Since July I have run 190 miles in preparation for the October 26th marathon. I have spent 30+ hours out on the road. I have lost 12 lbs. I have gained a lot of muscle. Both physically and emotionally.
But last night I realized this marathon journey has come to an end.
I'm not giving up on the goal of running a marathon, but I'm giving up on the one that is 2.5 weeks away.
I have missed a lot of runs due to this knee injury. I've taken meds, I've iced it, I've rested. I've been feeling pretty good. I decided last night it was time to get back out on the road.
It wasn't.
I parked my car, did some stretching, set my GPS, and I started off pretty slowly. My legs felt heavy, it was still hot, I didn't really wanna run. I just knew I needed to. I have a marathon to run soon. At mile two I decided I was going to quit. I wish I had. Instead I kept going. Your body really doesn't get into a groove until about the fourth mile, and I know this, and I wanted to feel that groove, so I kept on. I had counted on the water fountains on the pathway to be working. They weren't. Bah! I was so thirsty. Thankfully at mile five, my turn around, my best guy friend showed up with an ice cold bottle of water. Bless his heart. I downed half the bottle, he poured the rest over my head, and I headed back to town. He yelled after me to let him know if I needed a ride home. It was getting dark, and he knew my knee was starting to bother me.
At mile six it happened. The crazy pain in my knee. This time there was no putting pressure on it. I just stood there with all my weight on one leg. No tears this time. Makes me realize that last time the crying I did was not out of pain but out of frustration. No tears this time because I knew. I know. It's just done. This training is done.
I called Josh and he came to get me. Ice pack in tow.
The rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I sat on the couch with my ice pack, some chocolate, a beer, some cheese and crackers.
Salve.
I'm disappointed. I'm discouraged. I cried myself to sleep.
This feels like just one more area where I'm a failure. And I'm really tired of being a failure.
Showing posts with label My failures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My failures. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 08, 2014
Sunday, September 14, 2014
that one time where i admitted to being a nervous wreck about teaching a 30 minute class.
Our homeschool co-op starts in a few days.
I haven't always been the biggest fan of co-op. It's been my own deal. The moms are great, the kids are as well. I've just had a really crappy attitude about it.
Wanna hear my reasons? They're so petty. In no particular order: I'm not the pretty mom. I'm not the dresses cool mom. I'm so not put together. And neither are my kids. We're a big mess 90% of the time. Looking pretty ragamuffin. Also, my kids aren't the smarty pants kids answering questions. They aren't smarty pants because their mom is a terrible teacher. Unless we're talking about teaching them to be crabby and impatient and lazy, then I'm totally teaching them those things. Another thing, I'm always so ill-prepared for co-op. I forget to have the girls pull a Show and Tell item. I forget to bring their color crayons and scissors.
And then there's the whole, Sarah you have to teach a class to be part of the group.
Shoot me now.
I offered to do the childcare for the entire co-op year if I could just please, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top did not have to teach.
Apparently the other moms do not like sugar or cherries.
When it came time to decide whether or not we'd be part of this year's group, I decided that yes, yes we would join and this year I would have a happier attitude about it. And, dare I say, I actually got excited.
Um. Til the night before the meeting.
Then my entire life went to hell in just one evening. I was pretty sure that I'd be moving out, giving up on life as wife, mom, teacher, all of it. There was no way I could do these things. So I sat in my (ever in remodel phase) bathroom and I cried the ugly cry. You know, the one with the snot and tears and broken blood vessels under your eyes? That cry. And I emailed Chelsea and I told her it just wasn't possible for me, co-op was my limit. Beyond my limit.
The next day I get a text. A long text. A "you are enough" text. And I decided that if I was enough for co-op, could I maybe be enough to be wife and mom and teacher, too? So I stayed in this house another day. And I went to the co-op planning meeting that night.
I left slightly overwhelmed (these women are all so smart and I am just, well I'm just not) but I also left excited. I would be the first one to teach, I could get it over with, and wa-la. The rest of the co-op year could go on.
And now that first class is four days away and I think I'm developing an ulcer.
I'm hopeful that on Thursday at 9:30 instead of teaching a class on hot air balloons I'll instead be in surgery or something. Something that would be serious enough that I could get out of teaching this class.
You see, teachers have this sweet voice when they talk to kids. Well, really it's usually mothers in general. They speak kindly and gently and kids are enamored.
Then there's me. I talk to my kids like I talk to Josh. My normal boring voice. I've never been a baby talker, or an ooey gooey talker. It kinda grosses me out. However, that's what kiddos like and need and it's not me. I'm going to get up in front of these kids and their really smart moms and I'm going to not even know what to say or how to start.
I'm starting to cry.
Yuck.
So I'm scared. Scared out of my freaking mind. It's the hardest thing for me. This being in front of people. The kids. And their moms. And the talking. And pretending to know what I'm talking about. It's kinda brutal.
(turning into ugly cry.)
I just want this week over with.
Most families started back to school within the last couple of weeks. I knew I couldn't start us. I knew that this first co-op day would consume my thoughts and guts and there would be no concentrating on anything else. I'm already such a crabby mama to begin with, I didn't think my kids needed to be taught the last couple of weeks by a crabby, stressed out mama.
We will start school next Tuesday.
That is, if I survive this Thursday.
I haven't always been the biggest fan of co-op. It's been my own deal. The moms are great, the kids are as well. I've just had a really crappy attitude about it.
Wanna hear my reasons? They're so petty. In no particular order: I'm not the pretty mom. I'm not the dresses cool mom. I'm so not put together. And neither are my kids. We're a big mess 90% of the time. Looking pretty ragamuffin. Also, my kids aren't the smarty pants kids answering questions. They aren't smarty pants because their mom is a terrible teacher. Unless we're talking about teaching them to be crabby and impatient and lazy, then I'm totally teaching them those things. Another thing, I'm always so ill-prepared for co-op. I forget to have the girls pull a Show and Tell item. I forget to bring their color crayons and scissors.
And then there's the whole, Sarah you have to teach a class to be part of the group.
Shoot me now.
I offered to do the childcare for the entire co-op year if I could just please, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top did not have to teach.
Apparently the other moms do not like sugar or cherries.
When it came time to decide whether or not we'd be part of this year's group, I decided that yes, yes we would join and this year I would have a happier attitude about it. And, dare I say, I actually got excited.
Um. Til the night before the meeting.
Then my entire life went to hell in just one evening. I was pretty sure that I'd be moving out, giving up on life as wife, mom, teacher, all of it. There was no way I could do these things. So I sat in my (ever in remodel phase) bathroom and I cried the ugly cry. You know, the one with the snot and tears and broken blood vessels under your eyes? That cry. And I emailed Chelsea and I told her it just wasn't possible for me, co-op was my limit. Beyond my limit.
The next day I get a text. A long text. A "you are enough" text. And I decided that if I was enough for co-op, could I maybe be enough to be wife and mom and teacher, too? So I stayed in this house another day. And I went to the co-op planning meeting that night.
I left slightly overwhelmed (these women are all so smart and I am just, well I'm just not) but I also left excited. I would be the first one to teach, I could get it over with, and wa-la. The rest of the co-op year could go on.
And now that first class is four days away and I think I'm developing an ulcer.
I'm hopeful that on Thursday at 9:30 instead of teaching a class on hot air balloons I'll instead be in surgery or something. Something that would be serious enough that I could get out of teaching this class.
You see, teachers have this sweet voice when they talk to kids. Well, really it's usually mothers in general. They speak kindly and gently and kids are enamored.
Then there's me. I talk to my kids like I talk to Josh. My normal boring voice. I've never been a baby talker, or an ooey gooey talker. It kinda grosses me out. However, that's what kiddos like and need and it's not me. I'm going to get up in front of these kids and their really smart moms and I'm going to not even know what to say or how to start.
I'm starting to cry.
Yuck.
So I'm scared. Scared out of my freaking mind. It's the hardest thing for me. This being in front of people. The kids. And their moms. And the talking. And pretending to know what I'm talking about. It's kinda brutal.
(turning into ugly cry.)
I just want this week over with.
Most families started back to school within the last couple of weeks. I knew I couldn't start us. I knew that this first co-op day would consume my thoughts and guts and there would be no concentrating on anything else. I'm already such a crabby mama to begin with, I didn't think my kids needed to be taught the last couple of weeks by a crabby, stressed out mama.
We will start school next Tuesday.
That is, if I survive this Thursday.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
i'm a poor example to my kids
Christmas is coming and I had really anticipated that this Christmas would be the Christmas my kids get it. That I would have done a good job in explaining and living out this season and they would understand and love Christmas for more than just the presents.
I think I'm sucking.
I feel like there's a lot of bickering and whining and crabby pants going on.
With my kids, too.
The other night Josh was reading Tabitha's Travels, our advent book, and I was reading some fiction piece of chit. It wasn't until I woke up in a panic the next morning that I realized what I'd been doing.
So I'm all panicky, sweaty. Realizing I'm this big fat failure of an example.
When am I going to get this mothering thing right?
I think I'm sucking.
I feel like there's a lot of bickering and whining and crabby pants going on.
With my kids, too.
The other night Josh was reading Tabitha's Travels, our advent book, and I was reading some fiction piece of chit. It wasn't until I woke up in a panic the next morning that I realized what I'd been doing.
So I'm all panicky, sweaty. Realizing I'm this big fat failure of an example.
When am I going to get this mothering thing right?
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
the post about my bike and my goal i never reached
the doctor who performed the three surgeries i've had asked me a couple of months back if i'd like to ride STP.
Seattle to Portland. 200 miles over two days.
totally doable.
he then asked if i'd consider being one of the ridiculous ones and do the ride in one day.
apparently some idiots do that.
i paid him $200 to ask me that question.
okay, actually i was having some pain along my 6 year old incision that had persisted 12 days and i was growing concerned. so i made an appointment. i was there approximately 20 minutes, 5 of which were spent him telling me i'm fine, the other 15 talking bicycles.
i told him i'd think about it and let him know.
i get out to the car and first thing i do is text Jessica. how do you set a goal and what if you set a goal but cannot reach it?
THEN WHAT!?
and she told me i needed something scary and i needed to sign up and don't we all need that friend who says, "do the scary thing"?
yes. we do.
so glad to have her.
i talked to Josh. and then a few days later i walked back into his office and asked the office girl to please write a note to the fine doctor letting him know i would begin training.
it's been two months. there's been no training. a website i've found shows training to start in February. and the miles in a week are so completely doable. starting with just three rides and 60 miles a week. that's really not that many.
however, it's just not possible at this time in my life.
i don't know what's happened but life has changed and so have i and i don't seem to have the time to get out on the bike. the days are shorter and by the time Josh gets home from work there's no daylight. i've ridden in the dark before. twice. once i was hit by a car, and the other time a car did not see me and i had to slam on my brakes, didn't clip out in time, and fell.
i cannot safely ride in the dark.
at ages eight and five i cannot leave my children during the day to go ride.
i cannot train or sign up for STP.
today i went to the gym to cancel my membership. the pissy pants side of me considered listing my bike on Craigslist. what's the point of having her if i don't get to ride her? i feel like it's a waste. i feel like my love for the sport, for the bike - is a waste.
admittedly, i'm in a sour mood about the whole thing. i'm not writing this post in a just-no- feeling-this moment the way i often do. it's been days upon days knowing i can't do STP. my sad pants-ness isn't gonna go away any time soon.
Seattle to Portland. 200 miles over two days.
totally doable.
he then asked if i'd consider being one of the ridiculous ones and do the ride in one day.
apparently some idiots do that.
i paid him $200 to ask me that question.
okay, actually i was having some pain along my 6 year old incision that had persisted 12 days and i was growing concerned. so i made an appointment. i was there approximately 20 minutes, 5 of which were spent him telling me i'm fine, the other 15 talking bicycles.
i told him i'd think about it and let him know.
i get out to the car and first thing i do is text Jessica. how do you set a goal and what if you set a goal but cannot reach it?
THEN WHAT!?
and she told me i needed something scary and i needed to sign up and don't we all need that friend who says, "do the scary thing"?
yes. we do.
so glad to have her.
i talked to Josh. and then a few days later i walked back into his office and asked the office girl to please write a note to the fine doctor letting him know i would begin training.
it's been two months. there's been no training. a website i've found shows training to start in February. and the miles in a week are so completely doable. starting with just three rides and 60 miles a week. that's really not that many.
however, it's just not possible at this time in my life.
i don't know what's happened but life has changed and so have i and i don't seem to have the time to get out on the bike. the days are shorter and by the time Josh gets home from work there's no daylight. i've ridden in the dark before. twice. once i was hit by a car, and the other time a car did not see me and i had to slam on my brakes, didn't clip out in time, and fell.
i cannot safely ride in the dark.
at ages eight and five i cannot leave my children during the day to go ride.
i cannot train or sign up for STP.
today i went to the gym to cancel my membership. the pissy pants side of me considered listing my bike on Craigslist. what's the point of having her if i don't get to ride her? i feel like it's a waste. i feel like my love for the sport, for the bike - is a waste.
admittedly, i'm in a sour mood about the whole thing. i'm not writing this post in a just-no- feeling-this moment the way i often do. it's been days upon days knowing i can't do STP. my sad pants-ness isn't gonna go away any time soon.
Friday, October 25, 2013
How I'm feeling right this minute. Uncensored.
I started writing this out on paper and then decided to blog these feelings.
Maybe I'm alone in them, and maybe I am not.
I'm equal parts hopeful I am and am not. I'd hate for others to feel this way, I'd hate to think I'm the only one who feels this way.
I feel so inadequate. In every area of my life. Every single one. There's not one area of my life where I feel I'm doing well or succeeding.
Lately I've wondered if staying home with my kids and educating them is the right thing. For so many reasons I wonder if this is the right thing for me. For my girls.
I'm not smart enough.
I'm not disciplined enough.
I'm not structured enough.
I'm impatient and crabby.
I'm not a gifted teacher; I'm horrible when it comes to explaining things.
I don't even know how to teach or what teach. What goes together, when do I teach this, is this relevant, am I teaching this just because the schools do?
I used to work at Pier 1 Imports. I also worked as a barista in a local coffee shop. I was great at selling furniture and I was great at making coffee. I can be good at something. I have been good at something.
But this, this mothering and teaching. I am not good at these things.
And I'm a horrid wife.
I get it. I get why women leave. Because this, this stuff is just too much some days. Many days. Most days. And wouldn't it just be easier to leave? To walk away? Wouldn't the children and the husband be better off?
I'm not leaving. I won't.
And I'm not headed off to work outside the home and have my kids in school.
I am, however, venting this hurt and frustration and panic that's rising. Suffocating. That's how I feel, like I'm suffocating. I feel this claustrophobic craziness.
Okay, I'm going to publish now. And in the middle of the night I'll wake up in a panic and try to delete but it'll already have been read and judged and well, and well...oh well.
Here it is and here is me. Uncensored.
Maybe I'm alone in them, and maybe I am not.
I'm equal parts hopeful I am and am not. I'd hate for others to feel this way, I'd hate to think I'm the only one who feels this way.
I feel so inadequate. In every area of my life. Every single one. There's not one area of my life where I feel I'm doing well or succeeding.
Lately I've wondered if staying home with my kids and educating them is the right thing. For so many reasons I wonder if this is the right thing for me. For my girls.
I'm not smart enough.
I'm not disciplined enough.
I'm not structured enough.
I'm impatient and crabby.
I'm not a gifted teacher; I'm horrible when it comes to explaining things.
I don't even know how to teach or what teach. What goes together, when do I teach this, is this relevant, am I teaching this just because the schools do?
I used to work at Pier 1 Imports. I also worked as a barista in a local coffee shop. I was great at selling furniture and I was great at making coffee. I can be good at something. I have been good at something.
But this, this mothering and teaching. I am not good at these things.
And I'm a horrid wife.
I get it. I get why women leave. Because this, this stuff is just too much some days. Many days. Most days. And wouldn't it just be easier to leave? To walk away? Wouldn't the children and the husband be better off?
I'm not leaving. I won't.
And I'm not headed off to work outside the home and have my kids in school.
I am, however, venting this hurt and frustration and panic that's rising. Suffocating. That's how I feel, like I'm suffocating. I feel this claustrophobic craziness.
Okay, I'm going to publish now. And in the middle of the night I'll wake up in a panic and try to delete but it'll already have been read and judged and well, and well...oh well.
Here it is and here is me. Uncensored.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
The 14th Anniversary
I woke up with my heart beating fast.
Sweaty.
A panicky feeling.
Yesterday was a bad day with the girls. Ugh. I just wasn't very present. I took them to the pool a couple towns over and watched them swim.
I stood there, alone. Other moms talking to one another. But I was by myself this day and thinking about what a loner I can be.
At one point Sugar came up and asked me to swim with her. "I don't have any friends here today, Mom. Swim with me!" And I thought about how I didn't have any friends there that day, either. So I got in and I waded around. I had just showered and didn't want to get my hair wet, but I did go out with her. She's feeling awfully brave in the water these days. Spice, too.
But we came home and I felt yuck and I sat with my Jodi Picoult book. I warmed up some hot dogs, cut up some carrots, handed them a Capri Sun and called it lunch. They played Legos and ate their food and I'm not sure I spoke to them for the next couple of hours.
I went to my bed. I laid there. The girls came upstairs and put in The Princess Bride. They settled into their movie and I went out and laid in the pool.
Josh came home and I grabbed dinner and as soon as I had finished eating I sat outside with my book.
Yesterday was the 14th anniversary of my dad drowning.
The day threw me. Mostly the day before, but yesterday too. I just end up feeling weird. Off. Like I'm not supposed to care or I'm supposed to care more. That I remember him too much on that day or not enough.
So I was not a good mom yesterday, nor the day before.
And this morning I woke up in a panic that everyday is like yesterday and Monday. Not all days are. But many. These days are just moving so fast and I can't keep up. I feel like we're doing so much. I feel like we're doing nothing at all.
Breathe, Sarah. Breathe.
I'm realizing that I make everyday sound like a bad day. Maybe I need to start writing about our good days. Have those memories recorded. We do have them. I can be a good mama on occasion.
Just yesterday wasn't that day.
Sweaty.
A panicky feeling.
Yesterday was a bad day with the girls. Ugh. I just wasn't very present. I took them to the pool a couple towns over and watched them swim.
I stood there, alone. Other moms talking to one another. But I was by myself this day and thinking about what a loner I can be.
At one point Sugar came up and asked me to swim with her. "I don't have any friends here today, Mom. Swim with me!" And I thought about how I didn't have any friends there that day, either. So I got in and I waded around. I had just showered and didn't want to get my hair wet, but I did go out with her. She's feeling awfully brave in the water these days. Spice, too.
But we came home and I felt yuck and I sat with my Jodi Picoult book. I warmed up some hot dogs, cut up some carrots, handed them a Capri Sun and called it lunch. They played Legos and ate their food and I'm not sure I spoke to them for the next couple of hours.
I went to my bed. I laid there. The girls came upstairs and put in The Princess Bride. They settled into their movie and I went out and laid in the pool.
Josh came home and I grabbed dinner and as soon as I had finished eating I sat outside with my book.
Yesterday was the 14th anniversary of my dad drowning.
The day threw me. Mostly the day before, but yesterday too. I just end up feeling weird. Off. Like I'm not supposed to care or I'm supposed to care more. That I remember him too much on that day or not enough.
So I was not a good mom yesterday, nor the day before.
And this morning I woke up in a panic that everyday is like yesterday and Monday. Not all days are. But many. These days are just moving so fast and I can't keep up. I feel like we're doing so much. I feel like we're doing nothing at all.
Breathe, Sarah. Breathe.
I'm realizing that I make everyday sound like a bad day. Maybe I need to start writing about our good days. Have those memories recorded. We do have them. I can be a good mama on occasion.
Just yesterday wasn't that day.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
she talked me through my crazy. and i feel joy. with just a side of crazy now.
After months and months of wanting to and more importantly needing to, I went back to counseling today.
It's been a long road to get to this point of making the phone call and asking my counselor to meet with me. I called her a few weeks ago, let it ring once and hung up. And then I cried. I've known I need to be there. I've known I need someone to talk to.
I have a husband and two best friends and I talk to each of them about different things but I don't talk to any of them about everything.
I've shut down and I've shut out.
I've internalized a whole lot. And that's not like me.
The last couple of weeks have been hard. HARD. Like, if not for these kids, I wouldn't get out of bed. Like, I hardly speak to my husband because I've found myself resenting him. Like, I'm gone from home quite a bit during the day because I feel like I'm failing while I'm here. Like, the other night I looked at the Tylenol PM bottle and wondered just how many I needed so I could just keep sleeping.
I've been nearing the point of combustion.
So Wednesday I call and I leave a message for my counselor asking if she'll pretty pretty please with sugar on top meet with me. And she calls back within a couple of hours and I'm expecting to not be seen for a few weeks but no. No, she has an appointment in two days. And would that work for me?
Yes, yes it would. I think I can keep it together a couple more days.
For the most part this has been one of my best weeks in a long time. My friend Trevor is partly to thank, and a very long overdue conversation with the husband is as well. I have been feeling healthy. Restored.
Renewed.
And then BAM! I'll get hit with some bad news or someone says the wrong thing or I remember something I didn't do or something I did do and I'm thrown for a loop all over again.
This week I have been trying my damnedest to find my joy again. And the enemy. Oh he's here to destroy me.
About a month ago my friend Katie suggested buying and reading the devotional Jesus Calling by Sarah Young. And so I did. I bought it. A month ago. And have I opened it? Not until a few days ago. And when I did?! "Do not let fear dissipate your energy." "The battle for control of your mind is fierce, and years of worry have made you vulnerable to the enemy." "You are not alone in this struggle for your mind."
Are you freaking kidding me?
I was kinda dumbfounded. These were words I needed. Absolutely needed.
The mind is a battlefield. Mine is constantly at war. And I'm tired. Oh so tired. For the first time in a long time I prayed for myself. I asked God to fight for this mind of mine. To win the battle for me because I'm just so tired of fighting.
I'm so tired.
Monday was a good day. Then I decided it's high time this fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants family needs to get on a schedule. A fairly tight schedule. So I write it out, not once or twice or even three times but four because I have to. The first one is the rough draft and the second one needs some tweaking and the third one I messed up and needed to cross something off. The fourth one will probably become five.
Anyway.
So there's this schedule that I started and later Josh and I were talking and he says, "I think we should have a schedule." And I laughed. Monday through Thursday we will stick to this schedule the best we can and Friday-Sunday will be much more relaxed.
Back to today. To the counseling day.
Amber asked yesterday if I was scared. I wasn't. Til I pulled up and then the nerves hit. What was I even there for? What did I think she was going to solve for me?
I walk in and the place is still the same. Calm. Serene. Welcoming.
And she opens the door and she smiles and I just love her and know it's good I'm here.
She sits in her chair and she has her mostly consumed, watery coffee drink in her hand. "So what brings you here, Sarah?"
I'm still wearing my purse and my legs are crossed and my hands are between my knees and my shoulders are slumped.
I raise my head and I look at her.
"I don't know how to do it. I just don't know how."
She waits for me to continue.
"I don't know how to be a wife and mama. At least not a good wife or mama. I just want to know how. I want to know what's expected. What it's supposed to look like. I want to know if I'm doing anything right because I sure know I'm doing plenty wrong."
It might have all been said in one breath even. And just getting it out. Just voicing my concern, my fear, a weight was lifted.
She smiles.
"You always have been too hard on yourself, haven't you, Sarah?"
And I know I have been. But being too hard on myself doesn't mean it makes me try harder. It means I feel defeated. It means that since I know I can't do it all, I do nothing. And then the guilt.
Oh, the guilt.
And that's when the sleeping pills are enticing.
My too high of expectations get me absolutely nowhere but down. But I don't know where the middle ground is. I don't know what this mothering, wifeliness, homemakerness is supposed to look like. So for 15 years of marriage and eight years of mothering I've muddled through.
I've lived my days waiting for bedtime.
Whether bedtime for the kids or bedtime for me. I just wanna make it to bedtime.
So I make it to bedtime and oft times I will lie awake and I will think of everything I did wrong in my day. Or the day before. The month or year or decade before. And I will be ill. And I will cry and cry and there's nothing that can be done to change what I did. Or, what I didn't do.
That's where I feel I've failed the most. In what I haven't done as a wife and mama that I should have. So I ache. I ache that I can't hold my babies more or read to them more or play with them more or kiss an owie instead of saying, "you're fine, don't cry." I ache that I didn't interact enough, engage enough.
slumped shoulders.
heavy sigh.
even heavier heart.
"What do you feel is your biggest issue with the girls?"
And I told her that I feel I just don't connect well with them. I'm terrible at spending play time with them. I hate to play. I like to do random, stupid stuff like the other day - Oh, the sprinklers are on at the bank? Let's pull over and run through them and jump back in the car and race away.
But please, I beg you, children, do not ask me to play make-believe with you.
I talk and she listens. She talks and I listen.
I tell her about my girls. Their love languages. I tell her that for five years (Spice's lifetime) that I have felt Sugar has been in the shadow. Her sweet, baby sister has been quite demanding since birth. Heck, since the womb. And poor Sugar has taken a back burner to attention, affection, all of it.
My heart hurts typing that out. It hurt earlier saying it aloud.
But sometimes the truth just hurts.
She gives me suggestions, ways to spend time with my girls. "20 minutes. Start with 20 minutes of one on one time with each girl. Just that will put you ahead of most families out there." Apparently I'm not the only one who has this problem? Others do too?!
After talking over ways I could spend one on one time with them I felt a little better. But then choked up.
"I know what to do from here, but how...how do I let go..." and I can feel the ugly cry making its way.
"How do I let go of the guilt from all the years I haven't been doing it right?"
She asks if I've ever heard of the devotional Jesus Calling. I smile and tell her yes, that I just started it. Just a couple of days ago in fact. This book must be great, for Katie to recommend it, for my counselor to recommend it, for me to be reading it right now when God wants me to be. I don't think it's a coincidence that I just started to read it or that both of them recommended it.
(maybe you should get it, too?)
There's nothing I can do about the past. It's forgiven already. I can't go back. I need to stop holding onto it. It's time to move forward. It's time to get intentional.
"Sarah, I'm going to suggest something that I know will probably be difficult for you. But I think it'd be really good for your family to get on a schedule."
And I just laugh.
Because she has no idea I just decided my family needed one. That I've written one out. I tell her why I'm laughing. I know that God is affirming these choices I've been making in the last week. And it feels good to finally be doing something right.
This schedule. Scheduling in family time. Scheduling in down time (I've wondered if my choosing to have a Quiet Time during the day is selfish but she was pretty adamant that no, it's not, that it is good for all involved to have a quiet time during the day). And scheduling in some Sarah Refuel Time. Like my gym time.
I can feel it's nearing the end of my session and I've been so encouraged during my time there, I feel equipped. I feel ready. But now I have to leave the office and actually implement these tasks and I can feel myself start to panic.
"There are going to be days where you mess up the schedule. Where you didn't get time in with the kids. But there's tomorrow."
sigh of relief.
I left the office and I felt like I could breathe. I feel joy and I feel hope. These are wonderful feelings when you've been feeling so dark and lonely and all strangled up inside. The joy. The joy feels the best in this moment. Because like Ann Voskamp says in this post:
"If you don't fight for joy, it's your children who lose."
I'm fighting. I'm fighting for joy. For these girls of mine.
For this life of mine.
It's been a long road to get to this point of making the phone call and asking my counselor to meet with me. I called her a few weeks ago, let it ring once and hung up. And then I cried. I've known I need to be there. I've known I need someone to talk to.
I have a husband and two best friends and I talk to each of them about different things but I don't talk to any of them about everything.
I've shut down and I've shut out.
I've internalized a whole lot. And that's not like me.
The last couple of weeks have been hard. HARD. Like, if not for these kids, I wouldn't get out of bed. Like, I hardly speak to my husband because I've found myself resenting him. Like, I'm gone from home quite a bit during the day because I feel like I'm failing while I'm here. Like, the other night I looked at the Tylenol PM bottle and wondered just how many I needed so I could just keep sleeping.
I've been nearing the point of combustion.
So Wednesday I call and I leave a message for my counselor asking if she'll pretty pretty please with sugar on top meet with me. And she calls back within a couple of hours and I'm expecting to not be seen for a few weeks but no. No, she has an appointment in two days. And would that work for me?
Yes, yes it would. I think I can keep it together a couple more days.
For the most part this has been one of my best weeks in a long time. My friend Trevor is partly to thank, and a very long overdue conversation with the husband is as well. I have been feeling healthy. Restored.
Renewed.
And then BAM! I'll get hit with some bad news or someone says the wrong thing or I remember something I didn't do or something I did do and I'm thrown for a loop all over again.
This week I have been trying my damnedest to find my joy again. And the enemy. Oh he's here to destroy me.
About a month ago my friend Katie suggested buying and reading the devotional Jesus Calling by Sarah Young. And so I did. I bought it. A month ago. And have I opened it? Not until a few days ago. And when I did?! "Do not let fear dissipate your energy." "The battle for control of your mind is fierce, and years of worry have made you vulnerable to the enemy." "You are not alone in this struggle for your mind."
Are you freaking kidding me?
I was kinda dumbfounded. These were words I needed. Absolutely needed.
The mind is a battlefield. Mine is constantly at war. And I'm tired. Oh so tired. For the first time in a long time I prayed for myself. I asked God to fight for this mind of mine. To win the battle for me because I'm just so tired of fighting.
I'm so tired.
Monday was a good day. Then I decided it's high time this fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants family needs to get on a schedule. A fairly tight schedule. So I write it out, not once or twice or even three times but four because I have to. The first one is the rough draft and the second one needs some tweaking and the third one I messed up and needed to cross something off. The fourth one will probably become five.
Anyway.
So there's this schedule that I started and later Josh and I were talking and he says, "I think we should have a schedule." And I laughed. Monday through Thursday we will stick to this schedule the best we can and Friday-Sunday will be much more relaxed.
Back to today. To the counseling day.
Amber asked yesterday if I was scared. I wasn't. Til I pulled up and then the nerves hit. What was I even there for? What did I think she was going to solve for me?
I walk in and the place is still the same. Calm. Serene. Welcoming.
And she opens the door and she smiles and I just love her and know it's good I'm here.
She sits in her chair and she has her mostly consumed, watery coffee drink in her hand. "So what brings you here, Sarah?"
I'm still wearing my purse and my legs are crossed and my hands are between my knees and my shoulders are slumped.
I raise my head and I look at her.
"I don't know how to do it. I just don't know how."
She waits for me to continue.
"I don't know how to be a wife and mama. At least not a good wife or mama. I just want to know how. I want to know what's expected. What it's supposed to look like. I want to know if I'm doing anything right because I sure know I'm doing plenty wrong."
It might have all been said in one breath even. And just getting it out. Just voicing my concern, my fear, a weight was lifted.
She smiles.
"You always have been too hard on yourself, haven't you, Sarah?"
And I know I have been. But being too hard on myself doesn't mean it makes me try harder. It means I feel defeated. It means that since I know I can't do it all, I do nothing. And then the guilt.
Oh, the guilt.
And that's when the sleeping pills are enticing.
My too high of expectations get me absolutely nowhere but down. But I don't know where the middle ground is. I don't know what this mothering, wifeliness, homemakerness is supposed to look like. So for 15 years of marriage and eight years of mothering I've muddled through.
I've lived my days waiting for bedtime.
Whether bedtime for the kids or bedtime for me. I just wanna make it to bedtime.
So I make it to bedtime and oft times I will lie awake and I will think of everything I did wrong in my day. Or the day before. The month or year or decade before. And I will be ill. And I will cry and cry and there's nothing that can be done to change what I did. Or, what I didn't do.
That's where I feel I've failed the most. In what I haven't done as a wife and mama that I should have. So I ache. I ache that I can't hold my babies more or read to them more or play with them more or kiss an owie instead of saying, "you're fine, don't cry." I ache that I didn't interact enough, engage enough.
slumped shoulders.
heavy sigh.
even heavier heart.
"What do you feel is your biggest issue with the girls?"
And I told her that I feel I just don't connect well with them. I'm terrible at spending play time with them. I hate to play. I like to do random, stupid stuff like the other day - Oh, the sprinklers are on at the bank? Let's pull over and run through them and jump back in the car and race away.
But please, I beg you, children, do not ask me to play make-believe with you.
I talk and she listens. She talks and I listen.
I tell her about my girls. Their love languages. I tell her that for five years (Spice's lifetime) that I have felt Sugar has been in the shadow. Her sweet, baby sister has been quite demanding since birth. Heck, since the womb. And poor Sugar has taken a back burner to attention, affection, all of it.
My heart hurts typing that out. It hurt earlier saying it aloud.
But sometimes the truth just hurts.
She gives me suggestions, ways to spend time with my girls. "20 minutes. Start with 20 minutes of one on one time with each girl. Just that will put you ahead of most families out there." Apparently I'm not the only one who has this problem? Others do too?!
After talking over ways I could spend one on one time with them I felt a little better. But then choked up.
"I know what to do from here, but how...how do I let go..." and I can feel the ugly cry making its way.
"How do I let go of the guilt from all the years I haven't been doing it right?"
She asks if I've ever heard of the devotional Jesus Calling. I smile and tell her yes, that I just started it. Just a couple of days ago in fact. This book must be great, for Katie to recommend it, for my counselor to recommend it, for me to be reading it right now when God wants me to be. I don't think it's a coincidence that I just started to read it or that both of them recommended it.
(maybe you should get it, too?)
There's nothing I can do about the past. It's forgiven already. I can't go back. I need to stop holding onto it. It's time to move forward. It's time to get intentional.
"Sarah, I'm going to suggest something that I know will probably be difficult for you. But I think it'd be really good for your family to get on a schedule."
And I just laugh.
Because she has no idea I just decided my family needed one. That I've written one out. I tell her why I'm laughing. I know that God is affirming these choices I've been making in the last week. And it feels good to finally be doing something right.
This schedule. Scheduling in family time. Scheduling in down time (I've wondered if my choosing to have a Quiet Time during the day is selfish but she was pretty adamant that no, it's not, that it is good for all involved to have a quiet time during the day). And scheduling in some Sarah Refuel Time. Like my gym time.
I can feel it's nearing the end of my session and I've been so encouraged during my time there, I feel equipped. I feel ready. But now I have to leave the office and actually implement these tasks and I can feel myself start to panic.
"There are going to be days where you mess up the schedule. Where you didn't get time in with the kids. But there's tomorrow."
sigh of relief.
I left the office and I felt like I could breathe. I feel joy and I feel hope. These are wonderful feelings when you've been feeling so dark and lonely and all strangled up inside. The joy. The joy feels the best in this moment. Because like Ann Voskamp says in this post:
"If you don't fight for joy, it's your children who lose."
I'm fighting. I'm fighting for joy. For these girls of mine.
For this life of mine.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Where I say too much. Get too personal.
In November of 2011 I found out I had a hernia. In December while discussing the repair with my surgeon he asked if I wanted more babies.
"Yes!" I kind of said it like, "duh!"
And he said okay, he just wanted to let me know that while he was putting the mesh screen in to repair my hernia, he could also tie my tubes.
Thanks but no thanks.
And then two days later I had a horrible parenting morning. Okay, horrible doesn't even cut it. It was one of the the worst days I'd ever had as a mother.
I found myself guilt-tripping my six year old, being impatient with my three year old and just wanting to wave a white flag.
"If you suck at being a mother to two kids, what makes you think you have any right to have three?"
Those were the words that formed in my mind.
I loaded the girls up in the van. It was freezing. They were still in jammies. And I rushed down to the surgeon's office and asked where the form was that I could sign so that two days from then I would no longer have to worry about bringing another child into this world that I would damage with my less than stellar parenting.
"Sarah, honey. Are you sure?" Yolanda, the office manager asked me.
I'm sure I looked a fright.
"Look, I have two screaming kids out in the car right now, just the two of 'em make me crazy. I don't think I need to add to that." The tears. They were so close but I kept them in.
This isn't your time. I heard the voice. His voice.
And still I signed the paper.
The devil on one shoulder. The angel on the other.
A mix of right and wrong.
Two days later I'm in a hospital gown early early in the morning with those stupid hospital socks that don't stay on. The surgical nurse is going over what is about to go down.
Ventral hernia repair.
Tubal ligation.
"Is this correct?"
This isn't your time. I knew then I should have told her no. No, that was not correct. Do the hernia repair, leave my tubes alone!
I nodded. "Yes, that's correct."
I came out of surgery and my first thought was of the babies I wouldn't have.
The hernia repair and tubal ligation were the easiest of the surgeries I've had, yet I was the worst patient this time around. I yelled at my nurse (Josh had to apologize to her for me). I cried. I was angry. I wanted to go home.
I wanted to go back.
To a few days before. To not have signed those papers.
It's been a year and I'm still trying to heal from that surgery. My hernia is fine. My heart, however, is not.
I think about it everyday. I've asked for forgiveness over and over. I've been angry. I've thrown stuff. And I've had the days where I hear that voice that I'm a terrible mother to two kids, I don't deserve any more.
I say all of this, I say too much, have gotten too personal because maybe it's one of you who needs to hear it. Maybe you're considering making a permanent decision like this and you just don't know if it's the right thing for you.
It might be.
It might not be.
I'm just letting you know my experience with making this permanent decision. Don't make yours in a moment of frustration. Don't sign those papers because you feel like you're a bad mom. Don't assume your husband thinks you're a terrible mama to his children and doesn't want to have more babies with you.
Think it through. Write out a list. Pray about it. Talk to your spouse. And when you've made your decision, wait another month. Or more.
"Yes!" I kind of said it like, "duh!"
And he said okay, he just wanted to let me know that while he was putting the mesh screen in to repair my hernia, he could also tie my tubes.
Thanks but no thanks.
And then two days later I had a horrible parenting morning. Okay, horrible doesn't even cut it. It was one of the the worst days I'd ever had as a mother.
I found myself guilt-tripping my six year old, being impatient with my three year old and just wanting to wave a white flag.
"If you suck at being a mother to two kids, what makes you think you have any right to have three?"
Those were the words that formed in my mind.
I loaded the girls up in the van. It was freezing. They were still in jammies. And I rushed down to the surgeon's office and asked where the form was that I could sign so that two days from then I would no longer have to worry about bringing another child into this world that I would damage with my less than stellar parenting.
"Sarah, honey. Are you sure?" Yolanda, the office manager asked me.
I'm sure I looked a fright.
"Look, I have two screaming kids out in the car right now, just the two of 'em make me crazy. I don't think I need to add to that." The tears. They were so close but I kept them in.
This isn't your time. I heard the voice. His voice.
And still I signed the paper.
The devil on one shoulder. The angel on the other.
A mix of right and wrong.
Two days later I'm in a hospital gown early early in the morning with those stupid hospital socks that don't stay on. The surgical nurse is going over what is about to go down.
Ventral hernia repair.
Tubal ligation.
"Is this correct?"
This isn't your time. I knew then I should have told her no. No, that was not correct. Do the hernia repair, leave my tubes alone!
I nodded. "Yes, that's correct."
 |
| vertical scar above & below my belly button is from having half of my colon removed 6 yrs ago. the staples are from the hernia repair. tubal ligation staples are not shown. |
I came out of surgery and my first thought was of the babies I wouldn't have.
The hernia repair and tubal ligation were the easiest of the surgeries I've had, yet I was the worst patient this time around. I yelled at my nurse (Josh had to apologize to her for me). I cried. I was angry. I wanted to go home.
I wanted to go back.
To a few days before. To not have signed those papers.
It's been a year and I'm still trying to heal from that surgery. My hernia is fine. My heart, however, is not.
I think about it everyday. I've asked for forgiveness over and over. I've been angry. I've thrown stuff. And I've had the days where I hear that voice that I'm a terrible mother to two kids, I don't deserve any more.
I say all of this, I say too much, have gotten too personal because maybe it's one of you who needs to hear it. Maybe you're considering making a permanent decision like this and you just don't know if it's the right thing for you.
It might be.
It might not be.
I'm just letting you know my experience with making this permanent decision. Don't make yours in a moment of frustration. Don't sign those papers because you feel like you're a bad mom. Don't assume your husband thinks you're a terrible mama to his children and doesn't want to have more babies with you.
Think it through. Write out a list. Pray about it. Talk to your spouse. And when you've made your decision, wait another month. Or more.
If this is something you're considering and wanna talk about it, feel free to leave a comment here, or up at the top, where it says "Contact" you can find my email address and email me.
Monday, January 14, 2013
you can do it
It's amazing how powerful those four words are.
Armed with a grocery list, $400 cash and Starbucks I set out for Fred Meyer, Costco, Wal Mart, Winco and Yokes. I figured between these five stores I'd be able to find all the ingredients for this new way of eating for our family. Allergy free.
By store number four I pulled my cart to the side of the aisle and I stood there. There was not much cash left and this was the store most of my ingredients would come from. Yet I wasn't finding them. I was so overwhelmed I wanted to cry.
The last week had been pretty awful and it was all coming to a head in a public place.
My eyes got watery. My nose started to sting. I was about to lose it in WinCo.
I'm not sure how I got my act together but I managed to not spill a tear. I continued shopping and when all was said and done I spent $486 and still didn't find everything I needed.
$486 dollars. Nearly two hundred over our regular budget for food and nearly a hundred over what I thought I'd need. I knew that it would cost extra for this month so I gave myself a $100 extra. Gluten Free shampoo, conditioner and lotion aren't cheap. The flours aren't either. None of it is.
It's just a lot. A lot of work. A lot of money. A lot of everything I don't have.
And then there was the text from Jessica.
"You can do it."
And I took a deep breath and thought maybe she's right. Maybe I can.
So. Here we go. Ready or not. And I'm so not.
Armed with a grocery list, $400 cash and Starbucks I set out for Fred Meyer, Costco, Wal Mart, Winco and Yokes. I figured between these five stores I'd be able to find all the ingredients for this new way of eating for our family. Allergy free.
By store number four I pulled my cart to the side of the aisle and I stood there. There was not much cash left and this was the store most of my ingredients would come from. Yet I wasn't finding them. I was so overwhelmed I wanted to cry.
The last week had been pretty awful and it was all coming to a head in a public place.
My eyes got watery. My nose started to sting. I was about to lose it in WinCo.
I'm not sure how I got my act together but I managed to not spill a tear. I continued shopping and when all was said and done I spent $486 and still didn't find everything I needed.
$486 dollars. Nearly two hundred over our regular budget for food and nearly a hundred over what I thought I'd need. I knew that it would cost extra for this month so I gave myself a $100 extra. Gluten Free shampoo, conditioner and lotion aren't cheap. The flours aren't either. None of it is.
It's just a lot. A lot of work. A lot of money. A lot of everything I don't have.
And then there was the text from Jessica.
"You can do it."
And I took a deep breath and thought maybe she's right. Maybe I can.
So. Here we go. Ready or not. And I'm so not.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
sometimes the mess isn't so beautiful
The 2012 election is over.
I sat on the couch with my phone, laptop, and the television. I ignored my family while I watched the results. There wasn't a sense of panic this election the way I had four years ago. I think because just a few days before the election I re-read my post from four years ago and Josh's words from that day were a comfort to me. That God is our ultimate Commander in Chief. So who am I to worry?
As I re-read that post I saw my own heart. My faith. Four years ago it was so much stronger than it is today. I hate admitting that.
But it's the truth.
Four years ago I read my bible more. Not much more, but now my daily reading is Sunday reading as I'm in church. Four years ago I applied Sunday's sermon with my day to day. Now I listen to the sermon half-heartedly and find myself thinking about what to put on the grocery list and, will Josh stop at Starbucks on the way home without me asking or not.
Over the last couple of years I have made some positive changes to my life. But I've made negative changes as well and isn't it funny how negative can outweigh positive? No, it's not funny. Yet it's how it's working in my life at the moment.
You're probably reading this and wondering what the heck. That's okay. I'm mostly writing to get all these thoughts outta my head that have been making me crazy. Crazier.
The other day I was so frustrated. My heart hurt so badly. I threw my phone across the room and dented the wall.
And then I wept. Not for the wall. Or my phone. But because I just needed to let my heart spill through tears.
I'm really mature for 32. Obvs.
I get so frustrated with myself. I am this mess of a girl.
I love my husband and I adore my sweet baby girls.
I love my mom and my word how I love my sisters even when they don't speak to me.
I would not be the person I am without the amazing friends God has blessed me with since I was 14 years old and moving to yet another new school.
I have rockstar in-laws, that if not for them, sometimes I feel as if I would have no family at all.
The biggest area where I'm so frustrated with myself is that I love Jesus but to meet me now or just a couple of years ago, I wonder if you'd even know that.
I'm failing all the people I've listed above.
I tell God that today's the day. Today I live for Him. Today I'll do it different. And days will go by and we're tight. We're good. And then I screw up and I when I screw up I don't mess around, I screw up big. And I wonder how on earth I can train these girls of mine when here I am. Like this.
With tears and snot running down my face while I type this, two sets of innocent eyes are looking up to me and asking, "Mama, why are you crying?"
I don't want to worry them.
So I'm going to go snuggle them.
Thanks for letting me lay out my heart.
I sat on the couch with my phone, laptop, and the television. I ignored my family while I watched the results. There wasn't a sense of panic this election the way I had four years ago. I think because just a few days before the election I re-read my post from four years ago and Josh's words from that day were a comfort to me. That God is our ultimate Commander in Chief. So who am I to worry?
As I re-read that post I saw my own heart. My faith. Four years ago it was so much stronger than it is today. I hate admitting that.
But it's the truth.
Four years ago I read my bible more. Not much more, but now my daily reading is Sunday reading as I'm in church. Four years ago I applied Sunday's sermon with my day to day. Now I listen to the sermon half-heartedly and find myself thinking about what to put on the grocery list and, will Josh stop at Starbucks on the way home without me asking or not.
Over the last couple of years I have made some positive changes to my life. But I've made negative changes as well and isn't it funny how negative can outweigh positive? No, it's not funny. Yet it's how it's working in my life at the moment.
You're probably reading this and wondering what the heck. That's okay. I'm mostly writing to get all these thoughts outta my head that have been making me crazy. Crazier.
The other day I was so frustrated. My heart hurt so badly. I threw my phone across the room and dented the wall.
And then I wept. Not for the wall. Or my phone. But because I just needed to let my heart spill through tears.
I'm really mature for 32. Obvs.
I get so frustrated with myself. I am this mess of a girl.
I love my husband and I adore my sweet baby girls.
I love my mom and my word how I love my sisters even when they don't speak to me.
I would not be the person I am without the amazing friends God has blessed me with since I was 14 years old and moving to yet another new school.
I have rockstar in-laws, that if not for them, sometimes I feel as if I would have no family at all.
The biggest area where I'm so frustrated with myself is that I love Jesus but to meet me now or just a couple of years ago, I wonder if you'd even know that.
I'm failing all the people I've listed above.
I tell God that today's the day. Today I live for Him. Today I'll do it different. And days will go by and we're tight. We're good. And then I screw up and I when I screw up I don't mess around, I screw up big. And I wonder how on earth I can train these girls of mine when here I am. Like this.
With tears and snot running down my face while I type this, two sets of innocent eyes are looking up to me and asking, "Mama, why are you crying?"
I don't want to worry them.
So I'm going to go snuggle them.
Thanks for letting me lay out my heart.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Ball {type without deleting: post one}
I am not someone who can easily highlight my successes. Partly because they are so few and far between and partly because it's just not me to say, "yay, me! look what I did awesome!"
However.
I rock at showcasing what I suck at.
Today and many days it's mothering.
I've just sent my children down for naps with tears running down their dirty, little faces.
They were fighting over a stupid ball. So I did the really mature thing and I opened up the sliding glass door and chucked the ball outside.
There. Now no one can play with it.
And the tears and the screaming.
Oh the tears.
Over an effing ball.
It's close enough to nap time anyway so I just sent them to bed. I've taken the easy hard way out. Easy because I'm not dealing with the situation. Hard because...I'm not dealing with the situation.
Or the attitudes.
Or their hearts.
Or my attitude.
Or my heart.
Instead, stuff the issue in a bedroom, shut the door and.. and sit here feeling like anyone but me deserves to mother these kiddos.
*this post in an effort to, for one week, type without deleting as i have been double dog dared by my friend, Sara, to do.
However.
I rock at showcasing what I suck at.
Today and many days it's mothering.
I've just sent my children down for naps with tears running down their dirty, little faces.
They were fighting over a stupid ball. So I did the really mature thing and I opened up the sliding glass door and chucked the ball outside.
There. Now no one can play with it.
And the tears and the screaming.
Oh the tears.
Over an effing ball.
It's close enough to nap time anyway so I just sent them to bed. I've taken the easy hard way out. Easy because I'm not dealing with the situation. Hard because...I'm not dealing with the situation.
Or the attitudes.
Or their hearts.
Or my attitude.
Or my heart.
Instead, stuff the issue in a bedroom, shut the door and.. and sit here feeling like anyone but me deserves to mother these kiddos.
*this post in an effort to, for one week, type without deleting as i have been double dog dared by my friend, Sara, to do.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Bringing Crazy Back
So. Let's just lay it out there.
I went back to my counselor a couple Fridays ago. And I didn't tell my husband I'd made the appointment until 30 minutes before leaving for said appointment.
Why? Meh. Because I didn't want him worrying about the crazy.
Anyway, I go. And I mighta cried. (totally cried)
Her words to me: "I've never met anyone who is harder on themselves than you."
I sit there and the tears come, not because of her words but because of the reason she said what she said.
"I don't know what it's supposed to look like. My days, I mean. I'm home with my kids all day long but sometimes at the end of a day and more often than I'd like to admit, I realize I haven't just spent time with them. I've cooked and cleaned and busied myself but I haven't just sat to play."
"I'm impatient and crabby. I yell. And I've been known to throw stuff."
"And then there's Josh. Who, in 6 years of parenting has never raised his voice to our children. Will always take the time - even if it's 2 hours, to explain to our kids how to do something when he could have gotten the job done in 20 minutes had he shooed them away like I do."
"I used to judge those women who could up and leave their families. I mean, how could they?! Well, now I know. I see how. Sometimes I think they'd be better off without me. Josh is great with them all on his own."
I tell her I don't think I'm a good wife and she asks me why, besides some obvious reasons I tell her about, I also tell her that Josh makes his own breakfast every morning. And sometimes his own lunch.
And she laughs at me.
"That's why you're a bad wife?"
Apparently a lot of men make their own breakfast and lunch and I should not feel bad.
Also, many women don't feel they spend the right amount of time with their kids. It's not just me. She says for as crazy as I feel, I'm actually quite normal.
You realize that means you're crazy with me, right?
But she did tell me that it's not healthy to feel that my family would be better off without me. That that's not good. That maybe I should try some medicine to get my brain working right again.
(let the onslaught begin)
I have never been opposed to medication that helps someone. Ever. Mainly because I feel the first time you judge someone for an action, you're next, dude.
She's recommended a doctor and a medicine. Honestly...I'm considering it. Sent a friend a text after my appointment to let her know all went well and what was suggested. Her response was that I should get a double amount and we'd split them and the co-pay. Silly, kid. Like I'm gonna share my crazy goods.
I started this post a couple of weeks ago. I've had time to think about the meds. And I don't think I'm going to do it. I don't know. It freaks me out.
Anyway. I guess the deal is, I need to figure some stuff out. I need to figure out how much time is okay to spend cooking, cleaning, playing with kids, teaching, texting, blogging, working out, etc. I need to figure out how to not wake up in the night with sweat pouring off me because I'm a nervous wreck I'm ruining my family's life because I'm a sucky wife and mom and housekeeper.
13 years in, man, and I'm still no good at this and that's why I have my days, my weeks, my months where I feel they'd be better without me here.
Those meds are lookin' better and better.
I went back to my counselor a couple Fridays ago. And I didn't tell my husband I'd made the appointment until 30 minutes before leaving for said appointment.
Why? Meh. Because I didn't want him worrying about the crazy.
Anyway, I go. And I mighta cried. (totally cried)
Her words to me: "I've never met anyone who is harder on themselves than you."
I sit there and the tears come, not because of her words but because of the reason she said what she said.
"I don't know what it's supposed to look like. My days, I mean. I'm home with my kids all day long but sometimes at the end of a day and more often than I'd like to admit, I realize I haven't just spent time with them. I've cooked and cleaned and busied myself but I haven't just sat to play."
"I'm impatient and crabby. I yell. And I've been known to throw stuff."
"And then there's Josh. Who, in 6 years of parenting has never raised his voice to our children. Will always take the time - even if it's 2 hours, to explain to our kids how to do something when he could have gotten the job done in 20 minutes had he shooed them away like I do."
"I used to judge those women who could up and leave their families. I mean, how could they?! Well, now I know. I see how. Sometimes I think they'd be better off without me. Josh is great with them all on his own."
I tell her I don't think I'm a good wife and she asks me why, besides some obvious reasons I tell her about, I also tell her that Josh makes his own breakfast every morning. And sometimes his own lunch.
And she laughs at me.
"That's why you're a bad wife?"
Apparently a lot of men make their own breakfast and lunch and I should not feel bad.
Also, many women don't feel they spend the right amount of time with their kids. It's not just me. She says for as crazy as I feel, I'm actually quite normal.
You realize that means you're crazy with me, right?
But she did tell me that it's not healthy to feel that my family would be better off without me. That that's not good. That maybe I should try some medicine to get my brain working right again.
(let the onslaught begin)
I have never been opposed to medication that helps someone. Ever. Mainly because I feel the first time you judge someone for an action, you're next, dude.
She's recommended a doctor and a medicine. Honestly...I'm considering it. Sent a friend a text after my appointment to let her know all went well and what was suggested. Her response was that I should get a double amount and we'd split them and the co-pay. Silly, kid. Like I'm gonna share my crazy goods.
I started this post a couple of weeks ago. I've had time to think about the meds. And I don't think I'm going to do it. I don't know. It freaks me out.
Anyway. I guess the deal is, I need to figure some stuff out. I need to figure out how much time is okay to spend cooking, cleaning, playing with kids, teaching, texting, blogging, working out, etc. I need to figure out how to not wake up in the night with sweat pouring off me because I'm a nervous wreck I'm ruining my family's life because I'm a sucky wife and mom and housekeeper.
13 years in, man, and I'm still no good at this and that's why I have my days, my weeks, my months where I feel they'd be better without me here.
Those meds are lookin' better and better.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
I Quit Homeschooling {and life} That Day
"It's only Kindergarten."
If I had a dime for every time someone said that to me before we started this school year, or even during, I'd be a wealthy chick.
Well, this only Kindergarten deal?
Proves to be too much.
I've failed.
And I'm okay with admitting it. In fact, I feel so freed up by it. Tears of relief stream down my cheeks right now. They've been coming down for 2.5 hours.
I quit.
I'm done.
No more.
At least not after this school year. I called the Christian school in town. I found out tuition for next year. At this point I don't see how it's possible for us to send her to private school. It would be about $500 per month. But with home schooling not being an option anymore and public school definitely not being an option, changes will have to be made to our budget so that Sugar can go to school.
I'd say that sending her to school is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done but right now I feel like home schooling is the hardest thing I've ever done.
I tried.
I did.
But I didn't do a good job. I can't continue on like this. It's not fair to Sugar. She's a smart girl who needs a teacher that is structured and patient, smart and encouraging. She needs a teacher who - get this - knows how to teach. Go figure, huh?
I'm not that teacher.
She deserves better.
So next school year I'll get that for her.
I wrote this last Friday morning. It's been a few days and I've backed away from my ledge of insanity I was about to jump from.
Friday was a really rough day. Friday night wasn't much better. We drove to Richland to look at some tires for Josh's Suburban and on the way I told him I thought we should move to the Tri-Cities. He looked at me like I had two heads.
"There's more options for schools for the girls."
He shook his head.
Conversation over.
We didn't get the tires. We did get groceries. And we did get home really late. We put the groceries away in silence. I was ready to just go to bed, my day had been long and so emotionally exhausting.
"We need to talk," he says.
So we talked. Mostly I talked. I let it all out. How I feel like I suck at pretty much anything that has to do with my life. My faith, my wifeliness, my mothering and, my homeschoolishness.
Was telling a friend it'd be nice to just go away for awhile.
The response I got, "okay, Marie Osmond."
Totally cracked me up.
I remember when she did that. When she took off and drove. And I remember thinking she was so selfish. How could she up and leave her family?
Funny how you judge someone til you've walked a mile in their flip flops.
I'm not going to up and leave.
{at least not at the moment}
Instead I'm going to keep trudging. Through this life I'm living. This life I know I'm beyond blessed with.
I'm going to keep home schooling my kid. Even though I feel like I suck at it.
I'm going to keep being a wife to Josh. Even though I suck at it.
I'm going to keep being a mother to my children. Even though I suck at it.
'Cause it's gotta get better, right? I mean, I don't think I can get any worse.
If I had a dime for every time someone said that to me before we started this school year, or even during, I'd be a wealthy chick.
Well, this only Kindergarten deal?
Proves to be too much.
I've failed.
And I'm okay with admitting it. In fact, I feel so freed up by it. Tears of relief stream down my cheeks right now. They've been coming down for 2.5 hours.
I quit.
I'm done.
No more.
At least not after this school year. I called the Christian school in town. I found out tuition for next year. At this point I don't see how it's possible for us to send her to private school. It would be about $500 per month. But with home schooling not being an option anymore and public school definitely not being an option, changes will have to be made to our budget so that Sugar can go to school.
I'd say that sending her to school is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done but right now I feel like home schooling is the hardest thing I've ever done.
I tried.
I did.
But I didn't do a good job. I can't continue on like this. It's not fair to Sugar. She's a smart girl who needs a teacher that is structured and patient, smart and encouraging. She needs a teacher who - get this - knows how to teach. Go figure, huh?
I'm not that teacher.
She deserves better.
So next school year I'll get that for her.
I wrote this last Friday morning. It's been a few days and I've backed away from my ledge of insanity I was about to jump from.
Friday was a really rough day. Friday night wasn't much better. We drove to Richland to look at some tires for Josh's Suburban and on the way I told him I thought we should move to the Tri-Cities. He looked at me like I had two heads.
"There's more options for schools for the girls."
He shook his head.
Conversation over.
We didn't get the tires. We did get groceries. And we did get home really late. We put the groceries away in silence. I was ready to just go to bed, my day had been long and so emotionally exhausting.
"We need to talk," he says.
So we talked. Mostly I talked. I let it all out. How I feel like I suck at pretty much anything that has to do with my life. My faith, my wifeliness, my mothering and, my homeschoolishness.
Was telling a friend it'd be nice to just go away for awhile.
The response I got, "okay, Marie Osmond."
Totally cracked me up.
I remember when she did that. When she took off and drove. And I remember thinking she was so selfish. How could she up and leave her family?
Funny how you judge someone til you've walked a mile in their flip flops.
I'm not going to up and leave.
{at least not at the moment}
Instead I'm going to keep trudging. Through this life I'm living. This life I know I'm beyond blessed with.
I'm going to keep home schooling my kid. Even though I feel like I suck at it.
I'm going to keep being a wife to Josh. Even though I suck at it.
I'm going to keep being a mother to my children. Even though I suck at it.
'Cause it's gotta get better, right? I mean, I don't think I can get any worse.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
and i still haven't had any coffee
yesterday was a strange day.
and today?
well, today has just been a bad day.
as i'm thinking about what i'm going to write i realize it's not going to sound all that bad. but it's been bad.
to me.
my girls are fairly decently behaved when we're in public. you know, for the most part. they do have their moments where i want to just leave them at the grocery store but those are few and far between.
today was a day when i wanted to leave them.
we had errands to run. i normally love to run errands. when i can wear a tank top, my favorite pair of jeans and some flip flops.
in the winter time i hate errands. i hate to be cold and i hate going into town and getting in and out of my rig to run all sorts of errands. i've put off all of the things i did today for several days.
it's sunny outside so i decided today would be my day to run errands.
spice decided she wanted to wear panties instead of a diaper and seeing how she isn't potty trained i didn't really want her to but whatever, i didn't want to fight about it either.
panties it was.
with jammie pants, pink cowboy boots on the wrong feet and a 4T shirt.
she's two.
sugar wore a somewhat normal outfit. nothing inside out or on backward and everything was in her size.
out we go.
immediately i forget that spice is wearing panties.
we run up to my in-laws to grab some coupons then off to the library with a bajillion books that are extremely overdue. $21.90 overdue.
i calculated it and it means i don't get coffee til friday. if you call or show up anytime from now til then and i'm a littlebwitchy, you know why.
the girls pick out several books on whales, tigers, lions and bugs. i pick out books on pigs, cows and fiction smut.
we head out to the rig with books and kids and a runny nose. not mine. the two year old's. the two year old who doesn't want her hand held to walk to the van. she can do it herself.
who said she could become independent of me? who said???
to the post office drive through. dropped off a check i was supposed to mail out LAST tuesday. upon leaving the post office i realize i have a lab slip in my purse and the hospital is 2 blocks away.
may as well get my blood drawn to be checked for any cancer that may have decided to come back.
we walk into the hospital, my girls greet everyone they don't know and act like completely unsocialized homeschoolers.
we get to the lab and every seat is full except for a folding chair and i am not a fan of folding chairs. this might be because i have folded up into one at one time. i have fears i need to get over. i'm working on these fears while i run on the treadmill. if the treadmill doesn't work i'll go back to therapy.
i sweat just the same.
my girls sat down on the floor next to me without being told. didn't speak. didn't move. they were amazing.
i was so proud.
i used the nifty little "check in" thing on my phone and "checked in" without describing what i was doing at my check in. causing a raucous. i will never "check in" to a hospital again without putting it in all caps that I AM FINE, I AM JUST HAVING ROUTINE LABS DONE TO MAKE SURE THE CANCER HASN'T COME BACK. I felt bad for leaving out that bit of info. Lesson learned.
as patients were called and left and the room wasn't as crowded my kids decided it was time to play musical chairs. there was one other woman in the room with us and i'm sure it wasn't a big deal but it was really annoying to me especially when spice would flash me her adorable smile that makes it nearly impossible to discipline her with.
my blood is drawn. we head out of the lab when spice decides to sit back down in the folding chair. when i remove her from said chair she begins crying so loudly that i put my hoodie over her face.
in front of people.
but the crying. it was loud. i was trying to spare them. child protective services could be here anytime to pick them up.
i'm ready for 'em. the girls' bags are packed and sitting by the door.
we leave the hospital with the crying child. i pull my sleeve up to pull of my cotton ball that's taped to my arm. and end up seeing someone i try to avoid at all costs. living in a small town that isn't easy to do but i've managed for a long, long, long time and today that ended. sigh.
exchange of pleasantries. and buh-bye.
next up, grocery store where i'm going to use the coupons i got from the in-laws. children begin misbehaving almost immediately. i want to leave right away but the sale on the almond milk ends today so i have to stick it out. i get to the milk aisle and there's a man standing in front of the milk, slumped and in my way. i'm trying to be patient with the dude. he has a cane and all but i'm a little annoyed.
i look up and realize the milk is so far back that i can't, in all my 5'2" glory reach the milk. finally slump guy moves about a half inch. i ask some random man who doesn't look like he'll try to kill me if he would mind fetching me my milk. he's close to six foot, i figure he can manage. he pulls out one half gallon for me (that's all that was left) and he was on his merry way. it wasn't until he left that i noticed he sported a rattail. nice.
in the check out i'm still completely stressed, completely flustered over my run in with the person i try to avoid, and completely annoyed with my kids. problem solver? chocolate of course. 4 candy bars on the conveyor belt later and we're set. i forget to use the coupons for my milk and the cashier burns holes through me with her eyeballs.
oops.
get home. throw food at the girls for lunch. it's totally past their naptime and spice starts to cry.
"poooottttttyyyy!"
like i said, i fogot she was wearing panties and not a diaper. any sane mother would have asked her child immediately upon returning home if she needed to go to the bathroom.
not this mom.
this mom forgot.
and ended up having a little girl so sad about wetting her jammie pants.
they are now in bed and i've eaten two of the four chocolate bars.
i'm not proud to admit that but i felt the need to confess.
and today?
well, today has just been a bad day.
as i'm thinking about what i'm going to write i realize it's not going to sound all that bad. but it's been bad.
to me.
my girls are fairly decently behaved when we're in public. you know, for the most part. they do have their moments where i want to just leave them at the grocery store but those are few and far between.
today was a day when i wanted to leave them.
we had errands to run. i normally love to run errands. when i can wear a tank top, my favorite pair of jeans and some flip flops.
in the winter time i hate errands. i hate to be cold and i hate going into town and getting in and out of my rig to run all sorts of errands. i've put off all of the things i did today for several days.
it's sunny outside so i decided today would be my day to run errands.
spice decided she wanted to wear panties instead of a diaper and seeing how she isn't potty trained i didn't really want her to but whatever, i didn't want to fight about it either.
panties it was.
with jammie pants, pink cowboy boots on the wrong feet and a 4T shirt.
she's two.
sugar wore a somewhat normal outfit. nothing inside out or on backward and everything was in her size.
out we go.
immediately i forget that spice is wearing panties.
we run up to my in-laws to grab some coupons then off to the library with a bajillion books that are extremely overdue. $21.90 overdue.
i calculated it and it means i don't get coffee til friday. if you call or show up anytime from now til then and i'm a little
the girls pick out several books on whales, tigers, lions and bugs. i pick out books on pigs, cows and fiction smut.
we head out to the rig with books and kids and a runny nose. not mine. the two year old's. the two year old who doesn't want her hand held to walk to the van. she can do it herself.
who said she could become independent of me? who said???
to the post office drive through. dropped off a check i was supposed to mail out LAST tuesday. upon leaving the post office i realize i have a lab slip in my purse and the hospital is 2 blocks away.
may as well get my blood drawn to be checked for any cancer that may have decided to come back.
we walk into the hospital, my girls greet everyone they don't know and act like completely unsocialized homeschoolers.
we get to the lab and every seat is full except for a folding chair and i am not a fan of folding chairs. this might be because i have folded up into one at one time. i have fears i need to get over. i'm working on these fears while i run on the treadmill. if the treadmill doesn't work i'll go back to therapy.
i sweat just the same.
my girls sat down on the floor next to me without being told. didn't speak. didn't move. they were amazing.
i was so proud.
i used the nifty little "check in" thing on my phone and "checked in" without describing what i was doing at my check in. causing a raucous. i will never "check in" to a hospital again without putting it in all caps that I AM FINE, I AM JUST HAVING ROUTINE LABS DONE TO MAKE SURE THE CANCER HASN'T COME BACK. I felt bad for leaving out that bit of info. Lesson learned.
as patients were called and left and the room wasn't as crowded my kids decided it was time to play musical chairs. there was one other woman in the room with us and i'm sure it wasn't a big deal but it was really annoying to me especially when spice would flash me her adorable smile that makes it nearly impossible to discipline her with.
my blood is drawn. we head out of the lab when spice decides to sit back down in the folding chair. when i remove her from said chair she begins crying so loudly that i put my hoodie over her face.
in front of people.
but the crying. it was loud. i was trying to spare them. child protective services could be here anytime to pick them up.
i'm ready for 'em. the girls' bags are packed and sitting by the door.
we leave the hospital with the crying child. i pull my sleeve up to pull of my cotton ball that's taped to my arm. and end up seeing someone i try to avoid at all costs. living in a small town that isn't easy to do but i've managed for a long, long, long time and today that ended. sigh.
exchange of pleasantries. and buh-bye.
next up, grocery store where i'm going to use the coupons i got from the in-laws. children begin misbehaving almost immediately. i want to leave right away but the sale on the almond milk ends today so i have to stick it out. i get to the milk aisle and there's a man standing in front of the milk, slumped and in my way. i'm trying to be patient with the dude. he has a cane and all but i'm a little annoyed.
i look up and realize the milk is so far back that i can't, in all my 5'2" glory reach the milk. finally slump guy moves about a half inch. i ask some random man who doesn't look like he'll try to kill me if he would mind fetching me my milk. he's close to six foot, i figure he can manage. he pulls out one half gallon for me (that's all that was left) and he was on his merry way. it wasn't until he left that i noticed he sported a rattail. nice.
in the check out i'm still completely stressed, completely flustered over my run in with the person i try to avoid, and completely annoyed with my kids. problem solver? chocolate of course. 4 candy bars on the conveyor belt later and we're set. i forget to use the coupons for my milk and the cashier burns holes through me with her eyeballs.
oops.
get home. throw food at the girls for lunch. it's totally past their naptime and spice starts to cry.
"poooottttttyyyy!"
like i said, i fogot she was wearing panties and not a diaper. any sane mother would have asked her child immediately upon returning home if she needed to go to the bathroom.
not this mom.
this mom forgot.
and ended up having a little girl so sad about wetting her jammie pants.
they are now in bed and i've eaten two of the four chocolate bars.
i'm not proud to admit that but i felt the need to confess.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
{getting over me}
The hardest person I deal with on a daily basis is...
me.
Hands down.
I'm a hot-tempered, loving, roller coaster basket case.
In a 5'2" frame.
Why I'm choosing to share about my morning, I don't know. Maybe just a public apology to my children. So they know I'm sorry for who I was this morning and for who I am on many mornings.
**
Today started off so great. Spice slept all night. That's right, all night. I had six straight hours of sleep and felt great. I got out of bed at 6, had my coffee, FB'd, emailed, played three games of CandyLand with Sugar (all of which I won) and then Spice woke up around 8.
The morning was relaxing. We had a Christmas party planned with other moms and kiddos that started at 10:30 and we just went about our morning leisurely. I realized time was getting away from us so I started getting myself and the girls ready. Everything was fine.
Until I had to find something to wear.
All of my clothes are clean but I have nothing to wear.
I look frumpy and gross in everything I try on. And that girdle I bought a few weeks back, yeah, she's a lil too snug now and I think I need another girdle just to stuff in what the first girdle can't hold in.
I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt that I'm positive I wore to our last get together with these moms and kids.
After throwing jeans and shirts and girdles all over my house I realize the girls' hair is a mess, I have no make up on and I forgot to put the de-frizz in my hair.
So, I'm a frumpy, frizzy mama.
Spice never complains about having her hair done. But today she screamed.
I was now running late and I was frustrated.
The other moms with the other kids have cute hair-styled, perfectly dressed children.
I don't have that.
But on days when we're getting together, I try to pull us together.
I shoved Spice off my lap. Like really shoved. Sugar came in to get her hair done and Sugar always fusses about having her hair done. Always. Today was no exception. I kicked her out of the bathroom, slammed the door and called my husband.
"Talk me down from this ledge." I tell him.
He can't.
He can do a lot of things for me but at this moment, in my mind-set, he cannot talk me off this ledge of madness I'm feeling.
I send a text to Candee telling her my kids are sick and I won't be coming. The couple coughs this morning probably don't count as being really sick.
Who lies to their best friends?
Apparently me.
I sit down.
Sugar comes up to me and tells me she's ready to go. I tell her we aren't going. Her eyes well with tears and she bolts from the house.
In the amount of time it takes her to circle the house I utter a prayer I don't even remember. I just know I asked for help.
She comes in. Eyes red. Tears fresh on her face.
"We're going." I tell her.
We're going even though my hair is wet and frizzy and I have no make-up on. We're going even though the kids aren't in their cutest clothes and their hair is matted to their heads. We're going even though I'm wearing the same thing I wore a few weeks ago when we got together.
And so we went. And everyone looked great and then there was us.
But we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus and we did crafts and listened to a story.
And I chose to forget about the fact that I was wearing gold toe socks or that Sugar's socks were bright red and didn't match her clothing in the slightest.
Why did we go?
Because today wasn't about me. It wasn't about what my girls were wearing or how cute their hair looked.
It was about celebrating Jesus' birthday with other mamas and kiddos. It was about fellowship.
It wasn't easy getting out the door and putting aside my feelings but I'm glad we did.
me.
Hands down.
I'm a hot-tempered, loving, roller coaster basket case.
In a 5'2" frame.
Why I'm choosing to share about my morning, I don't know. Maybe just a public apology to my children. So they know I'm sorry for who I was this morning and for who I am on many mornings.
**
Today started off so great. Spice slept all night. That's right, all night. I had six straight hours of sleep and felt great. I got out of bed at 6, had my coffee, FB'd, emailed, played three games of CandyLand with Sugar (all of which I won) and then Spice woke up around 8.
The morning was relaxing. We had a Christmas party planned with other moms and kiddos that started at 10:30 and we just went about our morning leisurely. I realized time was getting away from us so I started getting myself and the girls ready. Everything was fine.
Until I had to find something to wear.
All of my clothes are clean but I have nothing to wear.
I look frumpy and gross in everything I try on. And that girdle I bought a few weeks back, yeah, she's a lil too snug now and I think I need another girdle just to stuff in what the first girdle can't hold in.
I throw on some jeans and a t-shirt that I'm positive I wore to our last get together with these moms and kids.
After throwing jeans and shirts and girdles all over my house I realize the girls' hair is a mess, I have no make up on and I forgot to put the de-frizz in my hair.
So, I'm a frumpy, frizzy mama.
Spice never complains about having her hair done. But today she screamed.
I was now running late and I was frustrated.
The other moms with the other kids have cute hair-styled, perfectly dressed children.
I don't have that.
But on days when we're getting together, I try to pull us together.
I shoved Spice off my lap. Like really shoved. Sugar came in to get her hair done and Sugar always fusses about having her hair done. Always. Today was no exception. I kicked her out of the bathroom, slammed the door and called my husband.
"Talk me down from this ledge." I tell him.
He can't.
He can do a lot of things for me but at this moment, in my mind-set, he cannot talk me off this ledge of madness I'm feeling.
I send a text to Candee telling her my kids are sick and I won't be coming. The couple coughs this morning probably don't count as being really sick.
Who lies to their best friends?
Apparently me.
I sit down.
Sugar comes up to me and tells me she's ready to go. I tell her we aren't going. Her eyes well with tears and she bolts from the house.
In the amount of time it takes her to circle the house I utter a prayer I don't even remember. I just know I asked for help.
She comes in. Eyes red. Tears fresh on her face.
"We're going." I tell her.
We're going even though my hair is wet and frizzy and I have no make-up on. We're going even though the kids aren't in their cutest clothes and their hair is matted to their heads. We're going even though I'm wearing the same thing I wore a few weeks ago when we got together.
And so we went. And everyone looked great and then there was us.
But we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus and we did crafts and listened to a story.
And I chose to forget about the fact that I was wearing gold toe socks or that Sugar's socks were bright red and didn't match her clothing in the slightest.
Why did we go?
Because today wasn't about me. It wasn't about what my girls were wearing or how cute their hair looked.
It was about celebrating Jesus' birthday with other mamas and kiddos. It was about fellowship.
It wasn't easy getting out the door and putting aside my feelings but I'm glad we did.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
I Wogged
I got on the treadmill tonight for the first time in what feels like 500 years. I didn't run or walk. I wogged. More than a walk, not quite a jog.
I hit one of the pre-set dealies and it ran it's course while I huffed and puffed and considered blowing the house down.
I got up to a whoppin' 3.5 mph and thought I was going to keel over and die.
Josh rooted for me almost the entire time. You know, when he wasn't bathing the girls and cleaning up the paper plates I served his fabulous dinner on. I think I should buy him some pom poms and a short skirt.
Okay, maybe just the pom-poms.
Yes, I finished out the 30 minutes but it wasn't easy. I have this spot in my lower back on the right side that was going nuts.
I'm not happy with how I've just let myself get all flabby and outta shape. I used to run. A lot. Yeah, that was like 15 years ago but still. I used to do it.
I'm wanting to pick up a package of Oreos and have myself a bit of a pity party.
But then that 30 minutes would be wasted and we wouldn't want that. I'm going to stick with it. I really am.
No, really. I am.
I hit one of the pre-set dealies and it ran it's course while I huffed and puffed and considered blowing the house down.
I got up to a whoppin' 3.5 mph and thought I was going to keel over and die.
Josh rooted for me almost the entire time. You know, when he wasn't bathing the girls and cleaning up the paper plates I served his fabulous dinner on. I think I should buy him some pom poms and a short skirt.
Okay, maybe just the pom-poms.
Yes, I finished out the 30 minutes but it wasn't easy. I have this spot in my lower back on the right side that was going nuts.
I'm not happy with how I've just let myself get all flabby and outta shape. I used to run. A lot. Yeah, that was like 15 years ago but still. I used to do it.
I'm wanting to pick up a package of Oreos and have myself a bit of a pity party.
But then that 30 minutes would be wasted and we wouldn't want that. I'm going to stick with it. I really am.
No, really. I am.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Once upon a time I had a "diet" blog
I've taken up to writing there again.
I'm going to write there a lot. I'm going to be gut-wrenchingly honest. I'm going to post my weight. My food intake. My struggles. My successes. My heart.
Wanna laugh at me? Join me?
Feel free.
The Muffin Topless Blog.
I'm going to write there a lot. I'm going to be gut-wrenchingly honest. I'm going to post my weight. My food intake. My struggles. My successes. My heart.
Wanna laugh at me? Join me?
Feel free.
The Muffin Topless Blog.
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