Visceral Reaction

vis·cer·al

adj \ˈvi-sə-rəl, ˈvis-rəl\

Definition of VISCERAL

1

: felt in or as if in the internal organs of the body : deep visceral conviction>

2

: not intellectual : instinctive, unreasoning <visceral drives>

3

: dealing with crude or elemental emotions : earthy visceral novel>

4

: of, relating to, or located on or among the viscera : splanchnic <visceral organs>


I was recently told that I gave someone a visceral reaction with the words I spoke. This is not good. Even worse, perhaps, was the fact that I was eliciting this "visceral reaction" from a paid therapist. Yes, that's right, folks. In sharing my feelings to my therapist I was told what I was saying to her created a deep visceral reaction. Lord. I guess I should be more careful with what I say in therapy. Wait a second, I thought... oh never mind. Welcome to my world, where even the therapist doesn't want to hear it.
My husband and I have enjoyed the replaying of this moment over and over. (Could this have been her secret tactic all along to bring us closer together?? Hmmm) The word "visceral" has now become a buzz word to us, although I swore only a couple of months ago that it was forever ruined for me. So in the spirit of self deprecation, which we all know I love, I have decided to compile a partial list of things that create "visceral reactions" in me. I sincerely hope in doing so, I do not spread the visceral"ness" of my feelings.

1. saying "conversate" instead of converse. (ie, "We don't "conversate" much.)

2. ending sentences with prepositions. (ie, "Where's the book at?)

3. parents who ignore the visible runny noses and dirty faces of their children

4. Michael Bolton, Glorian Estefan

5. "Sweater Christians"- people who are outwardly vocal of their "love of Christ," but hate gays, people of different faiths, and anyone who has ever been in trouble. (take their Christianity off like a sweater)

6. Ann Coulter, Bill O'reilly, Glen Beck

7. being lied to

8. fruit flies

9. adult tattletales

10. passing the buck

11. ungratefulness

12. sweet potatoes and cornbread (random, huh?)

13. disrespect

14. The Nightmare Before Christmas (never saw this movie, but the commercials always really churned something up in me)

15. parents who smoke in front of their kids

16. seeing little children not in car seats

17. Nazis of any type (ie, breastfeeding nazis, liberal nazis, conservative nazis, nazi christians, etc...)

18. hate

19. people who say "It could never happen to me..." or "I would never..."

20. people intent on not forgiving

21. people who "know everything"

22. learning of seriously ill children

23. non-disabled people who park in handicap parking or in no parking zones...every single time!!

24. slow lines at Walmart

25. people who don't try

We walk by faith

If we listen, God is constantly talking to us. I never really understood that before. I used to be convinced that God speaks to us seldom so we needed to be sure to not miss it. Thankfully, though, that is not case. His guidance is persistent and perfect.

I am on the precipice of some major life changes. Being plagued by my "humanness" as my friend Steve says, has done nothing but complicate things for me. I get so caught up in the need to control and time these changes in accordance to my own time frame. My non-God mind, sometimes forgets that mine is not the perfect plan. It is during these times when my Lord whispers in my ear the message to slow down and trust in Him.

I am so thankful for His comforting guidance and the assurance that although I am flawed by my humanness, He is not, and he does not grow weary in His love for me.

Im Lacking Experience...just so you know...

Today let's go over the latest episode in the sitcom that is my life.

"Caroline Looks for a Job"


After 14 years of spitting out babies and mothering said babies, Caroline finds herself excited and ready to join the workforce. With no "work experience" other than being a preschool teacher for the past decade, she knows her work is cut out for her.

Setting:
Late at night in a darkened den. Caroline sits in front of laptop staring at her uncompleted resume.

The work experience section is glaringly small. Apparently, the "mom" experience is not as transferable as she had hoped. Surviving children's hospitalizations, emotional turmoil, and school struggles are now equated with "time not working." Uggh. Too bad she's so darned honest. Oh how she'd love to lie!

Setting:
Inside the conference room of a local non-profit. Other than the room being bitterly cold, Caroline feels confident. She knows the likelihood that this job will be able to fit her needs are nil.
She goes through with the interview out of curiosity.

The two people doing the interviewing are so extremely personable, Caroline feels as though she is talking to old friends. As they further discuss the job, it becomes evident to her that regardless of pay, the sporadic schedule would keep Caroline from being able to accept. She politely makes it known to the interviewers. Surprise of surprises! The Director of the nonprofit begins talking about "creating" a position that she would just thrive in. Instant Ego Boost. Interview ends with promise and agreement that Caroline would contact Director for further inquiry into "new" position.

Setting:
Inside a small, cluttered office of the direct supervisor of the position being applied for. Caroline is wearing a new dress and freshly painted toe nails. Confidence is still high from the week's earlier interview. This, however is the position Caroline is hanging her hopes on.

The supervisor begins to inquire as to why Caroline is interested in the job. A well spoken, thought out answer is forth coming as Caroline secretly tries to read the expression of her interviewer. After several minutes of discussion, the Director joins the meeting whereas Caroline is asked to repeat her earlier comments. Panic! Panic! Panic! Everything seems so much less sincere the second time around. The Director seems warm and familiar and Caroline begins to relax once again. As the two interviewers go over the job description, Caroline feels confident in her ability to successfully perform the duties in this ENTRY LEVEL POSITION.
Soon the Director begins addressing Caroline's lack of office experience. With rapid fire succession, Caroline is forced to answer no to questions asked about experience with specific functions inside an office environment. Deciding it would be a bad idea to scream out, "I KNOW I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE BUT THIS JOB ISN'T ROCKET SCIENCE!!!" Caroline politely tells her new "friends" that while she has no office experience, (once again) she is an intelligent college- educated woman who will be quite capable of learning the process they have developed.
A crestfallen Caroline is walked to the door by the supervisor who tells her, "If you don't hear back from us and you want to know, feel free to call the office." Translation: when you don't get THE call from us, you can call and we will be happy to let you know the job has gone to someone else. (with experience)

Caroline sighs. Heavily.

**************************************************************************************
So here I am. Not quite jobless, as I still have my position at the preschool, but also far from being able to be self sufficient which is my ultimate goal. (not to BE self sufficient, but rather having the ABILITY to be)
Consequently, I did return to the non-profit to discuss the created position but the compensation was not even close to my lowest anticipated pay. It is such a shame. I really was quite fond of the Director. He would have been a great person to work for.

So, one place was willing to create a position for me while one place had me feeling like a complete loser. This job hunting stuff is just crazy. The idea of sitting in front of someone and being essentially judged is simply exhausting. AND...I have to keep going...

The Incarnation of Who They Are: Part 4- Patrick "Patch" Bryan Hearn

From the moment we found out that Hearnlet #4 was on his way, our lives have been a wild ride. Such is life with Patch.
Even though I was only 29 years old when I got pregnant for the fourth time, I felt like an old veteran. This baby-making thing had become old hat and I was an expert. Don't you just love how God allows ourselves to be lulled into that false sense of knowledge before He REALLY teaches us something!
As with my previous two pregnancies, I bled frequently in my last that required somewhat frequent ultrasounds. It was at around the 16 week mark when the ultrasound tech cheerfully told us we were expecting a girl. I have to be honest. I was a little disappointed. I wanted Charlie to have in a brother what the girls had in each other. It just wasn't meant to be. He would be our only boy and we would welcome our third baby girl with open arms. Clara Bryan. Clara was the name of one of my Grandmother's aunts and Bryan is my brother's name.
Having already found out our baby was a girl, the normal gender identifying ultrasound at 20 weeks was to be no big deal. Tucker didn't take off work and I just went to my appointment by myself anticipating seeing a larger version of the little girl we saw a month earlier. The appointment was very routine. They measured bones and fluid and all kinds of technical stuff that was unrecognizable to the untrained eye. At one point I asked very flippantly, "So is she still a girl?" Without an ounce of emotion or surprise in her voice, the same professional who four weeks earlier told us we were having a girl, said, "No, this is a boy."

WHAT!!!??

That's right. Our daughter had grown a penis. Well, more accurately, our SON just finally showed his. One of the greatest moments in my adulthood came when I called Tucker after the appointment. I played it cool and told him everything went well and the baby looked fine. I was just dying for him to ask about the gender. I could barely breathe! Finally he said, "So, did they confirm the sex." I said "Yes." So naturally he said, "girl?" That's when I very excitedly told him we would be a family of 2 and 2!

Of course we had no name for this baby boy. Nothing seemed right. All of the names we considered with earlier pregnancies fell short in our minds. For a time we reconsidered Geoffrey, but it just didn't feel right. None of our unborn babies had ever gone so long without a name. I was beginning to get agitated. In April we were to go to the beach for Spring Break, and I told the family we were not to return to Columbus without a name for our baby.

Of course at this time, The girls were almost 10 and almost 6 so it was impossible to ignore their input. All week long we tossed around names, even buying baby name books in the beach gift shops! Finally one night, as we ate dinner at a quaint, outdoor Mediterranean cafe, our baby was named. Patrick Bryan. But there was to be strict stipulations.

Tucker has always loved the name Patrick, but I resisted out of fear that Patrick Hearn sounded so uniquely Irish, that people might suspect us of trying to be "clever." (I don't even know exactly what that means, but I was really hung up on trying not to sound like we were claiming some strong Irish heritage) Lou had had a little boy in her class named Patrick, and was extremely concerned that her baby might be called Patty or Pat. (concerned to the point of tears, people!)
A friend of mine in Charlotte had a nephew named Patrick, who they unofficially had nicknamed Patch. I was in love with it! I loved the idea of having a Patch. It felt comfortable and familiar. We would name our baby Patrick with the understanding he would go by Patch.
Patch. Patchy. Patchy-poo. Patchy-pooser. Pooser. Pooser Bear. Patch is just one of those names that really lends itself to variations. Everyone who knows him, knows him by all of his names. He of course prefers "Power Patch," his super hero alter ego.
Never could there be a name that fits my silly, crazy boy better, and never has there been someone more in love with his name than he is. Patch- It's not just a name, it's a legend!

The Incarnation of Who They Are- Part 3: Charles Tucker

Two down, two to go...

Charles Tucker.

After I had had two daughters, and my sister had had two daughters, the general consensus was that the Broodno sisters killed male sperm. There was just no way either of us would ever beget a male child. So naturally, we began discussing girl names. Amanda Rollins was to be our third daughter.
When I learned I was having a boy, I panicked. Forget the fact that I was married to one, they seemed like foreigners to me. What in the world would I do with a boy?
The little guy was coming whether I was ready or not so we needed to come up with a name for him. Tucker always wanted a Junior. I just couldn't go there. The whole "little Tucker/ big Tucker" idea just got to me. All the names we considered as possibilities had the girls been boys were completely void for some reason this time around. Back to square one.
Just as I had images of what I wanted the girls names to conjure up, I also had an idea of what I wanted my boy name to project; friendliness and happiness. I wanted a name that that sounded friendly above all else.
Charles Tucker.
There wasn't one slam dunk reason why we named Charlie what we did. The name definitely fit my friendliness criteria. This is probably most likely due to a close family friend. "Uncle" Charlie was half of the couple that had been my parents' best friends forever. Uncle Charlie was a larger than life character. People were drawn to him and he had tons of energy. As I grew older seeing them became much more infrequent but Aunt Dale and Uncle Charlie were really happy memories of my childhood.
It was also later discovered that Caroline is actually the feminine of Charles. So, Charlie wasn't named specifically for me or for Uncle Charlie but both were factors.
In fact, I wasn't even positive I LOVED the named Charlie. I remember asking Tucker if he was POSITIVE that he liked the name. He loved it unwaveringly and I felt since I had strong armed my way to the girls' names, I should "let him have this one."
Fast forward to February 16, 2004. After quite an eventful delivery, (as in Tucker and the nurse pretty much delivered the baby before the doctor sauntered in) I finally met my long awaited baby boy. When I looked down at my itty-bitty darling boy and saw a full head of furry orange hair, I knew instantly that this angel was indeed and without any doubt a Charlie.

The Incarnation of Who They Are- Part 2: Elizabeth Barrington

Hearnlet #2

Elizabeth Barrington aka Lou

Contrary to what most people believed, Tucker and I were thrilled to learn we were having another girl. Sisters!
In addition to all of the challenges that are present when you name your first child, a special obstacle exists with the naming of subsequent children. You need to make sure the names sound good together. For instance: If someone named their first child Marilyn, then naming a son Mason might result in scary images of large breasted male rock stars. (ie, Marilyn Manson)
We knew we wanted to stick with the traditional and feminine, but I really liked the idea of having the strong sounding middle name as we had done with Emily.
Elizabeth's name actually came about pretty easily. Tucker and I each have one sister. My sister's name is Beth (Elizabeth Louise), and his sister's name is Barrie (Anne Barrington). Merger!! We get both the sisters covered in one fell swoop! My sister has NEVER gone by Elizabeth, so there was no concern over confusion. In addition to Barrington being his sister's name, SHE received her name because it was their paternal grandmother's maiden name. Home run! Beautiful and strong. Elizabeth Barrington.
Irony here- Sometimes it just doesn't matter what we parents decide. When Charlie was young, he began calling Elizabeth "Lou Lou" because he couldn't say Elizzabeth. He outgrew that eventually- but not before Patch was born and caught onto it. So Patch learned to call her Lou Lou. It wasn't long before we all were going along with it. It got to the point where whole groups of people only knew her as Lou. About a year and a half ago she told Tucker and I she actually perferred Lou to Elizabeth. This year she went by Lou in school, and friends who have known her as Elizabeth for their whole lives caught on quickly. It really was pretty easy. She just really is Lou. That being said, there will be no trips to the court house; her formal name will always be Elizabeth Barrington!

The Incarnation of Who They Are: Part 1- Emily Taylor

It was requested to me that I share how the Hearnlets came to possess their names. Of course, as with most mothers, I do not need any prodding in talking endlessly about any details of my children's lives, however I will spare the very personal. (Who am I kidding? I'm sure it will ALL come out eventually!!)
So here we go. Hearnlet #1

Emily Taylor

There was never a question with any of my pregnancies if we would find out the sex. Some people enjoy the mystery of not knowing. Tucker and I were NOT those people. In fact pretty much as soon as the two lines showed up we began discussing names.
The semester prior to getting pregnant, Tucker and I took a Medieval Literature class together. Of all of the literature classes I have ever taken, it was by far my most favorite. (and probably most difficult for that matter) One of the major projects in the class was to read a tale of the Canterbury Tales, aloud in class, as it was originally written in Middle English. For those who may not be aware, Middle English resembles Modern English about as much as a horse resembles a Corvette. No, I'm not exaggerating. It's a completely different language, people; different pronunciation, different cadence, different everything. Ok, so we were each assigned a character from The Tales. After we read the original, we were to translate it into to Modern English. I was one of the last of our class of 10 or 12 to present, so I had the unenviable pleasure of watching my Lit professor systematically discard my fellow classmates one by one in a trash heap, if he was unimpressed with their work. Gulp. Somehow, I made it through with a "good job, Caroline" and an A on the project. Not really sure how that happened, but was for sure one of my crowning achievements. Consequently, it was then I realized if my baby was a boy he would be named Geoffrey Rollins. ( Geoffrey for Chaucer and Rollins after Tucker's middle name) Great story, huh? I don't have a kid named Geoff, do I? Nope. Because...
It was a girl!!
Although, I felt like I had won the lottery when the ultrasound lady told me I was having a girl, the irony of having no clue what to name a girl was not lost on me. We were happy and settled with Geoffrey. Now what?
Ok, parents and future parents, the fact is you can screw up a kid with the wrong name. We all know it. We all know those kids who had to carry the weight of the name their parents thought at one point would be cute. The pressure- it's intense, man.
I, in my mind had an image that I wanted the name of my daughter to reflect. I wanted something sweet and feminine; classic and beautiful; strong and kind. Yeh, I know. It's a NAME, but as an English major, words are important to me, and certainly names carry with them strong associations and connotations.
Emily. It fit all my requirements. It just felt perfect and conjured up images of light blue gingham and eyelet lace. The middle name needed to be strong. Taylor. My grandmother's parents had died when she was a child, and she was adopted by her mother's twin sister and her husband- the Taylors.
Emily Taylor.
Beautiful and strong. Perfect for my girl.

Best Friends

I think the greatest gift that I have given my kids is the gift of each other. Emily is 3 1/2 years older than Lou. After almost 3 years, Charlie was born, and 3 1/2 years later came Patch. For 10 years I had babies. I always knew I wanted more than one child but how many and the time span in which they were to be born was something I just never really thought about. I just kinda "knew" when it was time to start trying for another. Thankfully, pregnancy came extremely quick for me. (although some might say too quick in the case of that first one. ahem.)
When we decided to try for a baby after Emily, I prayed she would have a sister. Of course, the visions of two beautiful girls dressed prissily in matching frocks polluted my mind, but my overwhelming desire was to "grow" a best friend for Emily. Tucker was of like mind, although everyone just assumed he wanted a boy. He still talks about how annoyed he was when people used to comment on how disappointed he must be that it was another girl! Emily loved her baby sister from the moment she found out she was on her way. Although they have the occasional sibling squabble, they truly are best friends. They are together most of the time and understand one another like no other.
When we decided to have our fourth, which literally was a split moment decision, I thought how fabulous it would be for Charlie to have what Lou and Em have! The girls loved Charlie, but it was undeniable the bond that they shared as sisters. Could having a brother be just as wonderful to my son? Ironically, we were told very early on in my fourth pregnancy that we were expecting a girl. We were happy, but disappointed Charlie would miss out on having a brother. (surely no more Hearnlets after 4!!) For weeks we referred to the baby growing inside me as Clara, and mentally prepared ourselves for little girl #3. However, during a routine ultrasound it was confirmed that this last little baby was in fact a boy! Our little girl had grown a winkie!!
Charlie and Patch are to each other what Lou and Em are. They understand one another in a way no one else does. They are "bubbies" and they are best friends. They have each other now and will forever.
I know I had no hand in my children's birth order, but I marvel at God's perfection. He gave my children each other in the most perfect ways imaginable. They are better people for having each other and I am so very thankful.

Snooks

My Charlie. What can I really say?
Charlie has a very non-serious, non life-threatening infection that will necessitate surgery for removal. He is healthy otherwise and this little blip is just a mere drop in the bucket of things to worry about. Yet I do- because I'm Mom.

Over the past weeks we have been dealing with a host of unpleasant remedies in hopes of curing this infection. He hasn't once complained. Not once. He has handled this as he approaches everything in his life; with a happy go lucky charm and a joyful spirit. This dude just really amazes me.
As much as I would love to, I can't take credit for this. These, while qualities that I wished I possessed, are quite foreign to me. Sometimes children are who they are despite their parents, not because of.
Charlie is going to be himself regardless of what others think or how others believe he should be. It is simply not within his power to be, well, un-Charlie-like. He is who he is and he couldn't be happier.
Sometimes during a soccer game, I would look over and see my little guy performing what looked like a Madonnaesque vogue in the field. He did not seek to entertain the masses or be noticed, my boy just wanted to vogue! I would (perhaps impatiently) yell to Charlie to stop dancing and pay attention. He would flash me a smile and stop, seemingly unaware that moments before he was giving the performance of a lifetime.
When Tucker and I were choosing a name for our first born son, my major requirement was a name that sounded friendly. Charlie. Charlie. It's hard to imagine not saying it with a smile on your face. (although the name surely took a hit by Charles Manson, but what are ya gonna do?) Charlie certainly lives up to the name. He is every one's friend. It would not even dawn on him to not like someone. That's just how he is. My prayer is that his 7 year old attitude lasts a lifetime in his heart

Awkward Family Pictures

I was meandering around Barnes and Nobles the other day and came across a hilarious book. It is a collection of hundreds of very awkward family pictures. I just thumbed through the pages laughing at the awkward poses and crazy color coordinated outfits that surely seemed like a good idea to someone at the time.
Prior to the church directory portrait that my family had taken several weeks ago, the 6 of us had never had an "official" family portrait made, but looking through the pages of this book made me yearn for many pictures of the like that one day we can look back on and gag. Hmmm. Masochistic? Perhaps. Of course the church directory portrait turned out beautifully so my hopes for wretched ammunition to use against my kids were not realized through that one.
Then came Easter Sunday.
Tucker and I took turns photographing each other with the kids. During my turn behind the camera I captured the true essence that is the Hearns.


Patchy trying to dismantle picture frames from the wall as Emily wishes her phone would ring and save her from the current hell.




Emily thinks perhaps if she stares at the phone, it might ring.



Ok, I am pretty sure there were 4 kids...weren't there??




Surprise! Life is grand when you're a Hearn. Uggh, unless you are being forced to sit for pictures!

Invictus

When I was in high school I loved the movie The Dead Poets Society. I became obsessed with the poem, Invictus, by Sir William Henley that is featured in it. I memorized it and would write it on the inside of my notebooks and in cards and any other place I could think of. I was especially moved with the idea of being "the master of my fate."
It has been years and years since I have even thought of this poem, but for some reason in the shower the other day the words came flooding back to me. Isn't it amazing how that happens? Whether it was God or my subconscious or merely coincidence, the recall of these words at this time in my life have been so empowering.

Invictus

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Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley

Bitty Baby Growing Up

I was just a baby when Emily was born. Many 20 year olds are mature and wise. I was not one of them. All I knew about babies was what I learned from playing with dolls. But Emily taught me a lot.

In the early years of our marriage, and when Emily was an infant, Tucker was still in college and worked all of the time. My bitty baby and I had to make it on our own. We traveled everywhere together, and I soon was filling our days with play dates, library story times and trips to the park. Everything I did revolved around her and she thanked me by being the easiest and most mild mannered baby in the world.

I spent money we did not have on color coordinated bows and little ruffly socks. She had short curly blond hair that would bounce around her head as she moved and a smile that could draw the attention of strangers from across the room. She very simply was a beautiful child. I loved being her mommy. It was more fun than I could ever imagine it would be.

Because I was such a young mom, I remembered so vividly my childhood. I put all of my focus on duplicating what had been pleasant and avoiding at all costs the things that could cause her hurt. I was determined to be the best mommy ever. I was going to give my bitty baby the best life ever!

Over the years Ems and I have stayed uniquely close. We have always had a very open dialog and I have made it clear to her that no matter what, she will always be my baby and I will always love her. We have made each other angry at times but it never takes long for the offending party to come to the other with an unsolicited apology. She has shared with me that some of her friends had very strained relationships with their parents and that she was so thankful for Tucker and I. Everyone has warned me that once she became a teenager, our happily ever after connection would end, but I was convinced that Emily and I would be different.

Now my bitty baby is 13. Just hearing myself say that puts a knot in my stomach. 13. My little girl with the matching bows and bouncy hair, is suddenly a lean, beautiful independent thinking young woman. She fascinates me. As close as we are, she and I are so very different. She is extremely preppy and smart and organized; none of those qualities have ever been used to describe her mother. Still, she respects me and loves me the way I am, and I... well, I am in utter awe of her.

I know that there will come a time in her life where the apron strings will be cut. She may go away to school or even marry and move to another place one day. (gasp, gasp) The thought breaks my heart, although I know whatever decisions she makes for her self will be well thought out and prayed over; for that I am so thankful.

She is not a bitty baby anymore, but in my heart she always will be. She will always be the tiny little person who taught me how to mother and to give unselfishly. She will always be the first person to show me truly unconditional love. She really is the person who taught me most about myself.

We are still very close, despite the inevitable teenage angst. On occasion she will snuggle with me and we still talk about matters of the heart and mind, but it is becoming clear that she is able to rely on her old momma less. She has a core group of friends who are now her "go to people." Hanging out with mom is now not nearly as fun as it once was, and I hate to admit it, but I have gotten "the look" more than I care to recall. You all know the look in which I speak- the "You have got to be kidding me, you crazy monster from another planet look." Each time she shoots me "the look" I want to say, "but Ems, it's ME, remember?? Your momma, the one who you think knows everything and the person who you would rather be with than anyone else in the whole wide world! Remember??"

Yep, she is growing up, my bitty baby. I really couldn't be more proud of the person she is choosing to become. Oh, my sweet Emily. I am so proud and just a little heartbroken.

Laundry Love

When I was in my last trimester of pregnancy with Patch, I was very sick. It was initially very confusing to the doctors as to what was going on, and as a result I was misdiagnosed and mistreated for nearly a month. The result was several hospital stays and near confinement to my bedroom. I was so very scared for myself as well as for my little unborn baby.

During my illness, even the simplest of tasks felt impossible. I was unable to read a magazine, follow a television show or even take a shower without having Tucker close by. I was a wreck and I just kept getting worse.

Several weeks into my illness, Janet called to see how everything was going. Because she is six hours away and I had not felt well enough to call, she had been completely unaware of what was going on. Tucker filled her in the best he could with the information we had at the time. Anytime she called in the coming weeks, I was too ill to talk and the news was always worse than the time before.

After Patch was born, I received a correct diagnosis immediately by my general practitioner. Within a week or two I was beginning to recover and finally felt well enough to call my dear friend and fill her in on what I had been through the past couple of months. It was a tough conversation to have because the experience had been so painful. She listened as I cried my way from beginning to end., and then she said something that I have held close to my heart since that day. She had spoken of how she knew there was a problem when she had stopped hearing from me and how worried she had been. Then, one day she had a dream. She dreamt that I was sitting on the sofa and she came and dumped a load of freshly laundered towels, straight out of the dryer on me. She said when she awoke, she knew that I was going to be okay, because the feeling of fresh, warm laundry was such a good feeling.

I am not exactly sure why, but that imagery has meant so much to me since the day she shared it with me. It makes me feel loved and nurtured. It is such a simple image, but so comforting. I have called on that image several times in the last three and half years. Anytime I am feeling a little lonely or down or overwhelmed, I imagine my friend smiling at me and covering me with warm, soft laundry, and I can almost smell it in my mind. Instantly I am calmer.

Today, while pulling laundry out of the dryer, I was reminded of Janet and her love. Six hours away, but I felt as though she was in the room with me. And I smiled. I love her and I miss her, but there is always laundry.

Bumper sticker

I saw this on a bumper sticker the other day. It took me only a few seconds to decipher the meaning and then I was so impress with how clever it was! Really got my attention, which is EXACTLY what it is supposed to do!

Anyone else want to give it a try?

My Brain Hurts

It's relatively quiet here. I can hear the sound of kids playing in the playroom, the soft buzzing of the refrigerator and very little else. After a long day of child corralling, my body is tired and I am so thankful to have this moment of peaceful respite before the dryer buzzes, the dogs need to go out and the kids want to be fed. Ohm...ohm....ohm...
As much as my body relishes in the temporary inactivity my mind shudders in the near silence. I have never been the kind of person to be able to "clear my head." I admire people who can take a few deep breaths and go to their happy place. Not me. My mind jumps from list to list, worry to worry, chore to chore, fear to fear and so on. Never quiet. Constantly buzzing. The benefit of my line of work is that it doesn't really allow for mindless or otherwise daydream or really any reflection at all. We are on the move and alert from the moment we start the day until the last little kiddo gets picked up. Any pressing matters of the head or the heart must be pushed aside because little Ms. Priss poopied in her pants or little Mr. Tough Guy got his feeling hurt. I am not complaining. Although often exhausting, there is something to be said for being able to focus solely on a group of miniature people for awhile. They can be really entertaining!
Of course what tends to happen in my case, is a massive unloading of thought and emotion when the quiet replaces the chaos.
I am a freaker-outer. Always have been. I remember very clearly in high school taking my stereo into Service Merchandise for repairs. Apparently, I was convinced that whatever was wrong with it could not be fixed and I would be left without a stereo or a really big bill. Panic set in and overwhelmed me and I lost it. My boyfriend at the time, who NEVER lost his temper EVER, turned to me with somewhat of a fearful look in his eyes and yelled, "Quit FREAKING out!!" Over 15 years later and I can still see the look on his face. Somewhere between utter annoyance and unbridled fear. Hmmm, wonder why that one didn't stick around??

I have grown up in many ways since the "Day of the Great Stereo Freak-Out," but I am sad to say I still have a tendency to allow the most negative of possibilities fill my brain and convince me of impending doom. I over-analyze every nuance of every situation. I replay conversations in my head and I attempt to hypothesize the meaning of every expression. I am an over thinker in the worst way. I can over think until there is no possibility that an outcome could ever work in my favor. Surely, I convince myself, that all is black and white and I'm just doomed. Yeh, not good. It sucks to be me when I'm doing it, but sucks even more to be anywhere within a 15 mile radius of me when it is going on.

The last couple weeks have been a time of tremendous growth and redefinition in my life. I did not intend for it to happen, but like so much in this world, it was thrust upon me. I have done my share of freaking out. I have over analyzed and obsessed. I have studied and reexamined. I have thought and I have cried and I have freaked out some more.

And now I am done. No more freaking out for me, I have decided. I'm passing the torch on this one. Hear you go, I'm too tired, your turn. My brain hurts from thinking and my heart hurts from aching and I'm just gonna take it easy now, if you don't mind. It's funny, really. I always thought the obsessive reexamining was necessary in solving the problem. I think I am learning that it is yet just another barrier. I am looking forward to seeing only one set of footprints in the sand in the coming weeks, because I know I need the lift. I am so thankful that I have Someone willing to carry me the rest of the way.

My Love is a Fire

I am a moody person. No, really, it's true. Back "in the day" I saw my moodiness as a really cool gateway into the world of everything artistic. I tried to channel all of those youthful feelings of angst into radical enlightenment. That's right, dude, life was way groovy. I could sit in my bed room for days and listen to the same Dead Cd over and over again and feel hypnotized and euphoric. It was a drugless high and I was an addict.


I really do miss those moments of being completely lost in the moment; being able to get so enraptured by something that the rest of the world ceases to exist for a little while. Recognizing how much I sound like a whacked out drug addict at this moment, I digress.

On occasion I still can get in a music fog like I once did, but never anywhere near as heady. It's hard to really have music envelop your heart and soul when at the same time you have someone in one direction yelling to have his bottom wiped while in the other direction a wrestling match over the remote control is underway. All the while the phone is ringing.
"Come here, Uncle John's Band..." yeh, it's good but let's face it- it's not the same.

I'm okay with not be a transcendental hippie anymore. Really, I am. I know there comes a time when actually "dealing" with problems, opposed to brooding over them is a more appropriate response. I can reach truth without hours of monotonous stereo play. It comes in different ways now. But, I still miss those days of endless heartfelt deliberations.

A little over a year ago Tucker and Jim built a fire pit in the backyard. You see, Janet is an absolute fire genius and my kids and I always marvel at how she can make flames come from just about nothing. In fact, I believe I once overheard one of my children telling a friend, "My Aunt Janet breathes fire." Anyway, it was a spur of the moment decision one day, that the men would take some extra brick we had lying around and try and dig out a little pit. That night we had an outdoor fire. It was spectacular!

Over the course of the past year we have used that pit more than I think anyone expected. When we have something to celebrate- let's drink beer around the fire, company in town- we should have a fire, day off from school- let's roast marshmallows by the fire...and so it goes.

I have come to realize that that impromptu fire pit has become an outlet for me much in the same way that music was all those years ago. I tenderly build a strong base in which to begin the fire, I nurture the flames by adding wood or straw, I blow from underneath the flames to keep the oxygen circulating, and I get extremely defensive and protective when anyone steps up to "really get it going." And let me tell you- Everyone seems to think they are experts in fire building. Everyone. Usually I quietly take a backseat until they reduce my fire to a pile of smoldering logs, and then I gladly reclaim my position as fire monitor.

I can sit by the fire for hours. And I mean hours. I could do nothing all day, but tend to the fire and watch as the flames dance in the air. I inhale deeply as I breathe in the smokey outside air, convinced that somehow I am breathing in rejuvenating magic. And I sit, and I sit, and I sit. If there is someone out there for me to talk to, I will. And usually the conversations are honest and open and important, as if that is all that can exist around my sacred place. If I am alone, then I am happy alone; out there just me and the fire.

I can't believe of all things in my life that would bring me to a place of peace and reflection that makeshift pit in the yard would be the one. But it has.
And I am so very thankful.

I used to believe ignorance truly was bliss.
What you don't know can't hurt you, right?
I was so wrong.

I want to be a good person. I want to be a Christ-like person. Most people who know me probably would describe as funny or crazy but probably not Christ-like. But the people who know me well; who know my heart, understand that despite my many many flaws, I want to be a GOOD person; the kind of person that is often not really easy to be.

I have been told that if you pray for patience, God will give you something to challenge your patience. I never understood this before. I do now.

I have often heard that to be a really good artist or musician you must have a gritty life history, for it is this history that you tap into to create depth in your masterpieces. I wonder if the same isn't true for growing close to God. Although I recognize that God allows everyone into His fold, it seems to be the unimanginable sufferings that people go through that solidifies or destroys their need for Christ in their life. I have always desired a close relationship with Christ. However, as the grit of life seems to be mercilessly pummelling me lately, I am convinced now more than ever, that the only way through is through Jesus Christ.

I prayed for a close relationship with God, and I have been given something that challenges that relationship. But I choose God. I come to Him as a completely lost and vulnerable person and put all my trust in Him.

There really aren't any other options.