There are times in life when I realize how very fortunate I am. Everything in my life can be in turmoil, and yet something happens that causes my over-worked heart to be at peace. I sense a gratefulness I know can only be caused by Christ.
I had one of these moments on Tuesday night. Mom and I had gone to Weight Watchers, then to dinner, and then I finally took her to see (the surprisingly good) The Queen at the movie theater.
Right after the movie finished, the house lights went up. Mom looked over at me and smiled. There was so much unsaid in that smile, but since I know Mom so well, I could read most of it.
It said:
“I’m glad you’re my daughter. I’m proud of you. I know you are going through a rough time right now, but I’m here for you. I will always be here for you. I love spending time with you. You are the most important person in my life. Thank for coming to see this movie with me, which I know you didn’t really want to see. Thanks for being my daughter. Thank for loving me back and sticking by my side all these years through joy and sorrow. God will take care of both of us, and for good measure, He’s given us each other.”
I smiled back at her, and she nodded. I hope she read my smile. It said:
“Me too, Mom. Me too.”
I’m grateful to God for my amazing mother. She brings me peace, joy, and much happiness.
I love you, Mom!
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Family Tradition
Don't ask me –
Hank, why do you drink?
Hank, why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
If I'm down in a Honky-Tonk,
Some ol' slicks tryin’ to give me corrections,
I'll say –
“Leave me alone.
I'm singin’ all night long.
It's a family tradition.”
Lyrics from Family Tradition by Hank Williams Jr.
Every time this “good old boy” country song comes on the radio, I find myself thinking about family traditions. We all have them. At least, I think most of us do.
I remember the first time I was impressed by a family tradition. We were visiting my parents’ friends, the W’s. I was about twelve. We got to their house, in Michigan, on a Friday. Their daughter, who was my age, picked up the phone and ordered pizza. I was really impressed. In my family, only the adults ordered pizza. When I asked her if they were having pizza because we were guests, she told me that they HAD PIZZA EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT!!!
Every Friday night. I was in reverent shock and awe. To me, THAT was a blessed family tradition. A delicious, cheesy, blessed family tradition. Mmm, pizza. Mmm.
Our small family’s tradition also revolved around food. Every night, at around 8:00 p.m., Mom would dish up ice cream for each one of us. Two or three delicious scoops. Of course, after a steady diet of ice cream every night, we had a new family tradition – Wednesday night Weight Watchers.
Thanks to WW, we switched to fat-free frozen yogurt. But, we still treated ourselves every night.
In fact, two of my favorite memories involve our family’s frozen dairy tradition.
One day, when I was about ten, I was CRAVING chocolate ice cream, but when I checked the freezer, I discovered we only had Neapolitan. Yuck. I never liked strawberry ice cream, and I wasn’t too crazy about vanilla. So, I scooped out the chocolate third from the box. I knew my Dad loved Neapolitan (with the chocolate included, of course), so I put a little “Sorry, Dad” note in the empty space left over from the chocolate I’d scooped out.
Later that night, about 10:00 p.m., I heard my dad laughing hysterically in the kitchen. He came to my room, desperately trying to keep a straight face.
“What do you call this?” He said, holding up the note.
“An apology?” I answered, a little sheepishly.
He couldn’t maintain his straight face any longer and the two of cracked up. From then on, Dad would joke that he had to guard his Neapolitan “empire” from the chocolate thief. It’s one the many family times I remember with a smile – which I’m doing while I type this.
The second time happened in the middle of the night when I was around twelve or so. I was fast asleep, but some noise in the kitchen woke me up. It was early in the morning, like 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. I snuck past my parents’ bedroom where my mom was fast asleep. When I got to the kitchen, there was Dad, a gallon of ice cream in front of him, digging his spoon down into the creamy coldness of Fudge Ripple.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
He looked up guiltily – whether it was because he was eating ice cream at 1:00 a.m. or because he’d woken me up on a school day, I’ll never know.
“Do you want some?” He offered, holding up a second spoon. The two of us ate ice cream and held a funny whispered conversation. We were trying to be quiet, but it must not have worked, since we looked up, and there was MOM!
“What do you two think you’re doing?” She demanded.
I tried Dad’s tactic. “Do you want some? I’ll get another spoon,” I said as I offered her mine.
She looked confused for a second, and then she laughed. “Next time, let me know when you’re planning to do this,” she made us promise.
So, the three of us sat up, eating ice cream, at the crack of dawn, on a school/work day, laughing and talking. I think we eventually all went back to bed at 3:00 a.m. It’s still one of my favorite childhood memories.
Another family tradition happened on Sunday nights. We’d rush home from church to have popcorn and watch Murder, She Wrote on TV. I still remember the three of us crunching away, having to turn up the volume, so we could see which one of us would be the first to figure out whodunit. Ah, good times. Good times.
Dad and I also shared a love of X-files and Star Trek: The Next Generation. We’d curl up on the couch and watch sci-fi to our hearts content.
Those are just a few of my family traditions. I know an obsession with ice cream and sci-fi are kind of weird, but that was my family – wonderfully weird.
So, do you have any family traditions? Let me know.
For now, though, I’ve got a strange craving for chocolate ice cream, and it is 1:30 a.m., so I guess you could say I’m about to carry on an ol’ family tradition.
Hank, why do you drink?
Hank, why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
If I'm down in a Honky-Tonk,
Some ol' slicks tryin’ to give me corrections,
I'll say –
“Leave me alone.
I'm singin’ all night long.
It's a family tradition.”
Lyrics from Family Tradition by Hank Williams Jr.
Every time this “good old boy” country song comes on the radio, I find myself thinking about family traditions. We all have them. At least, I think most of us do.
I remember the first time I was impressed by a family tradition. We were visiting my parents’ friends, the W’s. I was about twelve. We got to their house, in Michigan, on a Friday. Their daughter, who was my age, picked up the phone and ordered pizza. I was really impressed. In my family, only the adults ordered pizza. When I asked her if they were having pizza because we were guests, she told me that they HAD PIZZA EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT!!!
Every Friday night. I was in reverent shock and awe. To me, THAT was a blessed family tradition. A delicious, cheesy, blessed family tradition. Mmm, pizza. Mmm.
Our small family’s tradition also revolved around food. Every night, at around 8:00 p.m., Mom would dish up ice cream for each one of us. Two or three delicious scoops. Of course, after a steady diet of ice cream every night, we had a new family tradition – Wednesday night Weight Watchers.
Thanks to WW, we switched to fat-free frozen yogurt. But, we still treated ourselves every night.
In fact, two of my favorite memories involve our family’s frozen dairy tradition.
One day, when I was about ten, I was CRAVING chocolate ice cream, but when I checked the freezer, I discovered we only had Neapolitan. Yuck. I never liked strawberry ice cream, and I wasn’t too crazy about vanilla. So, I scooped out the chocolate third from the box. I knew my Dad loved Neapolitan (with the chocolate included, of course), so I put a little “Sorry, Dad” note in the empty space left over from the chocolate I’d scooped out.
Later that night, about 10:00 p.m., I heard my dad laughing hysterically in the kitchen. He came to my room, desperately trying to keep a straight face.
“What do you call this?” He said, holding up the note.
“An apology?” I answered, a little sheepishly.
He couldn’t maintain his straight face any longer and the two of cracked up. From then on, Dad would joke that he had to guard his Neapolitan “empire” from the chocolate thief. It’s one the many family times I remember with a smile – which I’m doing while I type this.
The second time happened in the middle of the night when I was around twelve or so. I was fast asleep, but some noise in the kitchen woke me up. It was early in the morning, like 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. I snuck past my parents’ bedroom where my mom was fast asleep. When I got to the kitchen, there was Dad, a gallon of ice cream in front of him, digging his spoon down into the creamy coldness of Fudge Ripple.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
He looked up guiltily – whether it was because he was eating ice cream at 1:00 a.m. or because he’d woken me up on a school day, I’ll never know.
“Do you want some?” He offered, holding up a second spoon. The two of us ate ice cream and held a funny whispered conversation. We were trying to be quiet, but it must not have worked, since we looked up, and there was MOM!
“What do you two think you’re doing?” She demanded.
I tried Dad’s tactic. “Do you want some? I’ll get another spoon,” I said as I offered her mine.
She looked confused for a second, and then she laughed. “Next time, let me know when you’re planning to do this,” she made us promise.
So, the three of us sat up, eating ice cream, at the crack of dawn, on a school/work day, laughing and talking. I think we eventually all went back to bed at 3:00 a.m. It’s still one of my favorite childhood memories.
Another family tradition happened on Sunday nights. We’d rush home from church to have popcorn and watch Murder, She Wrote on TV. I still remember the three of us crunching away, having to turn up the volume, so we could see which one of us would be the first to figure out whodunit. Ah, good times. Good times.
Dad and I also shared a love of X-files and Star Trek: The Next Generation. We’d curl up on the couch and watch sci-fi to our hearts content.
Those are just a few of my family traditions. I know an obsession with ice cream and sci-fi are kind of weird, but that was my family – wonderfully weird.
So, do you have any family traditions? Let me know.
For now, though, I’ve got a strange craving for chocolate ice cream, and it is 1:30 a.m., so I guess you could say I’m about to carry on an ol’ family tradition.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Reflecting Words
There are words in my life that just seems to stick out. More specifically, there are words and phrases – some spoken by friends, some by enemies, and some by family – which I can’t seem to forget.
I call these moments, these words, “reflecting words.” These are the words and phrases that help me see myself as other people really see me. Not as how other people may want me to believe they see me, but how they actually see me.
Some of the moments are small and trite. Words spoken in haste or anger, but as is often the case, the truth tends to spill out, unchecked, when we are in a hurry or angry at someone.
I think what is most difficult about reflecting words is that when aspects of my personality, even just perceived aspects, are reflected back at me, the effect can be hard to swallow. To realize someone sees me that way.
I, of course, rarely see myself that way.
Over the years, I’ve amassed a collection of reflecting words/phrases that I occasionally come back to during harrowing times. Or sometimes just to check if I am, indeed, really being that way.
So, here are my top “reflecting words” in order of earliest recollection.
1. “I’m fat. I’m ugly. No one will ever love me.”
As part of my daily middle school humiliation routine, Josh would force me to repeat those hateful words. Again and again I said those words until he was satisfied. Sometimes up to ten times a day. I came to believe them and occasionally still do.
Unfortunately, my classmates heard them too, and walked away believing them. I sincerely believe that is why no boy in my class ever wanted to come near me.
Of course, now I am grateful I never dated those boys. But, I’m not grateful for the inner self deprecating belief Josh helped install during my most formative years.
2. “You think you’re so special?”
Believe it or not, my MOTHER said those words when I was in middle school! I couldn’t get my hair to look right that day and (I’m sure) was complaining about it loudly. Mom was trying to be sympathetic and said something like bad hair days happen to everyone. I insisted that they DIDN’T happen to ME.
Mom looked at me, in disbelief, and said, “You think you’re so special?” And I realized exactly who I was acting like – a spoiled, self-centered person who thought she was better than everyone else. That she couldn’t be touched by anything as mundane as a bad hair day.
Mom’s words and her tone hurt me, and I was pretty mad for the rest of my bad hair day. But, I learned something. I saw myself through my mother’s internal mirror, and I didn’t like what I saw.
So, now, occasionally, when something bad happens, I try to remind myself that I am, indeed, NOT so special. Tends to knock me down a peg or two.
3. “You’re being rude!”
You would think this phrase is no big deal. We’ve all heard it a hundred times, right? Well, I’m sure I had heard it before, too. But this time, the time I remember, it came from one of my favorite teachers, Mr. K.
I was a great student. I worked at it, since it appeared to be the only thing I was good at. I wasn’t thin, pretty, popular, or good at sports (still the same score on all those, I’m afraid) – but I was GOLD scholastically. Not that my tepid classmates ever presented much of a challenge (except for the all too brief years with the Amazing Jeff Z.).
Anyway, for the most part, my teachers liked me. Perhaps they sensed school was important to me, that I was one of the few who appreciated their efforts to educate me.
I had a good relationship with almost all my teachers, a begrudging two way street of respect. The only exception being one unqualified teacher (who shall remain nameless) who had a wandering eye and only bestowed favor on the prettier girls in the high school – a club of which I was never a member.
But it was he who lacked my respect, not the other way around. Actually, he was the first cocky-Christian-school-guy-all-grown-up that I knew, and I made a conscious effort to avoid men like that for the REST of my life (still doing pretty good on that score).
Anyway, getting back to the situation, I was having a little trouble with Algebra while my best friend, Deborah, was having a LOT of trouble. We decided to go ask Mr. K. if he could tutor us during lunch on my “one” problem and Deborah’s “several” problems.
We sat side by side in his class, during lunch, while he helped us work through the problems. Looking back, I realize it was extremely nice of him to give up his lunch hour to tutor us. At the time, I guess I expected it (Aha, you say, now I see where this is going).
I asked a question. Mr. K. explained it. As I was working though my problem, using his solution, Deborah asked her question. Mr. K. was halfway through her solution, when I interrupted him to clarify what he told me.
I still remember the look of stone-cold-anger he gave me. In a very clipped and precise voice, he said, “You’re being very rude. Do you realize that?”
His words cut me to the bone. Ouch. Really, really painful – ouch.
I blushed and immediately looked down at my paper, completely, totally embarrassed. And sure that Mr. K. would never, ever have any respect for me again. And, deep down, in total embarrassment, I realized what he had said was very, very true. By interrupting him, I was saying my problem was more important than Deborah’s, plus I was disrespecting him and Deborah.
Thankfully, Mr. K.’s anger didn’t last, and by the next class period, he was back to smiling at me and including me in the class discussion.
But, it taught me a lesson. The shame, absolute burning shame, still happens whenever I catch myself being rude. I often remember his words when I realize I am over-interrupting.
But seriously, ouch! I felt so bad for his kids if and when they did something wrong!
4. “We thought you were Dottie!”
It was just a small incident, a blip in high school, but it was one of the first times I realized how overweight I was.
I was standing at the back of the auditorium of our school. Some girls were up on the stage practicing a choral number for our next school program. I waved at a couple of the girls. They strained their eyes (I was back quite a ways) and eventually returned the wave.
A few minutes later the girls were finished and heading down the center aisle. When they got closer, one of the girls came up to me and said, “Oh, Ann-Marie! It was YOU. We thought it was Dottie, and we couldn’t figure out why she was here!”
I was shocked! Dottie was a girl in our church youth group. She went to public school which would explain why the girls didn’t know why she would have been at school. But, I had always thought of Dottie as a bigger girl. I certainly had thought she was MUCH bigger than me.
Later, I stood in the school bathroom and examined my girth in the mirror. I realized I was the same size, maybe even possibly larger, than Dottie. It was a sad, eye-opening moment.
I didn’t blame the girl who mentioned it. There was no way she could have known how it would affect me. But, I swore then and there to try not to compare one person to another, in case it would bother them. I also learned that we rarely see ourselves as clearly as others do.
5. “You’ll stretch them out!”
This quote is attributed to my cousin Charity, and as a footnote, I must admit that there was an underlying semi-animosity between Charity and myself up until I went to college. I’m sure I said many hurtful things to her that would outweigh the balance of this one comment.
She is the closet thing to an actual sister I’ll ever have, and I love her dearly. She was Maid of Honor in my wedding.
But in high school, we shared the same two friends – J&T – and both thought we were closer to them than the other one was. We hung out only because we had the same two friends, plus I was more than a little jealous that the amazingly smart and sweet J&T were in HER class while I had boy-obsessed cheerleaders in mine.
We were at Leadership Camp – some lame excuse to try to make leaders out of the noodle-backed boys who populated our school. Leadership Camp combined two of the things I hated the most – camping and high school boys who loathed the site of me.
Anyway, somehow, Charity and I ended up in the same six person camping-style dormitory. Sometime, in the middle of the day, I had to run out of our “cabin” and grab something from the school van. I was near the door and decided to slip on Charity’s shoes (we were FAMILY, after all) for the quick dash.
When I got back, I slipped off Charity’s shoes, looked up, and saw Charity fuming. She snatched the shoes from my hand and examined them carefully.
“Don’t borrow these again. You’ll stretch them out,” she snapped at me before going back to her bunk.
I sat there, stunned. Stretch them out? What, I was SO fat that my feet would stretch out her precious shoes? I was furious. So that’s how Charity saw me. Some fat sow who she wouldn’t even lend her shoes to for thirty seconds? Some family!
I was mad at her for that – for a LONG time. Probably longer than she even realizes.
In hindsight, I should have used my own shoes, or at the very least, asked before I borrowed hers. Then, at least, she could have made up a (possibly nicer) excuse for why I couldn’t borrow them.
But I had always thought Charity would understand about being overweight, since my Aunt Kathy (her mom) shared the same burden of being overweight as I did.
It came as quite a surprise that she did not understand.
I remember feeling hurt, but I also learned to be prepared. Due to my weight, I have never been able to “share” clothes with friends. The “shoe incident” (as I like to think of it) taught me to have anything I might need on hand.
It’s probably why I have such a HUGE purse – to hold all those things.
6. “Mature, Ann-Mare, real mature.”
This chiding quote was delivered in deadpan seriousness from my rarely-serious college roommate, Kelly.
Kelly and I had become roommates by divine intervention. My freshman year roommate had never shown up, and she was the third person shoved in a two-person dorm room. We hit it off immediately and considered ourselves fortunate to be able to “choose” the person we wanted to live with.
Amy lived next door to us. She was a frequent visitor to our room and the reigning drama queen of our floor. Amy would repeatedly fling our door open, throw herself down on the nearest available bed, give a sigh, and regale us with a dramatic retelling of what AMAZING or HORRIBLE thing had just happened to her. She did this with such regularity that we developed the habit of jumping off our beds when she entered so she wouldn’t accidentally fling herself directly on us.
In spite of her theatrical tendencies, Kelly and I liked Amy. She was funny, sweet, and really like being our friend.
Amy was visiting one day when I had a cold. I was complaining (as I am wont to do during any sickness) to Kelly and telling her all my symptoms. As my roommate and comrade-in-arms, Kelly was used to my infrequent whining and knew that “this, too, shall pass.” But, Amy, who didn’t know me all that well then, jokingly said, “Wow, you’re really being a whiner.”
Now, I knew she was joking, but I was sick, and when I thought about all those times that Amy came into our room and whined about events in her life and how I never said anything about it, I couldn’t help it.
I looked her directly in the eye and said, “YOU’RE calling ME a whiner? YOU?”
She immediately teared up and raced out of our room.
I looked to Kelly for confirmation that I had done the right thing and found myself locked in her angry eyes. “That was mature, Ann-Marie. Real mature.” With that, she got off her bed and went next door to console Amy.
I was dumbfounded. I knew I was right. Amy was ten times the whiner I was. And she was in our room all the time, complaining, and (up until now) I’d never said anything. Then, I complain one time, and SHE corrects ME.
But, I also understood Kelly’s anger. We both knew Amy didn’t have a lot of friends, and she definitely didn’t have a close friendship with anyone like Kelly and I did. When she was with us, she could be herself, her dramatic self, without being judged. But, now that I’d snapped at her, she would feel guilty just barging in our room and being herself.
Plus, I’d just been mean. Plain mean. And now was trying to make an excuse for myself.
So, I grabbed my Kleenex box and went next door. I apologized to Amy (and read Kelly’s forgiveness in her eyes) and between the three of us went through the whole box of tissue.
Kelly’s honesty taught me the value of a true friend. A true friend who is willing to call me out when I say something hurtful. To help me realize I am not always right. It’s painful, but a true friend is there to help you become a better person.
7. “You were both bossy.”
This is the quote that forced me to think about reflecting words. For years, I’ve kept a mind catalog of these words, these times in my life. I’m only recounting the top few to you. But, this particular quote, delivered just this Christmas by my cousin Colleen, is one of the biggest surprises, one of the BIG reflecting moments in my life.
You see, for most of my life I held the belief that my childhood self rescued Colleen from Charity. No longer did Colleen have to play with bossy Charity! We could play together, have awesome adventures together, and do whatever we wanted! I saw myself as the Anne to her Diana (Anne of Green Gables), and Charity as the Felicity to my Sara (Avonlea). I had always thought that Colleen and I had the greatest times together.
At least until high school, when we went different directions (she went conservative, and I went a little crazy).
But this December, as the three of us were sitting down and working on an ill-fated Christmas Eve reading together, I made a joke about Charity being bossy when we were growing up. Colleen smiled and said, “You were both bossy.”
What? No, no, she must be mistaken. CHARITY was bossy. I wasn’t bossy. I was fun. We were equals – we were fun TOGETHER.
When I asked her again, she said, “Oh no, you were both bossy.”
My world turned upside down. A substantial chunk of my childhood cornerstone crumbled. I’d been bossy? Really? I’ve prided myself all these years on my openness, my “live and let live (even if you’re wrong)” policy.
And I was a bossy kid? And Colleen should know. We spent a TON of time together in grade school.
Talk about eye opening. Well, can’t change that now. But it did make me re-examine my life. Maybe I am occasionally bossy, even though I’ve never seen myself that way. So, I guess I’d better start looking – start making sure I’m not being that way.
Well, those are my top reflecting moments. Here are some runners-up:
“Yeah, she doesn’t need any extra padding.”
Delivered by my cousin Aaron (talking to his friend) during a family camping trip, when he saw me sleeping on the floor. Although, obviously, I wasn’t fully asleep when I heard his comment.
“We have to invite Ann-Marie to everything.”
From my cousin Tammy on how I (apparently) complain when I feel excluded. I’m owning up to this one, as I do, indeed, feel excluded when I’m not invited – it’s part of being an only child. What can I say?
I’m sure I’ll think of more. But those reflecting words run the gambit for me. In retrospect, most of them came from people I love very much – which just goes to show you how much those who really love you can teach you – even when they don’t mean to.
And, I guess I’m really fortunate that most of them still manage to love me, in spite of my apparent tendencies to be selfish, rude, easily-insulted, borrowing-without-asking, mean spirited, and now – rumor has it– BOSSY.
Thanks for loving me, guys! I know it’s a rough job.
I call these moments, these words, “reflecting words.” These are the words and phrases that help me see myself as other people really see me. Not as how other people may want me to believe they see me, but how they actually see me.
Some of the moments are small and trite. Words spoken in haste or anger, but as is often the case, the truth tends to spill out, unchecked, when we are in a hurry or angry at someone.
I think what is most difficult about reflecting words is that when aspects of my personality, even just perceived aspects, are reflected back at me, the effect can be hard to swallow. To realize someone sees me that way.
I, of course, rarely see myself that way.
Over the years, I’ve amassed a collection of reflecting words/phrases that I occasionally come back to during harrowing times. Or sometimes just to check if I am, indeed, really being that way.
So, here are my top “reflecting words” in order of earliest recollection.
1. “I’m fat. I’m ugly. No one will ever love me.”
As part of my daily middle school humiliation routine, Josh would force me to repeat those hateful words. Again and again I said those words until he was satisfied. Sometimes up to ten times a day. I came to believe them and occasionally still do.
Unfortunately, my classmates heard them too, and walked away believing them. I sincerely believe that is why no boy in my class ever wanted to come near me.
Of course, now I am grateful I never dated those boys. But, I’m not grateful for the inner self deprecating belief Josh helped install during my most formative years.
2. “You think you’re so special?”
Believe it or not, my MOTHER said those words when I was in middle school! I couldn’t get my hair to look right that day and (I’m sure) was complaining about it loudly. Mom was trying to be sympathetic and said something like bad hair days happen to everyone. I insisted that they DIDN’T happen to ME.
Mom looked at me, in disbelief, and said, “You think you’re so special?” And I realized exactly who I was acting like – a spoiled, self-centered person who thought she was better than everyone else. That she couldn’t be touched by anything as mundane as a bad hair day.
Mom’s words and her tone hurt me, and I was pretty mad for the rest of my bad hair day. But, I learned something. I saw myself through my mother’s internal mirror, and I didn’t like what I saw.
So, now, occasionally, when something bad happens, I try to remind myself that I am, indeed, NOT so special. Tends to knock me down a peg or two.
3. “You’re being rude!”
You would think this phrase is no big deal. We’ve all heard it a hundred times, right? Well, I’m sure I had heard it before, too. But this time, the time I remember, it came from one of my favorite teachers, Mr. K.
I was a great student. I worked at it, since it appeared to be the only thing I was good at. I wasn’t thin, pretty, popular, or good at sports (still the same score on all those, I’m afraid) – but I was GOLD scholastically. Not that my tepid classmates ever presented much of a challenge (except for the all too brief years with the Amazing Jeff Z.).
Anyway, for the most part, my teachers liked me. Perhaps they sensed school was important to me, that I was one of the few who appreciated their efforts to educate me.
I had a good relationship with almost all my teachers, a begrudging two way street of respect. The only exception being one unqualified teacher (who shall remain nameless) who had a wandering eye and only bestowed favor on the prettier girls in the high school – a club of which I was never a member.
But it was he who lacked my respect, not the other way around. Actually, he was the first cocky-Christian-school-guy-all-grown-up that I knew, and I made a conscious effort to avoid men like that for the REST of my life (still doing pretty good on that score).
Anyway, getting back to the situation, I was having a little trouble with Algebra while my best friend, Deborah, was having a LOT of trouble. We decided to go ask Mr. K. if he could tutor us during lunch on my “one” problem and Deborah’s “several” problems.
We sat side by side in his class, during lunch, while he helped us work through the problems. Looking back, I realize it was extremely nice of him to give up his lunch hour to tutor us. At the time, I guess I expected it (Aha, you say, now I see where this is going).
I asked a question. Mr. K. explained it. As I was working though my problem, using his solution, Deborah asked her question. Mr. K. was halfway through her solution, when I interrupted him to clarify what he told me.
I still remember the look of stone-cold-anger he gave me. In a very clipped and precise voice, he said, “You’re being very rude. Do you realize that?”
His words cut me to the bone. Ouch. Really, really painful – ouch.
I blushed and immediately looked down at my paper, completely, totally embarrassed. And sure that Mr. K. would never, ever have any respect for me again. And, deep down, in total embarrassment, I realized what he had said was very, very true. By interrupting him, I was saying my problem was more important than Deborah’s, plus I was disrespecting him and Deborah.
Thankfully, Mr. K.’s anger didn’t last, and by the next class period, he was back to smiling at me and including me in the class discussion.
But, it taught me a lesson. The shame, absolute burning shame, still happens whenever I catch myself being rude. I often remember his words when I realize I am over-interrupting.
But seriously, ouch! I felt so bad for his kids if and when they did something wrong!
4. “We thought you were Dottie!”
It was just a small incident, a blip in high school, but it was one of the first times I realized how overweight I was.
I was standing at the back of the auditorium of our school. Some girls were up on the stage practicing a choral number for our next school program. I waved at a couple of the girls. They strained their eyes (I was back quite a ways) and eventually returned the wave.
A few minutes later the girls were finished and heading down the center aisle. When they got closer, one of the girls came up to me and said, “Oh, Ann-Marie! It was YOU. We thought it was Dottie, and we couldn’t figure out why she was here!”
I was shocked! Dottie was a girl in our church youth group. She went to public school which would explain why the girls didn’t know why she would have been at school. But, I had always thought of Dottie as a bigger girl. I certainly had thought she was MUCH bigger than me.
Later, I stood in the school bathroom and examined my girth in the mirror. I realized I was the same size, maybe even possibly larger, than Dottie. It was a sad, eye-opening moment.
I didn’t blame the girl who mentioned it. There was no way she could have known how it would affect me. But, I swore then and there to try not to compare one person to another, in case it would bother them. I also learned that we rarely see ourselves as clearly as others do.
5. “You’ll stretch them out!”
This quote is attributed to my cousin Charity, and as a footnote, I must admit that there was an underlying semi-animosity between Charity and myself up until I went to college. I’m sure I said many hurtful things to her that would outweigh the balance of this one comment.
She is the closet thing to an actual sister I’ll ever have, and I love her dearly. She was Maid of Honor in my wedding.
But in high school, we shared the same two friends – J&T – and both thought we were closer to them than the other one was. We hung out only because we had the same two friends, plus I was more than a little jealous that the amazingly smart and sweet J&T were in HER class while I had boy-obsessed cheerleaders in mine.
We were at Leadership Camp – some lame excuse to try to make leaders out of the noodle-backed boys who populated our school. Leadership Camp combined two of the things I hated the most – camping and high school boys who loathed the site of me.
Anyway, somehow, Charity and I ended up in the same six person camping-style dormitory. Sometime, in the middle of the day, I had to run out of our “cabin” and grab something from the school van. I was near the door and decided to slip on Charity’s shoes (we were FAMILY, after all) for the quick dash.
When I got back, I slipped off Charity’s shoes, looked up, and saw Charity fuming. She snatched the shoes from my hand and examined them carefully.
“Don’t borrow these again. You’ll stretch them out,” she snapped at me before going back to her bunk.
I sat there, stunned. Stretch them out? What, I was SO fat that my feet would stretch out her precious shoes? I was furious. So that’s how Charity saw me. Some fat sow who she wouldn’t even lend her shoes to for thirty seconds? Some family!
I was mad at her for that – for a LONG time. Probably longer than she even realizes.
In hindsight, I should have used my own shoes, or at the very least, asked before I borrowed hers. Then, at least, she could have made up a (possibly nicer) excuse for why I couldn’t borrow them.
But I had always thought Charity would understand about being overweight, since my Aunt Kathy (her mom) shared the same burden of being overweight as I did.
It came as quite a surprise that she did not understand.
I remember feeling hurt, but I also learned to be prepared. Due to my weight, I have never been able to “share” clothes with friends. The “shoe incident” (as I like to think of it) taught me to have anything I might need on hand.
It’s probably why I have such a HUGE purse – to hold all those things.
6. “Mature, Ann-Mare, real mature.”
This chiding quote was delivered in deadpan seriousness from my rarely-serious college roommate, Kelly.
Kelly and I had become roommates by divine intervention. My freshman year roommate had never shown up, and she was the third person shoved in a two-person dorm room. We hit it off immediately and considered ourselves fortunate to be able to “choose” the person we wanted to live with.
Amy lived next door to us. She was a frequent visitor to our room and the reigning drama queen of our floor. Amy would repeatedly fling our door open, throw herself down on the nearest available bed, give a sigh, and regale us with a dramatic retelling of what AMAZING or HORRIBLE thing had just happened to her. She did this with such regularity that we developed the habit of jumping off our beds when she entered so she wouldn’t accidentally fling herself directly on us.
In spite of her theatrical tendencies, Kelly and I liked Amy. She was funny, sweet, and really like being our friend.
Amy was visiting one day when I had a cold. I was complaining (as I am wont to do during any sickness) to Kelly and telling her all my symptoms. As my roommate and comrade-in-arms, Kelly was used to my infrequent whining and knew that “this, too, shall pass.” But, Amy, who didn’t know me all that well then, jokingly said, “Wow, you’re really being a whiner.”
Now, I knew she was joking, but I was sick, and when I thought about all those times that Amy came into our room and whined about events in her life and how I never said anything about it, I couldn’t help it.
I looked her directly in the eye and said, “YOU’RE calling ME a whiner? YOU?”
She immediately teared up and raced out of our room.
I looked to Kelly for confirmation that I had done the right thing and found myself locked in her angry eyes. “That was mature, Ann-Marie. Real mature.” With that, she got off her bed and went next door to console Amy.
I was dumbfounded. I knew I was right. Amy was ten times the whiner I was. And she was in our room all the time, complaining, and (up until now) I’d never said anything. Then, I complain one time, and SHE corrects ME.
But, I also understood Kelly’s anger. We both knew Amy didn’t have a lot of friends, and she definitely didn’t have a close friendship with anyone like Kelly and I did. When she was with us, she could be herself, her dramatic self, without being judged. But, now that I’d snapped at her, she would feel guilty just barging in our room and being herself.
Plus, I’d just been mean. Plain mean. And now was trying to make an excuse for myself.
So, I grabbed my Kleenex box and went next door. I apologized to Amy (and read Kelly’s forgiveness in her eyes) and between the three of us went through the whole box of tissue.
Kelly’s honesty taught me the value of a true friend. A true friend who is willing to call me out when I say something hurtful. To help me realize I am not always right. It’s painful, but a true friend is there to help you become a better person.
7. “You were both bossy.”
This is the quote that forced me to think about reflecting words. For years, I’ve kept a mind catalog of these words, these times in my life. I’m only recounting the top few to you. But, this particular quote, delivered just this Christmas by my cousin Colleen, is one of the biggest surprises, one of the BIG reflecting moments in my life.
You see, for most of my life I held the belief that my childhood self rescued Colleen from Charity. No longer did Colleen have to play with bossy Charity! We could play together, have awesome adventures together, and do whatever we wanted! I saw myself as the Anne to her Diana (Anne of Green Gables), and Charity as the Felicity to my Sara (Avonlea). I had always thought that Colleen and I had the greatest times together.
At least until high school, when we went different directions (she went conservative, and I went a little crazy).
But this December, as the three of us were sitting down and working on an ill-fated Christmas Eve reading together, I made a joke about Charity being bossy when we were growing up. Colleen smiled and said, “You were both bossy.”
What? No, no, she must be mistaken. CHARITY was bossy. I wasn’t bossy. I was fun. We were equals – we were fun TOGETHER.
When I asked her again, she said, “Oh no, you were both bossy.”
My world turned upside down. A substantial chunk of my childhood cornerstone crumbled. I’d been bossy? Really? I’ve prided myself all these years on my openness, my “live and let live (even if you’re wrong)” policy.
And I was a bossy kid? And Colleen should know. We spent a TON of time together in grade school.
Talk about eye opening. Well, can’t change that now. But it did make me re-examine my life. Maybe I am occasionally bossy, even though I’ve never seen myself that way. So, I guess I’d better start looking – start making sure I’m not being that way.
Well, those are my top reflecting moments. Here are some runners-up:
“Yeah, she doesn’t need any extra padding.”
Delivered by my cousin Aaron (talking to his friend) during a family camping trip, when he saw me sleeping on the floor. Although, obviously, I wasn’t fully asleep when I heard his comment.
“We have to invite Ann-Marie to everything.”
From my cousin Tammy on how I (apparently) complain when I feel excluded. I’m owning up to this one, as I do, indeed, feel excluded when I’m not invited – it’s part of being an only child. What can I say?
I’m sure I’ll think of more. But those reflecting words run the gambit for me. In retrospect, most of them came from people I love very much – which just goes to show you how much those who really love you can teach you – even when they don’t mean to.
And, I guess I’m really fortunate that most of them still manage to love me, in spite of my apparent tendencies to be selfish, rude, easily-insulted, borrowing-without-asking, mean spirited, and now – rumor has it– BOSSY.
Thanks for loving me, guys! I know it’s a rough job.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Vacation Fever
The best thing about being diagnosed with Stage 2 Hypertension aka “just waiting for the heart attack” is that I’m under doctor’s orders to live as stress-free as possible – at least for now.
In that vein (that’s a little pun for those of us with tiny veins and pre-heart disease), I realized it was high time for me to take a vacation.
It is the PERFECT time, actually.
First of all, I get 20 vacation days a year. Over the last six and a half years, I have stockpiled some vacation days, and so I already have 14 days in my vacation bank for this year. And it’s only January! Plus my boss has been after me to take a whole week off, instead of the one or two long weekends I have been taking here and there.
Secondly, we decided to drop a publication since our department is so overextended right now. That leaves a gap in my work schedule that is (you guessed it) exactly one week long. So, by taking vacation this next week, I can come back to work and not have a huge backlog of work.
Thirdly, this is a great time to take off, so I can get used to my new heart and blood pressure medication. Not to mention a few days of low stress living would be most welcome. By both me AND my heart.
So, I’m excited! I’m planning to do a lot of…well, how do I put this? Uh, nothing. Yep, a whole lotta nothin’. Just work on my books and maybe hang out with the one person who probably drives my blood pressure sky high (and I mean that in the best possible way) – my husband.
In that vein (that’s a little pun for those of us with tiny veins and pre-heart disease), I realized it was high time for me to take a vacation.
It is the PERFECT time, actually.
First of all, I get 20 vacation days a year. Over the last six and a half years, I have stockpiled some vacation days, and so I already have 14 days in my vacation bank for this year. And it’s only January! Plus my boss has been after me to take a whole week off, instead of the one or two long weekends I have been taking here and there.
Secondly, we decided to drop a publication since our department is so overextended right now. That leaves a gap in my work schedule that is (you guessed it) exactly one week long. So, by taking vacation this next week, I can come back to work and not have a huge backlog of work.
Thirdly, this is a great time to take off, so I can get used to my new heart and blood pressure medication. Not to mention a few days of low stress living would be most welcome. By both me AND my heart.
So, I’m excited! I’m planning to do a lot of…well, how do I put this? Uh, nothing. Yep, a whole lotta nothin’. Just work on my books and maybe hang out with the one person who probably drives my blood pressure sky high (and I mean that in the best possible way) – my husband.
Being BP’d
Well, I went back.
Part of me didn’t want to. I was afraid my doctor would tell me nothing had changed. My blood pressure would still be 156 over 96. I’d still be in the 95th percentile for a possible heart attack in the next two years.
But I went back. And the news wasn’t all bad.
My blood pressure has gone down, thank to the medicine. But just a little. And not enough to make my doctor happy.
So, now I’m scheduled for more tests in two weeks. I have to get a blood pressure cuff and test myself at least two times a day. I can go back to doing moderate exercise – like I ever did anything MORE than moderate before being diagnosed! J
I have to say that at first I felt guilty. I was at fault for letting my weight creep back up on me. But my doctor explained that my weight wasn’t really to blame. It was good old genetics. Afterwards, back in the snowy parking lot, I looked up at the heavens and said, “Thanks a lot, Dad!”
I’m glad I inherited his sense of humor, but why did I have to inherit his heart disease too? Oh well, into every life a little rain – or high blood pressure – must fall.
At least it went down. And, obviously, I’m not dead yet.
A little morbid maybe, but not dead.
Part of me didn’t want to. I was afraid my doctor would tell me nothing had changed. My blood pressure would still be 156 over 96. I’d still be in the 95th percentile for a possible heart attack in the next two years.
But I went back. And the news wasn’t all bad.
My blood pressure has gone down, thank to the medicine. But just a little. And not enough to make my doctor happy.
So, now I’m scheduled for more tests in two weeks. I have to get a blood pressure cuff and test myself at least two times a day. I can go back to doing moderate exercise – like I ever did anything MORE than moderate before being diagnosed! J
I have to say that at first I felt guilty. I was at fault for letting my weight creep back up on me. But my doctor explained that my weight wasn’t really to blame. It was good old genetics. Afterwards, back in the snowy parking lot, I looked up at the heavens and said, “Thanks a lot, Dad!”
I’m glad I inherited his sense of humor, but why did I have to inherit his heart disease too? Oh well, into every life a little rain – or high blood pressure – must fall.
At least it went down. And, obviously, I’m not dead yet.
A little morbid maybe, but not dead.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Just Being Me
What a day! What a wonderful, glorious, lazy day!
Mmm, I love a day off work! The fact that it snowed five inches and also happened to be a paid holiday – thank you, Dr. King – made it all the better.
At work, it used to be that we didn’t have a paid holiday (after THE holidays) until Memorial Day – that’s a LONG time to go without any time off. So, about two years ago, we all gathered together and managed to snowball our managers into letting us take Martin Luther King, Jr. Day off – as a paid holiday!
And like I said, today was purrfect, since it snowed, and I got to stay in and do absolutely nothing. Mmmmm.
Let me take you through my day:
10:00 p.m. – 7:00 a.m.
Read my book and then slept like a baby
7:00 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.
My husband got home, and we, well….uh….you know.
8:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.
Cuddle time in big, warm bed
9:00 a.m.
Got up, dragged myself downstairs, (leaving husband upstairs in well-deserved sleep mode) had some breakfast, put X-Men 2 in and promptly fell back asleep on the couch
11:00 a.m.
Husband gets up. We change places. He watches a movie, and I go back upstairs to sleep
11:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Start new book. Read in bed – my second favorite thing to do in there. Fall back asleep on chapter 16.
12:00 – 5:00 p.m.
Husband comes back upstairs. We change places. He goes to sleep. I go watch TV on the couch.
5:00 – 9:00 p.m.
I watch TV in my favorite position – hanging upside down on the couch. I’ll bet you can’t do THAT when you have kids.
9:00 – 9:30 p.m.
Get husband up, make his lunch, send him off to work.
9:30 – 10:00 p.m.
Call Angie. Discuss our recent Netflix rentals. Give thumbs up/thumbs down analysis. Talk about kids, lazy days, work, and how old we are getting.
10:00 pm. - ???
Wrote blog entry and enjoyed last few hours of low stress living.
So, that’s it. I reckon (ha, ha, I just wrote “reckon”) that I slept almost ten hours today. I feel SO rested, and I’m still a little tired. So nice to get caught up on my sleep.
Oh, I forgot, I took a hot bubble bath in our Jacuzzi sometime in there, too. It was so nice to have a day where I could just be me, just be lazy, and just be, you know? Just be.
Mmmm, I love a lazy day.
Mmm, I love a day off work! The fact that it snowed five inches and also happened to be a paid holiday – thank you, Dr. King – made it all the better.
At work, it used to be that we didn’t have a paid holiday (after THE holidays) until Memorial Day – that’s a LONG time to go without any time off. So, about two years ago, we all gathered together and managed to snowball our managers into letting us take Martin Luther King, Jr. Day off – as a paid holiday!
And like I said, today was purrfect, since it snowed, and I got to stay in and do absolutely nothing. Mmmmm.
Let me take you through my day:
10:00 p.m. – 7:00 a.m.
Read my book and then slept like a baby
7:00 a.m. – 8:00 a.m.
My husband got home, and we, well….uh….you know.
8:00 a.m. – 9:00 a.m.
Cuddle time in big, warm bed
9:00 a.m.
Got up, dragged myself downstairs, (leaving husband upstairs in well-deserved sleep mode) had some breakfast, put X-Men 2 in and promptly fell back asleep on the couch
11:00 a.m.
Husband gets up. We change places. He watches a movie, and I go back upstairs to sleep
11:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Start new book. Read in bed – my second favorite thing to do in there. Fall back asleep on chapter 16.
12:00 – 5:00 p.m.
Husband comes back upstairs. We change places. He goes to sleep. I go watch TV on the couch.
5:00 – 9:00 p.m.
I watch TV in my favorite position – hanging upside down on the couch. I’ll bet you can’t do THAT when you have kids.
9:00 – 9:30 p.m.
Get husband up, make his lunch, send him off to work.
9:30 – 10:00 p.m.
Call Angie. Discuss our recent Netflix rentals. Give thumbs up/thumbs down analysis. Talk about kids, lazy days, work, and how old we are getting.
10:00 pm. - ???
Wrote blog entry and enjoyed last few hours of low stress living.
So, that’s it. I reckon (ha, ha, I just wrote “reckon”) that I slept almost ten hours today. I feel SO rested, and I’m still a little tired. So nice to get caught up on my sleep.
Oh, I forgot, I took a hot bubble bath in our Jacuzzi sometime in there, too. It was so nice to have a day where I could just be me, just be lazy, and just be, you know? Just be.
Mmmm, I love a lazy day.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Facing Mortality
When I was growing up, my dad would occasionally talk about death. He would joke that he “wanted to go first,” because he didn’t want to be without Mom.
My dad lived a very hard life. His mother died when he was sixteen. His father, a gambling-addicted alcoholic, would steal money from Dad, which he earned with a part-time job at a grocery store, to go gambling.
My grandfather gambled so much money away that there wasn’t enough to pay for household bills, like heat or electricity. My dad spent his teenage years taking cold showers and studying by flashlight. There were no Merry Christmases or Happy Birthdays. Those days were gift less and cheerless.
After a year or so, my grandfather remarried. My dad’s stepmother made Cinderella’s look like a saint. She had two teenage sons of her own and provided for them, but not for Dad. She kicked Dad out several times, when he was only seventeen, throwing his things out in the street. My dad would have to gather his clothes and beg his father to let him back in.
Dad’s life turned around at eighteen when he met Marilyn. She was a sweet Christian girl who Dad dated briefly. She was the one who led Dad to the Lord. Thanks to Marilyn, Dad met Pastor and Mrs. Rowe, who helped send him to Moody where he met Mom, and (long story short) eventually they married and had me.
Dad had purposed in his heart not to be like his father. And, as his daughter, I can tell you that he was nothing like my grandfather.
Dad was an amazing, godly, father and if I had all the words in the world they could not convey the love, gratitude, respect, admiration, and devotion I have for him.
Due to his hard knock life and his mother’s early death, Dad assumed that he was not long for this earth. He often talked about it with Mom, but she (understandably) did not want to talk about it. No wife wants to think about life alone, without her best friend.
So, when Dad did die, from a heart attack at age 53, Mom and I speculated that “Dad knew.” It would comfort us, that knowledge that Dad was not surprised. That his death had been at the forefront of his mind, he’d been aware of the possibility.
We were grateful his death had been quick and painless. Our hearts were able to accept that we weren’t able to say any “good-byes.” And, of course, as Christians, we knew he was in the perfect place, the happiest he could be, and that we would eventually see him again.
I’m not saying it was easy. Those years were, without doubt, the most arduous of my life. The deep sadness in my own heart from the loss of my father and the excruciating pain of watching Mom deal with the emptiness and heartbreak was almost unbearable.
But God was gracious as only He can be. He provided the grace we needed.
Dad’s attitude toward death, his untimely death, and the realization that death is unpredictable – all of these came together and helped me understand the fragility of life.
I thank God for all this, because I, too, now feel that I am not long for this earth.
Oh, I know that “my times are in His hands,” and I’m not being presumptuous enough to assume that I KNOW God will take me home while I am still young. The rapture may take us, or I may live 100 years. But…I have had a feeling. That’s all it is, but I imagine it is the feeling Dad had all those years.
My feeling became more of a reality to me this past Friday. I went to the doctor because of a persistent pain in my right ankle. While I was waiting for the doctor, the nurse took my blood pressure. She looked at me, frowned, and took it again. She shook her head and said, “It’s high.”
My doctor came in, examined my ankle and ordered some X-rays. Twenty minutes later, we learned I had a separated bone in my foot that was causing the pain. The nurse helped me get an air cast on with orders to wear it for the next two weeks.
Then, the doctor told her to take my blood pressure again. She did. This time, she looked even more startled and remarked that, “It’s even higher than when I took it last time.”
She went back out to the doctor’s station and told the doctor. My doctor came in and decided to take my blood pressure reading herself. She took a reading on each arm and then went back out in the hallway to consult the nurse.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just that their tones seemed urgent.
When my doctor came back in, she told me that my blood pressure was 156 over 96. It was hypertension. My heart was in serious jeopardy. With my dad’s history of heart disease, the same disease that killed my grandmother and grandfather, my doctor was extremely worried.
She immediately prescribed heart medication and gave me strict orders not to do any exercise or get upset and risk raising my blood pressure even one degree higher. She told me that if my blood pressure goes to 160 or 170, I will have a heart attack and die.
I am 28.
I think I just sat there in shock. Dying from a heart attack before I reach thirty wasn’t something I’d envisioned, even with my thoughts on an early death.
I told her I was on Weight Watchers and eating much better than I had before. She told me that was great and not to stop. But, she said that genetics play a more important role than weight. She told me that even if I stay on Weight Watchers (which I am) and lose my excess weight, I will probably still be at high risk for heart disease.
Together, we marked out a plan. I’m going to keep eating healthy, but I’m not allowed to exercise until my blood pressure is closer to the 130’s – 140’s. She put me on heart medication, and I’ve got an appointment to go see her next week to monitor any changes to my blood pressure.
I will stay on the medication until there is a change, and then we may try to decrease the meds, but she told me there is no guarantee.
She was so glad we caught it when we did, especially since I was just there for my ankle. But, I suppose, God knows why He brought me there.
While I am on medication, we are not supposed to try to get pregnant. This particular medication can put a fetus at risk. So, there goes another couple of months.
It was startling, and both Mom and Brett were worried when I told them. But, as I said earlier, my times ARE in HIS hands.
God led me to the doctor and this diagnosis. It is a little déjà vu since Dad visited the doctor and was diagnosed with high blood pressure and put on medication. Three days later, he died.
So, as my family and friends, I would just ask that you pray for me. To be obedient to God’s will, to use my time wisely, and to live the life I’m meant to live.
I’m so very glad my times ARE in HIS hands.
My dad lived a very hard life. His mother died when he was sixteen. His father, a gambling-addicted alcoholic, would steal money from Dad, which he earned with a part-time job at a grocery store, to go gambling.
My grandfather gambled so much money away that there wasn’t enough to pay for household bills, like heat or electricity. My dad spent his teenage years taking cold showers and studying by flashlight. There were no Merry Christmases or Happy Birthdays. Those days were gift less and cheerless.
After a year or so, my grandfather remarried. My dad’s stepmother made Cinderella’s look like a saint. She had two teenage sons of her own and provided for them, but not for Dad. She kicked Dad out several times, when he was only seventeen, throwing his things out in the street. My dad would have to gather his clothes and beg his father to let him back in.
Dad’s life turned around at eighteen when he met Marilyn. She was a sweet Christian girl who Dad dated briefly. She was the one who led Dad to the Lord. Thanks to Marilyn, Dad met Pastor and Mrs. Rowe, who helped send him to Moody where he met Mom, and (long story short) eventually they married and had me.
Dad had purposed in his heart not to be like his father. And, as his daughter, I can tell you that he was nothing like my grandfather.
Dad was an amazing, godly, father and if I had all the words in the world they could not convey the love, gratitude, respect, admiration, and devotion I have for him.
Due to his hard knock life and his mother’s early death, Dad assumed that he was not long for this earth. He often talked about it with Mom, but she (understandably) did not want to talk about it. No wife wants to think about life alone, without her best friend.
So, when Dad did die, from a heart attack at age 53, Mom and I speculated that “Dad knew.” It would comfort us, that knowledge that Dad was not surprised. That his death had been at the forefront of his mind, he’d been aware of the possibility.
We were grateful his death had been quick and painless. Our hearts were able to accept that we weren’t able to say any “good-byes.” And, of course, as Christians, we knew he was in the perfect place, the happiest he could be, and that we would eventually see him again.
I’m not saying it was easy. Those years were, without doubt, the most arduous of my life. The deep sadness in my own heart from the loss of my father and the excruciating pain of watching Mom deal with the emptiness and heartbreak was almost unbearable.
But God was gracious as only He can be. He provided the grace we needed.
Dad’s attitude toward death, his untimely death, and the realization that death is unpredictable – all of these came together and helped me understand the fragility of life.
I thank God for all this, because I, too, now feel that I am not long for this earth.
Oh, I know that “my times are in His hands,” and I’m not being presumptuous enough to assume that I KNOW God will take me home while I am still young. The rapture may take us, or I may live 100 years. But…I have had a feeling. That’s all it is, but I imagine it is the feeling Dad had all those years.
My feeling became more of a reality to me this past Friday. I went to the doctor because of a persistent pain in my right ankle. While I was waiting for the doctor, the nurse took my blood pressure. She looked at me, frowned, and took it again. She shook her head and said, “It’s high.”
My doctor came in, examined my ankle and ordered some X-rays. Twenty minutes later, we learned I had a separated bone in my foot that was causing the pain. The nurse helped me get an air cast on with orders to wear it for the next two weeks.
Then, the doctor told her to take my blood pressure again. She did. This time, she looked even more startled and remarked that, “It’s even higher than when I took it last time.”
She went back out to the doctor’s station and told the doctor. My doctor came in and decided to take my blood pressure reading herself. She took a reading on each arm and then went back out in the hallway to consult the nurse.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just that their tones seemed urgent.
When my doctor came back in, she told me that my blood pressure was 156 over 96. It was hypertension. My heart was in serious jeopardy. With my dad’s history of heart disease, the same disease that killed my grandmother and grandfather, my doctor was extremely worried.
She immediately prescribed heart medication and gave me strict orders not to do any exercise or get upset and risk raising my blood pressure even one degree higher. She told me that if my blood pressure goes to 160 or 170, I will have a heart attack and die.
I am 28.
I think I just sat there in shock. Dying from a heart attack before I reach thirty wasn’t something I’d envisioned, even with my thoughts on an early death.
I told her I was on Weight Watchers and eating much better than I had before. She told me that was great and not to stop. But, she said that genetics play a more important role than weight. She told me that even if I stay on Weight Watchers (which I am) and lose my excess weight, I will probably still be at high risk for heart disease.
Together, we marked out a plan. I’m going to keep eating healthy, but I’m not allowed to exercise until my blood pressure is closer to the 130’s – 140’s. She put me on heart medication, and I’ve got an appointment to go see her next week to monitor any changes to my blood pressure.
I will stay on the medication until there is a change, and then we may try to decrease the meds, but she told me there is no guarantee.
She was so glad we caught it when we did, especially since I was just there for my ankle. But, I suppose, God knows why He brought me there.
While I am on medication, we are not supposed to try to get pregnant. This particular medication can put a fetus at risk. So, there goes another couple of months.
It was startling, and both Mom and Brett were worried when I told them. But, as I said earlier, my times ARE in HIS hands.
God led me to the doctor and this diagnosis. It is a little déjà vu since Dad visited the doctor and was diagnosed with high blood pressure and put on medication. Three days later, he died.
So, as my family and friends, I would just ask that you pray for me. To be obedient to God’s will, to use my time wisely, and to live the life I’m meant to live.
I’m so very glad my times ARE in HIS hands.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Debunking a Dumb Diet Doubt
Okay, so I’ve basically been on a diet pretty much since I was eight, right? I know my weight loss tips and tricks. They haven’t done me much good, but I know them.
Drink 8 glass of water a day. Get at least five serving of fruit and veggies. Plenty of exercise. Yada, yada, yada.
Well, I decided that this year I wanted to try something NEW. I want to ACTUALLY follow a diet tip and try to eat at least one cup of leafy greens i.e. salad at least once a day.
That’s not such a big deal you might say.
Well, it wouldn’t be if I didn’t really, really (I can’t overstate this enough) really HATE salad. To me, eating salad is the equivalent of chewing moist cardboard.
I like certain vegetables – peas, carrots, celery, tomatoes, and cucumbers – but greens, such as salad are just-oh-so disgusting to me.
BUT, the doctors say that leafy green are HUGE in helping with managing diabetes (which I have) and heart disease (which I’m greatly predisposed to), so I’m going to try it.
Now, as a Christian, I know that my times are in God’s hands. Trying to be healthy is just taking care of the temple of the Holy Spirit, not trying to lengthen my life. God knows how many years I have and nothing I can do will change that. It’s just my responsibility to take care of this body while it’s on loan to me. P.S. – Haven’t done such a great job so far.
Back to the (yuck) salad, the other thing – the diet tip I doubted the most – is that eating a cup of leafy greens will “fill you up” faster and that you won’t eat as much or get hungry so fast afterwards.
Bunch of “broccoli” if you ask me.
So, anyway (yuck – just thinking about broccoli made me gag a little), today was my first try. I squished down an “Herb Salad” from Logli’s into a one cup serving for my work lunch. To make it more palatable, I added one cup of grape tomatoes – a veggie I actually like - and grabbed one of those new 0 calorie Salad Spritzers (Italian flavor).
I also took along one bag of carrot chips and a cup of salsa to dip them in. I learned that trick a long time ago, and since I’m not a big “salty chip” fan, the carrot chips + salsa for dipping really works well for me.
When lunchtime rolled around, I forced myself to eat the salad. It was nasty. I was reminded WHY I hate salad so much. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. But I did it! And I ate the carrots and salsa in between bites to make it more bearable.
Then, much, much to my surprise – I was barely hungry for my “real” food of a sandwich and regular lunch food. I ate my sandwich, but I really wasn’t hungry for any more food.
So, it was true after all. Eating a cup of leafy greens actually DOES fill you up. Even if it is disgusting.
And I wasn’t hungry afterwards for a long time, so I guess that’s true, too.
It’s kind of too bad. I was hoping that it wouldn’t be true, so I wouldn’t have to eat any more nasty salad.
But, it’s my New Year’s semi-resolution, so I’m going to try to stick with it.
Even if it is a load of “broccoli.”
Drink 8 glass of water a day. Get at least five serving of fruit and veggies. Plenty of exercise. Yada, yada, yada.
Well, I decided that this year I wanted to try something NEW. I want to ACTUALLY follow a diet tip and try to eat at least one cup of leafy greens i.e. salad at least once a day.
That’s not such a big deal you might say.
Well, it wouldn’t be if I didn’t really, really (I can’t overstate this enough) really HATE salad. To me, eating salad is the equivalent of chewing moist cardboard.
I like certain vegetables – peas, carrots, celery, tomatoes, and cucumbers – but greens, such as salad are just-oh-so disgusting to me.
BUT, the doctors say that leafy green are HUGE in helping with managing diabetes (which I have) and heart disease (which I’m greatly predisposed to), so I’m going to try it.
Now, as a Christian, I know that my times are in God’s hands. Trying to be healthy is just taking care of the temple of the Holy Spirit, not trying to lengthen my life. God knows how many years I have and nothing I can do will change that. It’s just my responsibility to take care of this body while it’s on loan to me. P.S. – Haven’t done such a great job so far.
Back to the (yuck) salad, the other thing – the diet tip I doubted the most – is that eating a cup of leafy greens will “fill you up” faster and that you won’t eat as much or get hungry so fast afterwards.
Bunch of “broccoli” if you ask me.
So, anyway (yuck – just thinking about broccoli made me gag a little), today was my first try. I squished down an “Herb Salad” from Logli’s into a one cup serving for my work lunch. To make it more palatable, I added one cup of grape tomatoes – a veggie I actually like - and grabbed one of those new 0 calorie Salad Spritzers (Italian flavor).
I also took along one bag of carrot chips and a cup of salsa to dip them in. I learned that trick a long time ago, and since I’m not a big “salty chip” fan, the carrot chips + salsa for dipping really works well for me.
When lunchtime rolled around, I forced myself to eat the salad. It was nasty. I was reminded WHY I hate salad so much. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck. But I did it! And I ate the carrots and salsa in between bites to make it more bearable.
Then, much, much to my surprise – I was barely hungry for my “real” food of a sandwich and regular lunch food. I ate my sandwich, but I really wasn’t hungry for any more food.
So, it was true after all. Eating a cup of leafy greens actually DOES fill you up. Even if it is disgusting.
And I wasn’t hungry afterwards for a long time, so I guess that’s true, too.
It’s kind of too bad. I was hoping that it wouldn’t be true, so I wouldn’t have to eat any more nasty salad.
But, it’s my New Year’s semi-resolution, so I’m going to try to stick with it.
Even if it is a load of “broccoli.”
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The Things We Say
Do you have a catchphrase?
Are there words burned into your mind either by family or by pop culture repetition? Maybe you just heard a certain set of words one time and it really stuck?
I only bring up the topic, since I am (invariably but also wonderfully) becoming my mother. I know this because I am now repeating several of the “key” phrases I heard come out of her mouth when I was growing up. I even remember, on occasion, making fun of her after she said these phrases.
Oh, how fate cruelly twists our lives back to the beginning! (Yes, I know Christians don’t believe in fate…stick with me, I’m just being creative and literary…)
Anyway, back to my regression into childhood. My parents didn’t swear growing up, but in moments of extreme frustration, my mom would say her “angry” word -
“Ratskees”
That’s right – phonetically it sounds just like “rat” and “ski” and “s” – altogether “Ratskees.”
And the other day, for the first time EVER – I couldn’t find my keys and in supreme frustration uttered the “R” word. Of course, after I got over my initial shock, I had to laugh at myself as I recalled my mom valiantly searching for lost socks uttering the “R” word every couple of seconds.
The other phrase Mom used was primarily directed at bad drivers. She would say, “Watch where you’re going, Charlie Bambino.”
That’s right – Charlie Bambino.
As a kid, I thought Charlie Bambino was an actual person who had done something horrible, along the lines of Benedict Arnold. As I got older, I realized that Mom had simply made up the name and labeled all drivers as Bambinos.
Pity on actual Bambinos who are good drivers.
There are other catchphrases that will live FOREVER in my mind. Even if I wanted to erase them.
Here’s a favorite one for any Rockford-area people:
“Ne-ew Milford Refrigeration. Call 398-C-O-L-D, 398-“COLD”
That will live in infamy in our brains until we all go batty.
Brett remembers the Empire carpet commercials but that doesn’t stick with me.
My friend Kelly and I shared a favorite catchphrase from the movie Robin Hood (with a much-better-looking-then-than-now Kevin Costner):
“You whine like a mule Christian. You are still alive.”
We tended to use this when one of us thought the other one was complaining a little too much.
We also loved Fried Green Tomatoes and quoted it word for word sometimes. Most quoted?
Idgy (played by me) – “Is it bad what I done?”
Ruth (played by Kelly) – “No, I heard there were people who could charm bees, I just never saw it done before. That’s what you are Idgy Threadgoode, a bee charmer.”
My other favorites include:
The Secret Garden
“And if there’s a key, there MUST be a door.”
Austin Powers
“One Meeellion Dollars!”
I’d love to hear if you guys have any favorites!
Are there words burned into your mind either by family or by pop culture repetition? Maybe you just heard a certain set of words one time and it really stuck?
I only bring up the topic, since I am (invariably but also wonderfully) becoming my mother. I know this because I am now repeating several of the “key” phrases I heard come out of her mouth when I was growing up. I even remember, on occasion, making fun of her after she said these phrases.
Oh, how fate cruelly twists our lives back to the beginning! (Yes, I know Christians don’t believe in fate…stick with me, I’m just being creative and literary…)
Anyway, back to my regression into childhood. My parents didn’t swear growing up, but in moments of extreme frustration, my mom would say her “angry” word -
“Ratskees”
That’s right – phonetically it sounds just like “rat” and “ski” and “s” – altogether “Ratskees.”
And the other day, for the first time EVER – I couldn’t find my keys and in supreme frustration uttered the “R” word. Of course, after I got over my initial shock, I had to laugh at myself as I recalled my mom valiantly searching for lost socks uttering the “R” word every couple of seconds.
The other phrase Mom used was primarily directed at bad drivers. She would say, “Watch where you’re going, Charlie Bambino.”
That’s right – Charlie Bambino.
As a kid, I thought Charlie Bambino was an actual person who had done something horrible, along the lines of Benedict Arnold. As I got older, I realized that Mom had simply made up the name and labeled all drivers as Bambinos.
Pity on actual Bambinos who are good drivers.
There are other catchphrases that will live FOREVER in my mind. Even if I wanted to erase them.
Here’s a favorite one for any Rockford-area people:
“Ne-ew Milford Refrigeration. Call 398-C-O-L-D, 398-“COLD”
That will live in infamy in our brains until we all go batty.
Brett remembers the Empire carpet commercials but that doesn’t stick with me.
My friend Kelly and I shared a favorite catchphrase from the movie Robin Hood (with a much-better-looking-then-than-now Kevin Costner):
“You whine like a mule Christian. You are still alive.”
We tended to use this when one of us thought the other one was complaining a little too much.
We also loved Fried Green Tomatoes and quoted it word for word sometimes. Most quoted?
Idgy (played by me) – “Is it bad what I done?”
Ruth (played by Kelly) – “No, I heard there were people who could charm bees, I just never saw it done before. That’s what you are Idgy Threadgoode, a bee charmer.”
My other favorites include:
The Secret Garden
“And if there’s a key, there MUST be a door.”
Austin Powers
“One Meeellion Dollars!”
I’d love to hear if you guys have any favorites!
Monday, January 08, 2007
The Case for Monday
I like Mondays.
I know it’s practically against the law, but I do. Monday means a nice, long, clean week in front of me with no mistakes in it…yet.
Monday means all the time in the world to get things done that need to get done. And if I don’t get it all done today, it’s okay…since it’s only Monday. You can’t say THAT on a Friday!
This Monday was nice, mainly because I actually got to work on a project for more than two minutes, and therefore actually managed to make some headway into the avalanche of work I am currently suffocating under. The reason for my progress…my boss was out of the office for the morning and (aside from a dozen e-mails) mostly left me alone.
I like my boss, but when she’s in the office, I somehow end up with more work. Go figure.
Anyway, after work, I was driving home and got hit with an amazing craving for Velveeta Shells and Cheese – my ABSOLUTE favorite! However, I got home only to discover that we were OUT of said delicacy. Bummer.
I was not deterred, mainly because the craving had turned into a desperate need. Not needy enough for me to leave the house (and my sweat pants) and drive to the store. But to search - okay, I’m stopping here because there is a helicopter air fight going over my house and it’s louder than a drum solo. Okay, now it’s over. Geesh. Talk about interrupting my train of thought…where was I? – oh, yes…
I searched the cupboards in hopes of finding a hidden box of VS&C – although if we buy one, it’s usually consumed within hours – or something very closely resembling macaroni and cheese. As I was searching – low and behold – I found these little books, a lot of them, actually. They were filled with “recipes” and there was one for BAKED MACARONI AND CHEESE, if you can believe it. I couldn’t.
Well, I didn’t really have another choice – at least not that involved me staying in my sweat pants – so, I actually gathered the ingredients, turned on the range, and pre-heated the stove.
I didn’t want to get myself psyched up, since we all know the “box” stuff tastes better than homemade nine times out of ten. What, you don’t think that? Well, your mother must have been a good cook. Mine was…well, let’s just say we ate a lot of microwave meals.
Anyhoo, I made the Mac and Cheese, and it was SO good! Mmm…good, to plagiarize Campbell’s.
I was like Laura Ingalls, a pioneer in my own kitchen. Now, I can see what you might be thinking…will I try it again?
Not if there’s a box in my cupboard, I won’t.
Sorry, but processed foods were invented for people like me. And by that, I mean, of course…the lazy.
Hey, I work hard – the last thing I want is to come home to do MORE WORK, just to eat, you know.
My Monday night finished off very nicely with my doorbell ringing - I was asked to order Girl Scout Cookies – now tell me THAT’S not a great evening!
I know it’s practically against the law, but I do. Monday means a nice, long, clean week in front of me with no mistakes in it…yet.
Monday means all the time in the world to get things done that need to get done. And if I don’t get it all done today, it’s okay…since it’s only Monday. You can’t say THAT on a Friday!
This Monday was nice, mainly because I actually got to work on a project for more than two minutes, and therefore actually managed to make some headway into the avalanche of work I am currently suffocating under. The reason for my progress…my boss was out of the office for the morning and (aside from a dozen e-mails) mostly left me alone.
I like my boss, but when she’s in the office, I somehow end up with more work. Go figure.
Anyway, after work, I was driving home and got hit with an amazing craving for Velveeta Shells and Cheese – my ABSOLUTE favorite! However, I got home only to discover that we were OUT of said delicacy. Bummer.
I was not deterred, mainly because the craving had turned into a desperate need. Not needy enough for me to leave the house (and my sweat pants) and drive to the store. But to search - okay, I’m stopping here because there is a helicopter air fight going over my house and it’s louder than a drum solo. Okay, now it’s over. Geesh. Talk about interrupting my train of thought…where was I? – oh, yes…
I searched the cupboards in hopes of finding a hidden box of VS&C – although if we buy one, it’s usually consumed within hours – or something very closely resembling macaroni and cheese. As I was searching – low and behold – I found these little books, a lot of them, actually. They were filled with “recipes” and there was one for BAKED MACARONI AND CHEESE, if you can believe it. I couldn’t.
Well, I didn’t really have another choice – at least not that involved me staying in my sweat pants – so, I actually gathered the ingredients, turned on the range, and pre-heated the stove.
I didn’t want to get myself psyched up, since we all know the “box” stuff tastes better than homemade nine times out of ten. What, you don’t think that? Well, your mother must have been a good cook. Mine was…well, let’s just say we ate a lot of microwave meals.
Anyhoo, I made the Mac and Cheese, and it was SO good! Mmm…good, to plagiarize Campbell’s.
I was like Laura Ingalls, a pioneer in my own kitchen. Now, I can see what you might be thinking…will I try it again?
Not if there’s a box in my cupboard, I won’t.
Sorry, but processed foods were invented for people like me. And by that, I mean, of course…the lazy.
Hey, I work hard – the last thing I want is to come home to do MORE WORK, just to eat, you know.
My Monday night finished off very nicely with my doorbell ringing - I was asked to order Girl Scout Cookies – now tell me THAT’S not a great evening!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Laughed So Hard I Cried
I am little bit of an entertainment addict.
I like checking out what’s new on the entertainment section of http://www.msnbc.com/. One of my favorite links is Test Pattern - http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4326967/
Today’s Test Pattern highlighted possibly the FUNNIEST site I have ever visited. If you are like me and love to read and debate the comics section of the newspaper, you are going to love this site.
http://joshreads.com/
I laughed so hard I cried. And that’s saying a LOT.
I like checking out what’s new on the entertainment section of http://www.msnbc.com/. One of my favorite links is Test Pattern - http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/4326967/
Today’s Test Pattern highlighted possibly the FUNNIEST site I have ever visited. If you are like me and love to read and debate the comics section of the newspaper, you are going to love this site.
http://joshreads.com/
I laughed so hard I cried. And that’s saying a LOT.
Working Six Days a Week
Well, here I am.
All alone in my office.
On a Saturday.
I could sound like a martyr, and be all, “Sigh, sigh, poor me – having to work six days a week,” but the truth of the matter is that I like working all by myself on Saturday. The office is quiet, and I’m able to get a lot of work done.
Which is exactly what I need to do. Recently, I had to “face the music” with my boss. We’ve been inundated with projects, and I’ve just fallen behind. I was planning to do a lot of catch up work over Christmas break, but my marriage and basic exhaustion just became a factor, and I didn’t come in AT ALL, so that pushed me farther behind.
Thankfully, by God’s grace, my boss understood. So, now, I’m trying to justify her faith in me getting caught up by coming in on Saturdays and working late hours throughout the week. I hope it works.
Pray for me to have BALANCE as I strive to be my best professionally without sacrificing anything PERSONALLY important.
Speaking of work, I must say I was pleased with the recent PR campaign I organized for our most important season –that’s right, it’s cookie time! We had front page coverage on the GO section (the entertainment section) of the Rockford Register Star, at least two radio interviews so far, and two TV stations covered our local area kick-offs. My boss was VERY pleased with the campaign, so it was nice to claim a small victory, even though I’m buried under an avalanche of publication work.
I had also taken on some volunteer PR coordination work for the Alzheimer’s Association, so I’m hoping to get some work done on that as well, today, but we’ll see – since paying jobs and family come first, you know.
Enough about work - I have to be here all day, anyway – let’s move on.
Sometimes I feel lonely. Most of the time I don’t. Being an only child prepared me to enjoy solitude and to be very comfortable just being with myself. But only children are also known to be great socializers, and sometimes I miss the camaraderie I knew in college. But right when I start to feel a little friendless, things have a habit of looking up.
One of my FAVORITE co-workers, Mary, took me out for lunch on Friday. Icky food, wonderful conversation. And two of my very FAVORITE people, Angie and Carleen, both called and asked if we could make plans to get together this next week! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Last night was nice, too. After attending the cookie kick-off closest to me and taking some photographs, I came home to a husband who wanted to spend time together. We spent time together – that’s a metaphor – and cuddled up on the couch to enjoy a movie.
We watched Miami Vice. Hmmm…a VERY convoluted plot, I didn’t get it at all, but my husband cuddled up next to me AND watching the genetically-gifted Colin Farrell is my idea of a great evening.
We ordered in pizza from Rosati’s – Oh. My. Yum!
Being opposites as we are, Brett and I (of course) don’t even like the same pizza. But at Rosati’s, we can order to two small pizzas of our favorites. Brett orders the Chicago Deep Dish, and I order a White Pizza. A White Pizza is a very thin crust cheese pizza with a thin layer of Alfredo Sauce replacing the usual tomato sauce. You can also order Olive Oil in place of the Alfredo Sauce. It’s delicious! And Rosati’s has really good seasoned bread sticks – nothing will ever beat the Little Caesar’s original Crazy Bread, in my opinion - but Rosati’s is the closest.
Since Brett is on third shift schedule, he continued to stay up, but I sacked out at about midnight. When I got up this morning, he had just gone to bed, so me heading to the office will work out great – that way we can hang out tonight in that small window of time when we are BOTH conscious.
We are planning to have dinner at the Outback, thanks to Tim and Angie’s combination Christmas-and-thank-you-for-helping-us-move gift of an Outback Gift Card. After that, we’ll probably have to do some produce shopping for the rabbits…and maybe some for the humans, too!
Also, please pray for our pastor and his wife. They are still in South Carolina waiting to finalize their baby’s adoption papers, but a recent e-mail indicated there maybe some serious snags happening with the adoption. Please pray that everything will work out according to God’s will.
Okay, since I appear to be switching to more serious matters – in this rambling, conversational post – I was thinking about something on the way to work. Why don’t more Christians donate blood? Why don’t we donate kidneys and bone marrow to strangers? Wouldn’t that be the greatest witness ever? I just got to thinking about it after I saw a giant billboard ad where a man was thanking someone for donating his kidney to someone else. I thought, “Why don’t more people do that?”
Just an interesting question.
Okay, well, I’ll leave you with that thought. Also, I’ve been wondering lately why adoption is such a convoluted process. Everyone says there are children in need, but then why is it so hard to adopt? I don’t know much about it. I’m just curious.
Oh well, better get back to work!
All alone in my office.
On a Saturday.
I could sound like a martyr, and be all, “Sigh, sigh, poor me – having to work six days a week,” but the truth of the matter is that I like working all by myself on Saturday. The office is quiet, and I’m able to get a lot of work done.
Which is exactly what I need to do. Recently, I had to “face the music” with my boss. We’ve been inundated with projects, and I’ve just fallen behind. I was planning to do a lot of catch up work over Christmas break, but my marriage and basic exhaustion just became a factor, and I didn’t come in AT ALL, so that pushed me farther behind.
Thankfully, by God’s grace, my boss understood. So, now, I’m trying to justify her faith in me getting caught up by coming in on Saturdays and working late hours throughout the week. I hope it works.
Pray for me to have BALANCE as I strive to be my best professionally without sacrificing anything PERSONALLY important.
Speaking of work, I must say I was pleased with the recent PR campaign I organized for our most important season –that’s right, it’s cookie time! We had front page coverage on the GO section (the entertainment section) of the Rockford Register Star, at least two radio interviews so far, and two TV stations covered our local area kick-offs. My boss was VERY pleased with the campaign, so it was nice to claim a small victory, even though I’m buried under an avalanche of publication work.
I had also taken on some volunteer PR coordination work for the Alzheimer’s Association, so I’m hoping to get some work done on that as well, today, but we’ll see – since paying jobs and family come first, you know.
Enough about work - I have to be here all day, anyway – let’s move on.
Sometimes I feel lonely. Most of the time I don’t. Being an only child prepared me to enjoy solitude and to be very comfortable just being with myself. But only children are also known to be great socializers, and sometimes I miss the camaraderie I knew in college. But right when I start to feel a little friendless, things have a habit of looking up.
One of my FAVORITE co-workers, Mary, took me out for lunch on Friday. Icky food, wonderful conversation. And two of my very FAVORITE people, Angie and Carleen, both called and asked if we could make plans to get together this next week! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Last night was nice, too. After attending the cookie kick-off closest to me and taking some photographs, I came home to a husband who wanted to spend time together. We spent time together – that’s a metaphor – and cuddled up on the couch to enjoy a movie.
We watched Miami Vice. Hmmm…a VERY convoluted plot, I didn’t get it at all, but my husband cuddled up next to me AND watching the genetically-gifted Colin Farrell is my idea of a great evening.
We ordered in pizza from Rosati’s – Oh. My. Yum!
Being opposites as we are, Brett and I (of course) don’t even like the same pizza. But at Rosati’s, we can order to two small pizzas of our favorites. Brett orders the Chicago Deep Dish, and I order a White Pizza. A White Pizza is a very thin crust cheese pizza with a thin layer of Alfredo Sauce replacing the usual tomato sauce. You can also order Olive Oil in place of the Alfredo Sauce. It’s delicious! And Rosati’s has really good seasoned bread sticks – nothing will ever beat the Little Caesar’s original Crazy Bread, in my opinion - but Rosati’s is the closest.
Since Brett is on third shift schedule, he continued to stay up, but I sacked out at about midnight. When I got up this morning, he had just gone to bed, so me heading to the office will work out great – that way we can hang out tonight in that small window of time when we are BOTH conscious.
We are planning to have dinner at the Outback, thanks to Tim and Angie’s combination Christmas-and-thank-you-for-helping-us-move gift of an Outback Gift Card. After that, we’ll probably have to do some produce shopping for the rabbits…and maybe some for the humans, too!
Also, please pray for our pastor and his wife. They are still in South Carolina waiting to finalize their baby’s adoption papers, but a recent e-mail indicated there maybe some serious snags happening with the adoption. Please pray that everything will work out according to God’s will.
Okay, since I appear to be switching to more serious matters – in this rambling, conversational post – I was thinking about something on the way to work. Why don’t more Christians donate blood? Why don’t we donate kidneys and bone marrow to strangers? Wouldn’t that be the greatest witness ever? I just got to thinking about it after I saw a giant billboard ad where a man was thanking someone for donating his kidney to someone else. I thought, “Why don’t more people do that?”
Just an interesting question.
Okay, well, I’ll leave you with that thought. Also, I’ve been wondering lately why adoption is such a convoluted process. Everyone says there are children in need, but then why is it so hard to adopt? I don’t know much about it. I’m just curious.
Oh well, better get back to work!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
A Little Incoherent
Wow, it’s so nice to have a big new shiny computer monitor. It almost distracts me from our hard drive - which is the size of a toddler. Almost.
I sure hope we get a tax refund. If we do, we are planning to buy a laptop. Forget the two front teeth, that’s what I really want for Christmas. And after the disaster that WAS Christmas this year, I’m about ready for something nice.
Actually, things are going okay on the marriage front. We are still stalled for marriage counseling until my pastor and his wife are able to finalize their baby’s adoption in South Carolina. (They are actually still waiting on the baby to be born. He was due on December 27, believe it or not.)
So, we’re waiting, but things have gotten better. We are still in love – and not trying to kill each other at this point anymore. Which is a real plus.
I just want to thank everyone for their support. After my depressing Christmas post, I got FOUR letters of support from other wives who have been through the same thing. That bolstered me a great deal. All of your encouragement and prayer means SO much to me. So, thank you.
I’m really tired! Work has been CRAZY this week and it’s not going to get any better until…March!
I’m sorry my thoughts are so incoherent today; all I really want to do is go to sleep, but I wanted to let everyone know I am okay and thank you all for your prayers and support.
I promise my next post will be more intellectually stimulating.
Well, I mean, only as “intellectually stimulating” as someone like me can be, that is.
I sure hope we get a tax refund. If we do, we are planning to buy a laptop. Forget the two front teeth, that’s what I really want for Christmas. And after the disaster that WAS Christmas this year, I’m about ready for something nice.
Actually, things are going okay on the marriage front. We are still stalled for marriage counseling until my pastor and his wife are able to finalize their baby’s adoption in South Carolina. (They are actually still waiting on the baby to be born. He was due on December 27, believe it or not.)
So, we’re waiting, but things have gotten better. We are still in love – and not trying to kill each other at this point anymore. Which is a real plus.
I just want to thank everyone for their support. After my depressing Christmas post, I got FOUR letters of support from other wives who have been through the same thing. That bolstered me a great deal. All of your encouragement and prayer means SO much to me. So, thank you.
I’m really tired! Work has been CRAZY this week and it’s not going to get any better until…March!
I’m sorry my thoughts are so incoherent today; all I really want to do is go to sleep, but I wanted to let everyone know I am okay and thank you all for your prayers and support.
I promise my next post will be more intellectually stimulating.
Well, I mean, only as “intellectually stimulating” as someone like me can be, that is.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
A Room with a Broom
You all know I hate to clean, right?
I mean, I think I made that abundantly clear in my previous posts.
Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing Brett didn’t marry me for my housekeeping talents. In fact, it is a good thing I was born when I was – in the age of Equal Rights – in other times, earlier times, I would have been absolutely useless.
Let’s face it. I’m domestically impaired.
I know this, okay? I know. Still, something happened recently that made it even more obvious.
Brett and I were doing our weekly rabbit-area cleaning. Usually, I end up doing this alone, but this time – this ONE time – Brett was helping me.
Normally, after everything else is done, I clean the upstairs laundry room where we keep the big bin of rabbit hay. I use the long handled Swiffer – the best invention since bagels and cream cheese – to push all the hay to the edge of the room and then try to pick up as much as I can with my hands before vacuuming the excess hay. The vacuum usually clogs on the hay, so I have to unclog the vacuum cleaner hose several times.
Well, this time I was working with Brett, and he ended up with the task of clearing out the laundry room. There I was, busy with other tasks, I look over and couldn’t believe my eyes.
My husband – who cleans about as much as Donald Trump does – was using a broom – A BROOM – to sweep up all that hay.
A broom!!!
I’d never even thought about using a broom. An ordinary household tool. I was like a caveman introduced to fire for the very first time.
Like I said, domestically impaired.
When I praised Brett for his ingenuity, he gave me a blank look. When I explained further, he said, “You mean, you’ve been picking all this up by hand?!” He seemed genuinely amazed and spent the rest of the night looking at me and occasionally shaking is head.
I suppose I can blame it on being left-handed and therefore right brained. We right brainers are creative, but when it comes to common sense and practicality, we’re on permanent low wattage.
Case in point, I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was eight years old. Thank the good Lord for Velcro, or I would have been faltering all over the school like a dim-witted imbecile. Getting good grades is one thing, but no one like to see an eight year old stumbling around like a drunk senior on prom night.
I also didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was eleven. I’m glad I didn’t actually have to train anything with a training bra, or I bet I’d still be practicing.
Learned tasks just take longer for me and as the “Broom Incident” (as it will forever be known) illustrates, I’m not so great at processes!
Thank goodness I’m pretty, right?
Oh, wait…
I mean, I think I made that abundantly clear in my previous posts.
Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing Brett didn’t marry me for my housekeeping talents. In fact, it is a good thing I was born when I was – in the age of Equal Rights – in other times, earlier times, I would have been absolutely useless.
Let’s face it. I’m domestically impaired.
I know this, okay? I know. Still, something happened recently that made it even more obvious.
Brett and I were doing our weekly rabbit-area cleaning. Usually, I end up doing this alone, but this time – this ONE time – Brett was helping me.
Normally, after everything else is done, I clean the upstairs laundry room where we keep the big bin of rabbit hay. I use the long handled Swiffer – the best invention since bagels and cream cheese – to push all the hay to the edge of the room and then try to pick up as much as I can with my hands before vacuuming the excess hay. The vacuum usually clogs on the hay, so I have to unclog the vacuum cleaner hose several times.
Well, this time I was working with Brett, and he ended up with the task of clearing out the laundry room. There I was, busy with other tasks, I look over and couldn’t believe my eyes.
My husband – who cleans about as much as Donald Trump does – was using a broom – A BROOM – to sweep up all that hay.
A broom!!!
I’d never even thought about using a broom. An ordinary household tool. I was like a caveman introduced to fire for the very first time.
Like I said, domestically impaired.
When I praised Brett for his ingenuity, he gave me a blank look. When I explained further, he said, “You mean, you’ve been picking all this up by hand?!” He seemed genuinely amazed and spent the rest of the night looking at me and occasionally shaking is head.
I suppose I can blame it on being left-handed and therefore right brained. We right brainers are creative, but when it comes to common sense and practicality, we’re on permanent low wattage.
Case in point, I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was eight years old. Thank the good Lord for Velcro, or I would have been faltering all over the school like a dim-witted imbecile. Getting good grades is one thing, but no one like to see an eight year old stumbling around like a drunk senior on prom night.
I also didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was eleven. I’m glad I didn’t actually have to train anything with a training bra, or I bet I’d still be practicing.
Learned tasks just take longer for me and as the “Broom Incident” (as it will forever be known) illustrates, I’m not so great at processes!
Thank goodness I’m pretty, right?
Oh, wait…
You Might Be A Rehfeldt If…
A Girls’ Dialogue
Written by Charity Boehm and Ann-Marie Soderstrom
A – Ann-Marie
C – Charity
(T) – Together
A: You might be a Rehfeldt if…
C: You start telling a story and finish it… (T) two days later!
C: You might be married to a Rehfeldt if…
A: You can’t get a word… (T) in edgewise!
A: You might be the child of a Rehfeldt if…
C: Your cupboard doors were always left open because…
(T): When we were growing up, we were so poor we didn’t have cupboard doors!
C: You know you’re married to a Rehfeldt if…
A: You’re never right!
A: You know you’re the child of a Rehfeldt if…
C: You have heard more than one story about… (T) “the outhouse!”
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
A: Two words – orange cookies!
(T): Wait, two more, tootsie rolls!
A: And now, some quotes from Grandma:
C: Don’t throw the gravel!
A: Hey kids, let’s go pick up sticks!
C: Don’t slam the… (T) door!
A: Who wants to play Kings Corner?
C: And one from Grandpa
(T): If you want to talk, go in the kitchen!
A: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
C: You’re used to saying… (T) yes, we’re all related!
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
A: You’ve secretly been tape recorded by Grandpa
A: You might be a Rehfeldt if…
C: People at garage sales know you by name
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt grandchild if…
A: Grandma tells you not to mess around on the davenport.
(T): What’s a davenport?
A: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
(T): You find yourself doing a silly skit on Christmas Eve!
Written by Charity Boehm and Ann-Marie Soderstrom
A – Ann-Marie
C – Charity
(T) – Together
A: You might be a Rehfeldt if…
C: You start telling a story and finish it… (T) two days later!
C: You might be married to a Rehfeldt if…
A: You can’t get a word… (T) in edgewise!
A: You might be the child of a Rehfeldt if…
C: Your cupboard doors were always left open because…
(T): When we were growing up, we were so poor we didn’t have cupboard doors!
C: You know you’re married to a Rehfeldt if…
A: You’re never right!
A: You know you’re the child of a Rehfeldt if…
C: You have heard more than one story about… (T) “the outhouse!”
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
A: Two words – orange cookies!
(T): Wait, two more, tootsie rolls!
A: And now, some quotes from Grandma:
C: Don’t throw the gravel!
A: Hey kids, let’s go pick up sticks!
C: Don’t slam the… (T) door!
A: Who wants to play Kings Corner?
C: And one from Grandpa
(T): If you want to talk, go in the kitchen!
A: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
C: You’re used to saying… (T) yes, we’re all related!
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
A: You’ve secretly been tape recorded by Grandpa
A: You might be a Rehfeldt if…
C: People at garage sales know you by name
C: You know you’re a Rehfeldt grandchild if…
A: Grandma tells you not to mess around on the davenport.
(T): What’s a davenport?
A: You know you’re a Rehfeldt if…
(T): You find yourself doing a silly skit on Christmas Eve!
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