The Year in Review December 30, 2008

2008 was a good year.

Yes, half the members of our household had to visit a gastroenterologist in the past year.  Yes, we collectively spent more time in doctors’ offices this year than Obama logged in the Senate.  (Or Palin spent as governor, whichever makes you chuckle.)  Yes, there was poking and prodding of family members young and old. 

At the same time, though… Did anyone have anything horribly wrong with them?  Nope.  Did things often turn out to be a lot less scary than they originally seemed?  Yep.  And why was that?  Ohhh, a little thing I like to call prayer.  I don’t think it’s a coincidence that cysts that were alarming were completely gone at a second glance.  I don’t think it’s a coincidence that The Husband’s MRI showed a possible tear in his shoulder that would result in 6-8 weeks in a sling and healing time of up to 6 months turned out to be something that put him in a sling for 1-2 weeks and 2 months’ healing time.

2008 brought answered prayer, new friendships, and strengthening for ”old” friendships.

It was a good year.

What will 2009 bring?

Christmas lovers, take heart! December 22, 2008

I know I broke some hearts with my post about my lack of Christmas… anything in our home.   Well, fear no more for my daughters and their decorationless holiday season — it’s Grandma to the rescue!

I came home on Saturday to find our two foot tree up on the bar at the kitchen, fully decorated and sparkling, and underneath was a pine garland intertwined with lights.  Not only that, but looking in at me from the porch was…

FROSTY!!

I had to turn him around, though.  He was staring at me.  Now he’s watching people as they go by.

I know you’re relieved.

Merry Christmas to all!

The Still, Small Voice Speaks Volumes December 21, 2008

The Husband is still recovering from surgery.  Li’l Bit is still recovering from an ear infection.  Big Sister woke up with a fever yesterday, and woke up today with a persistent cough.

I’m not going to lie — I grumbled.  I complained.  I whined.  Obviously we couldn’t go to church, and I like going to church.  I especially like going when I’m not working in the nursery and I’m able to be a part of the worship service.  Especially at this time of year — the Christmas music!  I think I’ve only been to one service with Christmas music so far!

So I pouted this morning.  No church.  No worship.  No visiting with friends.  Pout, pout, pout.

As I stood in the kitchen making an egg and toast for a little girl who asked for an egg and toast and then changed her mind and only wanted a bowl of cereal, a little thought came into my mind.  It was given to me softly and gently.

Vanessa, at least you have a family to care for.

What?  What was that?

Isn’t this what you wanted your whole life?  To be a wife and mother?  This is part of that.

Oh.  OH.

I looked down at the egg I was preparing and imagined it all over my face.

Yes, this is what I wanted my whole life.  A fan-freaking-tastic husband and beautiful children. 

And… While I’m at it… Didn’t I want that husband to be able to provide for me and my family?  That probably means he may have to work a little harder early in his career to move forward, doesn’t it?  Okay.  I’m getting this.

I am thankful for the job that The Husband has.  I am thankful that it provides insurance so that he was able to have surgery without thinking twice about it.  I am thankful that it provides insurance so that we are able to take our girls to the doctor when we need to.  I am thankful that I am able to go to a dozen appointments and wait in lobbies for 45 minutes to an hour to find out that I. AM. HEALTHY.

I am thankful for my sick little girls.  I am thankful that even though they are under the weather, one’s goal is to make me laugh by mooning me on her way to get dressed, and the other one joined in by trying to smile so big that I thought her face was going to crack.  (The inclusion of the mention of being mooned and the word crack was unintentional.  But I saw that and left it in anyway.  Because there’s a little Chandler in all of us.)

I am thankful that these girls came into our lives pretty simply. 

Thank You, God, for that reminder this morning.  This is what I always wanted.  Every single bit of it.

     And what happened then…?
     Well… in Who-Ville they say
     That the Grinch’s small heart
     Grew three sizes that day!
          How The Grinch Stole Christmas
          Dr. Suess

Filling Your Free Time December 17, 2008

Have some time off this holiday season?  Looking for things to do?  Look no further!  Head to FaceInHole and pretend you’re sticking your face in countless cardboard cutouts.  Find your TRUE self.  For instance…

Every woman's alter ego, am I right?

Consider this my gift to you.  Merry Christmas!

Choosing Jif December 16, 2008

Classic Jif.  It is all you will ever find in my cabinet.  (When we get a house, it will be all you will ever find in my pantry.)  Yes, I know, I know — hydrogenated oils.  But they’re yummy hydrogenated oils.  On sandwiches and along the edge of the slice of a Granny Smith green apple, or sometimes all by itself at the end of a spoon… As for me and my house, we will eat Jif.

I can’t always have Jif though.  If I go to someone’s house and they have Peter Pan, I will eat the Peter Pan.  Even if it’s crunchy.  I’ve been known to have a sandwich with natural peanut butter spread on one slice of bread.  Believe it. 

It’s not like I can carry around a jar of Jif with me wherever I go.  My bag would be really heavy.  So sometimes, I have to settle.

Settling for peanut butter other than Jif isn’t a big deal.

Settling for something other than God’s best for your life is.

I don’t know why, but I got to thinking about the past again.  I was so picky about silly things when I was younger.  Picky about the clothes I wore — not how they looked necessarily, just where I got them.  I would fight to the death before I’d go into Wal-Mart or, God forbid, Kmart.  Picky about accessories.  Picky about the TV I watched, making sure I watched the right shows so I’d be able to talk about them at school the next day.  You know, if I was asked.

What was I not so picky about?  Relationships.  Granted, I did have some wonderful experiences, but as I look back, I am dumbfounded at my own stupidity most of the time. 

It was kind of like my choices in clothes for a while.  It didn’t matter that they weren’t flattering me, as long as I got them at the right places.  Same with boyfriends — it didn’t matter if they were good for me, as long as I had them. 

I’m not around young adults as much as I once was, but I have a feeling that there’s still some of that  going around.  They won’t dare be caught wearing something that’s from a store outside of the mall, but they will fill their time with a person or with people who are only going to bring them down and make them look bad.

Furthermore, as picky as they are with their clothes or the food they eat… They are so not picky about what they do with the bodies they clothe and feed.  They’ll turn up their nose if you offer them the wrong kind of peanut butter, but they don’t think twice before kissing the wrong kind of guy.  Or having sex with what seems to be the right kind of guy.  (If he’s not the kind of guy who has put two rings on your finger, he’s not right yet.)  There was wisdom in 1995’s Clueless when Cher responded to criticism of her virginity with, “You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.”

I won’t lie.  I don’t like how often I settled.  Yeah, I guess you could say it got me to where I am now in a roundabout way, but I don’t think I had to go there to get here.  I could’ve just held out for Jif.

The frustrating part is, I doubt I would’ve listened.  Heck, I know I didn’t listen.  So why should young people today be any different from me?

Honestly, I thought they were smarter.  I hear about college students that I’ve known since they were my daughters’ ages and the choices that they are making, and I’m stunned.  I thought they were stronger than me.

I wonder if they know.  You don’t have to try the Peter Pan to figure out that Jif is best.  You can just like the Jif and live very contendedly.  Sometimes, it’s okay to just be choosy.

What Not to NOT Wear December 12, 2008

The economic crunch has reached Hollywood.  It has gotten so bad that when Jennifer Aniston was told by GQ that they had nothing for her to wear for her cover shoot, they meant it.

If you haven’t read about it or seen it yet, here you go.

Call me a prude, but that is not something I want to walk by and see on my way to pay for bread and milk.  Furthermore, it’s not something I want my daughters to see.  Or The Husband.  We can control what’s on our television, we can control what literature we put in front of us, but a magazine cover that is in plain view as you’re waiting in line or walking down an aisle is out of our hands.

Am I wrong here, or could that not easily be a Playboy cover?  Why couldn’t they have just put another shot on the cover and saved that one for inside?  I mean, I know why.  To sell magazines.  Duh. 

But…  It’s not fair.  I don’t want to see a picture like that out in the open.  Yes, I can look away once I’ve noticed it, but why does it have to be noticeable to me in the first place?  GQ isn’t hidden.  It isn’t tucked away where only the 18 and up can go.  It’s not wrapped in brown paper. 

The January issue comes out December 23rd.  Merry Christmas, pervs.  That peek’s for free.

Prudes of the world unite — our Christmas present to each other can be turning those issues around in their little cozy spots.  How ’bout it?

I long for a vice. December 9, 2008

If I smoked, I would’ve lit something up.

If I drank, I would’ve chugged something down.

If I swore, I would’ve cursed like a sailor.

Last night I was marking up a brand new dry erase calendar for the refrigerator.  You may think that sounds about as exciting as watching grass grow, but I love it.  I was also filling in a new appointment calendar.  Again, to some, mundane.  To me, much fun.  As I was completing my tasks, I looked at what I had written for Monday, December 8th.

Parent-teacher conferences.  Monday.  December 8th.  It was Monday, December 8th, and it was approximately 3 1/2 hours past the appointed time.   I’d written the date down correctly, but in my mind I was thinking that the 8th was Tuesday.  My mind clearly needs some work, especially considering how much I love calendars.

I sent a quick e-mail to the teacher and was able to reschedule.  The Husband may or may not be able to join me and the girls will both be there as well, but it will work.

Then this morning.  The doctor’s appointment that the nurse insisted I have.  I drove Big Sister to school and dropped Li’l Bit off at a friend’s.  I stayed for probably a little over twenty minutes visiting.  As I exited her home, I noticed a police cruiser parked across the street.  The officer was eyeing my vehicle.  As I approached it, she (crap) asked me if it was my car.  The answer I wanted to give: No, but I saw you and wanted to pretend to try and steal it.  I lack excitement in my life.  The answer I did give: Yes, ma’am.  She asked me who <insert The Husband’s name here> was, and I replied that he was my husband.  She walked toward me with a little notepad in hand, scribbling something.

OFFICER: Do you see how you’re parked?

ME: Over the sidewalk, right?

OFFICER: Yep.

ME: If I’d pulled up any further…

OFFICER: You wouldn’t have been able to get the baby out.  I understand.  That’s why I’m just giving you a warning.

ME: Thanks.

I stared at the yellow slip of paper in my hand.  32-years-old, and this was my first warning.  Ever.  I was even (unknowingly) speeding through a school zone once and only got a gentle talking-to.  But my first written warning was because I parked over a sidewalk.  I am a total menace to society.  Or at least homeowners’ associations.

I got back in my car and drove to my very important appointment.  There was no parking at the office.

I am 32-years-old, and this was the first time I had to parallel park.  I didn’t even have to on the driving test.  I can do a 3-point-turn with the best of them though.

I walked in the office, filled out my name and sat.  Yay for the December 12th issue of Entertainment Weekly.  (Jennifer Aniston swears.  Maybe that’s her vice.) 

My appointment time was 10:30 a.m.  I read.  I glanced at my watch.  10:45 a.m.  Then 11:00 a.m.  At 11:15 a.m., I walked to the reception desk and said I was going to have to go.  She assured me I was the next to go back, as soon as a room opened up.  I told her that unless the doctor was going to see me immediately and have me out at 11:30, I was going to need to go.  The receptionist said, “Well, we worked you in.”

Deep breath.  Smile.

“I didn’t ask to be worked in.  In fact, I said I didn’t mind waiting for the appointment I had originally.  But I figured if the nurse asked me to come in today twice, it might be important.”

They found my original appointment and I will return then.

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.  Bottoms up.  $#&%.

Stupid accountability… December 8, 2008

I had to go and write about women/moms needing to take care of themselves, didn’t I?  And instead of that being an encouragement for others to go out and head to their doctors, it just served as a big ol’ slice of accountability for me.

Believe it or not, I am still going to the doctor to have things checked out after that little scare I had a while back.  Nothing big, just making sure everything is looking normal.  I hadn’t been in a lot of pain (yay for that!), but there was something I thought I might ask the doctor about.  Even though I already had an appointment scheduled for next week, I figured I’d call just to be safe.  I explained what was going on, was put on hold, then the kind woman got back on the line and asked, “Can you come in tomorrow morning?”

Le sigh.

Here’s something that irks me once in a while.  If I worked outside of the home, going to the doctor wouldn’t be an issue.  The kids would already be taken care of, it would just be a matter of taking off of work.  That’s something I never had a problem with.  If I had to go to the doctor, I had to go to the doctor, and I didn’t give much pause as to what my employers or co-workers thought of that.  But when you stay at home, there’s a bit of juggling to do.  That’s why at-home moms need to stay healthy.  God knows this is my prayer, obviously this whole thing is one big teachable moment that I will be thankful for one day.  That’s the beauty of trials in your life when you’re following God — you know there’s meaning behind them.  It’s that whole waiting to realize the meaning that gets to me.

Anyway… When I realized that my childcare options were running slim, I made a quick call back to the doctor’s office to ask if they absolutely needed me tomorrow morning.  I was speaking to the same sweet woman I had earlier, and she put me on hold again.  She returned and told me yes, because of the issue I’d called about and because of the ultrasound results which she couldn’t discuss with me over the phone.  Argh.  She said I could bring my darling child with me, and I laughed until I cried and told her that was okay.  (Li’l Bit doesn’t take kindly to doctors poking at her Mommy, and we learned that the hard way.)

So I did find a very kind friend (one of the many I have – I do realize where I am blessed) to watch the little one, and off I will go to my appointment.  To be poked, prodded, and talked to about parts of my insides that I’d rather not concern myself with more than once a year.

All this, and as a bonus, The Husband is having surgery next week.  Excellent!

Ooh wait, maybe this means we both get to play nurse…

Sick Day December 3, 2008

I’ve been feeling kind of crappy the past couple of days.  This morning I didn’t wake up until a friend happened to call me approximately thirty minutes before I had to be out the door.

I looked at the clock and really considered just calling in sick.  I was miserable.  I couldn’t breathe, I ached, all I wanted to do was curl back up underneath the covers and sleep for another five or six hours…

That settled it.  I was calling in sick.

Only… wait just a gosh darn second…

I couldn’t call in sick.  Stay-at-home-moms don’t get sick days.

What they do get, however, is the opportunity to rush around getting themselves ready, obviously forsaking numerous steps in their routine, including a shower.  Then they get to rush into their kids’ bedroom and get them ready to be out the door in approximately 17 minutes.  All while feeling miserable and sluggish and hoping desperately something doesn’t drip from their nose because there’s not a second to grab a stinkin’ tissue.

Then they get to parade themselves out in public wearing whatever they threw on (and in my case, it was almost my pajamas), looking as sick as they feel.

Don’t you dare get me wrong, I love being at home with my girls.  I love that my youngest must have sensed my discomfort and chose to sit in my lap watching Monsters, Inc., for most of the morning, allowing me to shut my eyes for a few minutes here and there.  I know how fortunate and blessed I am.

I do, however, still look forward to a day when I can just be sick.  When I can make myself a bed on the couch, pull up a table to eat chicken noodle soup and sip regular Coke.  When I can put You’ve Got Mail in and enjoy every second of it, or just fall asleep to it with my arm dangling off the sofa, my fingertips dangerously close to a trash can full of used Kleenex.

Ah, the things I aspire to…

It’s not irony… December 1, 2008

But it’s something.

The other evening I was driving and about to OD on Christmas music.  Every single station on my presets was playing it.  Finally, the very last station on the second set of FM presets was playing 80s music.

But the artist they were playing?

Madonna.

That gave me a chuckle.