Stepping on Toes

I'm sure there will be some squealing piggies by the time some people have finished reading my thoughts on this particular topic. I've considered writing about it for some time now, but didn't really have a good way to begin that didn't sound preachy, and I am truly trying to avoid that. Today, I read the following article:

I sat on my couch, mouth agape, stricken. That figure is astounding to me. I wondered, how do we, as women respond to this? Women, who have fought for their "right to choose" are now ending the lives of future women, and thereby denying any choice they could have made for themselves. What happens to a woman's right to choose when there's no women left? While I understand the culture differences between women in America and the women in India, the numbers are still astonishing. 12 MILLION over 3 decades. 400,000 girls a year. In 1 country. While I haven't been able to locate the same statistic for aborted girls in China, I did find the following information:

In a 2002 survey conducted in a central China village, more than 300 of the 820 women had abortions and more than a third of them admitted they were trying to select their baby's sex.

"According to a report by the International Planned Parenthood Federation, the vast majority of aborted fetuses, more than 70 percent, were female, citing the abortion of up to 750,000 female fetuses in China in 1999."

"A report by Zhang Qing, population researcher of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, said the gender imbalance is "statistically related to the high death rate of female babies, with female death rate at age zero in the city or rural areas consistently higher than male baby death rate." Only seven of China's 29 provinces are within the world's average sex ratio. Zhang Qing's report cited eight "disaster provinces" from North to South China, where there were 26 to 38 percent more boys than girls."

"In the last census in 2000, there were nearly 19 million boys more than girls in the 0-15 age group."

I pulled these quotes from an 2004 article on MSNBC.com. Considering that China has a legal restriction on the number of allowable children per family, whereas India does not, I would estimate that those numbers have increased over the last 7 years.

In the case of India, the method to determine the gender is the ultrasound. In order to determine gender via ultrasound, the woman is typically between 18-20 weeks pregnant. We're not talking early term abortion here. At 12 weeks gestation, the baby's brain is fully formed and they can feel pain. They may suck their thumb. By 16 weeks, they have eyelashes. At 18 weeks, they blink, grasp with their hands, and move their mouths. By the time 20 weeks rolls around, they have fingerprints.

If you are of the mindset that they are not alive until birth, then think about the risks to the mother. There are a multitude of physical and psychological side effects that a woman who chooses to terminate a pregnancy can endure, up to, and although rare in this country, including death.

Don't be too quick to say, "Well, that's India and China... not here. It's totally not the same thing." We may not have statistics on gender selection in relation to abortions in this country, but it would be naive to think it doesn't happen here. In 2008, there were 1.2 million abortions in the United States. In a nation where tests to determine genetic abnormalities is strongly recommended (to the point of being pushy... and I've lived that, so yes, it does happen), abortions are already occurring when parents think that their child may be less than perfect. How many pregnancies have been terminated because of the potential of genetic difficulties? Although not common, and certainly not easy, some couples are using sex selection during IVF today. If science allows us the option, how long will it be before we are playing God? More than we already are, anyway.

Okay, clearly I'm Pro-Life. My personal opinion is that life begins at conception. I am part of the first generation of American children who could have legally been aborted after Roe vs. Wade. Yes, I know that means I have always lived in a country that offered women the "freedom" of choice. I know that I didn't live in a country where back-alley abortions were prevalent. That doesn't change my opinion. While I do want women to have access to good health care, and to be safe from harm, our right to choose begins long before we're trying to decide whether or not to terminate a pregnancy. We can choose to abstain from sex. We can choose to use methods of birth control if abstinence isn't the choice we made. Before I get jumped on about cases of rape and incest... where the woman had her choice taken from her... please realize that abortions done in this country due to rape and/or incest amount to less than 1/2 of 1%. We can choose to rely on God's promise to us that His plan is greater than our own. We were, after all, "knit together in our mother's womb" according to Scripture, and he knew us before then.

My grandmother and her mother before her struggled with society's expectations about pregnancy. My grandmother used to tell me that if my grandfather laid his pants across the bedpost, she got pregnant. She came from a very poor family with 11 brothers and sisters. She didn't want a large family. She had horrible pregnancies, and with each birth, she had greater complications. By the time my youngest uncle was born, it nearly killed her. Birth control was available by then, but my grandfather was unwilling to "allow" her to be on it. When she was still living at home, she recalled walking in on her mother bleeding to death after she performed a coat-hanger abortion so that she wouldn't have number thirteen. That was a horrible time. It was no doubt a terrifying position to be in. This is not that time. Birth control is available, and affordable...especially in comparison to the cost of raising a child to 18. There are hundreds upon thousands of families just aching to have a baby that aren't able to have their own. Those willing to adopt will cover medical expenses, and all costs associated with that pregnancy. You can't assume that not having medical abortions at your disposal automatically pushes us back to the 1950s. It just ain't so.

One last thing... before you lump me in with the Pro-Lifers that bomb abortion clinics, or kill abortion doctors, please don't. The fanatics in any organization will always make the entire group look like a bunch of nuts. I don't believe that holding up an aborted fetus during a protest shows any respect for life. While I detested the acts that Dr. Tiller performed at his clinic in Wichita, I don't believe that he should have been gunned down in his church on a Sunday morning, or anywhere else for that matter. I do believe the man responsible for his murder should be punished to the full extent of the law. I also believe that women who do choose abortion deserve compassion, and to be treated with dignity not condemnation. I don't think spewing hatred and hurling insults helps anyone on either side of the debate. Most importantly, I believe in the love and forgiveness of an all-seeing, all-knowing God. A God who doesn't make "mistakes". A God who sent His son, His only, beloved son and sacrificed Him on a cross for every last one of us. That means He sent his son for me, for George Tiller, for the man who murdered him, for the lost little girls of India, for the women trying to make that decision today. Every. Last. One. Of. Us.

Just in case anyone reading this is currently dealing with an unplanned pregnancy, I've added some resources below.

Unplanned Pregnancy
913-962-0200 (answered 24 hours a day) (If you're in the Kansas City metro area)
aapc website: www.EducatedDecision.org
National Website: www.OptionLine.org



Abortion Recovery
National Hotline: 1.800.4MyRecovery
www.AbortionRecovery.org

Viva Las Vegas

We are headed to Vegas today for the Hubby’s business trip.  In fact, I’m typing this from the airplane, but won’t post it until we are in the hotel.  All the kiddos are hanging with MawMaw this weekend, and I suppose are already at the zoo visiting Nikita the polar bear.  Monkey seemed a little unhappy that we were leaving him, but that lasted only as long as it took us to get in the car and back out of the driveway.  He was blowing kisses, complete with the full Mwuuu-ah that I so adore.  He’ll likely be fine until bedtime; hopefully MawMaw will remember the proper evening routine, and he’ll get get his 3 books, the “snug as a bug in a rug,’” his goodnight kiss, and Sampson’s goodnight kiss as well.  (For those of you wondering, Sampson is his teddy bear... and he requires the same evening routine as Monkey, sans bath.)  

Tonight’s activities include dinner with one of Hubby’s business partners and wife, and then it is off to see the Elvis Cirque du Soleil show.  Very “uptown” according to the Hubs.  I am looking forward to the alone time with him, even if it is sprinkled with some business.  

This is my third trip to Vegas.  Hubs was concerned how I would possibly be entertained, especially since tomorrow he will be working throughout the day.  I’m not a drinker, I don’t gamble, and it is, after all, Vegas.  :-)  There is plenty to do that doesn’t include debauchery, I say.  The people-watching alone will entertain me for hours on end.  I get an endless kick out of the brides in their full wedding regalia battling it out with the one-armed bandits.  I chuckle at the grandmas loaded down with their good luck charms and fighting over “their” machines.  

I never cease to be amazed by the varied temperaments you can see in the casinos.  On my last trip to Vegas, my friend and I tried to go outside for a little fresh air in between meetings, and we somehow ended up in the garage area where the tour buses drop off and pick up the hotel guests.  It was there that we witnessed the most spectacular fight between a bus driver and a guest.  This particular guest was riding a scooter due to her size, and was heading down the handicapped ramp are a rapid pace.  There was a blind gentleman (and I stress the word gentleman, because had I been he, someone may have been whacked with my cane) trying to make his way down the ramp.  He was moving cautiously, because he was obviously not accustomed to this very long ramp and its many turns.  As I was saying, Scooter Lady came tearing down the ramp, and clearly didn’t want to wait for the gentleman to get out of her way.  Her scooter was equipped with a VERY loud horn, and she began beeping and yelling at him to “MOVE!”  He barely escaped her, but she obviously had other things on her mind... like the bus driver at the very end of the ramp that was siting on one rail with his feet on the rail across from him.  I must pause here to explain that this ramp was super long, and that it was set up much like a line for a ride at an amusement park.  Walk, turn, walk, turn, walk, turn.  The poor bus driver was several hundred feet away, and had ample time to move.  That didn’t stop Scooter Lady from bellowing at him to “Get the bleeeeeep out of my way!  Move it, Mister... I’m HANDICAPPED!!”  He didn’t snap to attention, because I’m sure, much like my friend and myself, he was pretty shocked that she had just nearly taken out this blind gentleman all the while wailing on about HER handicap.  His seeming lack of concern for the Scooter Lady’s handicap caused her to lose it...and I don’t mean a little bit.  She’s cursing and screaming that he had better get out of her way.  The ramp is for the handicapped, which SHE happens to be, not for lazy bleep bleep bleeps who are trying to put their feet up.  Everyone else may have been stunned speechless, but not Mr. Bus Driver, who had apparently had about enough of guests being rude to him.  He started yelling back at her, and told her he would move when she was close, but he wasn’t hurting anyone and she could just shut her extraordinarily loud mouth.  They had some fantastic back and forth which only escalated when he loudly called her the ‘B‘ word and then jumped down in the bus lane where she couldn’t follow him and disappeared.  My friend and I were there, mouths agape, when she yelled at him that he’d better get back up there and give him her name so she could turn him in.  She then began screaming bloody murder at anyone in her path that bore a slight resemblance to anyone that could possibly be a bus driver.    I’ll admit, calling her the ‘B’ word was way out of line... but anyone witnessing the event could certainly feel his pain.  We hung around just a little longer to see if anymore drama would ensue, but she ended up on a bus.  We did see the bus driver poke his head from between 2 buses in the back with a big grin on his face before we had to head back into our meeting.  Like I said... there’s always something to do in Vegas!

I’m still shocked that Hubs, who travels to Vegas on business at least once a year has never been to the Bellagio.  He explained that he’s not a chick, and has always travelled there for business, not romance, so there was no need to go see a bunch of fountains.  “But it is GORGEous!” is always my reply.  This trip, he’s going.  It helps that our hotel (we’re staying at the new Aria) is right by the Bellagio... so I won’t have to drag him kicking and screaming very far at all.  

*Sidenote*  The lady in front of me is watching Toy Story 3, and I have to say... I’m a wee bit jealous.  I failed to grab a magazine for this flight, and even though I remembered my lovely Mac, I didn’t remember that it has a DVD player, so didn’t bring any movies.  I haven’t seen Toy Story 3, and I’m afraid that will have to be remedied very shortly.  I have a toddler; I can totally justify the purchase.  

Alright, this post is already ridiculously long... so I’ll wrap it up.  I’m sure I’ve sufficiently bored anyone who may be reading my flight ramblings anyway.  Maybe I’ll take a little nap....

Confessions

God's been speaking to me a lot the past couple of weeks, but I have struggled with what to write because everything seemed a little too personal.  It was personal, not in the sense that it was private... more that it was personal because it was touching so many raw nerves because I was in the wrong.  Accountability is such a necessity, especially among believers... but that doesn't mean we enjoy seeing our faults under a microscope.  Sometimes, we would really rather sweep them under the rug and pretend they don't exist...or is that just me?

I'm involved in a women's Bible study at my church.  We are currently doing Beth Moore's study called "A Woman's Heart: God's Dwelling Place."  It is a study about the Temple.  It sounded intriguing when I signed up, but I have to tell you... it has been a real struggle for me.  It is intriguing... but it is HARD.  The daily homework is difficult, and it requires a lot more time that the studies I've done in the past.  Not only that, but anything that could interfere with me getting the lessons completed, has.  First, Monkey had a nasty case of croup.  Then, due to his recent insistence on lots of kisses, and his failure to always close his mouth as he comes in for said kisses, resulted in me getting his hacking cough.  My hacking cough turned into a mild case of pneumonia.  By the time my antibiotics kicked in, he came down with yet another case of croup, albeit a milder one.  Now he's getting more teeth, and the snot abounds... as does the biting, and general crankiness of a teething toddler.  Snow days, sickness, exhaustion, doctor visits, technical difficulties with the video portion of the study...you name it, it has happened.  Homework got behind, messages got lost, and to be honest, I didn't even want to do the study any more.

Prior to last week's group session, I bit the bullet, and got my homework done.  I walked into the meeting room thinking I really hadn't taken away anything from all that work.  I didn't get it.  Studying the detailed instruction on how the temple was to be constructed, from the brazen altar, to the lampstand, to the basin, to the golden altar... it's good information to know... but what in the world was He trying to tell me?  I felt stupid, which is not a feeling I relish, and I just was ready to call it quits.  I prayed at the beginning of each session for God to speak to me through this study, just like I'm supposed to, and I just felt like He wasn't.  I haven't experienced such silence from Him, especially not when I'm studying His Word.  I have always walked away with something new, which, no matter how many times I've read certain scriptures, never ceases to amaze me.  What was the deal??

We had two video sessions that week, to make up for the technical difficulties of the week before.   Midway through the first session, it started to make sense just why so many of us seemed under attack throughout this study.  The lesson was on the symbolism behind the materials used within the temple.  The brazen alter was made of acacia wood, and then overlaid with bronze.  It is the alter where sin sacrifices were made.  As we spoke of the wood, the verses in John (and please forgive me, because my Bible is not next to me, and the actual verse escapes me) where we learn about branches being pruned were referenced.  He cuts away the branches that don't bear fruit, and they are thrown into the fire, but here's what I somehow missed before... he also prunes the branches that are bearing fruit, so they'll produce more good fruit.  I've probably read that verse a hundred times.  Beth Moore talked about how, as women, we will hold onto those branches till there are splinters in our hands, trying to keep them as they are... refusing to be pruned.  If we're producing fruit, then hey, leave those branches to me.  Why is it that we are so willing to let God have the stuff we don't want anymore, and so UNwilling to let Him have everything?  Is He sovereign, or isn't He?

I have a control issue, which I'm sure is shocking to everyone that knows me.  (That's sarcasm, people.)  I don't like to relinquish control to anyone, and sadly, that has included God.  I can go to God with the super big stuff. The stuff that no mere mortal can manage... that is all His.  I can lay those things at His feet, and have faith that He will manage it.  Why does it seem to take so much more faith to let Him have every other little bit, the good and the bad alike?  Why do I hesitate to talk to Him about the mundane detail of my every waking moment?  He knows the number of hairs on my head; do I really think I'm sneaking stuff past Him?  If I really believed His word, every part of it, I would be on my knees, broken before Him, every single chance I got.  Ouch.  The sin of prayerlessness... I know, and have always known that my prayer life is a huge part of my relationship with God.  The Bible says I should pray without ceasing, but did I ever acknowledge that not praying was a sin?  Did I ever confess that sin?  Have I ever looked at it in that light?  I know that I have a peace when my prayer life is as it should be, but did I ever realize that maybe it isn't about me?  That maybe it pains Him when I don't trust Him with the minutia of my life?  Don't get me wrong, being in communion with Him will always result in blessings, but if that if the only reason you're praying, well... you're missing the point.

I left last week broken, and needing to confess so many things to Him.  I was excited to get back to the homework, excited to hear what else He had to tell me.  Before I knew it though, I was right back in my rut.  Like the Israelites before me, I am a ssslllloooooooooooooooow learner.   I make the same mistakes over, and over, and over again.  Just to drive home the point, towards the end of this week's homework, (which I put off until right before our group meeting this morning) there was a lesson about Jesus being our intercessor.  He wants to intercede for us.  When I don't ask, He doesn't intercede.  Well, duh.  He wants to intercede for us... His death and resurrection was the final sacrifice, and His holiness is what allows us to speak directly to the Father, because His blood covers our sin.

My sin is great.  It is huge.  I have "been in the pit" as Beth Moore so often says.  Heck, I've dwelled there for giant portions of my life... but guess what?   I am forgiven, and not believing that He has forgiven me, despite my tremendous lack of worth, is a slap in the face to the Father.  What more does He have to do for me to get it, for me to have faith that what He promised, He fulfilled?  Trust me when I tell you, I have a lot to confess.  I have a lot to repent.  This will take some time, to go through all of this muck and lay it at the feet of the Savior.  I'd better start now... there's no time to waste.  Thank heavens for His grace.

One last thing... today we were talking about Moses, Aaron, and Hur.  During the battle with the Amalekites, as long as Moses' arms were holding up his staff, the people of Israel prevailed.  When he lowered his arms, the Amalekites would start to win.  Aaron and Hur helped hold up his arms when he grew weary so that the Israelites could win the battle.  God could have given Moses supernatural strength so that he could do it on his own... but that wasn't the point.  You need the support of your fellow believers.  One of the study questions was asking who our support was.  I am blessed to have a husband who holds me up.  I am blessed to have a family who supports me...even more blessed that they are a family that I wasn't born into, but have grafted me in much like Gentile believers have been grafted in to God's chosen people.  That being said, I have gained a new support system as I go through this study.  To the ladies I have come to love during this study, thank you for being my Aaron and Hur.  It has meant more than you could know.

True Love

Valentine's Day is tomorrow... or in an hour and 21 minutes from now.  We've all been inundated with commercials from flower shops and jewelry stores, each trying to tell us how we should properly express love to our significant other.

I spent years having a hate-hate relationship with Valentine's Day.  It is a truly lonely day when you are single.  You spend the day avoiding the perky girls with the 3 dozen red roses sitting on their desk, which can be difficult to do when they're accompanied by an 8 foot high mylar balloon bouquet and a vat of chocolate, and when it seems every cubicle in a thousand yard radius is occupied by the aforementioned perkiness.  You note with irritation that it is really just a made-up holiday to make money for the card companies.  You get bitter, and more than a little cynical about love in general.

Things have changed for me in the past few years.  God put a man in my life.  The one.   And just like that, my perspective on so many things changed.

My husband and I both had first marriages that were... well... not what they were meant to be.  I could tell some stories on both of us, but the important thing to take away is this: God was never invited into those marriages.  There is a reason that Scripture tells us not to be unequally yoked.

When my first marriage ended, I was full of fear.  That is not easy for me to admit, because I much prefer to be the tough one.  I'm a fighter, after all.  I was 28 years old, had two young children and a lot of excess baggage.  I was scared of being alone, scared of never finding someone who truly loved me, scared of being a single parent... you name it, and I was scared of it.  Don't get me wrong, I can pull off all kinds of bravado.  I've got a great game face, but deep down inside... I was terrified.  God did for me what He so often has to do... He brought me to my knees.   In the Bible study I'm currently doing, I recently read that blessings are often received when one is kneeling.  That is profound.

Once I started to get into His word, once I started to not just talk to Him, but listen as well... things started changing, but certainly not on my time schedule.   Here I was, going to church every time the doors opened, spending time in prayer and study every day, trying really hard to do all the right things, to say the right things, because God had told me that He had someone for me.  I had to rely on Him.  I had to be obedient, which just so happened to include remaining celibate.  Seriously?  Celibate?  But God... isn't that really for teenagers, and people who have never been married?  Are You sure it applies to me too?  Because let's be honest.... that's a tall order, and I'm a fan of... well, you know... non-celibacy.  Well, fine... because You said he's out there... so I'm sure he's just around the next corner.  Only he wasn't.  Five and a half very looooooong years, I waited.  Not patiently, mind you... but I waited all the same.

I prayed over the mystery man.  I prayed he would be 6 feet tall with dark hair and dark eyes.  I prayed that he would be a cowboy.  I prayed that he would have integrity and be able to love my kids just like they were his.  I prayed that he would be a godly man and a leader.  I prayed that he would have a spine, and not take any of my crap.  I prayed he would be aggressive yet gentle.   I prayed that his smile would be just so.

I was introduced to Bob by a close friend and colleague.  By then, I was getting a little impatient.  I thought maybe, just maybe, I had misunderstood God.  I mean, it's not like he audibly told me about this guy.  What if my discernment was off?  I wouldn't agree to meet this guy she wanted to introduce me to. Thanks, but no.  However, my friend is persistent.  She just kept talking about him, no matter how many times I said "Thanks, but no."  She mentioned that he had a son who was four, and how devoted Bob was to him, and then she mentioned that he also had an eleven year old step-son who Bob had raised since age 2.  She told me how even though Bob was no longer married to this boy's mother, that he still picked him up for visitation whenever he could.  He still was very much part of this boy's life.  That gave me pause.  I was used to a man that didn't take care of his own kids, and here was someone who still loved his stepson so much that he wanted to continue to care for him after his divorce.  Hmmm... well, that may mean he would be able to love my kids like his own as well... and well... that was on the list.

I agreed to meet him along with my friend for just a lunch.  I knew when he walked in the door that this was the guy.  You know... THE guy.  While originally from Minnesota, he went to high school in Dallas -Fort Worth, and college in Lubbock.  He's a cowboy alright... more in attitude than apparel, but a cowboy just the same.  He's 6 feet tall, right on the money, with dark hair, dark eyes and a killer smile.   Most importantly, he loves God, and leads a Christian household.  He fit the bill.  Not just a little bit... he met every requirement I threw up to God.... and you know what?  He was so worth the wait.

He has a story too... about how God put me in his path right when he wasn't ready for it...  when he had decided to be alone and focus on his career.  There's more to it, but that's his story to tell... and I know how cool it is.

The reason our marriage works is because instead of the two of us... it's the three of us.  God is in the middle, holding the two of us together.  God's love is the love that counts.  His love is the only True Love.  He loved us enough to send and sacrifice His son.

Valentine's Day... it's still a bit of a made-up holiday.  You certainly shouldn't wait for one day out of the year to celebrate your love for your significant other.  It's still cheesy and flower-filled, and I still sometimes want to kick the perky girls with all the balloons.... but you know what else?  It's also a little reminder that God put me with the man He had designed just for me.  More than that, it's a reminder that the ultimate love is something we are incapable of giving.  Agape love... we'll never quite measure up.  We're imperfect, so we do envy, and we do boast... but God doesn't.  He loves us with all our flaws, patiently, and perfectly.

4 Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; 6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 8 Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 9 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. 10 But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. 11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12 For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 13 And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

So Happy Valentine's Day... because regardless of your relationship status... you are loved.  You are fully and completely loved in a way you can't truly even imagine.  Don't kick the perky girls, they're loved completely too, balloons notwithstanding.

Snow, snow, snow

I am not a fan of snow.  I'm even less of a fan when the kids have yet to have 1 complete week of school since the start of second quarter.  Couple that with a croupy toddler, and ridiculously cold temps (yes, I'm aware snow and cold go hand in hand), and I am just too through.

I was able to venture out to MOPS today, thank goodness.  I left Monkey with the Major so that he didn't infect any of his little friends, and I headed out into the frigid winter day.  On my way home, I saw (and accidentally almost killed... but only almost) a group of big, fat robins hanging out on the street.  (In fairness, I only almost killed just one, but I checked the rear view, and he survived it.)  I'll bet those robins are pretty ticked at whoever their little meteorologist robin is.   Who sent them here this early?  Did they form a little bird mob, and have him tarred and... well... unfeathered?  They looked stunned and were definitely moving pretty slowly, hence the near death experience of the big guy.  Are there rules about whether or not they can leave if they get here and are met with unexpected weather?  Can they head back to the south or wherever they flew in from?  Is there some kind of policy that prevents them from bailing?  Because if not, I would totally fly the crap out of here.   I'm just sayin'.  

I need to be able to make it to Bible Study on Thursday morning.  I need more time with my new friend, Gym.  I need to feel some heat other than from the heated seats in the car.  Although, truth be told, I am a HUGE fan of my butt warmers, but not such a fan of my huge butt, which is why I need continued time with Gym.  

I am aware that I have moved in the rambling section of this blog, but I am trying to stay awake until Major gets home from work.  I hate to be one of those mothers, but her being out there driving in this mess makes me a nightmare.  I'll sign off before I come up with even worse gibberish.  Good night, all!

Amelia Kay

I've been thinking a lot about Amelia the last few days.  I still miss her.  I still wonder what life would be like right now, with a two-month-old and my little Monkey, not to mention the other four.  I imagine she would have her daddy's brown eyes, and my smile.  I think she probably would have the same cute little curls her big brother has.  I still ache a little bit with her loss, but I also recognize that God has her with Him, and I will get to meet her some day.

The other day, a lovely woman from church that I hadn't seen in a while asked me how "that baby" was doing.  I assumed she was talking about Monkey.  I told her that he is now 19 months, and not a baby anymore.  I told her it was happening too fast for me, and that I wished it would slow down.  She frowned, and then shook her head.  She wanted to know about the baby.  It took my breath away.  I had to explain to her that we had lost the baby in June, over 6 months ago.  She apologized, and looked appropriately stricken.  I feel for her.  I didn't cry, but I was stunned about the sharp pain I felt.  I thought I was over the pain of it.

I struggled a lot with feeling guilty about mourning.  We are clearly blessed with many children.  They are, so far, very healthy.  I have many good friends and/or family members that have struggled with infertility for years.  I have always been able to sympathize, but you can never fully understand what they're feeling if you haven't dealt with it yourself.  How can I feel sad about my loss, when I have these beautiful children at home to be grateful for?  Aren't I telling my children that they're not sufficient for me?  Most importantly, aren't I telling God that He's not sufficient for me?  That's dangerous territory, isn't it?  I felt guilty about grieving, which in turn, made the grieving process even longer.  A very wise woman whom I have a great deal of respect for, and who also happens to have struggled with infertility for many years said something to me that I am still grateful for.  She basically told me that I'm allowed to feel whatever I feel.  I know that seems simplistic, and there was more to the conversation than that... but it helped me.  That was the turning point for me.  I was able to talk about things a little more freely, and I let myself be ok with being sad.  I continued to be in prayer, and have been doing much better.

In the past 2 months, two more families I know have suffered miscarriages.  The most recent one I just found out about this afternoon.  Hearing that news.... it makes my heart heavy.  It makes my eyes tear up, and I kind of want to curl up in a ball.

We have been trying to get pregnant again, so far, without success.  The first few months, it was devastating every time to learn we weren't pregnant.  After much prayer, a really great Bible study, and some bruising along the way, I have come to terms.  We may not have any more kids, and that is ok.  God has blessed us beyond measure.  I'm not sure what His plans for us are right now, at least not in that department.  His plans may not include any babies.  His plan may be for me to be a really great mom to the the kids we have already been blessed with.  I'm flexible.  I'm ready to roll.  I'm ready to listen to His still, small voice.

 Pr. 19:21 Many are the plans in a man's heart, but the counsel of the Lord will be established.


Rom. 8:28 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.


Phil. 1:6 For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.

Aggressively Affectionate

Little Monkey is the most affectionate of all my chitlins.  This isn't surprising really, since I was never overly affectionate until my husband came into my life.  Don't get me wrong, I've always hugged and loved on my kids... but I don't dig on the clingy hugs, especially once they get a little older.  Plus, the older ones certainly never saw me loving up on anyone else.  As I said, not overly affectionate.  Not only was I not a hugger, I really didn't like people inside my bubble.  I really preferred them to stay outside of arms length.... and I have long arms.  Where do you think Monkey gets it from?  

Things have changed, to an extent.  I still don't like strangers inside my bubble.  I still get a little anxious in elevators when they become full.  (Primarily because for some reason, I perpetually get trapped with ONE other person in the elevator who can't bear to stay on the opposite side.  What is with that??)  I still prefer people to have a buffer stall in a public restroom, and truly can not comprehend what the person is thinking when with 30 available stalls, they come sit by me.  I have become, though, that person I used to hate.  You know who I'm talking about: the one that holds her husband's hand every stinking time they're walking near each other?  The one who you you want to start an impromptu game of Red Rover with, just to see their reaction?  Oh no, don't separate yourself because you're walking towards me in a narrow walkway... I'll walk around.  That one.  The one who will, without warning or preamble, lean over and kiss her husband in public because he told her she looks pretty.  (For clarification... I am NOT the one that tongues her husband in the restaurant while others are trying to eat.  Keep it clean, people... keep it clean).  

My point is, it's not surprising that Monkey is more affectionate than his older siblings.  He sees a lot of love in this house, and for that I'm grateful.  His favorite thing in the world is a group hug.  If Daddy comes home from a trip and is giving Mommy hugs and kisses... he's gonna need to be in on that action, whether you want him to be or not.  He now gives kisses that seem to be never-ending.  If you try to pull away, he will squeeze your face and continue with his Muuuwwaaah noise until he's done.  You're on his time schedule, baby... so get used to it.   It's pretty cute, truth be told.  So cute, that I didn't think of any issues this might cause.  

My friend brought her daughter over the other day... a little play-date so we could catch up.  Her daughter is older than Monkey by a few months, and luckily has 2 older brothers... so she is used to a little roughness.  Thank goodness... because Monkey loooooovvvved her.  He wanted to hug her, and squeeze her and love her... you get the idea.  Monkey is big for his age, though... and he likes to hug around the neck.  It looked like he was putting her in a headlock, especially since she wasn't really as appreciative of his hugs as he thought she should be.  

Last night, we had a game night with the besties... and between the 2 of them, they have 2 beautiful little girls, both of whom are teeny tots, especially in comparison to Monkey.  And he loooovvvvvvvvvved them too.  I'm glad they both can hold their own, because I know he took one of them down to the ground at least twice.  He doesn't just want a little squeeze... he apparently wants to squoosh you until all the air has escaped your body and you fall to the ground wheezing.  Then he wants to squeeze you a little more, and maybe kiss you some while he's at it.  

Gentle.  That's the word of the week at our house.  I've been signing it to him and repeating it over and over since the visit from my friend.   Maybe he'll get the hint.  We can only hope...

Pause Button

Do you ever have things happen in your life that you just find difficult to take in?  Wouldn't it be nice to have a pause button for life, so you could absorb everything you wanted?  Maybe just so you could take a mental picture so you don't miss anything?  The world just spins so fast!

Being a mom of 5 has it's challenges, and certainly has it's rewards.  While I realize that probably the only people reading this know us, I like to pretend that at some point, people I don't actually know will be interested in reading my ramblings.  In that vein, here's a little background.

We are a blended family... a yours, mine, and ours mix.  I won't be using their real names on here, just because... but here's the breakdown:

Mine

18 year old girl - Since she's no longer a minor, and since she's a little bossy, I think we'll call her "The Major".

12 year old boy - Hmmmm... what to call him?  I could go for Tween, but come July, that will be over, so what's the point of changing his name 6 months in?  He's a talker, and I frequently reference him as Chatty McTalksalot at home... so maybe we'll keep that moniker.  I may shorten it, and just go for McTalksalot... we'll just have to take it as it comes.

His

14, almost 15 year old boy -  This one is 6'2" and plays football.  His freshman team went undefeated this year.  Ego, ego, ego.  Funny, funny, funny.  He's actually the Hub's stepson from his first marriage.  We're going to call him Kutcher... because well, he looks like a younger Ashton Kutcher, and has his sense of humor.

8 year old boy -  Taz.  Right before our wedding, one of the groomsman called him the Tasmanian Devil.  It fits.  He is sweet and calm one second, and crazy destructive the next.  Very spirited, but very sweet.

Ours

19 month old boy - Monkey.  Because he is one.  He climbed out of his crib for the first time at 16 months.  He has really long little monkey arms that he used to reach every thing on a counter that he's not supposed to be able to reach.  He's way tall for his age, and climbs on EVERYthing.  He's busy 100% of the time.

Major, McTalksalot, and Monkey are with us full-time.  Taz is with us every other weekend, and as often as we can have him during the summer.  One of these days, we hope he'll decide to stay with us full-time.  In the interim, we will take him whenever we can get him.  Kutcher isn't here nearly as often as we'd like.  His biological dad is in TX, so he spends some holiday time there.  His social life is extensive, so when he can fit us in to his busy schedule, he does.

Ok... there's the background, but here's what I was thinking about before my ADD took over and I got sidetracked with the descriptions.

Monkey's crib got turned into a toddler bed yesterday.  Last night at bedtime, he crawled in all by himself and covered up with his little blanket.  It was perhaps one of the sweetest little things I've ever seen.  He's trying to talk (FINALLY) and apparently has chosen 'shoes' as his favorite word.  He's growing up way too fast.  How do I make it stop???

We played in the snow yesterday.  He was too little last year to really enjoy or pay attention to it.  Watching him look in awe at all that white stuff that was so cold on his little hands was simply amazing.  He had fun, but we weren't out very long before he was done, and wanted to go back inside.  Of course, as soon as he was in, he wanted back out.

McTalksalot is in Junior High.  Let me repeat.... JUNIOR HIGH.   As I was looking through an old blog I used to keep, I came across a letter he had written to the Tooth Fairy.  He was letting her have his tooth, and hoped she liked it, but wanted assurances that she knew just how much that tooth had meant to him.  He goes to the orthodontist for braces next month.  I'm missing the Tooth Fairy a little bit.

Major just recently became a major.  She's been 18 for less than a month.  How did I get old enough to be the mother of an 18 year old, that's what I want to know!!

When my DH and I first started dating,  Kutcher was 11, and no where near 6 feet tall.  Our first encounter was at Worlds of Fun, a local amusement park.  He talked about how he wasn't scared of a single ride there.  That was right up until I wanted to ride the Thunderhawk.  He looked like he was going to pass out, and I told him he could hold my hand if he wanted.  He did.  On the way out of the park that day, I heard him tell Dad that I was really scared on the Thunderhawk and made him hold my hand.  He "didn't see what the fuss was about, it was just a ride!"

Taz actually proposed to me before his father did.  He was four at the time, but he referred to me as his girlfriend, not his dad's.  If he would see his dad kiss me, he would have a fit, and tell Dad that he was not allowed to kiss his girlfriend... only hugs.   Fast forward 4 years, and he barely tolerates hugs and kisses from me now.  He has his own girlfriends to worry about... in the second grade.  SECOND GRADE.

Time goes too fast.  I'm getting too old.  So whenever you come up with that pause button... you let me know.

Delightful? Really?

I spent a lot of time this morning re-directing the toddler.

"No, we do not keep opening the freezer."

"No, let's not take the chicken nuggets we pilfered from the freezer and hide them on the floor of the pantry."

"We do not play with the toilet brush."

"Please don't crawl on top of the table."

"Please stop poking me in the eye. I love the fact that you know the word 'eye,' but don't feel you need to shove your thumb in mine while saying the word."

"Please get that out of your mouth!"

Currently, I'm watching him play peek-a-boo with Sissy by covering his entire little body up with a blanket. He's always so excited to reveal himself. Hearing him squeal and giggle mostly makes up for the frustration of the morning.

I'm humbly reminded that God must look at me in a very similar light. How often does He have to remind me gently (and sometimes not so gently) that I'm being disobedient? How many times does He shake his head and think, "You've got to be kidding me?! Again, with this?"

"No, let's not use that kind of language."

"Hey Stubborn, how about you check with Me first, before you make these rash decisions?"

"Don't roll your eyes at Me; you knew better than that."

"Hey, guess what? You can't fix that... it's My job."

What a relief that He has more patience than I! What a blessing that He has such grace! I wonder how many times He has seen me kicking and screaming because I didn't get my way? Probably more than I would want to acknowledge.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.

(Zephaniah 3:17). *emphasis mine*

He delights in us! Isn't that a miracle of gigantic proportions? After all our failures, all of our attempts to "handle things", our inadequacies, our doubt... He can still forgive us, love us, and "take great delight" in us. How blessed we are! Our Father loves us, disciplines us... and still delights in us.

Back In The Game

I used to do a blog years ago on Xanga.  It actually started as a response to someone's political tirade that I disagreed with.  I wanted to comment on their post, and in order to do that, I had to have my own page.  That turned into me writing my own posts, and then all of the drama that was my life at that time bled into it.  Boy, did I have drama.

I was somewhere  around the 30 mark.  30 traumatized me.  I was newly divorced, therefore a newly single mom.  I had so much baggage, and I was convinced I was doomed to spend the rest of my life on my own, trying to keep my kids (around 4 and 9 at the time) out of the trouble that is anticipated when a home gets broken.

Saying that my first marriage was horrible is the understatement of the century.   Most of what I wrote about back then concerned the antics of my ex-husband, and believe me when I tell you that I had a LOT of material.

I quit writing when I started a new job, and frankly, just didn't have the time to commit anymore.  There was still plenty of drama, but not enough time to get it all on paper.  (Or into Cyberspace)  I've wanted to start again, but... well, my kids aren't giving me as much grief (at least not the entertaining kind that I could share) and my second and final marriage is idyllic.  I guess I thought without the chaos and the unhappiness, I didn't have the reason to bang it all out, and I've lost the edge a little bit.

A couple of weeks ago (almost) my eldest child turned 18.  <insert gagging noise here>  I found an old post that I had written about her when she was 12, and threw it into a note on FB.  I got some nice feedback, and my husband and my foster mom encouraged me to get it moving.  Alright, alright.

So... this will likely be a mixture of journaling what's going on day to day, the blessings God is showing me, and probably throwing a little history in there just so I've got it all written down before it leaves my brain.  That is happening a lot more often than I care to admit these days.  As I'm trying to finish this up, the toddler just did a flip over my legs that were propped oh, so comfortably on the coffee table.  Sigh.  Clearly, my time is up.