Telemarketer Filter...

The Littler One (TLO) got a gold star today, and here is why:

The phone rings. I suspect it is a telemarketer, but I pick it up anyway for two reasons. First, we are waiting to hear back from some folks regarding housing in Alabama and I have no idea what kind of numbers they will be calling from. Second, if it is a telemarketer I plan to tell them that no, Austin isn't here, and they have the wrong number.

(Apparently, Austin was pre-approved for something or other and was so thrilled he left our number on his application. This one guy who called a week ago said "Well, you'll be getting a lot of calls like this one in the next few weeks, so you may just want to say you bought it already." Whatever "it" is.)

Me: "Hello?"

I hear a random noise that is something like when a computer is calling and connects the rep.

Voice on the other end: "Hell-"

TLO: "Hello Mom."

He has picked up another handset downstairs.

Me: "TLO, I've got it, hang up the phone. Go ahead, I'm sorry."

Voice on the other end: "H-"

TLO: "Who is it Mom?"

Me: "I don't know, you have to stop talking so I can hear them."

TLO: "But I want to be with you."

Me: "Then come up and be with me while I talk to this person."

TLO: "No, I want to be on the phone with you."

Me: "Then be quiet so I can hear what they want to say. How can I help you?"

TLO: "Who is it Mom?"

Me: "I don't know, they can't speak because you keep talking. Be quiet, or hang up the phone."

TLO: "But Moooo-oooommmm, I want you!"

(we talk in a few more circles)

Me: "Then come and get me! But either be quiet or hang up the phone."

TLO: "No! I want to talk too."

Me: "TLO! I said--"

Dead line beeping. The caller has hung up, apparently quite a while ago.

Me: "See, TLO, they hung up. Hang up the phone now."

I hang up, go downstairs, and kiss his naughty little head...

Battle Chosen...

"I am strong, Mom!"

The thing about all the parenting books is, no matter which of the diametrically opposed approaches (or any combination thereof) you take, it doesn't erase the fact that we're all human, especially kids. And the thing about being human is that you mess stuff up a lot of the time--for some reason I keep forgetting this and need constant reminding--so you have to be humble enough to change your mind sometimes, and sometimes even say "sorry" to your kids, which is good because that's how they learn to apologize to others.

I've read a lot of books on parenting over the years, and honestly much of the advice has fallen by the wayside as we've become more confident in our style. But one story in particular has stuck with me along the way. There was a dad of grown children who was asked something he would've done differently when his kids were younger. He replied that he would've sweated less of the small stuff, explaining that when his son was young he had this desk chair that he loved so much, he wanted to fall asleep with it on his bed every night.  The dad would always resist because, seriously that's kind of ridiculous, having a desk chair on your bed.  And many nights the son would be sad and upset as he cried for his chair because he loved it so much and really wanted it on his bed with him.

The dad said if he had it to do again, he'd have let his son have the desk chair on his bed, reasoning that in their case it wasn't a safety issue--the worst that could happen is it would fall off the bed and make a noise--and regardless he could just go in after his son fell asleep and put it back at the desk. And on the occasions where he gave in, his son went to sleep much more quickly & peacefully, and eventually he stopped asking to have his desk chair on his bed anyway. It was just a funny little quirk that, in hindsight, was really no big deal. Perhaps a battle not to choose.

I think about that story often because we have a lot of funny little quirks in our family.  I wonder if I think about it often enough though, because honestly there are lots of things that in retrospect seem like much smaller deals than I originally thought when I said NO to them.  Still, there are plenty of times when NO is the right answer, and for plenty of reasons--safety, time, larger lessons, personal boundaries, and sometimes even convenience for Mom. 

Today at the store we needed paper towels, and at first I teased the kiddos by placing the giant, 12-roll package on the front/top of the cart so that they were holding them for me. This was hilarious to all of us for several seconds, until Tiny E felt overwhelmed and I moved it to the handy-dandy rack right below their feet. Tiny E was cool with that, but the Littler One was MAD, and let me know it. We spent the remainder of the trip reasoning and explaining why he could not be in charge of the paper towels, why it was a safety issue for his sister, and how Mom was getting frustrated at all this arguing and would put his chosen cereal back on the shelf if he didn't cool it. Because we don't reward tantrums ("Asked and Answered" is an awesome idea. I use it for my own sanity and courage even when, in practice, my children's goal is to keep arguing no matter what).  

Well, in the checkout line I had somewhat of a change of heart. My reasons for saying no were that it was a safety issue for Tiny E, and also because it was pretty likely the Littler One would drop the whole bundle. I assumed that if I let him try again, he would either drop the package repeatedly--to my great annoyance--or smush his little sister, which is clearly unacceptable (most of the time). I wondered if, instead of relying on explanation, it would be more effective to let him experience this, so we made a deal. He would take a moment to calm down, and if he did so by the time we got to the exit, I would let him hold the paper towels until we got out to the car.  But if they got in his sister's way he had to relinquish them immediately. 

So true to his word he took some time to calm down while I finished checking out and making my way to the front of the store, stopping along the way to say hi to one of our favorite workers in the kid room (which the Littler One almost never attends, but that's a story for another post). So as we neared the exit I pulled the package of paper towels up, turned them on end, and handed them over. He dropped them once, which I figured would happen, and I handed them back and said if he dropped them again they had to go down on the rack. 

But he didn't drop them again. He carried them the entire way out to the car, and even tossed them in the back of the car when I opened up the rear hatch. Another lady was walking by and, clearly impressed, called him strong, which was very kind but completely unnecessary since he kept telling me "I'm really strong, Mom" (good with affirmation, that one). I called him a big helper and told him to buckle up, or else, and that I might write a story about him carrying the paper towels. 

I don't think there was really a right or wrong answer here. I could just as easily have held firm as a lesson in keeping our temper and listening when Mom says "no." It is a good and worthy lesson, and one that gets a lot of reinforcement in our house. But today the paper towels seemed more like a desk-chair-on-the-bed issue, so that's the direction I took. 

Do you have any "desk chair" moments/memories to tell?


**UPDATE: I went back and found the desk chair story in Grace Based Parenting, by Dr. Tim Kimmel. It's written with a Christian perspective in mind, and probably my favorite parenting book thus far.

Off the Grid...

(Bonus Points for catching a couple of extremely obscure 80's TV and movie references)

Sometimes I think about living off the grid. Every so often I get nervous about the state of society...or I watch an episode of "Revolution" with the Cat Daddy...or someone in the family experiences a first-world problem...and I think about what it would look like if we somehow had to revert to a pre-infrastructure way of life. What sort of work and planning would we have to do (a lot of both, apparently), how would we get food, shelter, and supplies, that sort of thing.

And actually, I vacillate between eras--sometimes I put myself in the shoes of Frontier/Pioneer Mom (not Pioneer Woman--she's in a category all her own), and other times it's Cavemommy, or Abigail Adams (yes, that one), or even a 19th-to-early-20th-Century homemaker from that one Modern Marvels episode. Most recently we've been watching "The Legend of Mick Dodge," so I've tried to work out the logistics of the five of us becoming mountain people. Obviously.

Regardless, we're not doomsday preppers, or homesteaders, or anything (I'm not even quite sure what a homesteader is, so don't yell at me, Homesteaders), so there are no shelters or bunkers brimming with canned goods, army blankets, and a transistor radio (which, let's be honest, will not help you if it all hits the fan and communications are knocked out).  But still, I have made it a practice over the years to be mindful of skills which would come in handy if I were suddenly (a) left in the wooded wilderness, searching for my father who had gone off to find work as a logger, or (b) standing amid smoking piles of rubble in a t-shirt and ripped jeans, my smeary-faced children resignedly at my side as we turn toward the sunrise knowing we must find aid for the Cat Daddy, who has been gravely injured but will regain health in time. If we can just penetrate the army encampment and get the typhus antidote, dangit, or (c) Mick Dodge.

Admittedly, there are some serious holes in my plan (LOVE showers, and not much for camping, to begin with), but I like to think it's one of those things where, if I pay attention, then when the time comes I'll be able to draw on experiences along the way to cobble together an existence that will put me a step ahead of the nature-phobes and those who think meat originates in the grocery store. Will I be able to slaughter and butcher the cow? Who knows, but if not I'll know to call the mobile butcher for help, and then maybe barter some cheese or woolen mittens for his efforts.

This is all to say that a friend recently hosted an afternoon get-together where we gathered to eat and talk, and she taught some basic crochet skills to those of us who had few to none.  I'm not really a crafty person, but I have the spiritual gift of hanging out, and the company & conversation did not disappoint. We pretty well covered the gamut in woman/mommy topics--husbands, kids, scumbag renters skipping town, living off the grid, organic vs conventional produce, and even gun control because, who doesn't want to talk controversial topics among friends and acquaintances??

I brought along my trusty H needle--back in junior high a friend taught me to do a chain stitch and my attention waned after about 5 minutes, but since then I've used the needle numerous times for re-stringing drawstrings so I find it a useful item to keep around--and got reacquainted with the chain stitch. I even managed to pay attention when she explained how to produce subsequent rows, and as we worked we talked about our various states of craftiness and overall skills. Generally we were charmingly self-deprecating; our hostess encouraged us, explaining that she was actually not a "real" crocheter but had sort of picked it up along the way (she knew fancy words like "gauge" and "skein" though, so I'm pretty sure she was sandbagging). 

She showed us her first project--with lots of purported "mistakes," which of course I call "character," but I played along and muttered insulting remarks about her subpar first crocheting effort. By the way, it was an entire blanket which, even with all the pieces of character, is beautiful and, presumably, warms at least adequately.  

She referred to our chains of knotted string as our "work," which I thought was cool. It reminded me of that same Modern Marvels episode where they talked about the pre-sewing-machine housewives and how they were always working on clothing their families, either by sewing new garments or mending old ones. Much like we bring stuff along with us to occupy our brains in waiting rooms and such, they would put their materials and supplies and whatever in a bag and "bring their work with them" wherever they went. 

Before I knew it I had crocheted a piece the size of a Band-Aid, and it made me feel important and useful to be producing a piece of work with these fancy knots in my borrowed yarn. After a short flirtation with knitting several years ago I came to a quick realization that I should never knit, but I decided that crocheting is something that could be feasible for me and I could add it to my bucket of useful skills should a time and/or need for it arise.  Since I can only do straight rows of single crochet, this will produce scarves and blankets, and I can use my rudimentary sewing skills to fashion tunics for basic clothing needs (I later amended this to include basic PJ pants; I think I can pull that off, especially since I have the crochet hook to put in the drawstrings).

The ladies, ever vigilant, said "But if there's no electricity how would you run your sewing machine?" to which I replied, "Geez, this will be tedious!" But if a kerosene generator is an option, you'd better believe I will plug in my late 70's era machine and be the quickest sewer on the block. This is also quite possibly the only situation EVER where I would be in a position to sell something I had made myself, because we are not talking lovely color-coordinated patterns and fancy chevron designs, or even nicely-edged seams. Strictly utilitarian here, all the way. But let's face it: in a post-apocalyptic world everything will probably be strictly utilitarian for quite some time. 

Now even with these textile skills and fishing, I'll still need quite a bit of help, so I'm thinking some kind of commune may be in order. I'm now taking applications, just in case.

What are some of your sweet survival skills??

My One Word 2014: Act...

In a recent post I bagged on New Years resolutions a little bit; or rather, just admitted that I stink at keeping them. Instead I've hopped on the fairly recent bandwagon of choosing a one-word theme to focus on throughout the year.

I was pretty sure someone had written a blog post dedicated to choosing One Word so I Googled it, and it turns out there's an entire website/book/online community dedicated to helping people choose and live out their One Word. I'm not sure how I feel about that, but if it floats your boat, click on the link above and CHANGE YOUR LIFE WITH ONE WORD (no pressure).

So I've been hearing about the One Word thing for a few years now, and I'm not sure that I've chosen a word before this year. I mean, a year is a long time, and keeping to anything throughout the entire year is kind of daunting to me.

But one time a friend of mine told me about her word. We have some similar, um, non-strengths, and that particular year she'd chosen the word "Now" to remind her to take advantage of her time and gifts whenever she could, rather than putting things off until later and crowding her life and schedule.  I really liked that because it was pretty low-key--it didn't require any great shifts in routine or anything--but at the same time I could see how all those little "nows" could really add up and make a difference.

I actually swiped that as a thing in my own life, and I have found it to be helpful, particularly in the  everyday, mundane stuff I'd rather not ever do, but has to be done just the same, OR the tasks I know I hate but sometimes (not all the time, but sometimes) I need to suck it up and stop being a baby about them.  It's got to be done, and if I can do it now, well, it will be done (Sometimes my profundity amazes me (/s)).

Anyway, my friend Emily posted about choosing a word here, and encouraged her readers to post what they might consider for their One Word 2014.  And somehow, rather than my normal scoffing and rationalization why choosing one word was almost as dumb as resolutions, and some other such cynical nonsense, I rather quickly came up with the word ACT.

Now at first I wondered if Act meshed well with my overall theme in life to learn to Relax, but the more I thought about it the more I realized they actually go pretty well together for me.

You see, the whole idea behind Relax is facing my fears and anxieties, not letting them define me. The goal isn't to never be nervous; rather, the goal is to realize one thing that is true about me (I am a nervous-type) and work from there.

One of the things about being a nervous introvert who moves a lot is that I tend to sit back in new situations. At group gatherings I like to observe and get a feel for things and people before injecting my personal brand of crazy into the mix. In general this works fine, but it does take me a while to form relationships and such, and then when it's time to move I find myself going "Why did I not do/meet/share/invite/risk such-and-such sooner??"

But as I was thinking about our Alabama assignment, understanding that it's only for one year, I realized that around the time I normally start feeling comfortable and settled, we will be getting ready to move again, heading on to our next assignment.  So naturally I started to think about what it would look like to challenge myself just a little bit. Like when we get into our new house, instead of collapsing into a shell-shocked pile of goo for a week or two (or four), what if I can somehow manage to jump in full-force (or maybe even 60% of full-force) to get our house situated that much sooner?

Or what if I summon up the courage to somehow be more fully me as I get to know people, rather than holding back for a time, as I often find myself doing? It sounds simplistic, but one of the things I've been learning this time around is that old truth about just being yourself, and those who like you will like you, and those who don't like you maybe aren't meant to be your friends anyway, so why not figure it out earlier rather than later.  What if I take that risk to Act, and then Relax and trust God with the results?

Honestly, it sounds exhausting. I'm not sure how well I'll pull it off, but ever since I mentioned it on Emily's post it has really stuck with me, so I think it's worth a shot.  Also, I'm big into not necessarily aiming for a specific outcome. I'm not sure if that's healthy or not, but in many cases I find it helps me to keep perspective better and stick with the goal, rather than trying to manufacture some sort of rainbow-and-unicorn storybook ending. My job is to Act, and see what happens. Maybe nothing, and that's OK. But maybe not.

How about you? Did you do some resolutions? Or one word? Or did you stick it to the man and do nothing for the New Year?

Lazy Snow Day, My (Finger In the) Eye...

The following things were true and/or actually happened today:

--A solid 6 inches (or more?) of snow fell in Loudoun County VA, beginning at approximately 8:30 am.

--Weather.com had predicted a 7am snow start time.

--Weather.com is also predicting below-freezing temps until Saturday.

--I noticed the discrepancy and squeezed in a jog as the snow was beginning, but before it started sticking. GOLD STAR: SKERRIB

--My car had an appointment on account of the "Check Engine" light coming on over the weekend, so after my jog the Littler One and I took it into the shop.

--The government was also closed today, so the Cat Daddy was home.

--The Cat Daddy would've been home anyway because he has been sick.

--He was well enough to hunker down on the couch and hog the remote, and keep an eye on the crazies (sort of) while I attended to errands, but sick enough to make noises and need stuff and ask for comfort food for lunch.

--He was definitely too sick to drive. So Honda sent the Littler One and me home via shuttle while they hooked my car up to their fancy machinery and performed diagnoses and prognostications and whatnot.

--When all was said & done the bill sent a dagger through my heart, but my car was fixed in less than half a day. Normally I'd say it's better than a finger in the eye, but today I'm really re-considering that scenario. Like, if a finger to the eye is just for a split second and doesn't do any permanent damage or sight loss, I'm thinking I might take the pain of that over a dagger-bill for car repair. I mean, I once took a head-butt from a baby that left me squinty-eyed for an entire evening. It was truly disruptive, but the next day it was better, and it didn't cost me a thousand bucks. I could endure that. But maybe that's just me.

--I felt motivated to provide the kids with some mental stimulation, so I made His Highness do some of his regular homework and during that time I let the littles glue stuff to paper and draw with markers.  It occupied them for a solid 20 minutes, so I felt really good about that. Also, the glue and marker that missed the paper came up easily with a wet washcloth, so we were all winners at crafts and creativity today.

--Honda shut down their shuttle due to the snowfall so they couldn't come and get me to pick up my car, and the Cat Daddy was still too sick to drive. We were going to wait until tomorrow, but due to a series of plans (both usual and unusual), we decided I needed to pick it up today. Thankfully a neighbor was able to offer shuttle service, plus good conversation to boot. GOLD STAR: NEIGHBOR SHUTTLE SERVICE.

--The Littler One was in fine form today. My favorite highlight included his using his bunk bed ladder to get to some contraband by hanging it from my closet shelf (the wire kind). Meaning the bottom was off the ground. It is still a mystery to me how he managed the balance of it, but manage it he did--I imagine this is where weighing 35 lbs comes in handy--and I came in to find several things on my closet floor where they had previously been up on the shelf.  Second place was shoveling the back deck in full snow gear, except wearing shorts instead of pants.  Last place was injuring his sister--he's learning some hard lessons today.

--On the way home from picking up the car I decided to grab some things from the store as well as a movie from the Redbox, because why not. This was fortuitous planning on my part, as we have another snow day tomorrow due to predicted frigid temps.

--I arrived home to injury on the part of Tiny E. I'm still not entirely clear on the whole thing, but suffice to say that there was blood involved, and everyone is patched up and safe.  The Cat Daddy performed the initial triage, we conferred and decided that home care would suffice, and I took over with the first aid kit and Bactine. Also, Tiny E barely batted an eye and is therefore the champion of all things.

--You know what the Cat Daddy is also too sick for? That's right, cleaning up blood.  One challenge with small children is that sometimes they try to help by getting a Band-Aid for their sister when the wound is too big for a Band-Aid, so their sister follows them around dripping little droplets until they find their way to Daddy so he can do the triage (and call Mommy to urgently demand that she return home NOW).  And blood somehow always appears greater in quantity than it actually is, so Mommy is left hoping she got it all, lest visitors think the snow day involved some kind of household blood bath. On the upside, it came up well and properly, so I think I'd take that over the finger in the eye.

--One of tomorrow's unusual plans is having our new-to-us piano delivered. This involves meeting the seller at 8 am to finalize the sale and do whatever the piano movers need to help them get the piano out of her garage and into our house safe & sound.  Task number one (I assume) was getting the solid 6 inches (or more) of snow out of the driveway.

--You know what else the Cat Daddy is too sick for? That's right, shoveling snow.

--All the children got dressed and consumed three meals, and the Cat Daddy began eating solid foods again. The day's allotment of laundry was completed (though portions of the putting-away were deferred because ain't nobody got time for that in this house), and bathing happened for at least one child (the Cat Daddy is NOT too sick to handle baths, thank God).  Apple cider vinegar was administered in vapor form to two individuals for the clearing out of sinus and nasal passages, although one balked and chose a conventional steam bath instead.  The dishwasher was run twice, and the toys were left strewn about until tomorrow, for when everyone is yelling and bouncing off the walls, and Mom decides to lay down the hammer and make these children WORK, for heaven's sake.

--And somehow I managed to squeeze in the season premiere of Psych on the DVR. Or rather, I managed to squeeze in one and a half season premieres of Psych, as my children disrupted the first showing and I had to go back and replay about half of the episode to gain understanding of the story. Totally worth it.

--I'm uncertain as to the Cat Daddy's whereabouts tomorrow, but it is no secret that I'm very much looking forward to a return of our normal routine (please God, let there be school on Thursday).  And this is the time of year where I start to dream about escaping to the Caribbean. Someday, it will come true...

January Snippets...

I am on approximately day 10 of the dreaded Winter Crud of 2014. The Cat Daddy taunted me about not getting a flu shot this year, and I was all "Flu shots don't work against a cold!" and besides, he got both the flu shot AND the crud, so either way neither of us proved anything. This is why it's good to live in the United States and enjoy the freedom to make one's own healthcare decisions.

Anyway, I'm this close to being all the way better, but one sinus is being a little stubborn about clearing, so I'm just waiting it out while I feel just a titch behind the curveball in wit and whatnot. So don't mind me if I stare at you more blankly than normal--it's not you, it's my sinus.  Also I'm headed to the doc next week on an unrelated matter, so if it's not better by then I'll answer "yes" when they ask if I'm having any pain that day. It's awesome when patients bring up extra stuff to squeeze into a 15 min appointment, right??

...Speaking of healthcare, I've been seeing this hullabaloo about the FDA making companies pull their antibacterial soaps from store shelves unless they can give a whole lot more substantiation to their antibacterial claims, and also something about triclosan being bad because it's a chemical (Everything is a chemical, BTW. I'm certainly in favor of minimizing the weird made-up ones whenever possible, but the tricky thing about not being a chemist is not always knowing for sure if you should be as alarmed as the article says you should).  I would like to jump on the bandwagon right now and say I was never fully on board with the antibacterial stuff anyway, because it's easier to say "I knew it!" than to have been the one along the way that may or may not have been perceived as "gross" for finishing a friend's gobstopper after she dropped it on the boardwalk a gazillion years ago (immunities!).

I will say this though--as little as I care for hand sanitizer, it has offered a baseline level of consolation in the absence of proper soap and water numerous times in my diaper-ridden season of mothering young children. What's more, it has given the Cat Daddy and me some much needed understanding and solidarity in times of trial, such as when we were road-tripping from Ohio back to Mass, and he was aggravated that I was taking so long changing His Highness's diaper, and went to put the diaper bag away, and I said "NO, I need that!" and he shot daggers at me with his eyes, and was about to launch into a speech about road trips and how getting started is half the battle, and for-the-love-of-all-that's-good-and-holy-we-need-to-GO-already, until I replied with great emphasis, "I have POO HANDS!" To which his demeanor softened entirely and he brought back the bag. Because once you've experienced poo hands, you understand the urgency...

...the countdown for Alabama 2014 is underway, although it's still in the early, I-Can't-Believe-It stages. Back when we used to move ourselves we'd already be gathering and assembling boxes by this point, and strategically planning packing order and whatnot, but we've agreed (some of us more eagerly than others) that the diaper-ridden season of mothering young children is a time to let go of a little control and let the moving company take most everything. This is extremely helpful when it comes to trying to move amid wrangling small kiddos, although it adds an extra phase at the beginning where you have to gather all the things you'll need ahead of time and hide them under lock & key, lest the movers pack them away and you don't see them for a month, as well as an extra phase on the tail-end of things, known as the Filing-Claims-for-Lost-or-Broken-Stuff phase, a subset of which is the How-On-Earth-Did-They-Break-THAT?? stage.

As for me, I'm somewhere between "Here we go again, we're winners at moving by now!" and "O God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?!?" We already have people in place on the receiving end, so we have that to look forward to, and if all goes well we will have quarters secured within the next several weeks. Some of our super-motivated go-getter friends have already signed leases--cycles turn quickly in the world of military school--but because of our holiday travel and overall hectic pace the past couple months, we are trusting there will still be some livable rental houses to choose from...

So overall, instead of a bang, I guess one could say our year is starting off with a kapow, or maybe a zoom, or something.

And speaking of the New Year, I've all but given up on resolutions.  Much like (many) rules, I've not had much success or positive outcome with resolutions--at best I tend to stop after a few weeks, and at worst, well--I guess the worst thing that's happened is that I've stopped trying after a few weeks. So basically, I stink at New Years Resolutions.

I like that One Word thing, though.  One word as an overarching theme doesn't rope me into certain failure at every occurrence, and it keeps with what God seems to do in my life anyway, which is to take me through seasons where I stew & meditate and learn about one idea at a time. So the One Word fits well, and my One Word is "act," which I'll explain in my next post...

On Hinky Butts and the In Between Years...

Because it's been a while since I wrote about my butt, I figured it was time for an update.

Long story short, the procedure I had (Google: prolotherapy) has been possibly life changing. For the first time in 19 years, my sacrum is stable.  I can bend or kneel or squat without fear of throwing my butt/back out of whack. Which is a big deal on its own, but bigger even so when you factor in kid-wrangling.  I'm not even sure I've taken time to process the magnitude of difference it has made.  There's something called body confidence, which in this sense is not about what you look like, but it's referring to telling your body to do something and being able to trust that it's going to do it. Over the years I trained myself to do all sorts of things asymmetrically, to avoid hinkifying my butt (highly technical terms, there), so in the past 6 months or so I've been working on undoing old habits and retraining on new, healthy, good body mechanics, trusting that my joints will hold as they should. So where sitting on the potty used to be cause for concern and anxiety, as I gain body confidence it is a celebration of my butt's alignment and stability. Yay for stability.

It would be wonderful to close the book there and say that's all there is, and Skerrib lived happily ever after with body symmetry and awesome alignment, but that's not quite the whole story. In fact, it's really only half of it.

In my last post about my back, I believe I left off with Dr Laub, which would've been around 2003 or 2004. After that time I entered several "in-between years" of fairly good results with physical therapy, followed by childbearing and breastfeeding, both of which are not good for keeping joints stable because there's this hormone (?) called relaxin which makes all of your ligaments loosen...which as my PT Mark pointed out is a very good thing for helping the baby exit the body in all the best ways  (Plus, even though my PT results seemed good, I was doing a whole lot of "favoring" my weak side, so I'll probably never know how stable I truly was--or wasn't).

The thing is, all that relaxin, as well as my propensity for extended breastfeeding, did not lend themselves well to encouraging joint stability, but I found myself in a weird state of equilibrium and peace with the whole thing. Of course I wanted my back to be all fixed, but we were pretty adamant about the children, and I'm a hippie about the breastfeeding, so it won out as a priority. In the meantime I did what I could to build some strength while understanding that as long as I insisted on having more babies I likely wouldn't be able to get a long-term fix on this thing.  The upside was having a fantastic PT in Wyoming whom I could see periodically, and just kind of letting my sacrum off the hook for a while. I mean, I was still frustrated with it, but not quite as adamant or crusade-y as before.  I gave myself a fuzzy deadline of "after the last kid," but beyond that tried to relax a little and keep perspective.  

Like I said before, even though my back pain seemed to take up a lot of space in my mind, there was a whole lot of life going on at the same time, and the upside of all that relaxin was that while it wouldn't let my SI stay stable, it also relaxed it enough to take away a lot of the pain, so other than knowing I was walking weird (to me), it really wasn't so bad for the most part.  I could keep running, and even noticed an improvement when I changed my running form and took out the heel strike. They say that it is less pound-y on the joints, and it sure seems that way for me.  

And finally, with the birth of our third kiddo, we declared ourselves DONE with great emphasis and glee, and three months later had all our stuff packed up for our relocation to the greater DC-area.  All of that followed by getting settled, and acquainted, and other such necessities.  

For a while I did that thing that happens to a lot of moms, where I got so caught up in caring for the kids, particularly the new baby, that I put my own issues aside. But after a few months (and my maybe-Lyme-Disease scare) I began to feel situated and pursued my own little health overhaul, which was less about doing lots of things differently and more about catching up on preventive stuff. Dentist, eye doc, and the like. And as I got to thinking about it, I realized that the greater DC-area is a veritable haven for doctors of all types. Seriously, there are a gazillion of them here, for anything you could possibly think of. So I figured I'd see if I could find one who was knowledgeable about spinal things, and see if (s)he knew about this procedure I'd been thinking about/avoiding for several years, and see if I might be a candidate for it...later on, of course. I don't know why I kept thinking "later on," but there you have it.

Well. It turns out in the 10 years or so since my diagnosis, there has been great advancement in the medical community's overall knowledge and acceptance of SI joint dysfunction and the treatment options available.  I did some serious digging on the internet (like 10 minutes) and found an entire medical GROUP dedicated to spine stuff, who takes my insurance. I made the appointment and prepared a big long speech. After years of explaining and re-explaining my issues and maladies, I was ready to self-advocate in a big way, only to have the doc go "Oh, here's this one move you can do. Go get some X-rays and an MRI, and come back in a month and I'll do the prolotherapy on you." And I did some huge mental prep work, because prolotherapy involves needles and I kind of hate needles, and it truly wasn't very much fun, but it was over within 20 minutes. 

I've decided that's how life is a lot of the time. When you're lucky you see the significance of the bigger moments ("Markers," if you will). I certainly saw the significance of getting a 19 year injury corrected.  But on the other hand, there is often a certain nonchalance about it. I was ready for a fight. I was ready for the profound struggle, many visits if necessary, the motivational montage, and possibly my own segment on 20/20 about overcoming adversity, but in the end it was 20 minutes of unpleasantness followed by a weekend of bed rest and then back to real life for the most part. 

Now of course it still doesn't end there, but this is where I'll have to pick up the next time. Dinnertime, and all...

A Little Jesus on Hump Day...

My friend, the Good Reverend, posted this on his Facebook page today:

Whenever I speak at a Christian college I can see the blank, anesthetized expressions of students who've already checked out. Bad religion has already vacated their hope and innocent trust. They are just complying through the motions of their faith. But each evening on this trip to Southwest Baptist University in Bolivar, Missouri, I spoke to an assembly of students who are risking the Original Good News is true. They showed up because they wanted to, enexorably drawn to the hope of a Jesus without the moralistic filter, like moths to a porch light. We laughed, cried and spoke life back and forth, each visibly verbalizing emerging confidence. And God met overwhelmingly with us. It was like we were saying to each other, "You believe this too? All my life I've secretly thought this was who Jesus was. I just didn't know anyone else did!" And we found each other. The Original Good news of grace and trusting our identity in Christ, it is finding footing again. Students like these, all over the world are finding each other. They will not be quiet. They will carry this freedom wherever God sends them. They know too much and cannot return to vapid, stifling religion of ought, pretending, control and shame. They've seen Narnia and will not return to anything less. It is beautiful to witness. One more chapel this morning, then home to my world where I learned this life. Reporting from Bolivar, Missouri, this is John Lynch, filled with stunning hope. I'm out.

I felt compelled to speak out in support. This is the kind of Christianity I've come to believe in. There are so many OPINIONS out there, even about what Jesus thinks and wants of us, and over time I am more & more convinced that this is the root of it. 

Some will say "Wait a sec, what about doing good and helping the poor and all that?"  And to that I say, absolutely he wants us to do that. But I think as much as the uptight Christians get it backwards and say "Hey, you'd better get your stuff together so God will be pleased with you," other folks get it backwards with different words: "Hey, as long as you care for others and do nice things, that secures your position with Jesus." 

Here's what I think: all of us are born broken in a broken world. Some call it sin nature, some simply call it humanity. But when it comes down to it, the standard is perfection and none of us can reach it. So Jesus died, blah blah blah, and now we can be saved from our sin, ourselves, sin done to us, etc.  It's available to anyone who wants it.  And if you want God, you get him.  And if you trust in him to save you, it's a done deal. You're his.

After that of course, we are still left with nice people and jerks. Yes, jerks can be Christians. And Christians can be jerks. A lot are, in fact; it's kind of sad. The working out of who we are in Jesus is messy business--just take a look at all the Christian religions, denominations, sects, and all that.  

But when we trust Jesus, not just to save us from our sin in the big-picture-sense, but to mature us into the new creations he says we are, things can get really beautiful (and NOT hateful, rude, and intolerant like we so often see in the outrageous media stories). And I'll be the first to say hey, I'm proof of that (And also I'm still a jerk sometimes, but I'm getting humility and he is always maturing me, so there's hope).

So maybe I'll start a series of posts talking about the Original Good News and all it has come to mean to me. There's a lot there to talk about--how to act toward others with different beliefs, how to maintain healthy boundaries and self-care, how to care for others without being co-dependent. And these are just my own personal issues--there are a ga-jillion things to talk about.  

Then again, maybe I'll lose focus and forget; so just in case, go here:

Truefaced (this is where the Good Reverend works)

or here: Truefaced Youtube channel

or here: Another Truefaced Youtube channel

Also, for those who know me in real life, I'm not going to sit you down and try to convert you or anything. Unless you want me to. Then of course I would be glad to.

But I do want to put this out there because it really is important to me, and I'm always glad to share. I keep trying to boil it down to a starting point, and I guess that starting point would be the same thing you can find in the New Testament:

Jesus died and rose again, and that changes everything...

On Displacement and Flying With Small Children...

Before I begin, a sidenote. I recently learned there is a made-up notation for sarcasm in the written word. It looks like this: /s  

As in:

Flying with kids is the best. It is the most fun ever. Flying standby is also the best (obviously), so put the two together and you are bound to have a rip-roaring good time.  /s

Due to a series of events of varying degrees of awesome and awful, my family found ourselves traveling mostly standby this morning, and by 'mostly standby' I mean that I had a confirmed seat and the others didn't. Also, by 'standby' I do not mean 'non-paying.' Good? Good.

Since she is still under 2, Tiny E was the wild card (maybe a lap baby and maybe not), but in the end there was space and she was awarded her very own seat. In between 2 strangers, about 20 rows behind my assigned seat. In addition, immediately upon boarding I found someone in my assigned seat (20 rows up from Tiny E's, remember).

Now, in general I am no-nonsense and a big fan of workings things out myself when possible (and I feel it's worth mentioning that the Cat Daddy had the same issue with the boyz and was able to negotiate a seat next to them in like 10 seconds with no trouble), but I also like to think I know when to call in help when I need it, so I skipped everything and went to the flight attendants for backup. It took some effort but in the end they were convinced that I did indeed need their help. 

First order of business, vacate my seat up front. A coupla calls, badda boom badda bing, and the occupant was directed to her proper location across the row. Second, offer one of the two ladies next to Tiny E a nice kid-free window seat (by the bulkhead, no less--I provide the best trades) in exchange for letting me take a seat next to my 18 month old who still nurses and isn't a fan of being away from Mommy (and who, by the way, isn't allowed to sit by herself, per the airline). A no-brainer, right?

Nope.

Both refused to move. One was nicer about it than the other, but neither was taking me up on the bulkhead window seat. 

Now, a moment to remind us all to be a little gentle. I have been the person who has moved to accommodate others, and I have been the meanie who wouldn't move. I truly understand both sides, and sometimes one really just wants to stay in the seat they picked out ahead of time, and got all comfy and situated, and all that. I get it.

That said, I also think they didn't fully understand the situation or the consequences of their decision, because the natural conclusion for me was to buckle my baby in and proceed peacefully to my quiet seat far away from any family members for the entire 5 hour flight. I mean really, that would've been a win, yes?? /s

I reeeeally wanted to see this all unfold, but sadly the flight attendant intervened, and we ganged up on the aisle seat lady, and she grumbled off in a huff to the bulkhead. The remaining lady apologized for not being 'able' to help us, and offered us some homemade banana chips, and we are on pretty good terms now. 

The best part though (/s), was that the displaced lady left her water, tablet, and foodie magazines in the seat pocket, forcing her to come back and ask for them several minutes later while I was nursing Tiny E (nursing in public prevents screaming babies; write that down, kids). 

I gave the lady a wry half-grin as I handed her things over and while she was not amused, I hope in that moment she understood. I mean, I forget sometimes that it is not my responsibility to make others see it my way...but I still like it when it happens.

And so I would like to ask you to keep your wits about you when asked for a favor, and make sure you understand what you are accepting or declining, because nursing toddlers on planes do best with their mamas, and there's really no getting around that. Even if you ALWAYS get the aisle and HATE being asked to move.

Also, if you have the opportunity to put your 18 month old in his/her own seat next to you instead of on your lap stuck between 2 (very patient) dudes for 5 hours like the week prior, by all means take it. Trust me on this...

Morningtime Concerns...

I live in a house of bossypantses.

His Highness went to bed with a very, very loose tooth. He spent the day wiggling it in our faces, showing us just how hangy-loose it was, and we spent the day going "Come on, just let me pull it," but he wouldn't let us. After he was asleep, the Cat Daddy even gave it a go, but it was just stuck enough that he couldn't get it out before His Highness would pull away and sleep-mumble "No, don't pull it..."

Well, guess what. His Highness woke up with a gappy grin and no tooth to be found anywhere.  We looked and looked and looked, but so far haven't found anything except his missing shin guard. He not only lost his tooth, he LOST his tooth.  

The Cat Daddy and I figured maybe he swallowed it. Having heard the story about how he once swallowed a penny, he said, "You'll have to check my poop, Mom."

Now I'm generally willing to help with a lot of things, but poo is where I draw the line.

I replied, "I will not. You can check your own poop, my friend, if you want your tooth so badly."

I did reconsider slightly. I said, "Look, we'll keep an eye out. If we see it on the outside of your poo, I'll help you recover it, meaning you will do the digging and I will give instructions. But I will do no actual digging or searching. If you want to do that you're on your own."

**Sidenote--I gagged a little bit, writing that last paragraph, and the thought of poo with teeth has set my brain down paths no one wants to consider, except maybe the South Park folks. End Sidenote** 

For his part, His Highness didn't seem terribly troubled. He's heard enough stories to know that if one loses one's tooth, one can write the Tooth Fairy a note and she will generally show grace and leave cash anyway. I told him to ask around at school to see if his friends and/or teachers had any other suggestions. 

It would be poetic justice if, along the way to our house, the Tooth Fairy somehow fell asleep and swallowed the dollar by mistake.

She'd better not though, because there is no way I'm digging through Tooth Fairy poo...