Well, I am emotionally exhausted.
I finally finished watching the Quantum Leap series. I stretched it out over the past few months via Netflix, but today was the day I had been waiting for – the end. I just watched the series finale – and what an emotional wallop!
Dr. Sam Becket – righter of wrongs – I salute you! Mmmm…great show. Really, really great show! Totally worth the time I invested.
Well, now that it’s over, I wonder what show I should get started on now.
Suggestions?
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Fourth Worst Christmas Ever
Be forewarned folks, a long post ahead!
28 years.
28 years without missing a Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party.
Rehfeldt Christmas Eve parties traveling through rain, snow, and sleet. Christmas Eve parties in college when it was tough to get home. Christmas Eve parties even when it ripped my heart out watching Mom deal with the aftermath of Dad’s death in the jovial midst of a familial party.
I’ve been there. To every one.
Except this one.
I love the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve party. It’s been one of the main consistencies in my life. My wonderfully odd and eccentric family, the world’s best food, the annual talent show, and Santa giving out gifts every single year.
Beforehand, caroling in the snow. Caroling to shut-ins and nursing homes. Camaraderie. Friendship. Warmth and stability. The feeling that no matter what the world can throw at us – we’re still family, strong and bonded.
I’m an only child. The Rehfeldt family may be my extended family, but to me, they are so much more. They are my sisters and brothers and second-moms and second-dads. They may be crazy, but they’ve staked a claim in my heart that will be there until the day I die.
They’re all I’ve got. And that makes me very much blessed by God.
Most of my “worst” Christmases are tied to death. In order, they are the Christmases after Dad died, Aunt Kathy died, and Brett’s mom died.
This Christmas, the fourth worst, was different.
It began way before December. It began when Brett and I got married and started a life together. At that time, Brett was traveling over four hours a day to his job near Chicago. He hated his job, and he hated the drive.
And I got to hear about it. Every single day for almost six years.
Do you know what it is like to live with someone who has a bad day every day for six years? I do. It’s not pleasant.
I’m not saying I didn’t have bad days at work, too. I had a psycho boss for four years. And I’m sure I “vented” occasionally, too.
But with Brett, it became an obsession. It nearly ruined us financially and threw our marriage into turmoil.
Don’t get me wrong. Brett and I love each other. We always have. Love has never been our problem. Our problem is outlook and communication.
After the six years Brett spent hating his job, and I spent watching him spiral into negativity and depression, I was relieved beyond measure when he got his present job.
And things started looking up. And then they stopped.
Because, Brett doesn’t like this job either. He has his reasons, I suppose. But I, and everyone else who spent the last six years praying for and commiserating with Brett, thinks he should just keep at it. Keep trying.
This job has relieved a GREAT financial burden and provided great health benefits for Brett without me having to pay through the nose for it at my non-profit job.
But, as I said, Brett doesn’t like it. And the spiral – the negative comments, the depression – all began again.
I was/am close to tearing my hair out again.
See the key to understanding the whole situation is to look at Brett’s personality. He has SO many wonderful qualities. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place. Plus he happens to love me – which is the best attraction on earth.
He is a hard worker, but easily discouraged, and definitely not an optimist by nature.
So, you can see where the problems begin. Add to that – I don’t know where Brett is spiritually. I used to think I did, but I don’t anymore. And (as we all know) without God – nothing is possible.
We’ve already decided to start marriage counseling with our pastor. We need to learn how to talk and relate to each other. We need to learn how to deal with stress in our jobs without letting it swamp our marriage.
At first, I was worried about the stigma of going to “marriage counseling.” Then I saw it as a quick fix - as in fix my husband, please! But now, I’m just so ready, because I love my husband and I know he loves me, but right now, living together is very difficult.
As I described it to Pastor – It’s like being out in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight, with an anchor tied to my leg. And my job is to keep the anchor afloat.
I’m normally a happy person. A positive person. But being around a negative person (even if it is my husband) has taken its toll. I have found myself drawn into the web of negative thinking.
I’ve also found myself trying to be “cheery” enough for both of us. This is extremely stressful, since you can’t be someone else’s Mood Meter and all it ends up doing is making you overcompensate, lose focus, and end up resenting the crankypants you were trying to help.
Also, this type of attitude can be enabling to the “depressor.” They think – “Hey, she’s going to keep pretending to be happy, so I don’t have to worry about it, I’ll just keep being depressed.” And if you’re me – you don’t want to live a pretend life.
I want a real life. I want a real married life. And I’m willing to sacrifice – but I need to know that he is, too. And since we both think counseling is a good idea, I guess that is the first step.
So, you may wonder, what does all this have to do with the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party? Well, I’ll tell you.
It was shaping up to be an okay Christmas. Not a GREAT Christmas. When you are having marriage troubles, spiritual troubles, it extends to all areas of your life. Our recent bout with marriage troubles erased our motivation to decorate for the holidays, try hard at our jobs, and made us be not-so-jolly in general.
Still, my sister-cousins, Charity and Colleen were home for Christmas – an unexpected present. Charity and I were able to sit down and create a Christmas Eve skit – You might be a Rehfeldt if… - as a take-off on Jeff Foxworthy’s You might be a Redneck if…
Brett and I skipped caroling, so I could make my mother-in-law’s famous Mashed Potato Casserole and my not-so-famous Cream Cheese Biscuits. Then, we headed to the party site.
We enjoyed some delicious food. People were making small talk, asking the normal questions. Unfortunately, one of the “normal” questions people ask is “How is your job?” After the third person asked Brett how his job was, and he launched into the same depressing story (a story which I have heard over and over and over and over again), I decided to go talk to Mom.
Admittedly, we did talk about Brett’s job, but just for a minute of two. Then, I became involved in talking to other people and (frankly) just having a good time.
After a while, I went outside to get a soda. There were Mom and Brett talking in a lively manner about him sticking with his job. They both seemed upset, but then Mom turned and went inside. Brett was so angry; I could almost see steam escaping from his head.
“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just go further out in the parking lot and talk to him until he calms down.”
But that’s not how it worked out. We ended up arguing.
He wanted me to sympathize with him, to be part of his pity party. I knew that would enable him to be negative, so I refused. I just didn’t say anything.
I want him to suck it up and just do his job – there’s a reason why it’s called “work” - it is not necessarily supposed to be fun, you know.
We argued all the way through the party, sitting outside in the car. I cried, and he sighed.
Eventually, Mom came out to let me know the skits were starting. I told her that I wouldn’t be able to participate. She could see something was wrong, so she ended up bringing out our gifts from Santa and our dishes from the party, so we could leave without going back inside.
My face was all splotchy from crying, so I was very grateful.
I felt bad brushing family off, especially my cousin Aaron and his wife, Linda, who we don’t see often enough. Also, for letting Charity down in the skit reading. Plus, I felt more than a little sorry for myself – missing my first Rehfeldt Christmas Party.
The rest of Christmas was pretty dismal. Brett and I worked things out – he’ll stay at his present job until he can find a new one. But I stayed home with Mom and Gary while he went down to his family’s Christmas in Geneva. I just could not handle hostility from Dave and Dawn, considering what an emotional wreck I was.
It was a good decision. Mom and I watched movies, and I cried some more while Gary made us all hot chocolate.
Like I said, and not to be depressing, the fourth worst Christmas ever.
But at least nobody died.
28 years.
28 years without missing a Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party.
Rehfeldt Christmas Eve parties traveling through rain, snow, and sleet. Christmas Eve parties in college when it was tough to get home. Christmas Eve parties even when it ripped my heart out watching Mom deal with the aftermath of Dad’s death in the jovial midst of a familial party.
I’ve been there. To every one.
Except this one.
I love the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve party. It’s been one of the main consistencies in my life. My wonderfully odd and eccentric family, the world’s best food, the annual talent show, and Santa giving out gifts every single year.
Beforehand, caroling in the snow. Caroling to shut-ins and nursing homes. Camaraderie. Friendship. Warmth and stability. The feeling that no matter what the world can throw at us – we’re still family, strong and bonded.
I’m an only child. The Rehfeldt family may be my extended family, but to me, they are so much more. They are my sisters and brothers and second-moms and second-dads. They may be crazy, but they’ve staked a claim in my heart that will be there until the day I die.
They’re all I’ve got. And that makes me very much blessed by God.
Most of my “worst” Christmases are tied to death. In order, they are the Christmases after Dad died, Aunt Kathy died, and Brett’s mom died.
This Christmas, the fourth worst, was different.
It began way before December. It began when Brett and I got married and started a life together. At that time, Brett was traveling over four hours a day to his job near Chicago. He hated his job, and he hated the drive.
And I got to hear about it. Every single day for almost six years.
Do you know what it is like to live with someone who has a bad day every day for six years? I do. It’s not pleasant.
I’m not saying I didn’t have bad days at work, too. I had a psycho boss for four years. And I’m sure I “vented” occasionally, too.
But with Brett, it became an obsession. It nearly ruined us financially and threw our marriage into turmoil.
Don’t get me wrong. Brett and I love each other. We always have. Love has never been our problem. Our problem is outlook and communication.
After the six years Brett spent hating his job, and I spent watching him spiral into negativity and depression, I was relieved beyond measure when he got his present job.
And things started looking up. And then they stopped.
Because, Brett doesn’t like this job either. He has his reasons, I suppose. But I, and everyone else who spent the last six years praying for and commiserating with Brett, thinks he should just keep at it. Keep trying.
This job has relieved a GREAT financial burden and provided great health benefits for Brett without me having to pay through the nose for it at my non-profit job.
But, as I said, Brett doesn’t like it. And the spiral – the negative comments, the depression – all began again.
I was/am close to tearing my hair out again.
See the key to understanding the whole situation is to look at Brett’s personality. He has SO many wonderful qualities. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place. Plus he happens to love me – which is the best attraction on earth.
He is a hard worker, but easily discouraged, and definitely not an optimist by nature.
So, you can see where the problems begin. Add to that – I don’t know where Brett is spiritually. I used to think I did, but I don’t anymore. And (as we all know) without God – nothing is possible.
We’ve already decided to start marriage counseling with our pastor. We need to learn how to talk and relate to each other. We need to learn how to deal with stress in our jobs without letting it swamp our marriage.
At first, I was worried about the stigma of going to “marriage counseling.” Then I saw it as a quick fix - as in fix my husband, please! But now, I’m just so ready, because I love my husband and I know he loves me, but right now, living together is very difficult.
As I described it to Pastor – It’s like being out in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight, with an anchor tied to my leg. And my job is to keep the anchor afloat.
I’m normally a happy person. A positive person. But being around a negative person (even if it is my husband) has taken its toll. I have found myself drawn into the web of negative thinking.
I’ve also found myself trying to be “cheery” enough for both of us. This is extremely stressful, since you can’t be someone else’s Mood Meter and all it ends up doing is making you overcompensate, lose focus, and end up resenting the crankypants you were trying to help.
Also, this type of attitude can be enabling to the “depressor.” They think – “Hey, she’s going to keep pretending to be happy, so I don’t have to worry about it, I’ll just keep being depressed.” And if you’re me – you don’t want to live a pretend life.
I want a real life. I want a real married life. And I’m willing to sacrifice – but I need to know that he is, too. And since we both think counseling is a good idea, I guess that is the first step.
So, you may wonder, what does all this have to do with the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party? Well, I’ll tell you.
It was shaping up to be an okay Christmas. Not a GREAT Christmas. When you are having marriage troubles, spiritual troubles, it extends to all areas of your life. Our recent bout with marriage troubles erased our motivation to decorate for the holidays, try hard at our jobs, and made us be not-so-jolly in general.
Still, my sister-cousins, Charity and Colleen were home for Christmas – an unexpected present. Charity and I were able to sit down and create a Christmas Eve skit – You might be a Rehfeldt if… - as a take-off on Jeff Foxworthy’s You might be a Redneck if…
Brett and I skipped caroling, so I could make my mother-in-law’s famous Mashed Potato Casserole and my not-so-famous Cream Cheese Biscuits. Then, we headed to the party site.
We enjoyed some delicious food. People were making small talk, asking the normal questions. Unfortunately, one of the “normal” questions people ask is “How is your job?” After the third person asked Brett how his job was, and he launched into the same depressing story (a story which I have heard over and over and over and over again), I decided to go talk to Mom.
Admittedly, we did talk about Brett’s job, but just for a minute of two. Then, I became involved in talking to other people and (frankly) just having a good time.
After a while, I went outside to get a soda. There were Mom and Brett talking in a lively manner about him sticking with his job. They both seemed upset, but then Mom turned and went inside. Brett was so angry; I could almost see steam escaping from his head.
“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just go further out in the parking lot and talk to him until he calms down.”
But that’s not how it worked out. We ended up arguing.
He wanted me to sympathize with him, to be part of his pity party. I knew that would enable him to be negative, so I refused. I just didn’t say anything.
I want him to suck it up and just do his job – there’s a reason why it’s called “work” - it is not necessarily supposed to be fun, you know.
We argued all the way through the party, sitting outside in the car. I cried, and he sighed.
Eventually, Mom came out to let me know the skits were starting. I told her that I wouldn’t be able to participate. She could see something was wrong, so she ended up bringing out our gifts from Santa and our dishes from the party, so we could leave without going back inside.
My face was all splotchy from crying, so I was very grateful.
I felt bad brushing family off, especially my cousin Aaron and his wife, Linda, who we don’t see often enough. Also, for letting Charity down in the skit reading. Plus, I felt more than a little sorry for myself – missing my first Rehfeldt Christmas Party.
The rest of Christmas was pretty dismal. Brett and I worked things out – he’ll stay at his present job until he can find a new one. But I stayed home with Mom and Gary while he went down to his family’s Christmas in Geneva. I just could not handle hostility from Dave and Dawn, considering what an emotional wreck I was.
It was a good decision. Mom and I watched movies, and I cried some more while Gary made us all hot chocolate.
Like I said, and not to be depressing, the fourth worst Christmas ever.
But at least nobody died.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Back in the Blogosphere
Hello, everyone!
I’m back and so sorry for the lack of communication. I did not drop off the face of the earth (although I felt like it with not being able to blog regularly). Our PC monitor decided to depart from this earth rather unexpectedly this past week, and we just now got a replacement.
I’ll be posting regularly again now that I can actually see what I am typing.
Here’s hoping everyone had a better Christmas than yours truly did.
Bah Humbug, indeed!
I’m back and so sorry for the lack of communication. I did not drop off the face of the earth (although I felt like it with not being able to blog regularly). Our PC monitor decided to depart from this earth rather unexpectedly this past week, and we just now got a replacement.
I’ll be posting regularly again now that I can actually see what I am typing.
Here’s hoping everyone had a better Christmas than yours truly did.
Bah Humbug, indeed!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Shopping with SAWs
There’s just something peaceful about grocery shopping.
I love perusing the aisles, looking at all the wonderful foodstuffs available. For one thing, it automatically makes me grateful for the abundance we enjoy here in the United States.
It also makes me marvel in wonder that I am now, in fact, a grown-up and can shop for my own food.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was a slim paperback, Sein Language, by comedian Jerry Seinfeld. It’s a collection of some of his more memorable comedy material. In it, he says that the greatest thing about being a grown up is the ability to eat whatever kind of food whenever and wherever you want. “Hey, it’s 3:00 a.m., and I want to eat a cookie. And I want to eat it in bed, and HEY, I can – because I’m a grown up.”
It’s true. I love being able to choose whatever I want to put in my cart. Lately, I’ve been jonesing for fruit snacks. Now, normally, I don’t eat fruit snacks, but I’ve just had this craving for them recently. So, last night, I threw a box of Welch’s Fruit Splash fruit snacks in my cart. No one made fun of me for eating fruit snacks “at my age,” and all I had for dinner last night was three fruit snack packets.
I REFUSE to shop with the barbaric hordes at “the” Super (aka Subhuman) Walmart. Instead, I enjoy shopping at a neighborhood grocery store where the fresh produce is amazingly good. (By the way, I’m pretty sure all the produce at Walmart is dead on delivery. Seriously, I’ve been in their produce department – I wouldn’t feed that stuff to starving criminals!)
Last night I stocked up on all the good stuff – bananas, green grapes, raspberries, blackberries, cherries, and my favorite apples – Pink Lady Apples (these are my favorite because they taste so good and have such a great name – makes me think of my beloved Mary Kay and the bad girl group from Grease – how could I ask for more from a fruit?).
I also shopped for the rabbits. Our rabbits are incredibly spoiled, but I never feel guilty about it since they bring us so much delight and unlimited cuteness. The rabbits get a fresh all-veggie diet, including carrot chips, parsley, cilantro, kale, endive lettuce, red leaf lettuce, and spinach. For an additional treat, I will occasionally throw in some fresh basil – which they go CRAZY for. Some fruits are safe for rabbits and a small piece makes a great occasional treat, such as bananas, peaches, and apples. Peyton and Hannah’s favorite treat is bananas. They practically climb up my leg when I’m carrying a (still completely wrapped) banana!
As I shopped, I came to face-to-face with one of my least favorite “types” of grocery people – Slow Aisle Walkers (SAW). Now, I understand there are some people who can’t help walking slowly up and down the aisles. Say, like elderly people and people with disabilities. Okay, I get that – I’m not totally unsympathetic.
BUT, yesterday I had to deal with SAWs and with Aisle Blockers (AB). You know who these people are. They stand on one side of the grocery aisle and angle their cart so it blocks the entire aisle. So, you end up standing there, with your cart in front of you, unable to go any further, forced to wait congenially while they decide whether they want creamy or chunky peanut butter.
Sometimes ABs like to talk out loud about their decisions. Sometimes they even ask your opinion – LIKE I CARE WHAT KIND OF PEANUT BUTTER YOUR EIGHT YEAR OLD LIKES – MOVE YOUR CART ALREADY!!! “Oh, that’s nice. I’m sure your daughter will love that creamy peanut butter. Excuse me.” And you move on, gritting your teeth.
Sometimes you will run into those people who are both SAWs and ABs. This happened to me last night. A young family – young mom, young dad, and barely-able-to-walk young daughter. It was like they hadn’t been out of the house in years. They walked so slowly. I blame the toddler - that kid needs to learn how to MOVE IT!
Unfortunately, the family was about one aisle ahead of me, so I kept getting stuck as they walked slowly and blocked aisles with their cart. I took several routes to avoid them and just kept ending up in their path. It was amazingly frustrating! Eventually, the young mother noticed that her daughter kept drifting out into the main aisle like a drunken sailor and managed to pull her back toward them. It’s a good thing – that kid was about get mowed down – not by me, of course :-)
Finally, I left the young family in housewares where they debated the idea of buying sippie cups. Thank goodness, I didn’t have to go down that aisle, too!
Checkout was pretty easy and breezy, and I got in my car ready to head for home. On the way, I got stuck behind some guy who was distracted and wouldn’t GO on a GREEN light. It took me all of five seconds to realize it was the young family, again! I gave a not-so-gentle nudge of the horn, and the minivan finally edged out into traffic.
I drove home shaking my head and muttering – “Some people.” You know, come to think of it, maybe grocery shopping isn’t always all that peaceful!
I love perusing the aisles, looking at all the wonderful foodstuffs available. For one thing, it automatically makes me grateful for the abundance we enjoy here in the United States.
It also makes me marvel in wonder that I am now, in fact, a grown-up and can shop for my own food.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was a slim paperback, Sein Language, by comedian Jerry Seinfeld. It’s a collection of some of his more memorable comedy material. In it, he says that the greatest thing about being a grown up is the ability to eat whatever kind of food whenever and wherever you want. “Hey, it’s 3:00 a.m., and I want to eat a cookie. And I want to eat it in bed, and HEY, I can – because I’m a grown up.”
It’s true. I love being able to choose whatever I want to put in my cart. Lately, I’ve been jonesing for fruit snacks. Now, normally, I don’t eat fruit snacks, but I’ve just had this craving for them recently. So, last night, I threw a box of Welch’s Fruit Splash fruit snacks in my cart. No one made fun of me for eating fruit snacks “at my age,” and all I had for dinner last night was three fruit snack packets.
I REFUSE to shop with the barbaric hordes at “the” Super (aka Subhuman) Walmart. Instead, I enjoy shopping at a neighborhood grocery store where the fresh produce is amazingly good. (By the way, I’m pretty sure all the produce at Walmart is dead on delivery. Seriously, I’ve been in their produce department – I wouldn’t feed that stuff to starving criminals!)
Last night I stocked up on all the good stuff – bananas, green grapes, raspberries, blackberries, cherries, and my favorite apples – Pink Lady Apples (these are my favorite because they taste so good and have such a great name – makes me think of my beloved Mary Kay and the bad girl group from Grease – how could I ask for more from a fruit?).
I also shopped for the rabbits. Our rabbits are incredibly spoiled, but I never feel guilty about it since they bring us so much delight and unlimited cuteness. The rabbits get a fresh all-veggie diet, including carrot chips, parsley, cilantro, kale, endive lettuce, red leaf lettuce, and spinach. For an additional treat, I will occasionally throw in some fresh basil – which they go CRAZY for. Some fruits are safe for rabbits and a small piece makes a great occasional treat, such as bananas, peaches, and apples. Peyton and Hannah’s favorite treat is bananas. They practically climb up my leg when I’m carrying a (still completely wrapped) banana!
As I shopped, I came to face-to-face with one of my least favorite “types” of grocery people – Slow Aisle Walkers (SAW). Now, I understand there are some people who can’t help walking slowly up and down the aisles. Say, like elderly people and people with disabilities. Okay, I get that – I’m not totally unsympathetic.
BUT, yesterday I had to deal with SAWs and with Aisle Blockers (AB). You know who these people are. They stand on one side of the grocery aisle and angle their cart so it blocks the entire aisle. So, you end up standing there, with your cart in front of you, unable to go any further, forced to wait congenially while they decide whether they want creamy or chunky peanut butter.
Sometimes ABs like to talk out loud about their decisions. Sometimes they even ask your opinion – LIKE I CARE WHAT KIND OF PEANUT BUTTER YOUR EIGHT YEAR OLD LIKES – MOVE YOUR CART ALREADY!!! “Oh, that’s nice. I’m sure your daughter will love that creamy peanut butter. Excuse me.” And you move on, gritting your teeth.
Sometimes you will run into those people who are both SAWs and ABs. This happened to me last night. A young family – young mom, young dad, and barely-able-to-walk young daughter. It was like they hadn’t been out of the house in years. They walked so slowly. I blame the toddler - that kid needs to learn how to MOVE IT!
Unfortunately, the family was about one aisle ahead of me, so I kept getting stuck as they walked slowly and blocked aisles with their cart. I took several routes to avoid them and just kept ending up in their path. It was amazingly frustrating! Eventually, the young mother noticed that her daughter kept drifting out into the main aisle like a drunken sailor and managed to pull her back toward them. It’s a good thing – that kid was about get mowed down – not by me, of course :-)
Finally, I left the young family in housewares where they debated the idea of buying sippie cups. Thank goodness, I didn’t have to go down that aisle, too!
Checkout was pretty easy and breezy, and I got in my car ready to head for home. On the way, I got stuck behind some guy who was distracted and wouldn’t GO on a GREEN light. It took me all of five seconds to realize it was the young family, again! I gave a not-so-gentle nudge of the horn, and the minivan finally edged out into traffic.
I drove home shaking my head and muttering – “Some people.” You know, come to think of it, maybe grocery shopping isn’t always all that peaceful!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Gorgeous But Deadly
Colin Farrell is also an inspiration for one of my Bruised characters. “His” character is the angry, abusive foster father in the novel. So, as good looking as he is here, imagine him very, very mad.
Tom Who?
Tom Welling is the inspiration for one of the main characters in my novel, Bruised. Often, I watch his show, Smallville, to capture his mannerisms. Here’s a photo for those of you who don’t know who he is or what he looks like.
Gone Awry But All Right Anyway
I had such big plans for last night. I was going to get all our laundry done, all our dishes done (via the dishwasher – I’m not crazy), wrap gifts, write our Christmas letter, and maybe even CLEAN (yuck) a little.
What DID I get done? One load of laundry, one load of dishes, and …that’s it.
I took a break to watch a Quantum Leap episode which must have been the season opener, since it was like two hours long. Then, I had to get my Tom Welling fix, so I watched an episode of Smallville. By then it was after 10:00 p.m., and since I knew I had to work today, I decided to go to bed.
Then, when I got upstairs and climbed into the nice toasty bed where my husband had already zonked out for the rest of the night, I was restless. So I started reading this new Judaic mystery book I checked out from the library. It’s a mystery, but also a comparison between Jewish and Christian beliefs – written from a Jewish perspective. It’s fascinating, interesting, and I can’t wait to see whodunit. Since my last conscious thought was reading the book, I’m not really sure when I did fall asleep.
I think, mentally, I was a little lazy last night, since I knew today was going to be oh-so-busy. First off, I’m working today. We’ve got a special PR event, and I’m trying to get caught up on all my work before the holidays hit. Then, at 7:00 p.m., we have my cousin’s Paul and Kara’s Holiday Luminary Party. We can only stay at their party for an hour, since we have Game Night Group tonight, too. We’ll get there a little late, but that’s okay, since usually we go to 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. the next day anyway.
December has really snuck up on me this year. Normally, I feel like I have plenty of time to prepare for it. I always get our trees up and all the decorations up. But, this year, time has just flown by. I don’t know why, but I’ve just been especially busy this year – or especially lazy. Either way, our house is bereft of any Christmas decorations.
I have, however, finished most of my shopping. Mom – check. Charity – check. Colleen – check. Rehfeldt Family Christmas Gifts – check. Co-worker Gifts – check. I do need to get a gift for Gary, Brett’s family, Candice, and Grandma. But then, I’m done. Yeah!
Candice asked for a gift card this year – easy as pie. Mom says that’s what Grandma wants, too. We’re getting Gary a flannel shirt from Gander Mountain (don’t worry, he doesn’t read my blog – doesn’t know what a “blog” is) and getting popcorn tins for Brett’s family. And, boring but dependable, getting each of the kids $5 this year. It’s all we can afford – ends up being $55, after all. I’m a little worried about what to get my oldest nephew Bryan. He’s 21 and engaged, so I don’t think $5 is going to cut it anymore. I’m thinking maybe a gift card to a restaurant, so he and his fiancée can go out to eat.
Oh, and I almost forgot Al – Brett’s dad – he’s getting a certificate to Outback, one of his favorite restaurants. Brett’s brothers and sisters often go in and get him a really NICE expensive gift, but they never invite us to go in with them. We’ve asked to be included, but they conveniently “forget” to ask us every year. I’m not really sure why they do this, but after this year, I think it is on purpose. This has not been a shining year for the benevolence of the rest of the Soderstrom family. Or at least some of them. Some of them should be ashamed of themselves, since they proclaim to be Christians but act every other way than Christ-like. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
So, today is going to be a busy day. I’m excited and looking forward to spending it with people I like (my co-workers), family, and friends.
Cheers!
What DID I get done? One load of laundry, one load of dishes, and …that’s it.
I took a break to watch a Quantum Leap episode which must have been the season opener, since it was like two hours long. Then, I had to get my Tom Welling fix, so I watched an episode of Smallville. By then it was after 10:00 p.m., and since I knew I had to work today, I decided to go to bed.
Then, when I got upstairs and climbed into the nice toasty bed where my husband had already zonked out for the rest of the night, I was restless. So I started reading this new Judaic mystery book I checked out from the library. It’s a mystery, but also a comparison between Jewish and Christian beliefs – written from a Jewish perspective. It’s fascinating, interesting, and I can’t wait to see whodunit. Since my last conscious thought was reading the book, I’m not really sure when I did fall asleep.
I think, mentally, I was a little lazy last night, since I knew today was going to be oh-so-busy. First off, I’m working today. We’ve got a special PR event, and I’m trying to get caught up on all my work before the holidays hit. Then, at 7:00 p.m., we have my cousin’s Paul and Kara’s Holiday Luminary Party. We can only stay at their party for an hour, since we have Game Night Group tonight, too. We’ll get there a little late, but that’s okay, since usually we go to 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. the next day anyway.
December has really snuck up on me this year. Normally, I feel like I have plenty of time to prepare for it. I always get our trees up and all the decorations up. But, this year, time has just flown by. I don’t know why, but I’ve just been especially busy this year – or especially lazy. Either way, our house is bereft of any Christmas decorations.
I have, however, finished most of my shopping. Mom – check. Charity – check. Colleen – check. Rehfeldt Family Christmas Gifts – check. Co-worker Gifts – check. I do need to get a gift for Gary, Brett’s family, Candice, and Grandma. But then, I’m done. Yeah!
Candice asked for a gift card this year – easy as pie. Mom says that’s what Grandma wants, too. We’re getting Gary a flannel shirt from Gander Mountain (don’t worry, he doesn’t read my blog – doesn’t know what a “blog” is) and getting popcorn tins for Brett’s family. And, boring but dependable, getting each of the kids $5 this year. It’s all we can afford – ends up being $55, after all. I’m a little worried about what to get my oldest nephew Bryan. He’s 21 and engaged, so I don’t think $5 is going to cut it anymore. I’m thinking maybe a gift card to a restaurant, so he and his fiancée can go out to eat.
Oh, and I almost forgot Al – Brett’s dad – he’s getting a certificate to Outback, one of his favorite restaurants. Brett’s brothers and sisters often go in and get him a really NICE expensive gift, but they never invite us to go in with them. We’ve asked to be included, but they conveniently “forget” to ask us every year. I’m not really sure why they do this, but after this year, I think it is on purpose. This has not been a shining year for the benevolence of the rest of the Soderstrom family. Or at least some of them. Some of them should be ashamed of themselves, since they proclaim to be Christians but act every other way than Christ-like. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
So, today is going to be a busy day. I’m excited and looking forward to spending it with people I like (my co-workers), family, and friends.
Cheers!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Amazing Apocalypto
I have a movie recommendation. If you want compelling heart-stopping action, heart-breaking emotion, and a sprinkling of comedy – go see Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto.
Angie e-mailed me on Thursday and asked if I wanted to catch a movie, Apocalypto, before she left for vacation on Friday. She also threw in a little schmoopyness by saying, “I just wanted to see you before I left.” Sa-wheat!
Angie and some members of her family – but not her kids or her husband – are going to Orlando, Florida for a week of December fun! No kids, no husband – boy, does she know how to take a family vacation! Lucky girl!
Anyway, we worked it out so we could catch an early showing of the movie. It was us and about ten retired people. I think they must get a discount on Thursday or something, because they were out in droves to see other movies!
Anyway, we watched Apocalypto, and it was fantastic. It really held me from the beginning to the end. Yes, it was a little bloody at points, but I don’t think it took away from the story or was distracting in any way. It was just true to life during that time period.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s worth the $8.50 – I give it two thumbs up. And that’s all I have to give!
Angie e-mailed me on Thursday and asked if I wanted to catch a movie, Apocalypto, before she left for vacation on Friday. She also threw in a little schmoopyness by saying, “I just wanted to see you before I left.” Sa-wheat!
Angie and some members of her family – but not her kids or her husband – are going to Orlando, Florida for a week of December fun! No kids, no husband – boy, does she know how to take a family vacation! Lucky girl!
Anyway, we worked it out so we could catch an early showing of the movie. It was us and about ten retired people. I think they must get a discount on Thursday or something, because they were out in droves to see other movies!
Anyway, we watched Apocalypto, and it was fantastic. It really held me from the beginning to the end. Yes, it was a little bloody at points, but I don’t think it took away from the story or was distracting in any way. It was just true to life during that time period.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s worth the $8.50 – I give it two thumbs up. And that’s all I have to give!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
A Fog Unlifted
I had an other-worldly experience driving to work today. It was like being submersed in an Ansel Adams photograph. The fog was really heavy - giving everything this spooky, soft, wispy look. The tree branches stretched out like skinny arms, and everything was shrouded in white cotton clouds.
It was SO cool!
There I was, driving to work in this ethereal world, sipping my recent purchase of a Panera hot chocolate listening to Alan Jackson’s rich voice sing beautiful old hymns. It felt great, almost like a waking dream. I sang along to Blessed Assurance, Everlasting Arms, and I Come to the Garden Alone (which always makes me cry and think of Aunt Kathy – she and my Uncle Scott used to sing that song together at people’s funerals).
As I was driving, I though about that old Native American phrase – “Today is a good day to die.” The first time I heard that phrase I thought it was morbid and pictured writhing savages spitting out the phrase on their dying breath in the midst of tribal war.
Later, I learned my perception was wrong. The phrase was used when a person felt like everything was going right in their lives - that they were, in fact, at the peak of their lives. The reasoning being that they could die while everything was right with the world.
As Christians, we are supposed to live every day in the present, since we don’t know when the Lord will return or when our time on this earth will come to an end. As I drove on in the fog I thought about today being a good day to die. If my sip of hot chocolate was the last thing I tasted, if I died in that moment. I pictured my car lifting up and driving to heaven, like that car in Grease.
I felt happy picturing myself driving up through the fog to heaven. I thought about seeing my dad again and Brett’s mom. I imagined the loving arms of Jesus wrapped around me and his whispering, “Welcome home, my child.”
I’d see my Aunt Kathy singing in the heavenly choir. Streets of gold, star studded mansions, saints on every corner, and a mighty sky I can barely imagine.
I snapped back to earth at the next red light, after a zooming yellow Mustang cut me off. I drove the rest of the way to work contemplating. I don’t think about death all that often, but ever since Dad died unexpectedly, I do think about it. I think of myself as finite and fragile and life as something to be treasured but also held loosely. We don’t know the number of years, months, days, hours, or minutes in our lives. And we don’t have to. He does.
I’m 28 years old and there are a lot of things I want to accomplish yet. There are a great many things I’m thankful for – people, things, and experiences in my life. But Dad’s death taught me that “our times are in His hands.”
God willing, I live for a great many more years, but (rapture not withholding) if not, today is a good day to die.
It was SO cool!
There I was, driving to work in this ethereal world, sipping my recent purchase of a Panera hot chocolate listening to Alan Jackson’s rich voice sing beautiful old hymns. It felt great, almost like a waking dream. I sang along to Blessed Assurance, Everlasting Arms, and I Come to the Garden Alone (which always makes me cry and think of Aunt Kathy – she and my Uncle Scott used to sing that song together at people’s funerals).
As I was driving, I though about that old Native American phrase – “Today is a good day to die.” The first time I heard that phrase I thought it was morbid and pictured writhing savages spitting out the phrase on their dying breath in the midst of tribal war.
Later, I learned my perception was wrong. The phrase was used when a person felt like everything was going right in their lives - that they were, in fact, at the peak of their lives. The reasoning being that they could die while everything was right with the world.
As Christians, we are supposed to live every day in the present, since we don’t know when the Lord will return or when our time on this earth will come to an end. As I drove on in the fog I thought about today being a good day to die. If my sip of hot chocolate was the last thing I tasted, if I died in that moment. I pictured my car lifting up and driving to heaven, like that car in Grease.
I felt happy picturing myself driving up through the fog to heaven. I thought about seeing my dad again and Brett’s mom. I imagined the loving arms of Jesus wrapped around me and his whispering, “Welcome home, my child.”
I’d see my Aunt Kathy singing in the heavenly choir. Streets of gold, star studded mansions, saints on every corner, and a mighty sky I can barely imagine.
I snapped back to earth at the next red light, after a zooming yellow Mustang cut me off. I drove the rest of the way to work contemplating. I don’t think about death all that often, but ever since Dad died unexpectedly, I do think about it. I think of myself as finite and fragile and life as something to be treasured but also held loosely. We don’t know the number of years, months, days, hours, or minutes in our lives. And we don’t have to. He does.
I’m 28 years old and there are a lot of things I want to accomplish yet. There are a great many things I’m thankful for – people, things, and experiences in my life. But Dad’s death taught me that “our times are in His hands.”
God willing, I live for a great many more years, but (rapture not withholding) if not, today is a good day to die.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
The Incredible Laziness of Being Sick
What began as a tickle in the back of my throat has finally evolved into a full nose blowing cold. And, because I do not believe in suffering alone, I have kindly shared my ailment with my husband.
Isn’t that nice of me?
In the marriage vows, we’re asked if we take each other in sickness and health – but nowhere does anyone ask “even if you are both sick at the same time?”
I am an only child. Brett is a youngest child. So, it goes without saying (although I am going to anyway) that we were both pampered and a little spoiled growing up. In the past, we’ve had a great many disagreements over this very fact. This stems from both of us being used to someone else taking care of us.
I remember the first time I realized this was going to be a problem. We were newly married and in our first apartment.
One morning, I noticed there were crumbs on the counter by the toaster. Since I hadn’t made toast, I assumed the crumbs were from Brett and figured he would clean up his mess. The next day the crumbs were still there. And the next day.
Finally, I asked Brett to clean up “his” mess. He looked totally surprised. Turns out, he had been waiting for me to clean it up, since he didn’t remember making any toast, and figured I would clean up my own mess.
And there we were – stuck. Who was going to clean up the mess? Whoever did would be volunteering to clean up anonymous messes in the future for the WHOLE of our married life. Who would cave first?
Well, I caved and cleaned up not-my-mess. Why? Because as stubborn as I am, I knew when anyone visited our apartment and saw a mess they would automatically think of me as a horrible housekeeper – just because I was the “wife.”
Why doesn’t anyone blame the husband? I mean, he has the same two arms I do. And he makes two times the mess I do. But invariably it happens that any household dirt and mess is blamed on the wife’s bad housekeeping.
Over the years, I have become used to – although never happy about – living with a slob. I love, love, love my husband. He has a great many endearing and wonderful qualities. But he is not a neat freak.
Oh, he’s a neat freak about certain things – his things. His guns, his books, his records…stuff like that. We’re talking about clothes, cleaning, and consuming.
Now, I’m going to sound like a typical wife, a stereotypical wife, but in this case, the stereotype IS the reality. My otherwise wonderful husband leaves all his dirty clothes in piles on the bedroom floor; he manages to share half his food with his clothes and the carpet; and he wouldn’t know how to load the dishwasher, the dryer, or what a toilet brush was if it bit him on the nose.
Like I said – normal.
Over the years, we’ve developed (like every other couple) our own way of coping with the situation. We’ve both learned and grown and changed several of our habits.
But all that goes out the window when we both get sick. Because, when we both get sick, we suffer not only our own ailment, but a case of extreme selfishness.
This comes from both of us having the same sickness desires. When we are sick, we both want to lay on the couch, watch TV, and have someone wait on us.
But - when we are both sick - that is impossible for several reasons. First, we only have one good couch. Our other couch is broken and the only other thing to sit on is a chair. Now, you show me a sick person who is comfortable sitting on a chair!
Second, we have different “watching materials” for when we are sick. I like to watch romantic comedies; Brett wants to watch World War II documentaries. Then, of course, we have to decide who will dole out the medicine and make tea and soup. Who, indeed?
This morning I woke up – after a very wonderful Saturday – coughing, sneezing, and with a very sore throat. I turned over, looked at Brett, and saw he was suffering, too. Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed. I knew we were in no shape to go to church – not that anyone would want what we have, anyway.
I immediately figured that if I did the laundry, started the dishwasher, and fed the rabbits, I could sack out on the couch and get in a couple of Murder, She Wrote episodes (courtesy of Netflix). After I’d gotten everything started, I grabbed a pillow and headed to the couch. And there he was – The Selfish Lump I Married. Already comfy on our one couch.
Well! Well! So, he snuck in when I was busy cleaning up all the anonymous messes. I knew this day would come! I shouldn’t have caved all those years ago. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have cared about the laundry, dishes, and rabbits – I would have been the one going straight to the couch. I would have been the one snuggled up watching TV.
When I’m sick, I get very temperamental. And, for some reason, when I looked at my poor, sick husband, I did not feel the least bit maternal or nurturing. I was sick, too. I was much sicker than he was. So, I did it. Something I would NEVER do normally.
I kicked him off the couch.
Actually, he left the couch of his own volition. But only after I gave him a five minute lecture on why a good husband gives his wife the couch, especially after he’s sat by and let her do all the chores – which he could have – but didn’t – help her with. I became judge, jury, and executioner. So, I guess, in essence, I gave him the chair.
Eventually, he wandered back upstairs and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, felt a little guilty (but not all that much) and watch four episodes of MSW, three episodes of Quantum Leap, and one episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Then, I took a two hour nap.
I’d finally had enough of “me” time, even though I am still disgustingly sick. I washed and bagged all the rabbits’ salad, ran the dishwasher, washed and folded clothes, and then went in to check on my husband.
He was out like a light, slightly snoring. Standing there watching the man I love (most of the time) snoring and sniffling, I sensed that maternal, nurturing feeling spring back up inside me.
I shook him gently awake to see how he was doing. He told me he was planning to go to work tonight. I was touched – he’s very sick, and he’s still going to work to help provide for us. It’s one of the many ways he shows his love for me.
Love is a funny thing. It causes us to have higher expectations of the one we love. It can also make us mad when they don’t meet those expectations. But it also helps us to forgive and forget and facilitates peace back into our hearts.
So, I guess the next time we’re both sick, maybe I’ll let him have the couch. Maybe he’ll even consider giving me the couch.
If not, that’s okay; I have the power (apparently) to give him the chair.
Isn’t that nice of me?
In the marriage vows, we’re asked if we take each other in sickness and health – but nowhere does anyone ask “even if you are both sick at the same time?”
I am an only child. Brett is a youngest child. So, it goes without saying (although I am going to anyway) that we were both pampered and a little spoiled growing up. In the past, we’ve had a great many disagreements over this very fact. This stems from both of us being used to someone else taking care of us.
I remember the first time I realized this was going to be a problem. We were newly married and in our first apartment.
One morning, I noticed there were crumbs on the counter by the toaster. Since I hadn’t made toast, I assumed the crumbs were from Brett and figured he would clean up his mess. The next day the crumbs were still there. And the next day.
Finally, I asked Brett to clean up “his” mess. He looked totally surprised. Turns out, he had been waiting for me to clean it up, since he didn’t remember making any toast, and figured I would clean up my own mess.
And there we were – stuck. Who was going to clean up the mess? Whoever did would be volunteering to clean up anonymous messes in the future for the WHOLE of our married life. Who would cave first?
Well, I caved and cleaned up not-my-mess. Why? Because as stubborn as I am, I knew when anyone visited our apartment and saw a mess they would automatically think of me as a horrible housekeeper – just because I was the “wife.”
Why doesn’t anyone blame the husband? I mean, he has the same two arms I do. And he makes two times the mess I do. But invariably it happens that any household dirt and mess is blamed on the wife’s bad housekeeping.
Over the years, I have become used to – although never happy about – living with a slob. I love, love, love my husband. He has a great many endearing and wonderful qualities. But he is not a neat freak.
Oh, he’s a neat freak about certain things – his things. His guns, his books, his records…stuff like that. We’re talking about clothes, cleaning, and consuming.
Now, I’m going to sound like a typical wife, a stereotypical wife, but in this case, the stereotype IS the reality. My otherwise wonderful husband leaves all his dirty clothes in piles on the bedroom floor; he manages to share half his food with his clothes and the carpet; and he wouldn’t know how to load the dishwasher, the dryer, or what a toilet brush was if it bit him on the nose.
Like I said – normal.
Over the years, we’ve developed (like every other couple) our own way of coping with the situation. We’ve both learned and grown and changed several of our habits.
But all that goes out the window when we both get sick. Because, when we both get sick, we suffer not only our own ailment, but a case of extreme selfishness.
This comes from both of us having the same sickness desires. When we are sick, we both want to lay on the couch, watch TV, and have someone wait on us.
But - when we are both sick - that is impossible for several reasons. First, we only have one good couch. Our other couch is broken and the only other thing to sit on is a chair. Now, you show me a sick person who is comfortable sitting on a chair!
Second, we have different “watching materials” for when we are sick. I like to watch romantic comedies; Brett wants to watch World War II documentaries. Then, of course, we have to decide who will dole out the medicine and make tea and soup. Who, indeed?
This morning I woke up – after a very wonderful Saturday – coughing, sneezing, and with a very sore throat. I turned over, looked at Brett, and saw he was suffering, too. Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed. I knew we were in no shape to go to church – not that anyone would want what we have, anyway.
I immediately figured that if I did the laundry, started the dishwasher, and fed the rabbits, I could sack out on the couch and get in a couple of Murder, She Wrote episodes (courtesy of Netflix). After I’d gotten everything started, I grabbed a pillow and headed to the couch. And there he was – The Selfish Lump I Married. Already comfy on our one couch.
Well! Well! So, he snuck in when I was busy cleaning up all the anonymous messes. I knew this day would come! I shouldn’t have caved all those years ago. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have cared about the laundry, dishes, and rabbits – I would have been the one going straight to the couch. I would have been the one snuggled up watching TV.
When I’m sick, I get very temperamental. And, for some reason, when I looked at my poor, sick husband, I did not feel the least bit maternal or nurturing. I was sick, too. I was much sicker than he was. So, I did it. Something I would NEVER do normally.
I kicked him off the couch.
Actually, he left the couch of his own volition. But only after I gave him a five minute lecture on why a good husband gives his wife the couch, especially after he’s sat by and let her do all the chores – which he could have – but didn’t – help her with. I became judge, jury, and executioner. So, I guess, in essence, I gave him the chair.
Eventually, he wandered back upstairs and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, felt a little guilty (but not all that much) and watch four episodes of MSW, three episodes of Quantum Leap, and one episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Then, I took a two hour nap.
I’d finally had enough of “me” time, even though I am still disgustingly sick. I washed and bagged all the rabbits’ salad, ran the dishwasher, washed and folded clothes, and then went in to check on my husband.
He was out like a light, slightly snoring. Standing there watching the man I love (most of the time) snoring and sniffling, I sensed that maternal, nurturing feeling spring back up inside me.
I shook him gently awake to see how he was doing. He told me he was planning to go to work tonight. I was touched – he’s very sick, and he’s still going to work to help provide for us. It’s one of the many ways he shows his love for me.
Love is a funny thing. It causes us to have higher expectations of the one we love. It can also make us mad when they don’t meet those expectations. But it also helps us to forgive and forget and facilitates peace back into our hearts.
So, I guess the next time we’re both sick, maybe I’ll let him have the couch. Maybe he’ll even consider giving me the couch.
If not, that’s okay; I have the power (apparently) to give him the chair.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
A Delightful Change of Plans
I had big plans for tonight. I was going to come home, put my Fall decorations away, and start cleaning, before I put my Winter decorations up.
Usually, I’m on top of the game when it comes to getting ready for Christmas. I put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving like clockwork. But this year the time just seemed to get away from me.
Part of it involved a couple days of deep depression. I used to think that my depression was from my dad’s side of the family. My dad’s older brother, Phil, was clinically depressed and committed suicide at 21. But, after reading some of my cousins’ blogs, I think I might be cursed on both sides.
Much of my depression had to do with the Holy Spirit. I was being convicted. And I knew it. I have this all-too-human tendency to try to hold on to my worldly desires. I have a really hard time letting them go, even when it becomes painfully obvious it is exactly what God wants me to do.
I had been consumed by conviction and depressed because the last thing I wanted to let go were my earthly pleasures. Nothing was necessarily wrong with these pleasures, they are usually common things like watching TV, but I was being led by the Holy Spirit. My time was God’s time and the things I was doing were not a wise use of that time.
Last night I hit close to rock bottom. I spent most of the night crying, letting go, and asking for forgiveness and guidance. I started reading John Piper’s book When I Don’t Desire God. So far, I’ve enjoyed it, and it helped me get through the night.
As a result, I woke up this morning feeling recharged, refreshed, and most importantly – still redeemed. God’s forgiveness knows no bounds – even the seemingly fathomless bottoms of my wicked heart.
Then, to add even more blessing, I had a good day at work. I managed to overcome the design block I’d been encountering and felt revitalized. I even had more energy.
That’s the problem I battle most days. By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to DO anything – like cleaning and decorating. But today felt different! I drove home anticipating what I could get done – cleaning and decorating-wise.
Brett was still asleep when I got home. The lights were out in our bedroom, and I hurriedly started to change in the dark, ready to get to work. Then, I heard a sleepy voice.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
My husband may be 37 in real life, but in his heart, he’s eternally 18! Whenever I’m home and in our room, he acts like we’re teenagers who have snuck upstairs to make out. It’s very endearing to be desired by a man with sleep-tousled hair who’s looking at me like I just stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalog (and believe me, I didn’t).
All in all, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. Cleaning or *quality* time with the man I love? Hmmm… So, there went my time and my energy.
I eventually got back downstairs – at 8:00 p.m. The house still isn’t clean and my Christmas decorations aren’t up, but my husband went off to work with a smile on his face.
All in all, a delightful change of plans!
Usually, I’m on top of the game when it comes to getting ready for Christmas. I put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving like clockwork. But this year the time just seemed to get away from me.
Part of it involved a couple days of deep depression. I used to think that my depression was from my dad’s side of the family. My dad’s older brother, Phil, was clinically depressed and committed suicide at 21. But, after reading some of my cousins’ blogs, I think I might be cursed on both sides.
Much of my depression had to do with the Holy Spirit. I was being convicted. And I knew it. I have this all-too-human tendency to try to hold on to my worldly desires. I have a really hard time letting them go, even when it becomes painfully obvious it is exactly what God wants me to do.
I had been consumed by conviction and depressed because the last thing I wanted to let go were my earthly pleasures. Nothing was necessarily wrong with these pleasures, they are usually common things like watching TV, but I was being led by the Holy Spirit. My time was God’s time and the things I was doing were not a wise use of that time.
Last night I hit close to rock bottom. I spent most of the night crying, letting go, and asking for forgiveness and guidance. I started reading John Piper’s book When I Don’t Desire God. So far, I’ve enjoyed it, and it helped me get through the night.
As a result, I woke up this morning feeling recharged, refreshed, and most importantly – still redeemed. God’s forgiveness knows no bounds – even the seemingly fathomless bottoms of my wicked heart.
Then, to add even more blessing, I had a good day at work. I managed to overcome the design block I’d been encountering and felt revitalized. I even had more energy.
That’s the problem I battle most days. By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to DO anything – like cleaning and decorating. But today felt different! I drove home anticipating what I could get done – cleaning and decorating-wise.
Brett was still asleep when I got home. The lights were out in our bedroom, and I hurriedly started to change in the dark, ready to get to work. Then, I heard a sleepy voice.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
My husband may be 37 in real life, but in his heart, he’s eternally 18! Whenever I’m home and in our room, he acts like we’re teenagers who have snuck upstairs to make out. It’s very endearing to be desired by a man with sleep-tousled hair who’s looking at me like I just stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalog (and believe me, I didn’t).
All in all, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. Cleaning or *quality* time with the man I love? Hmmm… So, there went my time and my energy.
I eventually got back downstairs – at 8:00 p.m. The house still isn’t clean and my Christmas decorations aren’t up, but my husband went off to work with a smile on his face.
All in all, a delightful change of plans!
Big Sexy Hair
Okay, I admit it! I’m addicted to big hair.
I love big hair. Love, love, love it! My addiction comes from going to a private Christian school where otherwise worldly fashions arrived about ten years later than the world experienced the trend. In other words, when I was a senior in 1996, we were still dressing and doing our hair a little more like 1986.
And BIG hair was still in.
Everyone had big hair. Everyone used ozone killing hair spray and hot rollers. And guess what? I still do. I love my hot rollers. If I had to pick my favorite invention, hot rollers would be right up there.
But lately, at the ripe old age of 28, I was told by my *amazing* hair stylist that I have – gulp! – FINE hair! A lot of it, but still fine in texture. I had always been told I had thick hair. I – it appears, according to my stylist – have been lied to. I have a lot of hair, yes – but it is not thick.
My stylist and I had this conversation because I was noticing a new trend in my hair. I would get my hair perfect (well, big and poufy enough for my standards) in the morning, but by 2:00 p.m., it was so limp it looked like I had gone swimming on my lunch hour. I was distraught!
So, my stylist gave me a new cut with *natural lift* and recommended a new shampoo/conditioner/hair spray brand. I took her advice, bought the products, and went home to try them out.
So far, the products are doing great. I love them, and I don’t look half drowned by the middle of the afternoon.
The problem? Well, the product name. Yesterday, Brett told me he feels a little funny showering in a stall with two giant red bottles proclaiming “BIG SEXY HAIR” in big, black letters.
I also felt funny asking my mom for BIG SEXY HAIR for Christmas. It’s an unforgettable name, that’s for sure!
Oh well, it works and that’s what matters.
Oh, and to make up for Brett’s feeling funny, I told him that I won’t mind at all if he decides he also wants to use my BIG SEXY HAIR! Mmm… wouldn’t you love a man with BIG SEXY HAIR?
I love big hair. Love, love, love it! My addiction comes from going to a private Christian school where otherwise worldly fashions arrived about ten years later than the world experienced the trend. In other words, when I was a senior in 1996, we were still dressing and doing our hair a little more like 1986.
And BIG hair was still in.
Everyone had big hair. Everyone used ozone killing hair spray and hot rollers. And guess what? I still do. I love my hot rollers. If I had to pick my favorite invention, hot rollers would be right up there.
But lately, at the ripe old age of 28, I was told by my *amazing* hair stylist that I have – gulp! – FINE hair! A lot of it, but still fine in texture. I had always been told I had thick hair. I – it appears, according to my stylist – have been lied to. I have a lot of hair, yes – but it is not thick.
My stylist and I had this conversation because I was noticing a new trend in my hair. I would get my hair perfect (well, big and poufy enough for my standards) in the morning, but by 2:00 p.m., it was so limp it looked like I had gone swimming on my lunch hour. I was distraught!
So, my stylist gave me a new cut with *natural lift* and recommended a new shampoo/conditioner/hair spray brand. I took her advice, bought the products, and went home to try them out.
So far, the products are doing great. I love them, and I don’t look half drowned by the middle of the afternoon.
The problem? Well, the product name. Yesterday, Brett told me he feels a little funny showering in a stall with two giant red bottles proclaiming “BIG SEXY HAIR” in big, black letters.
I also felt funny asking my mom for BIG SEXY HAIR for Christmas. It’s an unforgettable name, that’s for sure!
Oh well, it works and that’s what matters.
Oh, and to make up for Brett’s feeling funny, I told him that I won’t mind at all if he decides he also wants to use my BIG SEXY HAIR! Mmm… wouldn’t you love a man with BIG SEXY HAIR?
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Wondering What To Do
What do I want to do? WHAT do I want to do?
Well, right now, I want to go back to bed, seeing as I’m writing this around 5:30 a.m. (I just yawned so big my jaw cracked!). (Oops, I did it again!) (Sorry for the Britney Spears reference.)
Actually, what I’m talking about is my career. And I’m really conflicted about it.
There is a very real possibility I’ll lose my job in late 2008, early 2009. My organization is merging with four other organizations. I’ve known about it for a year. Our corporate headquarters in New York have given us plenty of advance notice on the merger and produced lots of materials to help all of us through the process. Unfortunately, there are no job guarantees for anyone.
It doesn’t automatically mean I’ll lose my job, but that there is a distinct possibility. And a possibility means I better start thinking about being prepared for that eventuality. Which leads me back to my question – WHAT do I want to do?
The reason I chose Communications as my major in college was because it was a stretchable major. I could make it fit many types of jobs. I mean, is there a job out there where good communication ISN’T necessary? Not really.
And lately, I’ve been feeling like what I really want is a nice, long vacation. I’ve taken several days off and enjoyed some long four day weekends – and it’s never long enough. I mean, NEVER long enough.
I want time. Time to do the mundane – laundry, cleaning, decorating, creative cooking, stuff like that. I want to work on my books for days, not hours. I want to be free from deadlines. I want to stay home. I don’t want to do any graphic design. Just for a little while. To be free to get caught up.
Aha, but you see for me that is not an option. For two reasons. First, I like to work. I thrive on the socialization and accomplishment. Secondly, we’d be in the poorhouse, or at least my mom’s house, if I didn’t work.
I married Brett because I love him - definitely not for his money and definitely not for his eventual prosperity. If we both had to live on the income of a warehouse worker, we’d be living with Mom and Gary. Seriously. My job provides the bulk of our income.
I’m okay with that. Brett’s GREAT with that. In fact, if I could make MORE money, he’d love to stay home, too! But, it does produce a certain amount of pressure. At times, I feel like my working years are stretched out endlessly in front of me.
See, I love my job. I do. But the possibility of losing it, no matter how well they’ve prepared us, no matter how willing they are to help us find new employment, has opened a door. I’ve got to start thinking about my career future. And since staying at home is not an option, I’ve got to start exploring the possibilities.
Which means I have to make a list of what I love about my job, what I like about my job, and what I really don’t care for in my job. That part is easy. The problem comes from finding an open job that incorporates those preferences, and of course, preparing my heart for whatever God opens up.
There are days when I envy people who can stay home. I don’t mean “work” from home. I mean those people who don’t have a set schedule and can stay in their pajamas and hair rollers all day, if they want to.
Because, just for a little while, I’d like to do that. Just to experience the freedom. Unfortunately, unless we win the lottery, it’s just not an option. And (since I’ve mentioned it twice now) I guess that really does bother me deep down – just NOT being able to have that as a possibility! Oh well, nothing I can do about it.
My original boss hired me on for this job as a writer. I wrote copy and did basic public relations. We hired on a professional designer for all our graphic design work.
Oh, sure, I did a little design. I even went to a couple seminars on it.
Then, my new boss (who I like SO much more than my old boss) started. She sees me more as her personal designer and herself as the writer.
Through the two years I have worked for her, I have struggled with this. First, over two years, I have learned that I don’t like doing graphic design. I can do it. I can even do it moderately well, but I’ll never be an expert or a professional, and I don’t want to be. Secondly, no matter how much I LIKE my boss, it still burns me that she took my writing opportunity away AND that she thinks she’s a better writer than I am.
So, as much as I like my job, it’s not like I can’t see myself doing something else. I would miss the amazing people I work with and their friendly every day camaraderie. But, I suppose I could manage.
So, I’ve got to start thinking about what I want to do. I mean, if I open up the windows for my dream jobs, I’d have lots of options. I could be an author, a columnist, or a movie reviewer. But, even if I’m serious, there are still jobs in public relations – maybe not right now – but eventually. And, obviously, God will open the doors He wants open for me – even if it’s NOT in public relations.
Still, I’d appreciate your prayers for God to guide and direct me. That I won’t worry and stress out about it. That I’ll be up for the challenge and willing to step out of my comfort zone – the one I’ve had for six years now. That I’d be content no matter what the circumstances. I’d appreciate it.
Oh, and if you want to pray that we DO win the lottery? You can, too! But I don’t think it (or He) works like that!
But, then again, who knows?
Well, right now, I want to go back to bed, seeing as I’m writing this around 5:30 a.m. (I just yawned so big my jaw cracked!). (Oops, I did it again!) (Sorry for the Britney Spears reference.)
Actually, what I’m talking about is my career. And I’m really conflicted about it.
There is a very real possibility I’ll lose my job in late 2008, early 2009. My organization is merging with four other organizations. I’ve known about it for a year. Our corporate headquarters in New York have given us plenty of advance notice on the merger and produced lots of materials to help all of us through the process. Unfortunately, there are no job guarantees for anyone.
It doesn’t automatically mean I’ll lose my job, but that there is a distinct possibility. And a possibility means I better start thinking about being prepared for that eventuality. Which leads me back to my question – WHAT do I want to do?
The reason I chose Communications as my major in college was because it was a stretchable major. I could make it fit many types of jobs. I mean, is there a job out there where good communication ISN’T necessary? Not really.
And lately, I’ve been feeling like what I really want is a nice, long vacation. I’ve taken several days off and enjoyed some long four day weekends – and it’s never long enough. I mean, NEVER long enough.
I want time. Time to do the mundane – laundry, cleaning, decorating, creative cooking, stuff like that. I want to work on my books for days, not hours. I want to be free from deadlines. I want to stay home. I don’t want to do any graphic design. Just for a little while. To be free to get caught up.
Aha, but you see for me that is not an option. For two reasons. First, I like to work. I thrive on the socialization and accomplishment. Secondly, we’d be in the poorhouse, or at least my mom’s house, if I didn’t work.
I married Brett because I love him - definitely not for his money and definitely not for his eventual prosperity. If we both had to live on the income of a warehouse worker, we’d be living with Mom and Gary. Seriously. My job provides the bulk of our income.
I’m okay with that. Brett’s GREAT with that. In fact, if I could make MORE money, he’d love to stay home, too! But, it does produce a certain amount of pressure. At times, I feel like my working years are stretched out endlessly in front of me.
See, I love my job. I do. But the possibility of losing it, no matter how well they’ve prepared us, no matter how willing they are to help us find new employment, has opened a door. I’ve got to start thinking about my career future. And since staying at home is not an option, I’ve got to start exploring the possibilities.
Which means I have to make a list of what I love about my job, what I like about my job, and what I really don’t care for in my job. That part is easy. The problem comes from finding an open job that incorporates those preferences, and of course, preparing my heart for whatever God opens up.
There are days when I envy people who can stay home. I don’t mean “work” from home. I mean those people who don’t have a set schedule and can stay in their pajamas and hair rollers all day, if they want to.
Because, just for a little while, I’d like to do that. Just to experience the freedom. Unfortunately, unless we win the lottery, it’s just not an option. And (since I’ve mentioned it twice now) I guess that really does bother me deep down – just NOT being able to have that as a possibility! Oh well, nothing I can do about it.
My original boss hired me on for this job as a writer. I wrote copy and did basic public relations. We hired on a professional designer for all our graphic design work.
Oh, sure, I did a little design. I even went to a couple seminars on it.
Then, my new boss (who I like SO much more than my old boss) started. She sees me more as her personal designer and herself as the writer.
Through the two years I have worked for her, I have struggled with this. First, over two years, I have learned that I don’t like doing graphic design. I can do it. I can even do it moderately well, but I’ll never be an expert or a professional, and I don’t want to be. Secondly, no matter how much I LIKE my boss, it still burns me that she took my writing opportunity away AND that she thinks she’s a better writer than I am.
So, as much as I like my job, it’s not like I can’t see myself doing something else. I would miss the amazing people I work with and their friendly every day camaraderie. But, I suppose I could manage.
So, I’ve got to start thinking about what I want to do. I mean, if I open up the windows for my dream jobs, I’d have lots of options. I could be an author, a columnist, or a movie reviewer. But, even if I’m serious, there are still jobs in public relations – maybe not right now – but eventually. And, obviously, God will open the doors He wants open for me – even if it’s NOT in public relations.
Still, I’d appreciate your prayers for God to guide and direct me. That I won’t worry and stress out about it. That I’ll be up for the challenge and willing to step out of my comfort zone – the one I’ve had for six years now. That I’d be content no matter what the circumstances. I’d appreciate it.
Oh, and if you want to pray that we DO win the lottery? You can, too! But I don’t think it (or He) works like that!
But, then again, who knows?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
The October Connection
Getting wrapped up in YOU is a human prerogative.
We tend to think of ourselves first and assume the way it is for us is the only vantage point from where we can make any judgments. In fact, I never really thought about how other people were brought up or how they could have different viewpoints than me until I met October.
Of course, I had met people who disagreed me before. But I always had the luxury of assuming they were wrong and then dismissing them and their ideas.
But October was inexplicable. We had completely different world views. Completely different ideas of how the world should be run. How people should be treated. How crime and punishment should meet. And we had long, drawn out discussions where we talked about it.
I liked October. Probably because I’d never (and haven’t yet) met anyone like her. She was self deprecating, yet flirtatious. Mostly quiet, then she’d explode with dialogue on topics I’d never even thought about before.
She was an unusual roommate. And we were strange friends. But, since I could (and still can) name my true friends on one hand, I wasn’t about to leave this truly interesting person just so I could find a boring one who agreed with me.
Besides, living with Tob (her nickname) was an adventure. I’d come back to my dorm room and never know what to expect.
Tob and I became roommates by default. My roommate (and my soul mate at that time) and I had a falling out, and she was moving out. I was in a brand new dating relationship and my security blanket was leaving me. I was unstable and unsteady but amazingly stubborn.
Tob’s roommate was moving out to room with her best friend who was coming from Michigan. All the other rooms were unchanged or otherwise arranged. Tob and I were the only two singles with double rooms. So, it was either each other or an unknown entity – incoming freshmen.
I still remember how it happened. My roommate (who was not speaking to me) was moving her stuff out while Tob was in the hallway. Tob and I had made the transition to friendly-say-hi-and-how’s-it-going-while-waiting-for-the-elevator relationship.
She eyed me tentatively and then took a long look inside my room which was dominated with a giant James Dean poster and various magazine cutouts of Tom Cruise. I took in her green sweatshirt with the yellow Tweety-Bird and tired expression. It was a strange sort of moment. It was as though we accepted each other in a way that we couldn’t even understand. Even in light of our amazingly different personalities.
So, Tob and her one suitcase moved into my room.
She’s told me that our friendship saved her life that year. Unbeknownst to me, she’d spent the previous year in deep depression after a dating relationship ended badly. She’d barely made it to class, had a D average, and gotten several unexplained rashes that the doctors attributed to stress. So, she wasn’t the happiest of campers when she moved in with me.
In spite of that, I still liked her. She was so different from me that I couldn’t help but notice. My previous roommate and I had been on the same wavelength. We didn’t agree on everything, but it was like we looked at life from the same big, happy kaleidoscope.
October had one suitcase. I had five. My closet wasn’t big enough to hold all my clothes. She used a third of her closet space. My dresser was stuffed with hair and make-up accessories. Tob didn’t wear make-up and kept her hair bands in a plastic sandwich bag.
She liked to sleep on the hard floor at night occasionally. I’d be snuggled up in bed and look over in the morning, and there she’d be – on the floor, under a single blanket, feet uncovered and resting on the radiator for warmth. I’d shake my head in wonder.
Sometimes, when she was feeling less flagellated, she’d sleep in the bunk above me. She’d tell me about bumps on her leg and how she thought it was cancerous.
“I think I have cancer,” she’d say and flip her head over the side of the bed where she could see me.
“You don’t have cancer.” I’d assure her and go back to reading my textbook.
“I really think I do. How do you know I don’t?” She’d flip back over and stare at the ceiling in concentration.
“People our age don’t get cancer.” I’d say, firm in my belief at that time that bad things don’t happened to good people.
“Sure they do,” she’d say and then list cases of where they, indeed, did get cancer. “So, do you think it is?”
“No,” I reassured her.
“Well, if it is, then it’s my own fault,” With a martyred sigh, she closed her eyes.
I put my textbook down, stood up, and studied her. “How is it your fault?” I’d ask, leaning over the side of the bed.
She turned toward me. “I’m a wicked person and probably deserve it.”
I spite of that dire prediction, I couldn’t help smiling. She was so depressed, so worried about something that wasn’t even happening, and already blaming herself. I never blamed myself – for anything.
“You’re not wicked,” I assured her. “Let’s go eat something.” And she’d haul herself off the top bunk, and we’d venture out into the city.
If it hadn’t been for October, my Chicago life would have been safe and boring. Her penchant for the unusual took me to some interesting places. We went to dinner in truck stops where we were the only women and everyone stopped eating when we came in. We ventured to places in the city where I’d never have gone on my own.
Tob also taught me about myself. She’d worry about immigration and life on the mission field. She’d notice the kids in class that no one else did. I was mainly concerned with getting good grades and my high profile internship with a prestigious Chicago company.
One night, we talked about the world. Tob expounded on immigration and on the increasing mission field. She talked about the sacrifice needed. I disagreed. If people chose to go to the mission field – that was their choice, and I shouldn’t be expected to feel sorry or bad for them – they made the decision. As for immigration, I could have cared less. It didn’t affect ME, I told her.
It affects all of us, she told me then sighed. “Who do you think you are, Miss Ethnocentricity, where the world revolves around you?” She asked me. It was a long nickname, a clever insult, and one of the funniest things I’d ever heard. I laughed for a long time. In fact, we both did. And the nickname stuck!
After that, I tried not to be so focused on me and my life. I didn’t know how NOT to be friends with my roommate, so it was easy to incorporate Tob into my life. She was still recovering from her break-up, so she felt a little funny when I asked her if she wanted to go out with me and Brett. But she did.
Pretty soon, she went out with us all the time. Brett loved it. He was amazed and pleased to discover there were two women out there who enjoyed his company. So, he not only gained a girlfriend, but a new friend as well. And I got to know my new friend even better. And Tob didn’t have to stay locked up, in self-imposed solitude, in our dorm room. It was a good situation for everyone.
Over the next year and a half, Tob and I became extremely close. She’d make rice for dinner and sit on the floor studying her linguistics books, and I’d eat granola bars, sit on my bed, and sketch out assignments for my creative writing assignments.
She’d point out interesting linguistics patterns to me. “Have you ever noticed that ‘chruck’ sounds like ‘truck’ to the untrained ear?”
I’d try out new story ideas. “I’m thinking a Laura Ingalls-type meets Steven King. What do you think?”
We became as comfortable as old shoes and bathrobes - as different as could be, but totally accepting of each other eccentricities. By our last semester together, people were coming to us for advice. We answered questions on roommate etiquette, soothed troubled waters, and tried to maintain the peace.
One girl even confessed to us that she had snuck into our room, when we weren’t there, and just lay down on my bed. When we laughed and asked her why, she said that it was just so peaceful in our room. “I needed good vibrations.”
Tob once gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received. She said I always affirmed her. That I believed that she could do it and could do it well. I told her it was because I was always affirmed growing up. My parents always told me how proud they were of me. And when people are proud of you, you naturally try to do better.
When she eventually graduated, she was scholastically a full year and a half ahead of me, she was worried about who I was going to end up with for a new roommate. When I told her I was going to room with Jeannette – the girl who came in our room to find peace – she knew it would be a great fit. And it was.
I hated to see Tob go, but I knew it was the right thing for her. We are still good friends, perhaps even best friends, able to pick up where we left off.
Tob’s life has not been an easy road, and I know she would say the same about me. Together, we’ve weathered great heights - proposals, marriages (she was one of my bridesmaids), children – and low valleys – death (my father’s), unexpected pregnancies, and more.
But she’s my rock. We still don’t agree on everything. But we still love and need each other – and each other’s viewpoints – desperately.
And, isn’t that what friendship really is? I know it is, especially for Miss Ethnocentricity.
We tend to think of ourselves first and assume the way it is for us is the only vantage point from where we can make any judgments. In fact, I never really thought about how other people were brought up or how they could have different viewpoints than me until I met October.
Of course, I had met people who disagreed me before. But I always had the luxury of assuming they were wrong and then dismissing them and their ideas.
But October was inexplicable. We had completely different world views. Completely different ideas of how the world should be run. How people should be treated. How crime and punishment should meet. And we had long, drawn out discussions where we talked about it.
I liked October. Probably because I’d never (and haven’t yet) met anyone like her. She was self deprecating, yet flirtatious. Mostly quiet, then she’d explode with dialogue on topics I’d never even thought about before.
She was an unusual roommate. And we were strange friends. But, since I could (and still can) name my true friends on one hand, I wasn’t about to leave this truly interesting person just so I could find a boring one who agreed with me.
Besides, living with Tob (her nickname) was an adventure. I’d come back to my dorm room and never know what to expect.
Tob and I became roommates by default. My roommate (and my soul mate at that time) and I had a falling out, and she was moving out. I was in a brand new dating relationship and my security blanket was leaving me. I was unstable and unsteady but amazingly stubborn.
Tob’s roommate was moving out to room with her best friend who was coming from Michigan. All the other rooms were unchanged or otherwise arranged. Tob and I were the only two singles with double rooms. So, it was either each other or an unknown entity – incoming freshmen.
I still remember how it happened. My roommate (who was not speaking to me) was moving her stuff out while Tob was in the hallway. Tob and I had made the transition to friendly-say-hi-and-how’s-it-going-while-waiting-for-the-elevator relationship.
She eyed me tentatively and then took a long look inside my room which was dominated with a giant James Dean poster and various magazine cutouts of Tom Cruise. I took in her green sweatshirt with the yellow Tweety-Bird and tired expression. It was a strange sort of moment. It was as though we accepted each other in a way that we couldn’t even understand. Even in light of our amazingly different personalities.
So, Tob and her one suitcase moved into my room.
She’s told me that our friendship saved her life that year. Unbeknownst to me, she’d spent the previous year in deep depression after a dating relationship ended badly. She’d barely made it to class, had a D average, and gotten several unexplained rashes that the doctors attributed to stress. So, she wasn’t the happiest of campers when she moved in with me.
In spite of that, I still liked her. She was so different from me that I couldn’t help but notice. My previous roommate and I had been on the same wavelength. We didn’t agree on everything, but it was like we looked at life from the same big, happy kaleidoscope.
October had one suitcase. I had five. My closet wasn’t big enough to hold all my clothes. She used a third of her closet space. My dresser was stuffed with hair and make-up accessories. Tob didn’t wear make-up and kept her hair bands in a plastic sandwich bag.
She liked to sleep on the hard floor at night occasionally. I’d be snuggled up in bed and look over in the morning, and there she’d be – on the floor, under a single blanket, feet uncovered and resting on the radiator for warmth. I’d shake my head in wonder.
Sometimes, when she was feeling less flagellated, she’d sleep in the bunk above me. She’d tell me about bumps on her leg and how she thought it was cancerous.
“I think I have cancer,” she’d say and flip her head over the side of the bed where she could see me.
“You don’t have cancer.” I’d assure her and go back to reading my textbook.
“I really think I do. How do you know I don’t?” She’d flip back over and stare at the ceiling in concentration.
“People our age don’t get cancer.” I’d say, firm in my belief at that time that bad things don’t happened to good people.
“Sure they do,” she’d say and then list cases of where they, indeed, did get cancer. “So, do you think it is?”
“No,” I reassured her.
“Well, if it is, then it’s my own fault,” With a martyred sigh, she closed her eyes.
I put my textbook down, stood up, and studied her. “How is it your fault?” I’d ask, leaning over the side of the bed.
She turned toward me. “I’m a wicked person and probably deserve it.”
I spite of that dire prediction, I couldn’t help smiling. She was so depressed, so worried about something that wasn’t even happening, and already blaming herself. I never blamed myself – for anything.
“You’re not wicked,” I assured her. “Let’s go eat something.” And she’d haul herself off the top bunk, and we’d venture out into the city.
If it hadn’t been for October, my Chicago life would have been safe and boring. Her penchant for the unusual took me to some interesting places. We went to dinner in truck stops where we were the only women and everyone stopped eating when we came in. We ventured to places in the city where I’d never have gone on my own.
Tob also taught me about myself. She’d worry about immigration and life on the mission field. She’d notice the kids in class that no one else did. I was mainly concerned with getting good grades and my high profile internship with a prestigious Chicago company.
One night, we talked about the world. Tob expounded on immigration and on the increasing mission field. She talked about the sacrifice needed. I disagreed. If people chose to go to the mission field – that was their choice, and I shouldn’t be expected to feel sorry or bad for them – they made the decision. As for immigration, I could have cared less. It didn’t affect ME, I told her.
It affects all of us, she told me then sighed. “Who do you think you are, Miss Ethnocentricity, where the world revolves around you?” She asked me. It was a long nickname, a clever insult, and one of the funniest things I’d ever heard. I laughed for a long time. In fact, we both did. And the nickname stuck!
After that, I tried not to be so focused on me and my life. I didn’t know how NOT to be friends with my roommate, so it was easy to incorporate Tob into my life. She was still recovering from her break-up, so she felt a little funny when I asked her if she wanted to go out with me and Brett. But she did.
Pretty soon, she went out with us all the time. Brett loved it. He was amazed and pleased to discover there were two women out there who enjoyed his company. So, he not only gained a girlfriend, but a new friend as well. And I got to know my new friend even better. And Tob didn’t have to stay locked up, in self-imposed solitude, in our dorm room. It was a good situation for everyone.
Over the next year and a half, Tob and I became extremely close. She’d make rice for dinner and sit on the floor studying her linguistics books, and I’d eat granola bars, sit on my bed, and sketch out assignments for my creative writing assignments.
She’d point out interesting linguistics patterns to me. “Have you ever noticed that ‘chruck’ sounds like ‘truck’ to the untrained ear?”
I’d try out new story ideas. “I’m thinking a Laura Ingalls-type meets Steven King. What do you think?”
We became as comfortable as old shoes and bathrobes - as different as could be, but totally accepting of each other eccentricities. By our last semester together, people were coming to us for advice. We answered questions on roommate etiquette, soothed troubled waters, and tried to maintain the peace.
One girl even confessed to us that she had snuck into our room, when we weren’t there, and just lay down on my bed. When we laughed and asked her why, she said that it was just so peaceful in our room. “I needed good vibrations.”
Tob once gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received. She said I always affirmed her. That I believed that she could do it and could do it well. I told her it was because I was always affirmed growing up. My parents always told me how proud they were of me. And when people are proud of you, you naturally try to do better.
When she eventually graduated, she was scholastically a full year and a half ahead of me, she was worried about who I was going to end up with for a new roommate. When I told her I was going to room with Jeannette – the girl who came in our room to find peace – she knew it would be a great fit. And it was.
I hated to see Tob go, but I knew it was the right thing for her. We are still good friends, perhaps even best friends, able to pick up where we left off.
Tob’s life has not been an easy road, and I know she would say the same about me. Together, we’ve weathered great heights - proposals, marriages (she was one of my bridesmaids), children – and low valleys – death (my father’s), unexpected pregnancies, and more.
But she’s my rock. We still don’t agree on everything. But we still love and need each other – and each other’s viewpoints – desperately.
And, isn’t that what friendship really is? I know it is, especially for Miss Ethnocentricity.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The Girl Who Couldn’t Shut Up
And other tales of woe from my super long and supremely stressing day yesterday
It was only a Tuesday. You would think a Tuesday wouldn’t be that stressful. Mondays are supposed to be stressful.
My day started out a little gloomy and not just because of the weather. I’ve been having a lot of mouth pain recently. At first, I thought it might be TMJ and made a dentist appointment for December 5. Over Monday night, however, the pain localized in the upper right part of my mouth, along the gum line. So, now I’m thinking I may not have TMJ but instead have a raging infection of some kind. The pain has gotten consistently worse, so I’ve moved my appointment to tomorrow, the earliest that they could get me in.
So, I hadn’t slept much on Monday night, on account of the severe mouth pain, and when I got to work on Tuesday, everything just took on monumental proportions. I am so swamped at work! I have a 64 page program book to design, our regular 16 page member newsletter, cookie press, regular press releases, and (on top of everything) my boss just keeps giving me more stuff! It was overwhelming to a person who has gotten little sleep, is still in pain, and already has enough on her plate, you know?
Anyway, I managed to muddle through the morning. Although, I still wasn’t able to get any of “my” job tasks done, since I was tied up helping other people all day.
Then, Mom and I met for the noon meeting at Weight Watchers. I found out that I weigh ---! Seriously, ---! You didn’t honestly think I was going to tell you, did you?! Ha! Ha!
Anyway, the meeting was good, and Mom and I went out for lunch afterwards. As we were talking, I noticed Mom seemed like she had to get going. But, when I asked her, she said, “Oh no, I’m retired. I just have to go to Wal-Mart.” But she kept giving me non-verbal clues like looking at the time, glancing towards the door, and eventually picking up her cup and standing up. So, I got the message. I really wanted to talk some more, but it seemed like she wanted to get going, so we both headed out in our separate directions.
When I got back to work, I double checked with our Executive Director on our in-house volunteer policy. When she e-mailed her response, she cc’d my direct boss, and it ended up making me feel like I’d been trying to hide the volunteer work (for another organization) that I’d been planning to do. Long story short, everyone was okay with my volunteer work, but I got a little reamed out for not clearing it ahead of time. I saw the point, and no one was angry with me, but I still felt like I’d been reprimanded for doing something good and honorable.
Later, I headed out to my volunteer spot. My friend who works at the Alzheimer’s Association had asked me to design a brochure for the organization’s upcoming event. I was excited to meet the Executive Director and talk to my friend.
As we were talking, I discovered they didn’t just need help with a brochure – they need a theme, a logo, along with design help on the brochure, save the date postcards, a program book, awareness flyers, and paid print ads. That was WAY more than I’d thought I’d be helping with. But I wasn’t able to say “no” to any of it, since they are all tied together.
So, now, I’ve also got that on my plate. I was feeling WAY stressed by this time. My friend and I began talking, but before I knew it, she had to run out to an appointment. This was the second person to have to leave me in the middle of a conversation! This was kind of difficult - especially, when I all I wanted to do was talk, share some of my stress, and ask for advice.
But I was looking forward to having a cup of tea and (finally) some conversation with Carleen at Barnes and Noble. So, I headed out there from the Alzheimer’s Association and spent time browsing the bargain racks. I found a very interesting book by actor Sean Astin who played Samwise Gamgee in the LOTR trilogy movies.
Carleen showed up right on time and said she had accidentally left her wallet at home. So, we drove to her house together, got the wallet, and went back to the store. We looked around for a bit, and then (just when I was thinking that maybe we’d sit down and have some tea and conversation), she told me she was just exhausted and needed to go home and spend time with her kids (since her husband had looked a little overwhelmed when we stopped back at her house). Of course, I understood, and it was nice to see her, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.
But, then again, I felt completely abandoned, since I just needed to talk all my stress out and feel the healing power of venting, you know? I wasn’t mad at anyone, just overwhelmed and in need of a friend willing to invest some time with me.
So, I got home and was able to talk to Brett, but (yet again) only for a few minutes, since he had to go to work.
There I was, all alone, extremely stressed, in terrible mouth pain, and feeling very, very isolated in my house.
I spent most of last night tossing and turning, dealing with the pain, and also wondering if I was “the girl who wouldn’t shut up.” In a way, I felt like people had been running out on me all day. I knew they were all dear friends, people who like me, and didn’t mean to run out on me, but it was just their busy lives and circumstances. I know that.
But I questioned my friends’ (and my mother’s) ability to see my stress outwardly. When someone looks like she wants to keep having a conversation – wouldn’t you think that maybe she had something important to share? I don’t know. And I’m sure I’ve done it to others many times. It just seemed so overwhelming to me right then. Was I the girl who couldn’t shut up? Were they running from me?
So, this morning, still with very little sleep, I got up and rode my exercise bike. Depressed and stressed aside, I’m sticking to Weight Watchers no matter what this time!
As I was riding, listening to Damaris Carbaugh on my headphones, I prayed and asked the Lord to just help me get through it. I imagined myself bogged down in the Slough of Despair and seeing Jesus come by, reach out His arms, and lift me from the despair. It did help.
Then, I saw Brett standing there watching me. I didn’t even hear him come in from work. And I didn’t even know I’d been crying. He just came over and hugged me. Time was calling by then, so I had to settle for just a hug and then run and get ready for work.
It was a long day –and I’m glad it’s over. And I’m grateful that Jesus is always there. He never has to leave on account of circumstance, and for that, I can always be grateful!
And He doesn’t even care if I am the girl who couldn’t shut up.
It was only a Tuesday. You would think a Tuesday wouldn’t be that stressful. Mondays are supposed to be stressful.
My day started out a little gloomy and not just because of the weather. I’ve been having a lot of mouth pain recently. At first, I thought it might be TMJ and made a dentist appointment for December 5. Over Monday night, however, the pain localized in the upper right part of my mouth, along the gum line. So, now I’m thinking I may not have TMJ but instead have a raging infection of some kind. The pain has gotten consistently worse, so I’ve moved my appointment to tomorrow, the earliest that they could get me in.
So, I hadn’t slept much on Monday night, on account of the severe mouth pain, and when I got to work on Tuesday, everything just took on monumental proportions. I am so swamped at work! I have a 64 page program book to design, our regular 16 page member newsletter, cookie press, regular press releases, and (on top of everything) my boss just keeps giving me more stuff! It was overwhelming to a person who has gotten little sleep, is still in pain, and already has enough on her plate, you know?
Anyway, I managed to muddle through the morning. Although, I still wasn’t able to get any of “my” job tasks done, since I was tied up helping other people all day.
Then, Mom and I met for the noon meeting at Weight Watchers. I found out that I weigh ---! Seriously, ---! You didn’t honestly think I was going to tell you, did you?! Ha! Ha!
Anyway, the meeting was good, and Mom and I went out for lunch afterwards. As we were talking, I noticed Mom seemed like she had to get going. But, when I asked her, she said, “Oh no, I’m retired. I just have to go to Wal-Mart.” But she kept giving me non-verbal clues like looking at the time, glancing towards the door, and eventually picking up her cup and standing up. So, I got the message. I really wanted to talk some more, but it seemed like she wanted to get going, so we both headed out in our separate directions.
When I got back to work, I double checked with our Executive Director on our in-house volunteer policy. When she e-mailed her response, she cc’d my direct boss, and it ended up making me feel like I’d been trying to hide the volunteer work (for another organization) that I’d been planning to do. Long story short, everyone was okay with my volunteer work, but I got a little reamed out for not clearing it ahead of time. I saw the point, and no one was angry with me, but I still felt like I’d been reprimanded for doing something good and honorable.
Later, I headed out to my volunteer spot. My friend who works at the Alzheimer’s Association had asked me to design a brochure for the organization’s upcoming event. I was excited to meet the Executive Director and talk to my friend.
As we were talking, I discovered they didn’t just need help with a brochure – they need a theme, a logo, along with design help on the brochure, save the date postcards, a program book, awareness flyers, and paid print ads. That was WAY more than I’d thought I’d be helping with. But I wasn’t able to say “no” to any of it, since they are all tied together.
So, now, I’ve also got that on my plate. I was feeling WAY stressed by this time. My friend and I began talking, but before I knew it, she had to run out to an appointment. This was the second person to have to leave me in the middle of a conversation! This was kind of difficult - especially, when I all I wanted to do was talk, share some of my stress, and ask for advice.
But I was looking forward to having a cup of tea and (finally) some conversation with Carleen at Barnes and Noble. So, I headed out there from the Alzheimer’s Association and spent time browsing the bargain racks. I found a very interesting book by actor Sean Astin who played Samwise Gamgee in the LOTR trilogy movies.
Carleen showed up right on time and said she had accidentally left her wallet at home. So, we drove to her house together, got the wallet, and went back to the store. We looked around for a bit, and then (just when I was thinking that maybe we’d sit down and have some tea and conversation), she told me she was just exhausted and needed to go home and spend time with her kids (since her husband had looked a little overwhelmed when we stopped back at her house). Of course, I understood, and it was nice to see her, even if it was just for a couple of minutes.
But, then again, I felt completely abandoned, since I just needed to talk all my stress out and feel the healing power of venting, you know? I wasn’t mad at anyone, just overwhelmed and in need of a friend willing to invest some time with me.
So, I got home and was able to talk to Brett, but (yet again) only for a few minutes, since he had to go to work.
There I was, all alone, extremely stressed, in terrible mouth pain, and feeling very, very isolated in my house.
I spent most of last night tossing and turning, dealing with the pain, and also wondering if I was “the girl who wouldn’t shut up.” In a way, I felt like people had been running out on me all day. I knew they were all dear friends, people who like me, and didn’t mean to run out on me, but it was just their busy lives and circumstances. I know that.
But I questioned my friends’ (and my mother’s) ability to see my stress outwardly. When someone looks like she wants to keep having a conversation – wouldn’t you think that maybe she had something important to share? I don’t know. And I’m sure I’ve done it to others many times. It just seemed so overwhelming to me right then. Was I the girl who couldn’t shut up? Were they running from me?
So, this morning, still with very little sleep, I got up and rode my exercise bike. Depressed and stressed aside, I’m sticking to Weight Watchers no matter what this time!
As I was riding, listening to Damaris Carbaugh on my headphones, I prayed and asked the Lord to just help me get through it. I imagined myself bogged down in the Slough of Despair and seeing Jesus come by, reach out His arms, and lift me from the despair. It did help.
Then, I saw Brett standing there watching me. I didn’t even hear him come in from work. And I didn’t even know I’d been crying. He just came over and hugged me. Time was calling by then, so I had to settle for just a hug and then run and get ready for work.
It was a long day –and I’m glad it’s over. And I’m grateful that Jesus is always there. He never has to leave on account of circumstance, and for that, I can always be grateful!
And He doesn’t even care if I am the girl who couldn’t shut up.
Monday, November 27, 2006
To The Underwhelming Class of 1996
While riding my exercise bike this morning and listening to Phil Vassar’s Carleen on my headphones, I got to thinking about high school.
The Carleen song always makes me wish for the day where I could show up at some type of school reunion in front of my old classmates as a slender, successful woman. (Not that I am either at this point – I’m imagining I am in my head during the song, though)
I would say, “See! See, I told you I would amount to something.”
It was with that imaginary action I realized I have been out of high school for ten years. Ten years! When did I get to be so old, huh?
The thing is that my graduating class wasn’t bad…or good. We were just 9 completely apathetic people trying to get through school. None of us were particularly close, and in a class of only 9 people that is a little unusual.
We didn’t dislike each other, but we didn’t really like each other, either. Our Senior trip was a practice in avoidance. Literally. We all wanted to go to Washington D.C., just not with each other.
Oh well, we can’t all be the cast of Beverly Hills 90210, Dawson’s Creek, or The Breakfast Club – and goodness knows, we were never that interesting to begin with.
So, as 2006 draws to a close, I’d like to write a few words about my graduating class – The Class of 1996.
Amy E.
You were the girl who had “the girls” before the rest of us. You learned to deal with lecherous guys the hard way and were forced to grow up a lot faster than the rest of us.
You taught us all about training bras, lady-like leg crossing, and emergency hair care products. You were the only one of us girls to ever have a “real” boyfriend, then another, and then another! You were the first girl to get married, even though (as I recall) I did try to talk you out of it, feminist that I was then.
You were always nice to me, and I enjoyed many sleepovers and secrets shared, before we drifted apart.
Amy T.
I will always admire you for having the guts to stand up in a locker room full of gossiping, snickering seventh grade girls and tell us what we were doing and saying was wrong. You stood for truth and against character assassination at a time when it cost you your reputation. It was a heavy burden on your slim shoulders.
You made a full recovery later, when we all began to realize your inner stand –up comic. You and you alone, made my Senior trip worthwhile.
Beecher
You were a sweet boy - a few eggs short of a dozen, but a heart that seemed to be genuinely warm and caring. I know I baffled you. You would always explain the legalistic blather you had been indoctrinated with to me. And, when I argued with you, you’d give me that sweet, sympathetic look that told me you felt sorry for me, since I obviously just couldn’t hold your words in my tiny little female brain.
Your willingness to be molded into a godly servant led you into the clutches of he-who-shall-not-be-named, but you seem to have come out of it all right – with a wife who is kind and gentle and (how shall I say?) fits you perfectly.
Unlike the majority of boys in my high school experience, you were never mean to me. At least not to my face, and I thank you for that.
It will always baffle me that you (bottom of our class scholastically) and me (top) were the only two to obtain a college degree. Go figure.
David
My relationship with you had two sides. You were the jovial guy who dated my best friend, and you were also the guy who swore at me, humiliated me, and used me as your shield against Josh in middle school.
You hurt me deeply.
But, I know what you’ve been though – marriage, divorce, and addiction - so I guess you’ve paid for your mistakes in heart wrenching ways, so I’ve let go of the dark past we share and wish you a full recovery and a hopefully happy life.
Eileen
Oh, Eileen! What can I say about you? You made me laugh. Harder than I ever knew I could. Your focus on the here and now and looking your best always made for funny conversation. I will never forget your explanation of “the first time” to all of us girls during the Senior trip. We were never so glad to have a former public school girl in our midst.
Jerry
Ah, Jerry – I barely knew ye. I guess all I can say is that I sure hope you found the right girl. Goodness knows, you dated enough of the wrong ones.
Nick
You were so laid-back, sometimes we weren’t even sure you were conscious. You were the epitome of cool. You didn’t need us, and you knew it. You had a car full of public school friends who thought your life at a private school was hilarious. You were never mean, though I think it was mainly because you never cared about any of us one way or the other.
Pat
You were the silent type. I think you said six sentences to me our whole Senior year. Most of it in mumbles. I think there was a lot going on behind that stoical face, but I guess I’ll never know.
Mr. H.
Poor man - stuck with a class of people who defined the antithesis of school spirit and spirituality. Not a Jeremy K. in the whole bunch of us.
I know we didn’t make you proud. You wore our stigma – the underperformers – with a sarcastic wit (although you didn’t know) that we always thought was funny.
You loved your home room before us. They were better, brighter, and bolder. We weren’t even second best in your book. But you put up with us, drove to D.C. with us, and tried to be helpful when we asked for help.
Still, your deadpan humor was hilarious at times, especially when you told us that, if we didn’t start raising money for our Senior trip, the only place we’d be going was Beloit.
Every time I watch The Office, I think of you – trying to manage a group of misfits.
So, there we are – The Class of 1996.
May we all go on and do better things than we did then. Not that we set the bar all that high, anyway.
The Carleen song always makes me wish for the day where I could show up at some type of school reunion in front of my old classmates as a slender, successful woman. (Not that I am either at this point – I’m imagining I am in my head during the song, though)
I would say, “See! See, I told you I would amount to something.”
It was with that imaginary action I realized I have been out of high school for ten years. Ten years! When did I get to be so old, huh?
The thing is that my graduating class wasn’t bad…or good. We were just 9 completely apathetic people trying to get through school. None of us were particularly close, and in a class of only 9 people that is a little unusual.
We didn’t dislike each other, but we didn’t really like each other, either. Our Senior trip was a practice in avoidance. Literally. We all wanted to go to Washington D.C., just not with each other.
Oh well, we can’t all be the cast of Beverly Hills 90210, Dawson’s Creek, or The Breakfast Club – and goodness knows, we were never that interesting to begin with.
So, as 2006 draws to a close, I’d like to write a few words about my graduating class – The Class of 1996.
Amy E.
You were the girl who had “the girls” before the rest of us. You learned to deal with lecherous guys the hard way and were forced to grow up a lot faster than the rest of us.
You taught us all about training bras, lady-like leg crossing, and emergency hair care products. You were the only one of us girls to ever have a “real” boyfriend, then another, and then another! You were the first girl to get married, even though (as I recall) I did try to talk you out of it, feminist that I was then.
You were always nice to me, and I enjoyed many sleepovers and secrets shared, before we drifted apart.
Amy T.
I will always admire you for having the guts to stand up in a locker room full of gossiping, snickering seventh grade girls and tell us what we were doing and saying was wrong. You stood for truth and against character assassination at a time when it cost you your reputation. It was a heavy burden on your slim shoulders.
You made a full recovery later, when we all began to realize your inner stand –up comic. You and you alone, made my Senior trip worthwhile.
Beecher
You were a sweet boy - a few eggs short of a dozen, but a heart that seemed to be genuinely warm and caring. I know I baffled you. You would always explain the legalistic blather you had been indoctrinated with to me. And, when I argued with you, you’d give me that sweet, sympathetic look that told me you felt sorry for me, since I obviously just couldn’t hold your words in my tiny little female brain.
Your willingness to be molded into a godly servant led you into the clutches of he-who-shall-not-be-named, but you seem to have come out of it all right – with a wife who is kind and gentle and (how shall I say?) fits you perfectly.
Unlike the majority of boys in my high school experience, you were never mean to me. At least not to my face, and I thank you for that.
It will always baffle me that you (bottom of our class scholastically) and me (top) were the only two to obtain a college degree. Go figure.
David
My relationship with you had two sides. You were the jovial guy who dated my best friend, and you were also the guy who swore at me, humiliated me, and used me as your shield against Josh in middle school.
You hurt me deeply.
But, I know what you’ve been though – marriage, divorce, and addiction - so I guess you’ve paid for your mistakes in heart wrenching ways, so I’ve let go of the dark past we share and wish you a full recovery and a hopefully happy life.
Eileen
Oh, Eileen! What can I say about you? You made me laugh. Harder than I ever knew I could. Your focus on the here and now and looking your best always made for funny conversation. I will never forget your explanation of “the first time” to all of us girls during the Senior trip. We were never so glad to have a former public school girl in our midst.
Jerry
Ah, Jerry – I barely knew ye. I guess all I can say is that I sure hope you found the right girl. Goodness knows, you dated enough of the wrong ones.
Nick
You were so laid-back, sometimes we weren’t even sure you were conscious. You were the epitome of cool. You didn’t need us, and you knew it. You had a car full of public school friends who thought your life at a private school was hilarious. You were never mean, though I think it was mainly because you never cared about any of us one way or the other.
Pat
You were the silent type. I think you said six sentences to me our whole Senior year. Most of it in mumbles. I think there was a lot going on behind that stoical face, but I guess I’ll never know.
Mr. H.
Poor man - stuck with a class of people who defined the antithesis of school spirit and spirituality. Not a Jeremy K. in the whole bunch of us.
I know we didn’t make you proud. You wore our stigma – the underperformers – with a sarcastic wit (although you didn’t know) that we always thought was funny.
You loved your home room before us. They were better, brighter, and bolder. We weren’t even second best in your book. But you put up with us, drove to D.C. with us, and tried to be helpful when we asked for help.
Still, your deadpan humor was hilarious at times, especially when you told us that, if we didn’t start raising money for our Senior trip, the only place we’d be going was Beloit.
Every time I watch The Office, I think of you – trying to manage a group of misfits.
So, there we are – The Class of 1996.
May we all go on and do better things than we did then. Not that we set the bar all that high, anyway.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
The Odd Couple
We are a weird couple.
It’s okay. It’s okay. I knew that going in. And part of the reason I married Brett was precisely because he wasn’t like ALL those other guys.
But, sometimes our weirdness (kinder perhaps to say our “uniqueness”) makes me laugh.
Take last night, for example – there we were, tangled up in our bed sheets, our legs overlapping, holding hands. With our free hands, though, we were busy. Brett was listening to his new police scanner – which he bought with his birthday money from me – and I was reading the exciting thriller mystery Without Fail (The Jack Reacher Series) by Lee Child. On the floor, our bunnies thumped and jumped and frolicked with glee.
Tell me that’s not a little weird.
There are times I’m grateful for our weirdness. When you truly know each other – really know the other person – you feel absolutely close to them.
For instance, I know Brett doesn’t trust the glue on the inside of envelopes. He uses water to seal the envelopes then tapes them over with clear Scotch tape. He also loves cork boards and tries to hang them all over the house when I’m not looking. He hates to dress up – at all – and believes the world would be a better place if we could all wear jeans and T-shirts all the time. The only time you’ll see Brett in a suit is at a funeral or a wedding.
Now, admittedly, I’m a little weird, too. But, if you’re reading this, then you know that.
The thing is that I made a promise to myself when Brett and I got married. I promised to try and not change him. To remember that I love him for WHO he is, not who I might think he needs to be.
Over the years, I can’t say I’ve always stuck to that promise. But over those ten years, I’ve also learned a very valuable lesson. I can’t change Brett (even at the times I’ve wanted to). Only God can change Brett. And, I suppose, only God can change me, too.
Because, of course, I am not exempt from weirdness. Brett knows this. I have my strange little quirks. Like I HAVE to take a Sunday afternoon nap or I’m cranky all week. Or how I hate the word “fine” as in “How are you today?” and “I’m fine.” Long story, I just don’t like the word. Or how I hate vegetables on my sandwiches. And how I really LOVE commercials. Stuff like that.
The thing is that sometimes I wonder if our weirdness keeps us from having friends. Brett’s really only ever had one good friend, and I can count on one hand the number of “couple” friends we have. And Mom and Gary count!
See, in our Christian circles, it’s assumed that “the man” is a certain way – funny, boisterous, jack-of-all-trades, back-slapping during the week, yet suit-wearing, sober, and serious on Sunday.
There are similar expectations for “the woman.” She trends to the little ‘uns, cooks a mean casserole, and her house sparkles under her care. She takes a back seat to her husband, stands behind him, and submittedly bats her eyelashes in stunning surprise when complimented.
But, see, me and Brett aren’t like that. Those aren’t the personalities God gave us.
I’m funny. He’s serious. I’m ambitious, career minded, and focused. He’s laid back, calming, and earnest. And I love our relationship. The problem is that we haven’t found any godly couples we’ve really “clicked” with – except my cousin Aaron and his wife who have the nerve to live in another state!
And, of course, the clincher is that we lack the squirmy substance that often does bring “couple” friends together – children.
So, we’re childless, until God deems otherwise. It can be a lonely position. We both have peace about our child bearing situation and are grateful we’ve been spared the mental and physical anguish that many couples suffer.
But, peace aside, being childless does limit our fellowship opportunities. It is difficult for us to have people with kids over, because their children will have no one to play with or anything to do. And it’s the height of rudeness to invite yourself over to someone’s house.
Most young families’ conversation revolves around children. We understand that. It’s just that we are (always unintentionally) given the cold shoulder.
Being childless hurts in other ways, too. To know there is a possibility that you will never bear or be able to afford adoption is one thing. But to then hear motherhood heralded as the exultant peak of womanhood makes me feel as though I am nothing and will never be anything just because my ovaries aren’t up to snuff.
And I don’t buy it.
I’m not saying that motherhood is anything but wonderful. If you’ve read any part of my blog, you know the heavenly relationship I share with my own mother and the amazing one I had with my late mother-in-law. I love mothers. And I’d love to join the mother club. But I’ve had to accept that I may never be “Mom” to anyone.
And if that is the case, and the peak of womanhood is motherhood, then why did God bother to create me at all? And see, that is where I find hope. God DID create me – out of His mercy and grace. Therefore, He HAS a purpose for me. And one that may not involve my ovaries in the least. I believe in that fervently. And I pray that He will continue to guide and direct me in that way.
After all, He directed me to Brett, in all his sweet, goofy weirdness. Brett has great peace with our childless situation. He has been an amazing comfort to me, in so many ways. He accepts me for who I am. He believes I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
And I love him, too. I love that he comes home and embraces me like a sailor who hasn’t seen a woman in 12 years. Or how he literally chases me around the house! I love that he gets mushy over our two rabbits. I love that he’s a little paranoid about identity theft (as though anyone would want to steal our sorry identities!) and yet totally careless about if the house is clean or dinner is on the table.
So, yes, we are a weird, childless couple. But, for the most part, we’re a happy, weird, childless couple.
And I think that if we weren’t us, we’d want to be friends with us. Because we’re friendly, loyal, and if you did hang out with us – I guarantee you’d have a good laugh, a good time –
And your identity when you left.
It’s okay. It’s okay. I knew that going in. And part of the reason I married Brett was precisely because he wasn’t like ALL those other guys.
But, sometimes our weirdness (kinder perhaps to say our “uniqueness”) makes me laugh.
Take last night, for example – there we were, tangled up in our bed sheets, our legs overlapping, holding hands. With our free hands, though, we were busy. Brett was listening to his new police scanner – which he bought with his birthday money from me – and I was reading the exciting thriller mystery Without Fail (The Jack Reacher Series) by Lee Child. On the floor, our bunnies thumped and jumped and frolicked with glee.
Tell me that’s not a little weird.
There are times I’m grateful for our weirdness. When you truly know each other – really know the other person – you feel absolutely close to them.
For instance, I know Brett doesn’t trust the glue on the inside of envelopes. He uses water to seal the envelopes then tapes them over with clear Scotch tape. He also loves cork boards and tries to hang them all over the house when I’m not looking. He hates to dress up – at all – and believes the world would be a better place if we could all wear jeans and T-shirts all the time. The only time you’ll see Brett in a suit is at a funeral or a wedding.
Now, admittedly, I’m a little weird, too. But, if you’re reading this, then you know that.
The thing is that I made a promise to myself when Brett and I got married. I promised to try and not change him. To remember that I love him for WHO he is, not who I might think he needs to be.
Over the years, I can’t say I’ve always stuck to that promise. But over those ten years, I’ve also learned a very valuable lesson. I can’t change Brett (even at the times I’ve wanted to). Only God can change Brett. And, I suppose, only God can change me, too.
Because, of course, I am not exempt from weirdness. Brett knows this. I have my strange little quirks. Like I HAVE to take a Sunday afternoon nap or I’m cranky all week. Or how I hate the word “fine” as in “How are you today?” and “I’m fine.” Long story, I just don’t like the word. Or how I hate vegetables on my sandwiches. And how I really LOVE commercials. Stuff like that.
The thing is that sometimes I wonder if our weirdness keeps us from having friends. Brett’s really only ever had one good friend, and I can count on one hand the number of “couple” friends we have. And Mom and Gary count!
See, in our Christian circles, it’s assumed that “the man” is a certain way – funny, boisterous, jack-of-all-trades, back-slapping during the week, yet suit-wearing, sober, and serious on Sunday.
There are similar expectations for “the woman.” She trends to the little ‘uns, cooks a mean casserole, and her house sparkles under her care. She takes a back seat to her husband, stands behind him, and submittedly bats her eyelashes in stunning surprise when complimented.
But, see, me and Brett aren’t like that. Those aren’t the personalities God gave us.
I’m funny. He’s serious. I’m ambitious, career minded, and focused. He’s laid back, calming, and earnest. And I love our relationship. The problem is that we haven’t found any godly couples we’ve really “clicked” with – except my cousin Aaron and his wife who have the nerve to live in another state!
And, of course, the clincher is that we lack the squirmy substance that often does bring “couple” friends together – children.
So, we’re childless, until God deems otherwise. It can be a lonely position. We both have peace about our child bearing situation and are grateful we’ve been spared the mental and physical anguish that many couples suffer.
But, peace aside, being childless does limit our fellowship opportunities. It is difficult for us to have people with kids over, because their children will have no one to play with or anything to do. And it’s the height of rudeness to invite yourself over to someone’s house.
Most young families’ conversation revolves around children. We understand that. It’s just that we are (always unintentionally) given the cold shoulder.
Being childless hurts in other ways, too. To know there is a possibility that you will never bear or be able to afford adoption is one thing. But to then hear motherhood heralded as the exultant peak of womanhood makes me feel as though I am nothing and will never be anything just because my ovaries aren’t up to snuff.
And I don’t buy it.
I’m not saying that motherhood is anything but wonderful. If you’ve read any part of my blog, you know the heavenly relationship I share with my own mother and the amazing one I had with my late mother-in-law. I love mothers. And I’d love to join the mother club. But I’ve had to accept that I may never be “Mom” to anyone.
And if that is the case, and the peak of womanhood is motherhood, then why did God bother to create me at all? And see, that is where I find hope. God DID create me – out of His mercy and grace. Therefore, He HAS a purpose for me. And one that may not involve my ovaries in the least. I believe in that fervently. And I pray that He will continue to guide and direct me in that way.
After all, He directed me to Brett, in all his sweet, goofy weirdness. Brett has great peace with our childless situation. He has been an amazing comfort to me, in so many ways. He accepts me for who I am. He believes I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
And I love him, too. I love that he comes home and embraces me like a sailor who hasn’t seen a woman in 12 years. Or how he literally chases me around the house! I love that he gets mushy over our two rabbits. I love that he’s a little paranoid about identity theft (as though anyone would want to steal our sorry identities!) and yet totally careless about if the house is clean or dinner is on the table.
So, yes, we are a weird, childless couple. But, for the most part, we’re a happy, weird, childless couple.
And I think that if we weren’t us, we’d want to be friends with us. Because we’re friendly, loyal, and if you did hang out with us – I guarantee you’d have a good laugh, a good time –
And your identity when you left.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
All I Want For Christmas Is…EVERYTHING!
Lyrics from I Want It Now from the 1971 movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory -
Veruca Salt:
Gooses! Geeses!I want my geese to lay gold eggs for Easter
Mr. Salt:
It will, sweetheart
Veruca:
At least a hundred a day
Mr. Salt:
Anything you say
Veruca:
And by the way
Mr. Salt:
What?
Veruca:
I want a feast
Mr. Salt:
You ate before you came to the factory
Veruca:
I want a bean feast!
Mr. Salt:
Oh, one of those
Veruca:
Cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts
So good you could go nuts
Mr. Salt:
You can have all those things when you get home
Veruca:
No, now!!
I want a ball
I want a party
Pink macaroons and a million balloons
And performing baboons and ...Give it to me
Rrhh rhhh
Now!
I want the world
I want the whole world
I want to lock it all up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me
Now!
I want today
I want tomorrow
I want to wear 'em like braids in my hair
And I don't want to share 'em
I want a party with room fulls of laughter
Ten thousand tons of ice cream
And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream!
I want the works
I want the whole works
Presents and prizes and sweets and surprises
Of all shapes and sizes
And now
Don't care how
I want it now
Don't care how
I want it now
Sometimes I feel like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I really identify with her when she sings how she wants it NOW! Neither patience nor contentment has ever been my strong suit.
And, no, I don’t care what that says about me! :-)
And there is never a shortage of things I want, let me tell you! So, in that materialistic vein, I have assembled my once-a-year-although-I-add-to-it-all-though-the-year Christmas list.
Mostly, I keep this list up all year for myself. So, I’ll remember that book I checked out from the library and now want to have as a permanent part of my meager collection. Or that movie I really enjoyed on the big screen and would now like to own. Stuff like that.
So, I don’t really ask people to get me these things (well, except Brett on occasion). It’s more to help me remember. But this kind of list IS handy when it comes Christmas time.
Because a lot of times, people really do want to know what to get you.
They don’t want to get you something you already have or don’t really want, so my list (although I know it seems a little forward) is helpful to the people in my life. Believe me, I wish more people kept lists and passed them out in December. It would make us all happier gift givers and receivers.
Mind you, these are things I WANT, but don’t necessarily NEED. I have them divided up categorically, as you will see. This is how neurotic I am about keeping track of what I like! Both my mom and Brett get a copy of the list, and I provide it to anybody who asks me what I want for Christmas. Ha! Ha! Ha!
There are big ticket items and cheap things like books, but really it’s just a conglomeration and amalgamation of the hodge-podge of stuff I yearn for all year long.
DVD’s:
The Family Stone
Lucky Number Slevin
The New Guy
X-Men 3
Books:
The Promise (Chaim Potok)
Last Man Standing (David Balducci)
Books by Lee Child:
Persuader
The Enemy
One Shot
The Hard Way
Books by Paul Johnston:
Body Politic
The Bone Yard
Water of Death
The Blood Tree
The House of Dust
CD’s:
Walk the Line (Original Soundtrack)
Yankee Candles Scents:
Jack Frost Tea Lights
Home Sweet Home
Vintage Chardonnay
Gift Cards:
Hallmark
Lane Bryant
Fashion Bug
www.whatonearthcatalog.com
(gift certificates)
Big Tickets:
Laptop PC
iPod
It’s all fun and games at the Soderstrom house! Happy Holidays!
Veruca Salt:
Gooses! Geeses!I want my geese to lay gold eggs for Easter
Mr. Salt:
It will, sweetheart
Veruca:
At least a hundred a day
Mr. Salt:
Anything you say
Veruca:
And by the way
Mr. Salt:
What?
Veruca:
I want a feast
Mr. Salt:
You ate before you came to the factory
Veruca:
I want a bean feast!
Mr. Salt:
Oh, one of those
Veruca:
Cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts
So good you could go nuts
Mr. Salt:
You can have all those things when you get home
Veruca:
No, now!!
I want a ball
I want a party
Pink macaroons and a million balloons
And performing baboons and ...Give it to me
Rrhh rhhh
Now!
I want the world
I want the whole world
I want to lock it all up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me
Now!
I want today
I want tomorrow
I want to wear 'em like braids in my hair
And I don't want to share 'em
I want a party with room fulls of laughter
Ten thousand tons of ice cream
And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream!
I want the works
I want the whole works
Presents and prizes and sweets and surprises
Of all shapes and sizes
And now
Don't care how
I want it now
Don't care how
I want it now
Sometimes I feel like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I really identify with her when she sings how she wants it NOW! Neither patience nor contentment has ever been my strong suit.
And, no, I don’t care what that says about me! :-)
And there is never a shortage of things I want, let me tell you! So, in that materialistic vein, I have assembled my once-a-year-although-I-add-to-it-all-though-the-year Christmas list.
Mostly, I keep this list up all year for myself. So, I’ll remember that book I checked out from the library and now want to have as a permanent part of my meager collection. Or that movie I really enjoyed on the big screen and would now like to own. Stuff like that.
So, I don’t really ask people to get me these things (well, except Brett on occasion). It’s more to help me remember. But this kind of list IS handy when it comes Christmas time.
Because a lot of times, people really do want to know what to get you.
They don’t want to get you something you already have or don’t really want, so my list (although I know it seems a little forward) is helpful to the people in my life. Believe me, I wish more people kept lists and passed them out in December. It would make us all happier gift givers and receivers.
Mind you, these are things I WANT, but don’t necessarily NEED. I have them divided up categorically, as you will see. This is how neurotic I am about keeping track of what I like! Both my mom and Brett get a copy of the list, and I provide it to anybody who asks me what I want for Christmas. Ha! Ha! Ha!
There are big ticket items and cheap things like books, but really it’s just a conglomeration and amalgamation of the hodge-podge of stuff I yearn for all year long.
DVD’s:
The Family Stone
Lucky Number Slevin
The New Guy
X-Men 3
Books:
The Promise (Chaim Potok)
Last Man Standing (David Balducci)
Books by Lee Child:
Persuader
The Enemy
One Shot
The Hard Way
Books by Paul Johnston:
Body Politic
The Bone Yard
Water of Death
The Blood Tree
The House of Dust
CD’s:
Walk the Line (Original Soundtrack)
Yankee Candles Scents:
Jack Frost Tea Lights
Home Sweet Home
Vintage Chardonnay
Gift Cards:
Hallmark
Lane Bryant
Fashion Bug
www.whatonearthcatalog.com
(gift certificates)
Big Tickets:
Laptop PC
iPod
It’s all fun and games at the Soderstrom house! Happy Holidays!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Creative Christmas
Well, I’m inspired to do what I’ve wanted to do forever - design a sweatshirt specifically for the showcase spectacular that is the REHFELDT CHRISTMAS!
My motivation came from a recent viewing of Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen. So, here’s what I’m thinking:
Front:
Christmas isn’t Christmas
unless it’s a
Rehfeldt Christmas
(I’m seeing this centered on the sweatshirt with “Rehfeldt Christmas” in funky letters. As for colors, I’m thinking red sweatshirt, white lettering.)
Back:
Life Is Better By The Dozen!
A listing of the twelve names
What do you think?
There is a great company in Rockford that does custom clothing work – Creative Pig Minds – so I’m thinking of going to them to see what they offer. I’ve also done stuff on zazzle.com, but I think I would need a little more design help on this one.
My cousin Candice also has a great idea for a Rehfeldt shirt. It would say 1+1= 12 on the front and list the twelve names on the back. I think it’s a great idea, and I’d like to see us do it for a reunion gathering one year.
Over the years, I’ve had many ideas for customized Rehfeldt clothing. One of my favorites is a dark green shirt with black lettering that says The Sherman Avenue Rehfeldts. I’ve always thought that would be cool.
Here’s another Christmas one: Santa’s My Uncle! Ha! Ha!
So, anyway, all ye of Rehfeldt blood please send me any of your Christmas sweatshirt suggestions.
I’ll get to work on it!
My motivation came from a recent viewing of Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen. So, here’s what I’m thinking:
Front:
Christmas isn’t Christmas
unless it’s a
Rehfeldt Christmas
(I’m seeing this centered on the sweatshirt with “Rehfeldt Christmas” in funky letters. As for colors, I’m thinking red sweatshirt, white lettering.)
Back:
Life Is Better By The Dozen!
A listing of the twelve names
What do you think?
There is a great company in Rockford that does custom clothing work – Creative Pig Minds – so I’m thinking of going to them to see what they offer. I’ve also done stuff on zazzle.com, but I think I would need a little more design help on this one.
My cousin Candice also has a great idea for a Rehfeldt shirt. It would say 1+1= 12 on the front and list the twelve names on the back. I think it’s a great idea, and I’d like to see us do it for a reunion gathering one year.
Over the years, I’ve had many ideas for customized Rehfeldt clothing. One of my favorites is a dark green shirt with black lettering that says The Sherman Avenue Rehfeldts. I’ve always thought that would be cool.
Here’s another Christmas one: Santa’s My Uncle! Ha! Ha!
So, anyway, all ye of Rehfeldt blood please send me any of your Christmas sweatshirt suggestions.
I’ll get to work on it!
Wanted: One Big Brother
Sometimes, I can be such a girl.
Like tonight, for example, I was all hyped up to watch Criminal Minds – this great crime/mystery drama about the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the FBI. This group of FBI agents traverses around the globe solving serial killer crimes by figuring out the killer’s motivation and personality.
Of course, as it is with all Hollywood shows, everyone on the BAU is incredibly good-looking. Thankfully, the writing is excellent and the actors are very good. So all I really have to do is suspend my belief that everyone who works for the federal government is incredibly handsome and or model-gorgeous, and I have a great TV watching experience.
Well, as I was flipping through the channels, I saw that Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen remake was also on TV tonight. Since it also stars the yummy Tom Welling (of Smallville fame), I thought I would check it out during the Criminal Minds commercial breaks. I mean, I’ve seen the movie before, and (other than Tom) it wasn’t like I was all that impressed.
Well, of course, you know what happened. I ended up watching Criminal Minds during the Cheaper by the Dozen commercial breaks. I got sucked in. What can I say?
I pride myself on not being a chick-flick kind of person – TV or movies, but this one just got to me. I mean, of course there was Tom, who I would pay good money just to see sit in a chair for two hours. Mainly because, as gorgeous as God made him, the guy can’t act his way out of a paper bag. (I saw his remake of The Fog – and it was terrible!)
Anyway, back to the movie. I think I identified with it since my Mom is also one of twelve children. It’s a wonderful family legacy, and one I am deeply grateful for.
As I was watching the movie (and Tom), I got to thinking about family.
I am so fortunate God ordained for me to be an only child. As with all families, there are pros and cons to only childom. I wouldn’t trade my fantastic childhood for anything. Being an only child gave me many, many opportunities I would never have had otherwise.
I had closeness with my mom and dad that many children only dream of. I had educational, growth, and development opportunities I wouldn’t have had– since my parents never had a lot of money. And so much more!
I say this to preface what I am going to say now. There was only one thing I really wanted in the way of family. And by the time I was born, it was already too late.
I wanted a big brother.
My friend, Lindsay, had a big brother – Adam. I was in love with Adam. Not because he was older, taller, and handsome (although he was), but because he was an incredible older brother to Lindsay and her three sisters. He took his job seriously. You’ve never seen a big brother treat his sisters so nice.
I’d be over at Lindsay’s and all of us girls would be playing together, and (as it often happens with bunches of girls) a fight would break out. Then there’d be stomping off, door slamming, doll throwing, and down the hall yelling. Then, Adam would come out of his room (his fortress in the mostly all-girl land where he lived) and go talk to each one of his sisters, until eventually everyone was back in the same room laughing and dog piling on Adam. He’d slip back out to his room, eventually, and I would just stare lovelorn into the hallway wishing I had a valiant older brother.
That’s probably yet another reason why I have problems with men.
Until I met Brett, no man was ever there to defend me. My amazing father was misled, so he wasn’t there to stand for me when Josh tormented me. The boys in my class stood idly by or were active participants in the abuse I suffered. In high school, I was the target of mean boys who enjoyed taunting me. At church, I was (gratefully) mostly ignored by the boys, and only singled out by one or two for occasional humiliation.
So, it’s no wonder I would have appreciated an older brother.
It wasn’t until I got to college that I discovered there were lots of different types of men out there – and some of then were actually good. I hadn’t believed it up until then. And after what I had been through, can you blame me?
I wouldn’t have minded a younger brother, either. But, unfortunately, my little brother, Nathan James, died during my mom’s miscarriage when I was only five years old.
I didn’t even realize Mom had a miscarriage until I was eight. I had a flashback of organizing my books on a bottom shelf so there would be room for the baby’s things. So, in all my eight year old naiveté, I turned to my mom and asked, “Weren’t you going to have a baby?”
Mom was shocked – it had been THREE years, and I’d never said a word - and then broke down. Over the next couple of years, I learned the horrible pain and heart wrenching agony that miscarriage caused my parents. Mom said that if they hadn’t already had me (after being childless for 11 years), she wasn’t sure she could have handled it mentally.
The story of the miscarriage - and its ramifications – are another post altogether. But suffice it to say, there are times when I think of Nathan and wonder what it would have been like to have a brother.
I guess the sad thing for me is that I never found anyone to fill that unique void. My brother-in-laws are hardly brotherly, even though I’m young enough to be their younger, much younger, sister. And for all my cousins, not one ever stepped up into the roll. Not that I blame them – I don’t believe I was all that easy to love and/or imagine as a “little” sister – since I was anything BUT little growing up.
There is one time I remember where I had a “brotherly” experience. Several of the Rehfeldt families had rented a cabin next to a lake up in Wisconsin one summer. My cousin Jason (three years older than me) and I rowed out to the middle of the lake and talked for hours about God and the universe. He was sweet to be so kind to my somewhat cynical twelve year old self. And I’ve always treasured that moment.
I think my big brother void manifested itself in who I chose to marry. I loved Brett for who he was, but I was drawn to the fact that he was a big guy. He could defend me if I was ever in danger. And, to be honest, I’ve only ever seen Brett really lose his cool once and that WAS to defend me on a Chicago street.
So, psychosomatic as it sounds, I guess, I am still looking for my big brother.
At least, I know that, one day, I’ll get to meet my little brother in heaven. And it’ll be nice to say, “Hi, Nathan. I’m your sister.”
I’ve never been anyone’s sister before.
Like tonight, for example, I was all hyped up to watch Criminal Minds – this great crime/mystery drama about the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the FBI. This group of FBI agents traverses around the globe solving serial killer crimes by figuring out the killer’s motivation and personality.
Of course, as it is with all Hollywood shows, everyone on the BAU is incredibly good-looking. Thankfully, the writing is excellent and the actors are very good. So all I really have to do is suspend my belief that everyone who works for the federal government is incredibly handsome and or model-gorgeous, and I have a great TV watching experience.
Well, as I was flipping through the channels, I saw that Steve Martin’s Cheaper by the Dozen remake was also on TV tonight. Since it also stars the yummy Tom Welling (of Smallville fame), I thought I would check it out during the Criminal Minds commercial breaks. I mean, I’ve seen the movie before, and (other than Tom) it wasn’t like I was all that impressed.
Well, of course, you know what happened. I ended up watching Criminal Minds during the Cheaper by the Dozen commercial breaks. I got sucked in. What can I say?
I pride myself on not being a chick-flick kind of person – TV or movies, but this one just got to me. I mean, of course there was Tom, who I would pay good money just to see sit in a chair for two hours. Mainly because, as gorgeous as God made him, the guy can’t act his way out of a paper bag. (I saw his remake of The Fog – and it was terrible!)
Anyway, back to the movie. I think I identified with it since my Mom is also one of twelve children. It’s a wonderful family legacy, and one I am deeply grateful for.
As I was watching the movie (and Tom), I got to thinking about family.
I am so fortunate God ordained for me to be an only child. As with all families, there are pros and cons to only childom. I wouldn’t trade my fantastic childhood for anything. Being an only child gave me many, many opportunities I would never have had otherwise.
I had closeness with my mom and dad that many children only dream of. I had educational, growth, and development opportunities I wouldn’t have had– since my parents never had a lot of money. And so much more!
I say this to preface what I am going to say now. There was only one thing I really wanted in the way of family. And by the time I was born, it was already too late.
I wanted a big brother.
My friend, Lindsay, had a big brother – Adam. I was in love with Adam. Not because he was older, taller, and handsome (although he was), but because he was an incredible older brother to Lindsay and her three sisters. He took his job seriously. You’ve never seen a big brother treat his sisters so nice.
I’d be over at Lindsay’s and all of us girls would be playing together, and (as it often happens with bunches of girls) a fight would break out. Then there’d be stomping off, door slamming, doll throwing, and down the hall yelling. Then, Adam would come out of his room (his fortress in the mostly all-girl land where he lived) and go talk to each one of his sisters, until eventually everyone was back in the same room laughing and dog piling on Adam. He’d slip back out to his room, eventually, and I would just stare lovelorn into the hallway wishing I had a valiant older brother.
That’s probably yet another reason why I have problems with men.
Until I met Brett, no man was ever there to defend me. My amazing father was misled, so he wasn’t there to stand for me when Josh tormented me. The boys in my class stood idly by or were active participants in the abuse I suffered. In high school, I was the target of mean boys who enjoyed taunting me. At church, I was (gratefully) mostly ignored by the boys, and only singled out by one or two for occasional humiliation.
So, it’s no wonder I would have appreciated an older brother.
It wasn’t until I got to college that I discovered there were lots of different types of men out there – and some of then were actually good. I hadn’t believed it up until then. And after what I had been through, can you blame me?
I wouldn’t have minded a younger brother, either. But, unfortunately, my little brother, Nathan James, died during my mom’s miscarriage when I was only five years old.
I didn’t even realize Mom had a miscarriage until I was eight. I had a flashback of organizing my books on a bottom shelf so there would be room for the baby’s things. So, in all my eight year old naiveté, I turned to my mom and asked, “Weren’t you going to have a baby?”
Mom was shocked – it had been THREE years, and I’d never said a word - and then broke down. Over the next couple of years, I learned the horrible pain and heart wrenching agony that miscarriage caused my parents. Mom said that if they hadn’t already had me (after being childless for 11 years), she wasn’t sure she could have handled it mentally.
The story of the miscarriage - and its ramifications – are another post altogether. But suffice it to say, there are times when I think of Nathan and wonder what it would have been like to have a brother.
I guess the sad thing for me is that I never found anyone to fill that unique void. My brother-in-laws are hardly brotherly, even though I’m young enough to be their younger, much younger, sister. And for all my cousins, not one ever stepped up into the roll. Not that I blame them – I don’t believe I was all that easy to love and/or imagine as a “little” sister – since I was anything BUT little growing up.
There is one time I remember where I had a “brotherly” experience. Several of the Rehfeldt families had rented a cabin next to a lake up in Wisconsin one summer. My cousin Jason (three years older than me) and I rowed out to the middle of the lake and talked for hours about God and the universe. He was sweet to be so kind to my somewhat cynical twelve year old self. And I’ve always treasured that moment.
I think my big brother void manifested itself in who I chose to marry. I loved Brett for who he was, but I was drawn to the fact that he was a big guy. He could defend me if I was ever in danger. And, to be honest, I’ve only ever seen Brett really lose his cool once and that WAS to defend me on a Chicago street.
So, psychosomatic as it sounds, I guess, I am still looking for my big brother.
At least, I know that, one day, I’ll get to meet my little brother in heaven. And it’ll be nice to say, “Hi, Nathan. I’m your sister.”
I’ve never been anyone’s sister before.
When It’s For Better
Well, yes, so the other day I did complain about my husband not doing enough around the house. Then he goes and does something very sweet and very nice for me today, so I figured it would be only fair to record his GOOD actions.
This morning, while I was still fast asleep in a nice warm bed, he put gas in my car and then took it through the car wash. Now, the feminist in me knows I can pump my own gas, but the lazy person in me loves that he does this for me every so often.
I’m even more appreciative for the car wash. See, the thing is that I HATE going through those automatic car washes. I can never line up my tires with that magic metal thing on the floor. I have HORRIBLE depth perception and always end up running over the metal edge, getting stuck, and having to go call the attendant. They know me by name at the local Mobil stations.
After I got ready for work, he bought me an on-the-go breakfast from Panera’s and dropped me off at work. And how is he going to spend the rest of the day? He’s going to look for a replacement right-side mirror for my car and take Peyton to the vet. So, I guess he’s redeemed himself for NOT cleaning the litter box and NOT washing the dishes the other day.
I’m actually a little anxious about what the vet might say about Peyton. He’s been moping around the house which isn’t like him. He has this very sad look, so Brett and I have been calling him “Sad-Eyed Joe.” He has this look even when he feels fine, though, so it doesn’t really tell us anything. He’s usually such a little fireball, so Brett thinks he may just have a little bug, but we figured we better have the vetest-with-the-mostest, Dr. Sandra Durst, check him out. Hopefully, he’ll be fine.
Anyway, it was nice to be pampered a little bit this morning and to remember that a lot of marriage is actually for “the better” part.
P.S. – I can’t remember where I read or saw it, but this quote has always stuck with me, because it is so true.
“Marriage is basically two selfish people trying to pretend they’re not.”
Somebody hit that nail on the head!
This morning, while I was still fast asleep in a nice warm bed, he put gas in my car and then took it through the car wash. Now, the feminist in me knows I can pump my own gas, but the lazy person in me loves that he does this for me every so often.
I’m even more appreciative for the car wash. See, the thing is that I HATE going through those automatic car washes. I can never line up my tires with that magic metal thing on the floor. I have HORRIBLE depth perception and always end up running over the metal edge, getting stuck, and having to go call the attendant. They know me by name at the local Mobil stations.
After I got ready for work, he bought me an on-the-go breakfast from Panera’s and dropped me off at work. And how is he going to spend the rest of the day? He’s going to look for a replacement right-side mirror for my car and take Peyton to the vet. So, I guess he’s redeemed himself for NOT cleaning the litter box and NOT washing the dishes the other day.
I’m actually a little anxious about what the vet might say about Peyton. He’s been moping around the house which isn’t like him. He has this very sad look, so Brett and I have been calling him “Sad-Eyed Joe.” He has this look even when he feels fine, though, so it doesn’t really tell us anything. He’s usually such a little fireball, so Brett thinks he may just have a little bug, but we figured we better have the vetest-with-the-mostest, Dr. Sandra Durst, check him out. Hopefully, he’ll be fine.
Anyway, it was nice to be pampered a little bit this morning and to remember that a lot of marriage is actually for “the better” part.
P.S. – I can’t remember where I read or saw it, but this quote has always stuck with me, because it is so true.
“Marriage is basically two selfish people trying to pretend they’re not.”
Somebody hit that nail on the head!
Ahh, Blissful Silence!
T’was the day before Thanksgiving and all through the office
Not many people were here
A LOT of people take the day before Thanksgiving off in order to travel home for the holidays. And my office is no different. I actually like having less people around, since it means I get a lot more work done.
My job is pretty varied, but a lot of it depends on helping other people. I help them design flyers and programs. I offer advice on best practice standards and copyright issues. I train and coordinate my own group of on call media girls and adults. I cultivate and maintain all the media contacts in our three county areas. And when I’m not doing all that – I’ve got numerous publications to design, press releases to write, grants to oversee, and just the general office “stuff” we all have to do. But….on a day like today…I can tackle those projects I’ve been putting on the back burner – and it is SO profitable to have the time.
So, here’s to a half-empty office and the success of quiet! It’s fleeting, so I might as well enjoy it!
Not many people were here
A LOT of people take the day before Thanksgiving off in order to travel home for the holidays. And my office is no different. I actually like having less people around, since it means I get a lot more work done.
My job is pretty varied, but a lot of it depends on helping other people. I help them design flyers and programs. I offer advice on best practice standards and copyright issues. I train and coordinate my own group of on call media girls and adults. I cultivate and maintain all the media contacts in our three county areas. And when I’m not doing all that – I’ve got numerous publications to design, press releases to write, grants to oversee, and just the general office “stuff” we all have to do. But….on a day like today…I can tackle those projects I’ve been putting on the back burner – and it is SO profitable to have the time.
So, here’s to a half-empty office and the success of quiet! It’s fleeting, so I might as well enjoy it!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
It’s the Little Gifts That Matter
Do you remember your favorite wedding gift? How about a wedding gift you still use?
Mine are these two OXO plastic grip mixing bowls with pour spouts. I even remember who gave them to me. I opened the package at one of my bridal showers and thought, “What are these? I didn’t register for these.”
And I didn’t, but as time went on in my married life, those bowls have become two of my favorite things. They’re perfect for everything I do, since they have a grip on the bottom to keep the bowl from sliding across the counter, the pour spouts are designed for batter, and the grip on the side is great for easy stirring.
It is the perfect example of how a small gift (one I didn’t even want at the time) ended up being perfect. Sometimes, the little unexpected gifts are the ones I appreciate the most.
My mother-in-law once got me a candle wick snipper. I love that thing. She saw me admiring it at Cracker Barrel (all of $6.95) and bought it for me. I use it everyday. And now I think of her and smile every time I use it.
My friend Julie bought me stay-at-home socks for my birthday. What are stay-at-home socks? Well, they are wonderfully soft, super fluffy, and fantastically fuzzy socks. What makes then stay-at-home is the fact that when she bought them – they were all out of popular colors. So, she had to buy the last two pairs – salmon orange and neon green – hello, 1989! So, she told me I could have them, love them, and that she’d kill me if I ever wore them out of the house. And you know what? They are my absolute favorite socks and they go with absolutely NOTHING I own, so they’re perfect for cuddling up and watching TV on the couch.
Angie once included me in her May Day project and dropped off a carefully decorated soup can filled with candy and May Day wishes. The soup can (still beautifully decorated) made a perfect pencil cup for my counter. It’s great to have two pencil holders now. Small thing, yet it makes me think of her every time I jot down a note.
Camille (Gary’s daughter) gave me a little notepad that says, “Chicken, Egg, Chicken, Egg – What to buy first?” I don’t know why, but every time I look at it, it makes me laugh.
I’m a giver. I like to give people things. It’s how I give and receive love. But it’s nice to know that it isn’t the cost that counts. It really is the thought!
Mine are these two OXO plastic grip mixing bowls with pour spouts. I even remember who gave them to me. I opened the package at one of my bridal showers and thought, “What are these? I didn’t register for these.”
And I didn’t, but as time went on in my married life, those bowls have become two of my favorite things. They’re perfect for everything I do, since they have a grip on the bottom to keep the bowl from sliding across the counter, the pour spouts are designed for batter, and the grip on the side is great for easy stirring.
It is the perfect example of how a small gift (one I didn’t even want at the time) ended up being perfect. Sometimes, the little unexpected gifts are the ones I appreciate the most.
My mother-in-law once got me a candle wick snipper. I love that thing. She saw me admiring it at Cracker Barrel (all of $6.95) and bought it for me. I use it everyday. And now I think of her and smile every time I use it.
My friend Julie bought me stay-at-home socks for my birthday. What are stay-at-home socks? Well, they are wonderfully soft, super fluffy, and fantastically fuzzy socks. What makes then stay-at-home is the fact that when she bought them – they were all out of popular colors. So, she had to buy the last two pairs – salmon orange and neon green – hello, 1989! So, she told me I could have them, love them, and that she’d kill me if I ever wore them out of the house. And you know what? They are my absolute favorite socks and they go with absolutely NOTHING I own, so they’re perfect for cuddling up and watching TV on the couch.
Angie once included me in her May Day project and dropped off a carefully decorated soup can filled with candy and May Day wishes. The soup can (still beautifully decorated) made a perfect pencil cup for my counter. It’s great to have two pencil holders now. Small thing, yet it makes me think of her every time I jot down a note.
Camille (Gary’s daughter) gave me a little notepad that says, “Chicken, Egg, Chicken, Egg – What to buy first?” I don’t know why, but every time I look at it, it makes me laugh.
I’m a giver. I like to give people things. It’s how I give and receive love. But it’s nice to know that it isn’t the cost that counts. It really is the thought!
Let He Who Is Without Sin Write The Play
Whoa, Nelly!
I just read a couple of blogs that really made me think. The blogs were about the play I recently attended at Maranatha. People are upset that an Oscar Wilde (a man of dubious character) play was presented at a “sacred” institution.
Oh, give me a break.
This is JUST like those people who stopped singing Amy Grant songs after she stepped out on her husband. If we judged every artistic work by the artist’s character and conduct, we would never be able to participate in any thing. Do they think the people who wrote Amazing Grace were perfect and sinless?
Can’t we just accept a work of art – whether it is song, drama, or any such thing, on the merit of its own value? Am I supposed to stop singing People Need the Lord because Steve Green ran a stop sign one time?
Okay, that was a rant. But I feel better now!
I just read a couple of blogs that really made me think. The blogs were about the play I recently attended at Maranatha. People are upset that an Oscar Wilde (a man of dubious character) play was presented at a “sacred” institution.
Oh, give me a break.
This is JUST like those people who stopped singing Amy Grant songs after she stepped out on her husband. If we judged every artistic work by the artist’s character and conduct, we would never be able to participate in any thing. Do they think the people who wrote Amazing Grace were perfect and sinless?
Can’t we just accept a work of art – whether it is song, drama, or any such thing, on the merit of its own value? Am I supposed to stop singing People Need the Lord because Steve Green ran a stop sign one time?
Okay, that was a rant. But I feel better now!
The Parking Putz
Believe it or not, I can be obstinate. I can be stubborn. I can even be demanding.
Please try to suspend your disbelief.
And often, it is over things that are not really so important. Do you ever have tiny moments of rebellion? I do. One of them is so small, so insignificant, and yet so infuriatingly irritating to me that I just have to tell you.
It’s our church parking lot. Well, that and my husband.
You see, our church meets in a town hall, so there isn’t really a parking lot at all. It’s just a lot of yellow dust mixed with yellow gravel mixed with gray dirt. You get the picture.
Well, anyway, recently my husband decided to start parking WAY over on the other side of the parking lot, in the grass. When I asked him why, he said that he thought we should save the “good” parking spots for the older people in our church.
Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that really selfless? Isn’t that SO inconvenient for ME?
Parking there means I have to walk over gravel, dirt, and wet grass in order to get in the door at church. Which, of course, means my nice shoes are coated with muck when I do get in the door. This bothers me. Greatly.
So, I considered my options. First, I asked if he could drop me off at the door. He said he wanted to walk in with me. Okay. So, then I just asked him if we could maybe park a little closer, so at least I didn’t have to walk through the grass. No such luck. He’s still parking there. Last time, I lost my patience and told him that if he did it again, I was going to drive my own car to church and park in one of the “good” spots.
I know what you’re thinking. Because I’m thinking it, too. Why the big fuss over it? I don’t know. I just know that it drives me NUTS!
Because, YES, of course, I know what my response SHOULD be. I should be glad my husband is thinking of others. I should be glad that the older people have a closer parking spot. I shouldn’t care about my nice shoes that are basically unrecognizable as such now. I shouldn’t care what they look like and realize that mucking through the mud and grass isn’t the end of the world. I know, okay, I know.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who struggles with the right response to the little irritating things in life.
Please try to suspend your disbelief.
And often, it is over things that are not really so important. Do you ever have tiny moments of rebellion? I do. One of them is so small, so insignificant, and yet so infuriatingly irritating to me that I just have to tell you.
It’s our church parking lot. Well, that and my husband.
You see, our church meets in a town hall, so there isn’t really a parking lot at all. It’s just a lot of yellow dust mixed with yellow gravel mixed with gray dirt. You get the picture.
Well, anyway, recently my husband decided to start parking WAY over on the other side of the parking lot, in the grass. When I asked him why, he said that he thought we should save the “good” parking spots for the older people in our church.
Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that really selfless? Isn’t that SO inconvenient for ME?
Parking there means I have to walk over gravel, dirt, and wet grass in order to get in the door at church. Which, of course, means my nice shoes are coated with muck when I do get in the door. This bothers me. Greatly.
So, I considered my options. First, I asked if he could drop me off at the door. He said he wanted to walk in with me. Okay. So, then I just asked him if we could maybe park a little closer, so at least I didn’t have to walk through the grass. No such luck. He’s still parking there. Last time, I lost my patience and told him that if he did it again, I was going to drive my own car to church and park in one of the “good” spots.
I know what you’re thinking. Because I’m thinking it, too. Why the big fuss over it? I don’t know. I just know that it drives me NUTS!
Because, YES, of course, I know what my response SHOULD be. I should be glad my husband is thinking of others. I should be glad that the older people have a closer parking spot. I shouldn’t care about my nice shoes that are basically unrecognizable as such now. I shouldn’t care what they look like and realize that mucking through the mud and grass isn’t the end of the world. I know, okay, I know.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who struggles with the right response to the little irritating things in life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)