunny times. Joy beyond explanation. Being known and loved. Knowing. Loving. Depth in character. Boldness to dream. Courage to live dreams.

Alive with stinging, belief and promise give rise to my soul. My body jumps up, eager to return the blessing. Mom knows the beauty I received and sits to exchange the gift. The sand feels soft as velvet when I cup my hands to own it. As the giver of blessing, the sting of wonderment is replaced with the soothing caresses of knowing. Preparing to rain down my love, I slowly inhale, taking in all that’s wrong, to release what is clean, pure, and innocent. The specks of sand take flight in the wind whipping on the beach. I’m mesmerized by the elegance of glowing wishes. The anticipation in giving is even more exciting than the anticipation of receiving.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- SPLIT

2011-07-14T20:17:00.002-05:00

I miss terribly, the community I find in Velvet Verbosity's 100 word challenge. I was able to find time this week to join them, and the word is SPLIT.

Bridal Shower

Baptist guilt kept my head bowed, but curiosity freed my eyes. Through dangling hair, I peered women of all ages, backgrounds, and temperaments, circled around a young lady fidgeting with the diamond ring encompassing her finger. One by one the women spoke, blessing the girl with heartfelt prayer. Busyness, sex, in laws, children… each one more challenging than the last, and each one generously covered in prayer.

Who knew relationships such as these existed? Had loving women stepped into my engagement, would I still have suffered the split I’ve come to know?

I love these women, for loving this bride.

Parenting is Hard but Kids are Good

2011-06-22T12:31:00.006-05:00

Over the past several weeks, there has been tension growing between a family member and myself regarding Elizabeth’s bossiness. The rest of us let her say her piece and ignore it, but being told what to do by a three year old is a problem for this person. After hearing her complain about it behind my back (within ear shot) several times, I confronted her. The general message was that this person does not believe I am teaching Elizabeth to respect adults and that the place of children in an adult world, is to be second.

I struggle with this because I talk to Elizabeth about respect quite a bit. Mostly I use it to describe how we should pray, but also as the reason she needs to listen to me. I choose not to fight a lot of battles in front of other people b/c it usually turns into quite an ordeal. A simple correction often leads to her defiant refusal, and then 30 minutes of trying to get her to comply with a 3 minute time out. I don’t want to be judged, I don’t want people to see how she really behaves, and I don’t want to spend my social time that way. But to others, apparently, it looks like I do not parent. Regardless, it was very hurtful to hear her criticism.

Elizabeth, who is three years old and still in the time of “upee”, “cuppy,” “chippy,” and “no-ee,” overheard me telling Tia that this person said I am not teaching Elizabeth respect.

Not as absorbed in her own world as I had hoped, Elizabeth said, “Me? You don’t teach me?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling regretful I let her overhear my conversation.

Very articulately, she stated as if everyone should know, “You teach me all the time!”

Her response was better than anything anyone could have said at that moment. I do teach her all the time. I teach her letters and numbers and spelling and animals and respect and obedience and self-control and patience and all the things I think I should be teaching her. I am not perfect. Not even close. But I invest myself in Elizabeth.

And she sees it :)

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Starved

2011-05-28T21:54:00.002-05:00

The Art of Being Human

Starved-The state of being deprived from nourishment required to allow one to grow and thrive; perishing from lack of sustenance.

Desperate-The state of being overwhelmed with one’s own needs or desires, to the extent our judgment becomes impaired; hope is lost.

Longing-An intense emotional craving or desire for something perceived as good.

Human-The art of balancing starvation, desperation, and longing, with infinite opportunities to create the deception of filling each void.

Faith-Humbly trusting that God knows our pain, is pained by our pain, and will use our pain for something glorious and infinitely more good, than our pain is bad.

Hello Blog

2011-05-26T12:19:00.004-05:00

I've been wanting to post so my blog wouldn't feel abandoned, and I found some inspiration today. (Yes, I know how serious my people-pleasing is when I'm worried about the feelings of my blog.)
I've had trouble finding the endurance to write much that matters, but I think I can tell you a funny story...

I was lucky enough to be able to attend my favorite zumba class today. I was also lucky enough to have some time to journal this morning, and because I didn't want to stop, arrived late to zumba. The class was so full I had to stand directly next to the teacher, and when I looked in the mirror to figure out where all the new people came from, I noticed a bunch of guys. Not just regular guys, but big, ripped, trainer guys. The first few songs I paid them no mind and dug into perfecting my zumba technique, with little success. Finally, after hearing the class repeatedly laugh at the men, I turned to the girls behind me and said, "I missed the joke, did they lose a bet or something?"

The girls informed me that one of the members in our class had lost 160 pounds and all the trainers were participating in Zumba today in her honor. Aaahhh! That opened my eyes to the fact that there were at least 7 trainers in the class, and none of them knew what they were doing. Over the next couple songs I watched closer and realized there were several hilarious and interesting things going on. Such as:

1. A "cool girl" trainer with no rhythm, trying to get it right and still look cool
2. A trainer I had previously known to be very thin, who had gained weight and was "going after it." What an inspiration!
3. A big meathead, trying to respect the class and honestly attempt to Zumba
4. A small guy who seemed to have a sensitive side. He was obviously very uncomfortable with his performance. And for good reason. I have never seen someone so incapable of dancing. When the rest of the men bailed before the last song, he stayed but looked over his shoulder for them the entire song. I made sure to congratulate him on sticking it out.
5. A girl trainer that got it
6. An average/big guy with lots of tattoos mocking the entire process, and having a blast
7. Another average guy, giving it his all. And by that, I mean, he was trying to do everything the teacher did, the way the teacher did it. Girly technique and all.

All the while, there was a 60something woman, quite overweight, right in the middle of all the trainers, teasing, poking, and presumably talking about them while she danced zumba and talked on her cell phone. It was like her own personal strip club!

I have never had so much fun in Zumba and grieve that Amy Ruth and Brandy missed this precious experience!

Velvet Verbosity 100 Words-AMPLE

2011-03-10T11:57:00.002-06:00

This is my take on the word AMPLE, offered by Velvet Verbosity, and inspired by my beautiful sister, Nicole.

Not Ample, More Than Ample

Not ample friends visit my home
More than ample critique visits my work
Not ample time visits my schedule
More than ample food visits my body
Not ample money visits my account
More than ample stress visits my job
Not ample boyfriends visit my house
More than ample confusion visits my head
Not ample encouragement visit my heart
More than ample drinks visit my lips
Not ample laughter visits my belly
More than ample junk visits my inbox
Not ample quiet visits my day
More than ample demands visit my list
Not ample improvements visit this world
Enough is enough.

100 Word Challenge GRATUITOUS

2011-03-02T17:05:00.001-06:00

My visceral response to Velvet Verbosity's prompt: Gratuitous

“The audacity of that woman! That ignorant woman. Lecturing me like I don’t know what I’m doing and SHE does! She and her haughty attitude can keep their gratuitous blaming to themselves. So her daughter lied to me. Does she think I should have accused the kid of being a liar and berated her for acting like an anorexic?! She’s anorexic! I don’t regret a thing. I’m thankful I could at least show her I cared about her no matter if she was truthful or not. Love doesn’t require honesty.”

“There’s a reason these people come to you…”

“Oh yeah.”

I find these last two sentences appearing a lot in my personal conversations :)

Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge-Frightened

2011-02-24T11:42:00.003-06:00

A response to Velvet Verbosity's challenge this week: Frightened

Moving In

Gingerly, like a fairy blessing sleeping children, she slips dainty unmentionables in the second drawer. Her timid eyes lift toward the door, hoping he doesn’t notice her modest behavior. Something about underwear conjures feelings of exposure and vulnerability that cause violent trembling in the depths of her heart. Having never lived outside her parent’s home, let alone with a man, she is deeply frightened of that exposure. He may see who she really is. How awful she really is. If she reveals herself to him, he may leave, viciously ranting. As others who have seen her intimate things, have done.

My cousin is the muse for this post. She's sassy and more likely to throw her underwear at him than hide it, but it gave me a starting place :)

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Honor

2011-02-04T21:08:00.004-06:00

True to my typical pattern, I have disappeared through the worst of the winter. I've been dying to write, and finally did. Nothing ground breaking, just a quick moment to vent.
My contribution to Velvet Verbosity's challenge: Honor

Why Should She Respect Me?

“You may not speak to Mommy that way.
Honey, it’s important for boys and girls to honor their parents. You need to respect Mommy. That means listening to what I say and doing it without arguing or whining. When I tell you to sit on your bottom, you do it. Now.”

“I don’t want to sit on my bottom.”

“I understand. But you still need to do it.”

“No thank you.”

“Sit on your bottom!”

“No thank you, Mommy. That’s what you tell me to say.”

“I don’t care! Sit on your bottom! I said so!”

“But-"

“I don’t care!”

100 Word Challenge-PLEASURE

2010-11-18T20:31:00.003-06:00

Below is my response to the word "pleasure," Velvet Verbosity's word of the week.

Pleasure to Remember

Transcending the sound of water droplets tapping as they land, a cocoon of silence tenderly swaddles us as one. His eyes, a color I have never before seen but now know well, sear my defenses and bravely call out my desire to be known. With intentional passivity, I allow him to pursue me, savoring the selflessness he offers. Any word that attempts to describe the fire coursing through my body, inflicts injustice on my pleasure. This moment I will conceal, in the very fiber or my being, and save for times less auspicious.

I pray I remember when I awake.

100 Word Challenge-HARSH

2010-11-04T19:59:00.002-05:00

The following is my contribution to Velvet Verbosity's 100 word challenge, for the word HARSHStrong Women

"Stop thinking of yourself and do something for someone else, for once."
"I don’t need to know you, I made you."
"What difference does it make, you’re not good enough."
"You’re only as good as what you do."
"No, I don’t think you’re pretty, but someone might."
"It doesn’t matter how you feel, it matters how I feel. "
"No one’s going to like you for who you are, you’d better figure out how to give them what they want."

Dad’s harsh words were the metal that made the Miller women tanks. They were also the artillery used on suicide missions.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Unbidden

2010-10-27T15:30:00.003-05:00

The unbidden laughter seemed to arrive from nowhere. It felt like a cruel joke from an unloving God, to hear the kids carelessly enjoying the morning. Do they not know that life is no longer what we knew? No day will feel the same without her sweet smile to welcome the morning and encourage us, her parents. Inspired by her strength in weakness, I wonder what is left in this world that can lift me up as she did. Without her to champion, what purpose have I left? I pray one day the giggles in the backseat feel like enough.

My response to Velvet Verbosity's prompt of the week, "unbidden." In honor of the Brooks family, whose sweet baby, Sarah, went home to our loving, heavenly Father last night.

Within- Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge

2010-10-21T14:59:00.003-05:00

The following is my response to this weeks prompt at Velvet Verbosity. Undiagnosed

“What did he say?”

“The doctor said I was A&Ox3 and NAD. My symptoms fall WNL and my ADL’s have not been interrupted, so I’m probably fine. What the…? He’s an arrogant doctor who doesn’t care. I know something’s wrong with me. Feeling like someone is following me is ruining my life, and I know it’s not true. The nightmares, the violent daydreams, the voice in my head- it’s wrong. My brain is attacking itself and I’m afraid if I can’t find help……. He claims these things fall within normal limits but you will never convince me this is normal.

It's incredibly sad and frustrating to me that getting good mental health care is such a difficult task and still stigmatized in our culture!

Key:

A&Ox3: Alert and oriented to person, place, and time

NAD: Nothing abnormal detected

WNL: Within normal limits

ADLs: Activities of daily living

HANDSOME

2010-10-14T09:53:00.003-05:00

I missed what was happening at Velvet Verbosity last week, but I did see enough to get the word of the week-HANDSOME. I read fairy tale after fairy tale to my daughter and it occurs to me as I read them, that they all have the same framework, just different details. So I figured they could all be summed up in about 100 words.

Helpless
Once upon a time in a faraway land, lived a handsome prince. The king and queen taught the prince to love every living thing. He wanted to meet and love all kinds of people, especially the one who would become his bride. But a wicked witch cast a spell on the kingdom causing the people to believe the prince would not speak to such lowly people. Year after year, the townspeople shied away from him, causing him great heartache.

Helplessly he sat, staring out the castle window, waiting for his “Joan of Arc” to break the spell and rescue him.

Beautiful Prince
Once upon a time in a faraway land, lived a handsome prince. To avenge her banishment, a wicked witch cast a spell making him not just handsome, but beautiful. His beauty was so great that it became the standard by which all other beauty was measured. Because of this, he could not find a bride the king deemed worthy of marrying him. The prince wallowed in his loneliness, praying that the spell would be broken so he could be average once again. He awaits an impossibly pretty woman to change his father’s mind and rescue him of his beautiful life.

100 Word Challenge-VAGUE

2010-10-14T09:39:00.004-05:00

The word of the week is VAGUE over at Velvet Verbosity, and here's what it brought from me.

Crippling Childhood

He was staring at her blankly, not yet aware he had checked out. Something she said, stole him from the moment and hurled him back toward math tests and bullies.

“You’re too stupid to get an A, I don’t see why you’re even bothering me with this."

“I just want to understand how you do it.”

“I don’t think explaining again will make a difference. You do this just to make me look bad."

Snapping back he heard her saying, “I’ve said something that upset you.”
Vaguely irritated but more hurt than anything, he silently crept away, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- DITCH

2010-09-30T20:03:00.003-05:00

The following is my response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 word challenge this week.

She Pissed Me Off

The strange thing, is that he didn’t try to hide his crime. With no purpose other than relieving his arms of her weight, he casually dropped her in the ditch. Still feeling justified, he returned to his car and pulling back on the road, grabbed his phone to call his cousin and confess his offense.

“She pissed me off.

So I stabbed her.

37 times.

And now, not only do I hate her for being a bitch, I hate her because murdering her, is going to ruin my life. She’s going to ruin my life, even in her death.

Bitch.”

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Jar

2010-09-15T12:32:00.002-05:00

The following is my response to this week's 100 Word Challenge at velvet verbosity

Jar of Life

At the end of another day spent missing and wishing and hoping, I return to see the mixture is softly bubbling, gently feeding and growing itself. The smell of warm yeast wafts through the small kitchen, overwhelming my senses until it has eclipsed the ability of my remaining senses. Memories flood my thoughts, as I recall the same glorious scent floating through the air of my mother’s home, while she merrily baked bread each Sunday morning. Even though she’s gone, this jar of starter contains a living, breathing piece of the woman who bore me, raised me, and left me.

The Father 100-Forgiveness

2010-09-02T21:42:00.005-05:00

I found another one! The 100 word format seems to fit me well. It's challenging enough to be rewarding but the limit protects me from the intense pressure I put on longer pieces.
This one is hosted by chalkboarddad.com, all entries are marriage/parenting related, and this week's prompt is forgiveness. Read more or contribute below.

Frantic father on the phone says Baby Bear must be picked up. Now. A client, only 10 feet away, expects my attention and pretends not to listen. Neither of us could be reached and the school has no patience for sick children with working parents.

“I can’t get her, I have plans,” he says.

“Plans? I’m working!”

Enough of his verbal lashing. I’ll request permission to shave time off the session and rescue my girl.

I enter the building fearing the wrath of the school and the heartbreak of my child. Thank goodness her forgiveness is not hard to earn.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Fingers

2010-09-02T20:35:00.002-05:00

The following is my take on the word fingers, provided as a prompt by velvet verbosity
Anxiously I weave my fingers through my hair and grip my scalp while contemplating the more attractive option: scratching, pinching, pulling, or smacking? The emotion that wells up in my heart pushes against all possible exits for an outlet. Without release, the pressure of it squeezes out anything unnecessary. Logic is forced out to make room for the quickly expanding rage. My desperation to connect to the world surprises me. Double-check that everything is plugged in securely. Just before I begin tugging at my hair, blameless as it is, my internet connection returns. Immediately I am at peace. Relieved. Connected.

Magpie Tales #29

2010-08-28T20:05:00.003-05:00

God's House

Sitting down to write the sales contract, my mind races to find a subtle way to convey the special nature of this house. It must be disclosed before it is sold. Thank goodness I maintained my license for all these years. If we were to have listed this house through another agent, I am convinced they would either refuse the contract or withhold the information I see as ethically necessary to disclose. Here goes…

“Let’s just go over a few details before we sign the offer,” I suggest.

“Oh, we don’t care about the nitty gritty. There is nothing so bad that it would change our minds. We’re not the only ones vying for this property and I want to win this race, so let’s send the offer and talk details later.”

“I can assure you as the buyer’s and seller’s agent, that you have no need to concern yourself with winning the race. I will protect your interests. If you sign this contract, I will make sure it’s noted as the first one received. There are a few things I need to mention first.”
After receiving an “if you must” type of shrug, I continue, “This cottage has been in our family for generations. It’s as warm and cozy as it is beautiful. It is a constant escape from the harsh realities of this life. One we have all treasured for as long as I can remember. There is something about it that you may not like, and I feel I must have your acceptance of this thing before proceeding.”

This time I see a nod and a shrug, as in, “go ahead.”

“This is difficult to explain.” I pause dramatically, although not intentionally. I’m struggling to procure the right words in the right order. “This house…..talks.” Neither one of the couple have left the table, a good start. “Some of our family members believe it is a ghost, others believe it’s possessed by a paranormal being, some refuse to believe it at all. I personally, believe it is a magical place that God appears and speaks to us.”

The couple turns to look at each other and after a moment of communicating through eye contact, the two break out in fierce laughter and return their gazes to me. I am sure they are both expecting a big, “Gotcha!” When they see my face has not lightened or even changed, they are struck silent. Finally she demands, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s different for everyone. When my mother was living, she was presented with images in her head, every time she took a shower. Once she saw that my brother was in a car accident and she was able to get to him within seconds after it happened. She saved his life. My dad was a pacer. When we kids were out, he would pace the house and frequently look out the front windows. Sometimes when he looked out, he would feel a chill or something prickly and he would know to wait up. On several occasions when we had family gatherings, a word would be heard in the kitchen. I’m not sure if it was audible or in each of our heads. But we all heard the same word at the same time. Sometimes it meant the same thing to us all and sometimes it meant something different.

I’ve always been a particularly indecisive person. Sometimes when I was having trouble making a decision, I would come here to sort things out. It seemed like whatever was going on, by the time I left to go back home, I had an answer. Sometimes I got a sign, sometimes it was like something made the decision for me and I didn’t feel like I had to think about it anymore.” I knew this would be enough to scare them off, but I prayed they would either accept it or think I was crazy and still buy the house. Maybe I should remind them of the handcrafted stone waterfall in the back or the rose garden around the gazebo.

She, obviously a skeptic, asked with a hint of sarcasm, “So what’s the worst thing the house has ever done to any of you?”

It took a minute to review all the stories I’d been told of the last several generations. Not sure if it was the “worst” thing, but sure it would prepare them for the reality of the house, I offered, “My great grandmother had many nightmares while she stayed in this house. Some of them had to do with the Depression, some were about the war, and some were about death. All of them were premonitions.”

They looked at each other, again communicating through eye contact alone. Slowly he extended his final decision, “We need all the help we can get.”

Inspired by the photo above, posted on Magpie Tales

Three Word Wednesday-Abstain, Halo, Prayer

2010-08-25T19:49:00.004-05:00

A Less Safe Place

Were the guiding forces in my life wrong to have neglected to warn me that living under the halo of a lover’s devotion is the only way to achieve true rest? I have grown to understand that being loved is privilege rather than a right. Love is a blessing for those who are courageous enough to make themselves vulnerable to the scrutiny of another, and unselfish enough to sacrifice their own desires to satisfy someone other than themselves. Yet until now, I have failed to understand that the foundation of being loved is what provides safety, security, protection, and rest in this life. I may be newly unattached, but the core of me remains unchanged. My personality continues to grow, but is vastly the same as always. My likes, dislikes, hobbies, habits and heroes persist to stand the test of time. Even so, my experience of the world has been so harshly rocked, I distrust I am right side up. My vision is clouded and rainy although there are no clouds in the sky. The chatter and laughter of couples and families sounds like cursing, shouted in my ears. My body is struck rigid and startles at the sight of strangers turning the corner. On the seldom occasions I succeed at forcing myself to eat, food has lost its ability to provide a deeply satisfying sensory event, which I so thoroughly enjoyed before. When driving, thoughts of the unknown suddenly plague my previously trusting mind. I wonder about the intentions of passersby, the future of my career, what misfortune awaits my arrival. Great effort is required to abstain from the natural pull toward creating conspiracy theories explaining negative experiences I encounter. Intuitively, the world feels darker, inherently malicious. Only weeks ago I felt special to be one of the minority who believed people were good by nature. I had taken for granted the light which love shines on all that is beauty. On that which is lovely. On that which is graceful.

I am quite aware that the answer to my instability is turning toward the love of my Lord. Daily I seek him and for the first time in my life, feel competent to hear his words and respond accordingly. His love has become real and almost tangible. But not quite. My prayer is that His love will make itself evident, and reduce my dependence on the love of man and revitalize my enthusiasm for this world. Until then, my world is less safe without being loved.

Written for Three Word Wednesday

Lots of Laughter-Proposal

2010-08-25T10:17:00.003-05:00

The Proposal

If it were up to us, women would prefer life to be romantic and full of surprises. Too often, we complain that our lovers do not offer enough of this delicacy. The problem though, is that men are not usually great at hiding the details that might give away a surprise, and women have intuition-the ability to know things even when we have no reason to. We just know.

I had heard many times, the story of my future father in law’s proposal to his wife. He admittedly pulled out a ring and said, “Well. Do you want it or not?” This should have been my first clue not to expect a grand affair of my boyfriend’s proposal to me. Additionally, he was so excited about buying my diamond that he told me about his purchase of it. He told me he bought it online and had it shipped to his mother. He said he knew she would be home to receive it and he felt safer this way. She was to receive it, view it, and give the OK as to whether or not he would accept the shipment, based on the quality of the diamond. This should have been my first clue that he and his mother had no concept of the idea “leave and cleave.”

Knowing he had the ring, and seeing that he was acting very strangely, I knew something was up that night. Usually a very routine person, his sneaking between bedrooms, back and forth to his car, and prowling in the yard, were not difficult to see through. A bit disappointed he planned to propose at home, without the love and excitement of friends and family, I prepared myself to react as if I were completely surprised. I assured myself that whatever he had planned would surely be romantic and sweet and I would be so touched by his sentiment that I could fake surprise. So he wouldn’t suspect I was on to him, I settled in front of the TV, patiently awaiting what most girls expect to be one of the best moments in their life.

I didn’t have to wait long. Only minutes later I heard him enter through the back door. I also heard another sound I could not place. It sounded like a remote control car, but I knew that couldn’t be because he had always goaded my step-father who childishly played with remote control cars, helicopters, and planes. Surely this must be his creative way of presenting my ring, but what was it? Afraid I would be disappointed but hoping for the best, I straightened up and waited for him to turn the corner. Before he arrived, a motorized monster truck recklessly barreled into the room doing a few wheelies and donuts to show off. My surprise was genuine. I must have been wrong. What I thought would be a proposal for marriage was simply a boy playing with his toy.

“Look at the truck!” he urged, quite pleased with himself.

“Yeah, it’s great,” I said, staring at this ridiculous truck, fuming that it had stolen my beautiful moment.

“No, really, look at the truck.”

Freshly out of patience I snapped, “I did. It’s a truck. What’s the big deal?”

“Do you see anything ON the truck?”

Without even glancing I replied, “No.”

Still proud, he pointed out that tied to the front of the truck was a ring box, which surely contained the engagement ring I had so patiently awaited.

At this time, I regret to admit that I accepted his “proposal.” (We’ll use that term loosely.) But what I wish I would have said was, “Are you proposing to me, or yourself?!”

Inspired by the prompt "proposal" at ">Lots of Laughter

Thursday Tales #21

2010-08-24T19:09:00.003-05:00

The following was written for Thursday Tales , using the photo displayed below

Photo by mjagiellicz

Taking Control

It took only moderate effort to cross the broken bridge with loaded arms and keep from plunging into the freezing waters. Sitting on the edge, my legs dangle lifelessly, no doubt a reflection of my inner state of being. It’s unbelievable the beauty of this moment, something only found in coffee table books and art galleries. Somehow I’ve been blessed to be able to soak in this last bit of art before I let go. Letting the beauty soothe my senses, I relax to a depth I have not been allowed for years. What relief. What warmth, even on this crisp evening. The setting sun offers my cue.
I have no fear, no regret, no doubt. At long last I am owning my destiny and taking charge of the circumstances that confront me. No longer will I be controlled be misfortune, disadvantage, or adversity. I employ the totality of my burdens to tow me to the bottom, where finally, I find freedom.

Carry On Tuesday #67

2010-08-24T19:00:00.002-05:00

What Lies Ahead

As a little squirt, dreaming of my life as a grown up, I pictured myself as the happy wife of a moderately successful man, masterful mother to at least two children, and satisfied friend to one or two special women. My time was mostly spoken for, but not so much that I felt overworked or too busy to stop and smell the roses. I enjoyed hobbies and social events as I pleased, and felt privileged to have a fulfilling career and still have the time to attend the kids’ sporting events. Volunteering at church was something I did on the side, probably in children’s ministry. I expected that I’d be involved in one or two women’s groups, hopefully something growth oriented or charity related. Quite a fulfilling life, I thought.

As a 30something, I sometimes halt in my tracks and ask myself, God, or anyone else listening, “How did I get here?” So few of the things I expected to experience by this time have actually come to fruition. Fulfilling career-check. Otherwise, my life is falling short in every way possible. Where’s the house I planned to own (or for that matter the house I owned 3 years ago), the minivan stuffed with kids, and the women’s events and bonding experiences? None of those things materialized as I had so optimistically anticipated and I’m racked with bewilderment as to what I’ve done to get in my own way. I believe in God, go to church, seek out meaningful interactions with friends, offer my heart and soul to those I think may honor it, and look for opportunities to exist outside myself and benefit the lives of others. Yet, I lost my house, my hope for full-blooded siblings for my daughter, my sense of stability, my social life, and my partner in a divorce. Which has left me living in displacement, as a single mother with few supportive relationships and few resources to enjoy “the good life,” as positive psychology refers to it.

Fortunately, God has gifted me with an eternal supply of optimism. Reaching into the depths of that strength, I look toward all that I have yet to gain in this life. Ahead of me lies finding the man of my dreams, having more children, relishing the days and nights I spend pouring into my family’s activities, my career, and new friendships. I imagine vast opportunities for joy and contentment presenting themselves in regular increments to make up for the years I’ve been on hold. I feel I have much lost time to make up for and I trust it will be well worth the wait.

This was written for the Carry On Tuesday prompt "So little done, so much to do."

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Corridor

2010-08-24T08:11:00.001-05:00

The following is my response to this week's prompt, Corridor, in Velvet Verbosity's 100 word challenge. Check it out www.velvetverbosity.com

The Best Welcome

One foot in front of the other. Just continue down the corridor as if you feel completely calm. The effort required to keep myself from breaking out in a sprint toward the gathering of welcomers and well-wishers is astonishing. My heart is telling my body to abandon my baggage and race to him as fast as possible, whatever that requires. My head is overriding that desire by telling my body not to expose how I feel. What if the feeling is not returned? He ends my dilemma when I notice him spot me and bolt toward me, employing zero restraint.

Magpie #28

2010-08-19T20:57:00.004-05:00

Unready, Ready

“I don’t do things like you! I don’t analyze and inspect and beat things to death! I just pick a problem, deal with it, and wait for the next one to slap me across the face!”

The anger in his voice incited vengeance in my heart and my words sounded sly, “Well, I know the next thing that’s going to slap you across the face.”

“What?”

Silence.

“I’m pregnant.”

After another long silence, during which his face fluctuated between half smiling and angry, he responded. “No shit.” It was as much a statement as it was a question.

The hurt and judgment from the previous conversation melted away as we began to share the awe of how this had come to be. The chances were so slim. Neither of us expected this, even though we both secretly hoped it would be.

“When did you find out?” he asked.

“This morning at work. How are we going to do this,” I asked, knowing this demonstrated the exact quality he was just complaining about, and the question may backfire.

“I don’t know, we just will. It’ll be fine,” he dismissed.

Reflecting on my own unreadiness I wondered about his. “Do you feel ready to be a parent?”
“Not really, but I don’t think I would ever feel ready. This is your thing. You know what to do, I don’t. You’re just going to have to tell me what to do and I’ll trust you.”

It’s amazing that the Mama Bear instinct emerges at such an early stage in motherhood. You would think it wouldn’t really kick in until the baby has arrived and could be presented with danger. But at that moment, when I realized I was and would be solely responsible for growing, protecting, and caring for this precious blessing, I accepted that to a large degree I no longer mattered. I was happy to give up everything that meant anything to me, in order to provide for this little one that God placed in my belly when I thought it may never be possible.

I was overwhelmed by the enormity of this day and aimed to end the conversation before it became unstable. “All I know is that I’m not getting a ‘mom’ haircut and I’m going to keep my nails painted!”

As I had hoped, he laughed in amusement and rolled his eyes in annoyance of my obsession with my perfectly polished nails.

http://magpietales.blogspot.com hosts a weekly writing prompt, write a small vignette or poem using the photo provided as your inspiration.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Failed

2010-08-18T19:06:00.003-05:00

What follows is in response to the 100 Word Challenge, offered by Velvet Verbosity at www.velvetverbosity.com. The word this week is "Failed".

Failure to Thrive

Like a magnet ripped from the fridge after decades of fusion, fate has torn her from my life. I failed to love her so I must suffer the consequences of my pride and self-protection. The beauty of woman now strikes me as a blessing only those who accept the divine design of the gentler sex are granted. Without that kind of grace, my perception is distorted to view the world as a harsh and unsafe place. Men, whose crass and pointed ways sear my heart, shape the mood of my existence. Until I contend with myself, I will forfeit mercy.

Velvet verbosity 100 word challenge-worthless

2010-08-12T21:38:00.003-05:00

Active Listening

"How hard is it to say, 'That's awful!' Or 'Really, what happened?'"

"How am I supposed to know what you want me to say? Tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it."

"I shouldn't have to provide a script. You should say it because you think it. Because you love me and you want to know me."

"I do love you and want to know you. Why do the exact words I say matter so much?"

"Because when you don't say anything, I feel like a worthless waste of space squandering air other people deserve."

"Oh."

Velvet Verbosity 100 word challenge-Companion

2010-08-05T13:35:00.002-05:00

Forgiveness

He bends down, tender as a leaning tulip, reaching to caress her back hunched with sorrow. She jerks away, not yet ready to forgive the offense he callously committed. After assuring his touches remain persistent, she peaks up through tear filled eyes, hoping, yet afraid he will return her gaze. When he does, she allows him to pull her to him, where he stands as her strong protector. Their small hands come together, his covering hers. With innocence as sweet as candy and forgiveness as complete as creation, they walk hand in hand, devoted companions as only toddlers can be.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Minimum

2010-07-28T18:51:00.001-05:00

Weighed Down

It’s got to weigh 50 pounds, this bag pregnant with stress and worry and not enough time. Without energy to care, I ruthlessly pull it behind me, trudging through the thick air. My desk in sight, I release its straps and propel my body so I can relieve the weight of the world by collapsing onto my chair.

As seen on TV, I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth. I prepare my mind to persevere though this day. The only way to make it is doing the minimum amount of work required to remain employed.

Its not work I'm tired of, its this dreadful, oppressing heat in St. Louis!

Just Past Normal, is Weird

2010-07-10T12:57:00.002-05:00

Well, let me ask you this, sometimes I want my girlfriend to pee on me when we’re having sex. I mean, it’s not that I like the pee on me, but it makes me feel close to her. It’s something that has traveled through her entire existence, touching her vitality and her vulnerability. She’s releasing it in faith that it will be cherished by my vulnerability. It may be poison her body needs to discard, but to me it’s milk and honey. Her poison is my nourishment. That kind of intimacy is priceless. Wanting that is normal, right, doc?

This is one day at work I'll never forget!

VV 100 Word Challenge-Blanket

2010-06-29T13:21:00.003-05:00

The Turtle Game

The two lie sweetly in bed, snuggled close so their sides touched. “It’s not fair they’re grounding me for marking on the door, it was an accident,” he complained. “And they’re washable crayons,” she validated. “I’ll stay home with you, I feel …”

She was interrupted by his sudden frantic scampering. Before she understood what was happening, he hopped on his knees, while lifting and then sealing the blanket in a bubble around the two of them. His intent finally occurred to her when the smell of rotten eggs infiltrated her every inhalation. “Andy!!!”

“Turtle game!” he shouted.

“Grow up!”

I don't know if other people play the turtle game or just my poor friend whose 2 brothers inflicted this upon her. Boys!

Get Out of My Head

2010-06-28T20:07:00.005-05:00

For at least a week, I have been plagued by a particular line from the movie, Moulin Rouge. It resonates with me so deeply. But after a week of it riding on the tip of my tongue and the outskirts of every thought, I'm tired of it. I have now written 3 pieces about it, trying to cleanse my brain of its constant presence. I just don't know what its going to take to relieve my heart of its pressure! What are you telling me GOD? Please be specific,I don't get it.

I realize you all are probably tired of reading about my daughter and my break up, and I thank you for reading compassionately. I promise I am coming out of the darkness and will be writing of things other than love soon.

The Greatest Thing You Will Ever Learn

It seems that loving is something that should be a natural ability, given at birth to every human. My experience however, is that neither giving nor receiving love happens without excruciating effort.

When my daughter was born after 28 hours of labor and a C-section, and I had recovered from the frighteningly strong cocktail of painkillers for my back pain, I held her in my arms and swore I would do it again right then to have more. The love that radiated from me, enveloped her in a cocoon built to keep her safe, needless, and content. The instinctual quality of this love amazed me, as I had felt nothing like it in my 31 years. I loved her and I loved loving her. Knowing every mother from Eve until myself felt this exact type of love and that it was “mother’s love” that has kept this world alive, made me feel welcomed into a club I never knew existed. This club is only for mothers, where women share hopes and fears, expectations and disappointments, heartbreak and joy for the children they love more than life itself. They would give their life for their child, as most parents would, without requiring even a second to ponder the decision. This club is only necessary, because the instinctual quality of a mother’s love, seems to fade in time. There will always be a protective and caretaking aspect to our love for our children. But the unconditional nature and joyous nature of our love for our children is challenged harshly. As soon as our sweet infants begin exerting will of their own, love no longer seems pure and easy. It becomes effort, more action and sometimes less feeling. By the time they are graduating (or in many cases long before graduation), our love for our kids is much like our love for any other-WORK.

Love in American culture, has been misconstrued as something you should feel. And if you don’t feel it, license is given to demand love and if it’s not given, leave. When the reality of love is that it is such a complex subject, it cannot be defined in one piece of writing, one song, or one piece of art. There is of course, love as a feeling. There is love as sacrifice, love as tolerance, love as acceptance. Love requires that we confront each other with hard truths in a respectful way and not withhold acceptance in the process. Love encourages, love protects, love trusts, love is vulnerable. Love is hopefully fun and intimate and affectionate. But not always. Love is committed, respectful, and persevering. But love is not allowing negative behavior without confronting it. Love is not tolerating abuse and believing the person doesn’t mean it or can’t control himself. Love is not allowing someone to do what feels good and neglect the other parts of being in relationship with you. Love is not hiding the things that hurt you just to avoid the possibility of more hurt as a result of talking about the original hurt. Stubbornness is not love. Defensiveness is not love. Criticism is not love. Pride is not love.

Being loved is similarly complicated. Our culture says that you are loved when someone makes you happy. But every one of us knows that parents do not make their children happy when they tell them they can’t do something. When in all likelihood, it is love that drives a parent to deny their child’s request, in order to protect them from a danger the child does not yet see. As often as love is sweet and gentle and warm, it should be firm and challenging and painful. Being loved is not only believing another when they say we are wonderful and beautiful. But also, receiving and implementing their well intentioned opposition.

So why, when love emanated from me so organically at one time, can I not now love in the ways I have described? As Paul says in Romans 7, I don’t do what I want to do, and do what I don’t want to do. The greatest thing I could ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return. And I pray everyday, for that opportunity.
...............................................................................
Life Lessons

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

The most painful thing you’ll ever learn is that you can’t make someone love you back no matter how hard you pray.

The most noble thing you’ll ever learn is that joy is an attitude, contentment is a choice, and happiness is a blessing.

The most gracious thing you’ll ever learn is that the relationships you give the most to, give the most back, even if the effort is not reciprocated.

The most elegant thing you’ll ever learn is to ask people how they are and be genuinely interested in the answer.

The most honorable thing you’ll ever learn is that judging comes from insecurity, and acceptance comes from humility.

The most touching thing you’ll ever learn is that human touch has the power to bring breaking hearts back to life.

The most virtuous thing you’ll ever learn is that disappointment teaches us gratitude and wards off entitlement.

The most unselfish thing you’ll ever learn is that letting another have their way when it requires sacrifice on your part is more fulfilling than having your way.

The most heroic thing you’ll ever learn is to let your circumstances challenge and change your motives, rather than justifying or blaming.

The most unforgettable thing you’ll ever learn is that the truth about love has not been lost, it was never found.

The most righteous thing you’ll ever learn is being present and vulnerable in the moment. It allows you to notice and appreciate things you would otherwise overlook.

The most beautiful thing you’ll ever learn is the value of your own heart. It was made uniquely for you, to shine light on the world in a way no one else could accomplish.

The most vile thing you’ll ever learn is that most people, even good ones, only want you to the extent that you can offer them something.

The most shameful thing you’ll ever learn is that most of our discontent with others is simply intolerance of differences and the belief that we know what’s right. Pride.

The most depraved thing you’ll ever learn is that no one is paying attention to you, they’re all too focused on themselves.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

Magpie Tales 20

2010-06-28T11:56:00.003-05:00

This is my first post on Magpie Tales and I love the concept. I hope this isn't too long...thank you for letting me join in the fun!

Sunlight streaming through the crystal clear windows reflected off her daughter’s hair like dew sparkling in the grass. Running her fingers down the length of the girl’s beautiful black hair, she was lost in vivid memories of receiving similar caresses from someone who once loved her. Unaware she was speaking out loud, she said in awe, “We only knew each other for a few days. Everyone we knew thought there was something wrong with us- unresolved parent issues, inability to be alone, poor judgment-but we knew God placed us in each other’s lives. There were never two people so right for each other. We were made for each other, two parts coming together as one whole. When there was a hole in my heart, he knew how to fill it. When he felt alone, I knew how to make him feel alive.

Stroking the long smooth hair before her, she continued, “After we made love, he would brush my long hair with his mother’s antique hairbrush, as he held me against his chest. And as he did, we spoke of the great wonders and mysteries of life. How much of the Bible is true and how much has been altered by human error? How can humans of different cultures be so different and so alike at the same time? Is love enough to make marriage work? We marveled at the invention of making love. What an art, an adventure, a journey, when you are lucky enough to make love to the same person forever.”

“Mom!”

She ignored her daughter’s naivety and went on, “I had 13 days with Hassan. On June 17, 1994 Hutu soldiers burst into his home and ripped him from my arms in the bed we shared. The soldiers fired their guns like they were swatting flies, impulsively and carelessly. Hassan showed them respect and obeyed every request made of him. They shoved a rifle into his stomach and bashed his head with another, and drug him out to the street bloody and barely breathing. The men held me down in the bed and touched and poked me until Hassan and several others were loaded into their trucks. Then it was over. They left without raping me and I knew I was lucky to be alive. I never saw Hassan again.”

Silence.

“Mom. Do you ever wish you hadn’t met him so you wouldn’t have the pain?”

“Never. The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. It was Hassan, who taught me.”

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Bustier

2010-06-23T09:58:00.001-05:00

The Joys of Motherhood

Cars flurry by as I putt-putt-putt in the slow lane, deeply lost in my reflections of life. Not so much life, as my body. In place of my firm mid-section, soft skin, and luscious hair, have been left jiggly, wrinkled, dullness. If it weren’t for sweet kisses and pats on the cheek from chubby hands, I’d be devastated. So I just do things like window shop for bustiers, reminiscing about my formerly perky self. I dream of my supple skin, admired by everyone I meet. But the drool that landed in my mouth startles me back to my saggy reality.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Words-Epidemic and NaBloPoMo prompt First Kiss

2010-06-11T20:17:00.002-05:00

I just stumbled upon nablopomo.com, which is for national blog posting month. (It goes on all year.) So I combined the Velvet Verbostity word of the week and nablopomo promt into one entry.

Hidden below the city in giant abandoned pipes, we stood facing each other, both hesitating. Each of us knew what we were there for, but questioned whether the other would do it. He leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine. Silently agreeing it was a success, we took the next step, “French kissing.” After having done it, I wondered what all the fuss was about. He tasted like onions, which must have been an epidemic because all the other boys were eating McDonald’s cheeseburgers too. The girls agreed, we would meet at a different restaurant next Friday night.

Aloneness

2010-06-09T13:35:00.000-05:00

I stand tip-toed at the bottom of a deep black hole. There are no rungs or indentations to climb my way out. I see light when I look up, but its dim because the hole extends so far under the ground. It’s clear there are other pathways accessible now that I’ve landed at the bottom, but they do not appeal to me for any reason. It’s the light I want with every fiber of my being and ache that I cannot reach. I shout for help, using all my remaining energy. Exhausted when no one responds, I lay curled in a ball with my head turned up to look at the shining light.
Tears roll down my temple and pool on the ground under my head. I am gripped by fear. The fear that no one is aware I’m here, that I’m not where I should be and no one notices, is crippling. When I am rescued I may not even have anyone to tell of my trauma. Not a single person on this planet knows my heart and soul inside and out. If they did, they would know. They would come for me.
I am hungry. Starved for attention that would assure me I possess some amount of value. Knowing that eventually someone will find me, I try to accept my aloneness for the time being. Softly I whisper: “Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away, on my way to where the air is sweet…”

Intimacy, What I Want Most in Life

2010-06-07T21:02:00.001-05:00

I want to know about your conversation with your mother when she couldn’t figure out how to work the remote control.

I love it when you tell me that you were thinking of me in the middle of your work day and you felt close to me.

I don’t love it but like to know when you were thinking of me in the middle of your work day and you felt far from me.

I want to stop thinking, and just BE…… with you.

I treasure the times you stop being “a man” and cry with me when you tell me how you hurt.

My heart skips a beat when we lock eyes and nothing is said but we both know what the other is thinking.

I love that you anticipate what I will say or do and react before it even occurs to me.

Warmth floods me when you take the time to ask me how I feel about what you said earlier.

I feel loved when you ask me questions about what I’m saying to understand the details.

I want to know about your bathroom drama when you had a close call at the store.

I feel close to you when you tell me what you think about what I’m saying.

After a fight you want to make up with me as soon as possible, even if it means taking the first step.

I love being asked, “How does that make you feel,” about something you’ve said.

I wish you would tell me what you think about how I’ve been toward you lately.

I wish you would ask me how I feel about how you’ve been toward me lately.

I want to sit in comfortable silence with you.

I appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me about your insecurities.

I feel accepted when I’m being neurotic and you don’t even seem to notice because you’re so used to it.

You come to me when you feel we are distant and ask how to restore our closeness.

I love that you know how to validate my feelings, even when you disagree with them.

I want you to know me so well that you understand what I do and say, but more importantly, why.

I would love for you to sit down and say, “I want to know about you, tell me something I don’t know."

All my defenses melt when as I’m ranting you gently grab my shoulders and tell me with a smile, that you love me unconditionally, but I’m wrong.

I want to share a vision for our life and work toward accomplishing it as teammates and partners.

I like that you let me cuddle up next to you while you watch tv and don’t care that I’m watching you instead of the tv.

I want you to tell me what you ate for lunch, with whom, and what they said that was so funny you almost spit out your food.

I love that you can tell me you’re angry with me without making me feel like you dislike me.

When you hold me and pray for me I feel safe and protected.

I’m grateful you can follow my train of thought, even when it’s way off the track.

I laugh every time we text each other at the same time.

I want you to accept my quirks in a way that allows them to be almost endearing.

I treasure the times you talk to me about your fears in life.

I want to trust you effortlessly, and your opinion becomes the most important one on this earth.

I wish I could feel so comfortable with you that I stop analyzing and wondering if something’s going to go wrong.

I want us to laugh and play and tease and never take it personally.

I prayed for a man who every once in a while, asks me how he can help me grow as a person, and does it.

I love that when you see me acting horribly, you don’t let it change your opinion of me, because you understand what’s causing it.

I want you to be you and me to be me, and feel secure in our love for ourselves and each other.

I want our trials to bring us close together in ways we couldn’t have been close without them.

I like that you know my face well enough to notice when something’s not right.

I want to trust that you’ll always take my side. Even when I’m wrong you support me without encouraging my sin.

LOVE ME LIKE JESUS LOVES THE CHURCH. PLEASE.

Velvet Verbosity 100 word Challenge-Wisdom

2010-06-03T19:22:00.000-05:00

Grandpa's Face

Sitting in my assigned seat at the dining room table, I watch Grandpa as he settles at the other end. I notice his face is somehow smooth and wrinkled at the same time. It expresses something I am not familiar with. Possibly it’s the lens of patience, through which he views us. The depth and breadth of wisdom he’s gleaned in 80 years is profound. I tilt my head to watch and admire. He extends his still strong hands and speaks, “Let’s pray.” Grace and gratitude flow sweetly from his mouth. It is peace I see and do not recognize.

Unsettled

2010-05-25T14:46:00.003-05:00

Among innumerable collections of junk, in an orange metal box, lodged against hundreds of other metal boxes, are stacked 7 cardboard boxes. Each one sits just a bit to the right of center. The first four boxes are the same size square, the fifth one probably holds the same amount but is shaped in a long rectangle rather than a square. The two boxes sitting on top share the same shape and weight, both hang dangerously close to the edge of the box under it and threaten to topple down the stack with even a slight breeze.

The four boxes supporting the burden of the others are foundational. The first one holds my birth, baptism, parents divorce, moving, education, and the like. The second box up the line contains relationships. It bulges a little at the sides because it even includes the boyfriends I exchanged every 30 days in High School and the people I’ve met at parties and the clients I’ve had on my couch. The third box carries all the things said to me that in the instant they were breathed, I knew my life would never be the same. Like, “You need to lose weight,” “It’s your fault your mother and I are divorcing,” “I do not want to know you or be known by you.” The fourth box, the last foundational box, is bursting with the light of God. Although heretical to suggest it could be contained, I like to think I keep some of it in a box so the other boxes are never too far from it.

The third to last box, which is haphazardly thrown shut and not even sealed, keeps the details of my history with my father. The abuse, the craziness, the hurt and blaming. That box alone has as much to hold as the bottom three combined. The second to last box, which in contrast is tightly sealed, contains my marriage. Neatly packaged and taped up so none of it escapes, this part of my life is one of the two most in danger of falling. If it did, I might have to face the unanswered questions it created. Why did he not love me? What did I do wrong? Why didn’t I realize what I was doing wrong in time to fix it? Is divorce what God wanted for me? Does he forgive me? Should I have stayed?

The last box, the smallest of them all, teeters atop the rest. Inside are warm feelings of safety and contentment, love, and appreciation. But it is sadness and loss that seeps from its cracks. Having and losing Ashley’s love is causing the whole stack to be compromised in a way that threatens the stability of my entire 33 years. If it falls I will not know where to go or what to do or how to do it alone. I have invented a way to get through my days temporarily that allows me to put aside the pain left in the place of our love. But it will no longer work if the box tumbles, which might happen at any moment. If there is a storm, an earthquake, a sneeze…it’s all going down.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Beautiful in his innocence, a boy of only 8 sleeps peacefully snuggled up against the wall his bed adjoins. His dark hair, just long enough to fall on his pillow, reflects the light coming in from the cracked bedroom door. Standing in the doorway are his mother and stepfather, smiling at each other whilst admiring his off-guardedness. Their eyes lock, and in unison the two burst forth shouting, “You son of a bitch! You did it again, you good for nothing asshole.” Stepfather grabs him by the ankle and rips him from his warm blankets, letting him fall to the ground to fend for himself. His body, awakened quickly, stands immediately. But his brain cannot compute as rapidly. He rubs his eyes and tries to comprehend the blind attack coming at full force. Mother begins roughly poking his chest, “Why do you always do things to piss us off?! Why can’t you just be good like everybody else’s kid?”

“What did I do?” he demands with as much attitude as anyone who had been wide awake and expecting the attack.

“You know exactly what you did. Don’t try to play games with us. Did you think we wouldn’t find out? Did you really think you could pull the wool over our eyes? You play us for a fool! I’ll show you a fool!” Faster than can be seen, she whips across his cheek her ring clad hand. Stepfather plunges a fist under his ribs with adequate force to push him back stumbling. “Go back to bed, you useless piece of crap. We’ll deal with this in the morning.” All at once both parentals have vacated the room and left the boy standing scared and speechless in the middle of the dark room.

He climbs back in bed, not sure if he should go to sleep or if he’s being set up for them to return and begin again. He replays the incident over and over trying to make sense of the accusations. What had he done? Why were they so angry? Exhaustion convinces him to give up trying and get some rest. As they said, it will be dealt with in the morning, why torture himself now too. He closes his eyes and waits. Nothing. He exhales deeply and waits. Nothing. Believing they have left him for the night, he allows sleep to take him away from this hideous place. Just as he begins to escape, angry knocks fling the door open and he feels himself being pulled by the ankle. Mom and Dad kick him in unison taunting, “You thought you could just go back to sleep? You don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do you? I knew it!”
And it begins again.

I fear allowing myself to settle into this life, knowing and hoping, that it will soon change again. It seems that accepting my aloneness requires releasing hope. If I embrace this life and relax into it, won’t that mean it’s more likely to stay this way? But if I hold out, staying vigilant in search of the next change, it’s more likely to arrive. Right? Hoping will bring it to be. I’m just sure if I were to let myself exhale, something big and bad is bound to arrive at that moment and shake me from my stillness, if only to prove that I should have stayed on guard.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Sanitary

2010-05-19T17:55:00.000-05:00

Accepting Reality

“I love you too,” he responded, in a way that seemed sanitary, if not sterile.

I wanted to believe it was true, but felt the tug in my heart telling me I shouldn’t. At no point in our relationship have his actions validated the words. There is no evidence that love causes his on-again off-again participation. After 19 years, I should be able to recognize obligatory responses, forced with only slightly less effort than his stiff hugs.

I know this may be the last time I speak to him this year. Disappointed and relieved, I accept our reality. “Goodbye, Daddy.”

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Swimsuit

2010-05-12T15:47:00.000-05:00

Ahhhh

It has been 3 years, 2 moves, a pregnancy, and a divorce since my last vacation. Nothing revives my broken spirit like leaning back on my elbows on the warm sand, and letting my ears absorb the rhythm of the wise waves. I am giddy with excitement as I peek around the rooms of our enormous suite. This vacation will be everything I imagined- warm sunny weather, happy baby, time to relax and rebuild, ahhhhhh. After appreciating the details of our room, nearly a masterpiece, I rush to unpack and head down to the beach.
Damn! I forgot my swimsuit!

I Knew It!

2010-04-28T15:56:00.000-05:00

It’s true she confessed.

“I wait until you’re slowly slipping away in peaceful sleep before crying out for your attention.

It’s when the floor is freshly mopped that I’m most careless about spilling milk and dropping crumbs.

The reason I like your food so much better than mine is the look on your face when I take the last bite.

I usually notice when you’ve forgotten diapers and take advantage of the opportunity to let go.

When we’re in an empty restaurant there’s no fun in making a fuss. But in a crowded restaurant…

Give me a break, I’m 2.”

Left Behind

2010-04-25T11:56:00.001-05:00

For my Ashley...

The swirling grey clouds loom over us, looking heavy enough to fall out of the sky with even a slight nudge from the wind. The color of the clouds matches, or maybe creates the darkness that has consumed the day. Gunfire deafens my ears, I hear only ringing anymore. The smell of the gun powder burns as it enters my tender nostrils. But what I see is of the greatest significance. Discretely peeking out from my retreat, I see things I wish I never had. As trees and plants violently whip their limbs, I see other soldiers sneaking a glance at the horror of the battle. Some of them live to duck down in hiding once again, others are promptly put down by the aim of a sniper.

In the far off distance I see my partner walking, upright and seemingly unafraid, at a moderate pace toward me. As he passes compatriots and snipers, each one falls lifeless and silent in the place they had been breathing the moment before. Everywhere he goes, he leaves bodies behind. Sometimes he looks back to observe the wreckage. Most of the time he continues on, without so much as a glance behind him. His face is void of emotion, but his glowing amber eyes tell me he wants to cease this horror.

My soul yields a sense of warmth and softness as he grows nearer and nearer our hiding place. I trust that although each person he passed forfeited life, the standard will end with me. Our love for each other is unrivaled by any previously encountered, or even imagined. Eager to feel his warm hand in mine, I reach for him with a welcoming smile as he steps in line with our shelter. Our hands miss each other and I am baffled by the fact that he is no longer in my sight. Did he simply vanish? Fall? Run away? Noticing the odor of the soil is stronger than before, I shift my eyes to discover that my face is enmeshed with the humid ground. I lift my head and glimpse him walking past me, with no acknowledgement that he has even seen me. A piercing pain burns in my chest. A quick glance down explains the sensation. Out of a tiny hole, seeps blood I presume exits from my heart. Every passing moment drains more life from me and increases the agony of my injury. Infused in the blood are bits of my passion, strength, and soul, escaping stealthily. The pain of the hole seems too much to endure. Even so, I make an effort to plug the leak with my clothing, and then my finger. Keeping pressure on the wound, I watch my companion walk callously until he can walk no more. There are no more people in his path, only vegetation and dirt. He stops and stands, considering the crossroads he’s met. One path leads to more lives, an opportunity to continue the familiar pattern. The other path leads to freedom from this burden of death, but requires the sacrifice of his will, pride, and control.

Before there is time to decide, a radiant light swiftly appears, leaving only white to be seen across the wasteland. I cover my eyes in fear, not sure of the source or intent of the light. Checking to be sure he does not see that my heart still beats, I tentatively peek over a mound of dirt. The light emanates from a figure standing between the two roads. It appears to be a human figure shrouded in brilliant diamonds reflecting every color of light, shining in every direction possible. The entire jungle is bathed in light, showered in beauty so severe the thought of any danger it might intend is no longer of consequence. I would gladly let this hole bleed me dry if it meant lingering a moment longer in the presence of this glory. His face betrays his emotion, and I sense he does not feel the same relief, only shame.

A soft voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time declares, “Do not fear, for perfect love drives out all fear. It is my ambition to search for my lost ones and bring back strays. I will bind up your injuries and strengthen your weakness. I will restore you to health and heal your wounds.”

Humbled, he falls on his knees, now seeing the dirt with the same closeness I just witnessed. Barely intelligible through his sobbing, I hear him cry, “I have failed you, my Lord. Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew the spirit within me.”

The figure pleasantly reaches his hand down to effortlessly lift my beloved to his feet. As he stands his knees threaten to buckle. Slowly he gains stability, and every passing second brings new serenity to his face. Finally, his eyes, no longer glowing, appear soothed and tranquil. With his right hand the figure slowly and gently reaches to hold the cheek of my partner in his hand. Placing His hand on his shoulder, He responds with immeasurable tenderness, “ I will cleanse you from all your filth and idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; and I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. Now as God's chosen one, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourself in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Go. And sin no more.”

Lying stone still, I bask in the afterglow of this magnificent creature, who has left prematurely, in my opinion. Maybe if I never move, the sanctuary of warmth and peace will remain unchanged. Unfortunately I cannot account for others moving, which is already taking place. He takes his first step cautiously, tip toeing over the weeds and grass as if they might bite him if disturbed. Gaining strength and speed as he continues walking between the two available roads, he does not look back. It is then I realize that I may never know the path he chooses. Tears drip from my grieving eyes as I peer at the hole draining my being. I feel burdened as I wonder, which is worse, life deprived of his love or death?
I have been cheated.

100 Word Challenge-PROMISE

2010-04-23T15:28:00.003-05:00

Seeing nothing in my reflection but filth, like something crushed in the soot of the highway’s shoulder, I hide from my face. Shame and humiliation seek out the still pure recesses of my consciousness. They dance and tease to pervert what I once knew as me, leaving only corrupt fragments to salvage.

Clothed in guilt like a child caught stealing, I fearfully raise my arms to the sky, hoping for mercy. The Father lifts me up as high as the sky, but as close as a mother to her newborn, and assures me, “I promise, you are beautiful to Me.”

100 Word Challenge-Portrait

2010-04-13T19:53:00.000-05:00

Portrait of This Moment

As she sits crumpled in my lap, I take in the smell of the sweaty toddler struggling to awaken. Her hair, still damp from sleep, coils into ringlets as it dries. Softly, so as not to awaken the monster, I kiss her cheek, grateful I am blessed with this moment. Her eyes jolt from staring in the distance, to evaluating my intention. She understands I have no plans to disturb her, and melts further into my embrace. Still gazing into her sweet eyes, I touch my forehead to hers and rest in the awe of how we came to be.

The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

2010-04-12T21:55:00.002-05:00

The Pen is Mightier Than The Sword

There is a wounded place in my heart that aches to wield a weapon in ways that would destroy his ability to ever injure another the way he has crippled me. Worse than dumping or ditching, he abandoned me like a mother sending her adopted child back to his native land with only a note to explain his destination. If I could avenge this tragedy, I would move so swiftly that he would not notice my presence or feel an ounce of pain as I sliced vital organs to cause immediate death. It is not pain I intend to inflict, it is mercy for others of my kind.
Fortunately for him, it is Christ’s example that has given me the strength to acknowledge that the sword is not the way of the Lord, my perfect model. To be like Christ I will humbly accept this as my cross and set my mind to loving in ways that demonstrate Godliness, even to him who has discarded my heart like yesterdays newspaper.
Rather, I will use my pen to appeal to his soul for understanding of the tragic affect of his actions. I will let God’s love pour out in ink, to show him the way to restoration. Not restoration for me or for us, but for his heart to the Lord’s. I desire to be the face of the Almighty to someone who cannot see the personage of He who is love, and desires to show him how to love others.

Clinical Diagnosis

2010-04-05T19:46:00.003-05:00

If you can't stop thinking about it and compulsively check stove knobs, door locks, or the number of steps to the car, I bet you're suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

When people tell you you're manipulative, abusive, self-concerned and incomparably vicious, be assured, you have Borderline Personality Disorder.

Saturday morning arrives and there's no reason the get out of bed. you don't feel like eating, showering, socializing, or hoping. You've joined the ranks of the depressed.

But when you ache inside, can't concentrate, experience elevated self-esteem, and see the world through unrealistically hopeful eyes, this too is clinical. Its love.

100 Word Challenge- SWOLLEN

2010-03-31T15:27:00.003-05:00

A glittery, pink orb soaring among the clouds, captivates my consciousness. It looks like a cloud, only its sparkling and pulsing to the beat of the cheerful music broadcasted overhead. From its puffy and fluffy edges, now darkened black, fall tiny pieces of beautiful light. I feel them prick my skin as they begin piercing the sky. The glistening cloud pounds harder but slower, now to the beat of my pulse. The pounding in my chest awakens me. My eyes, swollen from the storm, search for hope. I find rest remembeing his amber eyes, the source of my heart's flight.

Gracefully Single

2010-03-31T14:51:00.005-05:00

Gracefully Single: The art of living each day with gratitude for the unmerited favor of singleness, in all ways beautifying God's creation; outwardly elegant, inwardly peaceful.

Depending on God for all my needs

Giving grace to others for not meeting my needs

Accepting grace for trying to meet my own needs

God Will Redeem My Life

The Neighbors

2010-03-31T14:38:00.002-05:00

February 8, 2010

I tag along with the neighbors because their life seems normal and good. They love each other and do things together. Strange. They have a God who loves them and they him. But God doesn't come to my house because we don't really want him. We just say we do. So by proxy, I am allowed to follow behind the neighbors and grab up little pieces of God's love left behind. God and the neighbor family pity me, but don't really know me or love me. I wonder sometimes if they tire of me tagging along. They look at me like, "You're still here? Don't you ever go home?" But sweeping up little pieces of leftover love is better than the spotless floors at home.

One day I imagine creating a family of my own. God would be at our house all the time. Maybe even have a place set at the table. My husband and I would read the Bible together and lead devotions for the family each week. God's love would feel vitally present and overabundant. I would know I am undeserving and cherish my warm blanket of love all the more for it. I would feel secure and protected. And from this security I would be inspired to reach out to our neighbors' kids and embrace them and tell them God loves them and so do I.

100 Words on THINKING/HOPE

2009-12-14T13:50:00.002-06:00

I No Longer Think

These thoughts will be the death of me. What if. How come. Only if. Then what. Round and round they twist and jump, encircling my brain like a boa constrictor unfed for months. They squeeze and pulse till my mind falls limp, exhausted from arduously weighing every possibility.

In my most vulnerable moment of weakness, slowly, tentatively, new thoughts introduce themselves. Maybe. It could be. Why not. Something I often cast out, hope, returned. Stubbornly, forcefully, I rip and pry negativity from its grip on my mind. I stand free. Liberated from fear's control, I no longer think. I dream.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-SITUATION

2009-04-11T13:53:00.002-05:00

It is beating me down. Its stealing my hope and robbing me of a safe place to reatreat in the midst of the confusion that surrounds me. I spend too much time in parking lots and grocery stores, wandering or just sitting, hoping something spectacular will happen to deliver me. The soul I once treasured, now burried deep inside, blows from here to there in even a gentle breeze. My body has become limp with discouragement, my brain weakening everyday. One day it will forget to tell my heart to beat. And that will be the end of this situation.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-LOVE

2009-04-04T13:05:00.005-05:00

Gently and sweetly my baby repeatedly suctions her lips to my cheek, sometimes so enthusiastically she leaves teeth marks. THIS is love.

Upon my return, after separations of no more than one minute, she throws her arms to the sky and with a ginormous smile, shouts her first word, "Ma ma!" THIS is love.

Sitting on my lap her tiny hand reaches for my face and tenderly pats my cheek. THIS is love.

These things now define love in my world. Not the love of a child for her mother, but rather the love of a mother for her child.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge- Myself

2009-03-24T20:30:00.002-05:00

I categorically object to the idea that God loves me. Rather, I believe He stands above with arms crossed, thinking I deserve the rotten results I’ve earned here on earth.

I require the enthusiastic and unconditional love of others to brace the backbone of my life. I’ve always had it and now expect it.

When it comes to loving others, I am terrified that I’m incapable of it. My critical nature shatters any possibility of idealizing others to the extent of falling in love.

Love is everything to me.

These are the parts of me I hide, even from myself.

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Snapped

2009-03-16T17:41:00.002-05:00

The memory haunts me. The picture in my head is more vivid than real life. Every detail is outlined and drawn to attention. His thick wrists and strong hands angrily grabbing each night in my room. Objects of weaponry inches from reach. Remembering, my heart races, breath escapes. Each muscle tightens, preparing to defend. Suspecting his return, I keep my back against the wall. My eyes dart, fearing his face, praying for his prompt demise. The shame I feel devours all perspective. The only thing I know is how worthless I’ve become. There is no point in continuing this life.

I'm Back

2009-03-15T22:19:00.002-05:00

Last fall I vowed to commit to my writing and reinvent myself as an author. The slow pace at which this chapter of my life is ending, is shocking. Between the snail's pace of this process and the deep freeze of winter, I have failed to write much at all.

Now that a few nice days have graced us, and my circumstances seem somewhat stable, I am making another attempt to write. I am terrified at what will pour out of me, but will pretend I am competent and confident.

Thank you to Velvet Verbosity for giving me a boost of confidence by acknowledging my first submission. I am looking foward to participating in the future.

Here goes nothing...

Velvet Verbosity 100 Word Challenge-Tragic

2009-03-15T22:16:00.001-05:00

I am carrying his child. I go about my day gently, to protect our peanut. Today we relocate to a home bigger and better, but I do not carry, paint, lift, or climb. Zealously, and carefully, I do all I can to indulge Daddy-to-be.
With every piece of my being I shower love upon my husband. Joy enshrouds me when I serve him and baby. I love, worship, and adore him. He is my God. His affection is my sustenance.
Still, I know he despises me. He will leave after baby’s arrival.
I will then have only one to love.

November 10, 2008

2009-03-15T21:41:00.000-05:00

Mom Guilt
In the 9 short months I have had the privilege of being a mother, I have earned a few opportunites to understand "mother's guilt." This is the deeply piercing affliction of knowing you have let down the individual you most value, who completely and helplessly depends on you for everything required to live well. If I feel the heavy burden of guilt after only 9 months, I fear the size of my guilt in 9 years. I will purge myself of guilt's toxins, and hope I can continue this habit so as not be undone by guilt years from now.

My List of Greivances, Against Myself, as a Mother

#1 Fell off the Couch Guilt: Out of shame, I left this incident out of the journal I keep of El's daily happenings, therefore I cannot recall her age. Around 3 or 4 months, she was peacefully, but not securely, perched on a pillow on the couch. Knowing she could not sit up or roll over or move much at all, I felt safe walking away for a moment. When I heard the thud, I thought, "Mark is always so loud! What the heck is he doing now?" Then I heard screaming and realized it was not Mark at all. El had somehow moved enough to flip end over end and land face up on the floor below the couch. For the first time she cried the cry that requires several quick gasps for air inbetween whales. On a scale of 1 to 10 the significance of this guilt is about 5. I knew I shouldn't walk away, even for a second. Yet I did it anyway. On the other hand, what parent doesn't have this experience? I know I'm not the only one that's done this.

#2 Flatspot guilt: From birth, sweet little El battled acid reflux. This infliction directly affected her development, in that she was unable to do the "tummy time" so firmly pushed by baby authorities. Due to the lacking in tummy time, back sleeping (also strongly recommended by baby authorities) and pressure on her head during an unsuccessful labor, she began to develop a flatspot. A surgeon recommended a helmet to help the rounding of her head as she grew. Thankful there was a solution, we quickly agreed to the helmet of great cost. Secretly I viewed the helmet as a flashy message board, screaming out my failing to pay enough attention to my daughter to prevent her from laying on her back so much that her skull was crushed. Surely others would think I did not hold her, play with her, attend to her, even care about her. If they only knew how much I love her and my reason for not enforcing tummy time more forcefully was that I intended to protect her from discomfort caused by acid reflux and squishing her tummy. The doctors assured us that much of the cause of Plagiocephaly is because of the "Back to Sleep" program, and they are seeing a sharp influx of this problem since the change in sleeping position. I was comforted by doctors, nurses and the "helmet guys," all in agreement this was not my fault and most likely could not have been prevented in El's case. Still my guilt is 6-7ish. I can rationalize why it was not my fault, but I still believe it could have been prevented.

#3 Neglecting Illness Guilt: El began daycare in August and within days, had her first cold. One illness turned into another without clear breaks inbetween. The doctors patiently explained there is not much to be done for little ones with colds. My options consisted of elevating her head while she slept, suctioning her nose in combination with saline spray, and using a humidifier at night. You can imagine I felt anything but encouraged at the prospect of using these methods to calm the congested cries of a 7 month old in the middle of the night. When I am sick, which I have been every time she gets sick, I blow my nose and as soon as I reach the trashcan with my full tissue, my nose is plugged up again. Suctioning, which is the most effective of the three treatments, helps momentarily and we're back to square one.Over the next several weeks when I listed El's symptoms over the phone, the doctor's nurse assured me on three separate occassions, that there was nothing more I could do except wait it out. After two months of this battle, I concluded that a partial cause was likely allergies. This required a doctor's visit, which I was glad about. Maybe in person, more answers would be provided.What I heard from the doctor shocked and angered this sympathetic mother. If I noticed yellow or green mucous for as many as 7 days, he said, bring her in. She had yellow mucous for 2 months! No one told me when I called three times, to bring her in under these circumstances. Apparently she had a sinus infection, which anitbiotics quickly cleared up, and could have done weeks ago.I would like to blame the doctor for my neglect in this situation. However, all the while El was sick, her father was insisting that I should take her to the doctor, as he believed something more could be done. I so trusted the medical staff, that I believed what they said. Nothing more could be done. In fact, it was my fault for not taking her in much sooner. Now that I know, she'll be there in 6 days.My expereince of guilt is only 4; I've never had a child before, how was I to know?!

#4 Car Accident Guilt: Shamefully I admit I am not a blameless driver. Even with my precious daughter as passenger, I tailgate, speed, stop short and impatiently weave in and out of traffic. While turning onto our street one rainy morning, with El in the car, I failed to slow in time to avoid tapping the car in front of us. Whiplash immediately struck pain in my upper body, while the other driver looked bewildered as she teared up. Amazingly not a scratch was left on either car. And even more amazingly, El was in the backseat smiling and laughing cluelessly from the moment of impact, through the process of exchanging insurance information, and all the way home. Thank God she was not injured or aware there had been an incident of any kind. The wonderment of possible injury hidden by her good natured way of being, plagued my mind for at least 48 hours. Still no evidence of damage has surfaced. The guilt factor is 6; enough to recognize my wrong doing but not so much to ruminate on something that hurt no one but myself.

#5 Everyday Guilt: As a natural part of everyday living, about once each hour a guilty thought about how I'm spending my time strikes me still for a moment. I spend an incredible amount of time in the kitchen, doing dishes, eating, cleaning, etc. Luckily El entertains herself in the Bumbo much of the time. When she tires of this, I give up what I'm doing and take her elsewhere. Each day I must check professional and personal email accounts, which takes 15 minutes at the least and hours at the most. Sometimes I spend 30 minutes on the phone. Then there is the process of showering, getting dressed, putting on makeup, packing my bags for the day, her bags for the day and packing the car. All of these things feel like things that detract from the time I should be enjoying with my daughter. On the other hand, I want her to have the skill of occupying herself contentedly, which she does. There is also the guilt of what I am doing or not doing when I am face to face with her. I don't talk to her enough. I don't read to her enough. I should probably play more games with her. I should sing to her more and dance with her more. I should take her on more walks. I'm sure I do not work hard enough to teach her things like crawling, walking, language skills, sign language, colors, numbers, concepts...on and on.But I don't watch TV and I don't let her watch TV. So that's good.Guilt level: 7 Ok, that's all my guilt so far. Hopefully now I can let these things go and focus on new things to feel guilty about. :)

November 5, 2008

2009-03-15T21:40:00.000-05:00

Auntie coined the nickname "E Bitty" for ElMo, after those such as P Diddy and Steve Diddy. I love this nickname. So I have coined the term (E)bittyism. These are unique things E Bitty does that are worth sharing because they crack me up. I can't wait to share the funny things she says when she starts talking. With the curious and observent personality she's displaying, i expect she'll come up with some doozies.For now they're nonverbal, and here's one: When I picked E Bitty up from the nursery at church, I walked in to find her licking the top of a light-up musical drum. The nursery worker explained that she was trying to eat the lights that flashed when you play the drum. As I watched, it appeared that ElMo was in fact, chasing the lights with her mouth.Similarly, over the last week or so, ElMo has been sitting on my lap, pecking at my chest with an open mouth. I could not understand the intended goal of this behavior. It didn't seem to resemble her kisses. And surely she was not hoping for milk. She probably cannot remember breast feeding. As I watched her repeatedly try to bite me, and then poke me with her chubby little finger, I realized what she was after. She was trying to eat the freckles on my chest.E Bitty. What a cutie.

November 4, 2008

2009-03-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

Adventures in Pottyland
Friday: While I'm changing ElMo's diaper, she waits for the brief moment inbetween removing the old diaper and slipping the new one under her, to wet on her clothes and the changing pad.Saturday: First thing in the morning ElMo peed while on the changing table. I had just taken her wet diaper off and replaced it with a fresh one. Amazingly, after this incident, the fresh diaper was still dry. This is because she peed up and over the changing table onto the carpet and mom's pajamas. Amazing.Saturday morning: While eating lunch, red-faced ElMo made a few grunting noises, and that was that. Only when I picked her up out the high chair, I felt something wet. Her new diet of prune juice and plums is apparently working. The poop was everywhere. It covered her clothes, her blanket, her changing pad, my clothes, my hands, her hands. I had to take a shower.Saturday afternoon: Mark was at the house for his visitation with ElMo. As I passed them in her bedroom, he looks up and says, "Oops, I let her pee on the changing pad."Sunday afternoon: ElMo and I had been out running errands for about 2 hours. That means she had been in the same diaper for 3 hours. Not great, but shouldn't be a problem. As I pull into the garage, she's teetering on sleep and waking. So I'm hoping to get her in the house and in bed without waking her completely. I pick her up out of the car seat and low and behold, she's wet herself again and it has now soaked her, the car seat and my clothes. AGAIN! No nap that day.Monday: I arrive home from work at 9pm. On the counter I find the outfit I sent ElMo to "school" in. Mark informs me, she pooped on herself.
Are you kidding me?!
I love every minute of it.

November 2, 2008

2009-03-15T21:33:00.000-05:00

Baby's Development
Daily, I am flooded with numerous methods to measure and compare the development of my and others' babies. Play dates inevitably lead to discussion of whose child did what at which age. Websites send weekly emails to keep mothers abreast of what their child should be doing at the moment. Parents As Teachers visits every 6 weeks to assure children are in line with expected developmental standards. And medical doctors evaluate almost monthly, how baby's weight, height, and head compare to every baby that has ever lived. Is all this really necessary?Thank goodness I do not often fall into the trap of comparing ElMo to other babies. Usually when I do, she is less advanced. And usually I don't care at all. (There is that rare occasion I become convinced I am a terrible mother and she's doomed because she cannot yet crawl. Or feed herself. Or speak. Anyway.) I love her exactly as she is and I do not need her to be the smartest, fastest developing baby on the block to love her as completely as I am capable. When she develops new skills I celebrate with her, but I do not feel the need to beat her over the head with skills activities. Being a baby should be fun.Recently, Tina, our Parents As Teachers "lady" visited. I was informed that El Bitty's development in fine and gross motor skills, and personal/social skills is delayed. I was encouraged to call a state funded program that would require ElMos functioning to be 50% impaired, in order to help. This would mean ElMo, a nine month old, would only be capable of doing the things a 4 1/2 month old would do. That's ridiculous! However, to be thorough, I called the organization, First Steps. After another assessment, the consensus was that ElMo may have some sensory delays, but her motor skills remain within normal limits. I was told of physical and occupational therapy options and promised more information through the mail.Over the next several days these assessments casually bounced around between myself and family and friends. Most seemed to think ElMo was normal, even my girlfriend whose 10 month old is walking and eating anything put in front of him. But what else is a friend to say? "Yes, your child seems a little slow. Maybe its autism or mental retardation." No one says this.The next, and last stop, is Dr. McBride, our trusted Pediatrician. With a quick checklist and short conversation, Dr. McBride agreed with my theory. E Bitty is lazy and just not motivated enough to feed herself or attempt to crawl-let alone walk. Fantastic. I prefer to lean on Tina's idea that ElMo's development has been hampered by constant illness over the last three months. Another option is that her father, by definition, is a lazy person and she may have come by it honestly.So let's all wait with baited breath to see when she decides its worth making a little effort. We can even bet on it like a due date. I bet she's crawling by December 15.

October 2008

2009-03-15T21:28:00.000-05:00

I aim to unbury the writer within and revive my talent as an author. Until my dad died, life was survived and celebrated through writing. Thereafter, as each burdening event struck me, I gave up more and more of myself, including my writing, until I no longer recognized the face looking back at me in the mirror. Even now I do not know the woman who stares at me blankly each morning and each night.At this time in my life, this millisecond in time, I am battling to save my heart. Apathy, despair, numbness, fear, these are the things in my heart. I know that at one time I was a person of passion-passionately optimistic, loving, ambitious and eager. These qualities, these feelings have been beaten and broken in me. I deeply desire to allow God to heal my heart so I can once again be whole, and begin sharing my heart with those who will honor it.To begin this journey, I will write. I will write until I find the me I knew and loved. I will write until I recover my talent. I will write until I find peace. I will write until I have nothing more to say. You do not have to read it all. I will do it mostly for my own benefit, however I am happy to have you alongside if you wish.Until next time...