Jesus Is My Prozac May 25, 2009

Before I start, let me just say that I am in no way mocking Prozac or users of said prescription drug.

I don’t know why it takes me so long to GET things.  I mean, you would think that after having been a Christian for 22 years, I’d GET more.  But, no.  I’m still learning.  I mean, yes, that’s a good thing — a wonderful thing — but, MAN, it would have made my life a lot easier if I hadn’t been so dense!

I mentioned the house hunt before.  I mentioned the need to trust God, trust The Husband, even trust our realtor.  Well, this week all of that was tested, big time!  Well, and some things were confirmed.  It was incredible, really!  First, our realtor called me and told me to check my e-mail, there was a house that had just been listed and she thought we would be interested.  Going by the descriptions — because no pictures were up yet, it was so new — it was just about as close to perfect as it could be.  She made some calls and we were able to see it that night.

When I learned we were going to see the house, I sent out an e-mail to several friends asking them to pray.  Not just about the house, but about how I reacted to it and to The Husband. 

We walked into the house and my heart pounded so loudly that I was pretty sure it was echoing off of the tile floors.  There was not one thing wrong with it.  Well, there were chickens in a pen in the backyard, but we figured those would leave when the owners did.  But other than that, we only saw a few little tiny minor cosmetic changes that would need to be made.  I knew that we were inside a great house.  I knew that this was quite possibly the best house we’d laid eyes on yet.

Somehow, though, I did not jump around excitedly saying, “This is it! This is the one!” 

Then our realtor started talking to The Husband about what we’d seen prior to this house, what the possibilities were, and then she asked him what he thought.  I heard him say the words, “I want to make an offer.”

Somehow I did not faint dead away on the spot.  Somehow I did not pee my pants.

How did that happen, you ask?  Because people were praying for me.

That sounds pretty great, doesn’t it?   Hold on, it gets better…

Just two days later, our realtor called again — the seller was overwhelmed by the number of offers she received on her house in such a short time and took her home off the market.

Did I cry?  NO!  Did I pout?  NO!  Did I even complain? NO!

As I’m writing this, I promise you there is a total sense of awe just remembering the utter calm that went through me.  Now, it is still possible that the house could be ours (it was already a short sale, the seller sadly may not have much choice)… But even if it doesn’t work out, I’m okay!  God has got the perfect house for us out there!  And I know it!  I feel it!

WHY DID IT TAKE SO LONG?!?

I’ve noticed something else though.  This peaceful, easy feeling has trickled down to other aspects of my life! 

The Husband and I are part of an incredible Sunday school class that is really a lot like a family.  We’ve been part of this group for 6 1/2 years.  I love these people and love spending time with them.  With that being said, for the past 6 1/2 years, whenever there’s been a get-together, I have been an anxiety-ridden mess beforehand!  I could never really put my finger on what exactly was stressing me out, but know The Husband got the worst of it before we would get there.  Me stressing over what to wear, changing outfits half a dozen times — basically just being antsy and incredibly irritable.

When we would arrive at our destination, I’d have a good time, but I know I was still freaking out.  Even when we just had Big Sister, I would want The Husband to be watching her more closely.  I wanted to know where she was at all times.  Then when Li’l Bit came around, there was an honest to goodness period of post-partum depression, followed by double the crazy self-induced frenzy I put myself through…

Where are the girls?  The Husband isn’t watching the girls!  Did you eat all your food?  Did you make a mess?  Go clean up!  Put your shoes back on!  Do you need to go potty?  Come on, let’s go!  Do you have everything?  Get your shoes on now!

(Now, if you’ve gone through this yourself, help a sister out and let me know I’m not the only one!)

I can’t imagine I was that much fun to be around.  That might be why The Husband and I don’t get invited out much on the weekends, ya think?

But I guess last week that peace really got a hold of me.  We just went to a social.  While I did change my clothes a few times, I did not run around the house like a chicken with my head cut off.   There was no arguing, no bickering, no mad dash to get to the car.  When we got to our friends’ home, something amazing happened — I totally and completely enjoyed myself!  I played with my girls, I talked with my friends, I RELAXED!

This may sound trivial to you, but to me… I am still reeling.  I am still basking! 

The sad truth is, this isn’t new to me.  God has given me this kind of peace in much more intense circumstances — I even wrote about it!   And what’s more, the Bible spoke of this in a couple of very commonly used verses!

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Philippians 4:6-7

Do you see that?  It’s a cause-and-effect thing!  Don’t be anxious about ANYTHING!  Let your requests be made known to God with THANKSGIVING!  And then, THEN, the peace of God — which at this very moment I would not even attempt to understand — will guard our minds and hearts!

Hel-LO!  Do you know  how many times I have read those verses?  I’m sure I’ve used them in a Bible study or two!  And today… Today I finally get it.  My mind and heart are at rest, when just a week ago they were in turmoil.

Even though it would have been nice to have gotten this some time ago, I’ll take it now.  Thank you, God, I’ll take it now!

 

Letter to Lambert Lovers May 21, 2009

Dear Fans of Adam Lambert,

I am sorry for your loss.

Okay, truthfully I didn’t really watch AI often this season, but I watched enough of Adam Lambert to know that I didn’t care for his style of singing.  I think it was his rendition of a Johnny Cash song that did me in.  I know he has an amazing voice (case in point, even though the tongue is quite distracting – and watch Val Kilmer do incredibly bad without even saying a word).  All in all, though, I grew bored this season and only caught glimpses here and there of the competition.  

But, friends and strangers alike who so adamantly believe now that America is a bunch of white bread homophobic morons with no taste or ear for talent (as your Facebook statuses suggest), I have some questions for you…

Did you really think that the Gokey fans would vote for Lambert?

Since he is so talented, don’t you think he’ll be able to make it without winning?

Does winning American Idol really make a difference?  (Just ask Ruben Studdard, Fantasia Barrino, or Taylor Hicks.)

And, finally…

Obama is President!  What more do you want?!?

Lots of love,
Vanessa

Be vewy quiet… May 13, 2009

… I’m hunting howses…

The Husband and I are continuing our house hunt, and I am about as confused as frustrated as Elmer Fudd would get when Bugs would cross-dress.  Am I doing too much work?  Should my realtor be doing more?  Why isn’t The Husband seeing what I’m seeing?  Should we be building?

CALGON, TAKE ME AWAY!

The last time The Husband and I went hunting, we walked into a beautiful home in a great neighborhood.   The floor plan was right.  The size was right.  I walked around and mentally placed my furniture, decorated the girls’ room, and arranged the office.  While I was doing that, The Husband was pointing out that the porch was small.  Very small.  Very, very small.

Not wanting to cause a scene in front of our very patient realtor, I busied myself taking care of Li’l Bit.  I may have pouted… I may have stomped a bit.  Okay, so she probably could figure out that I was upset, but I didn’t say anything.  I waited until we got home, and then I cried like a baby, left the house, phoned a friend, whined, then went on about my merry way.  I had to go on about my merry way, because the friend I phoned gave me wise counsel and I could no longer feel sorry for myself and think nasty thoughts about The Husband.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, just last night The Husband came to me and the discussion went a little something like this:

HIM:  The night we met, were you looking for a husband?
ME:  [indignant]  No!  As a matter of fact, just a couple of days before I had prayed and told God I would be content with being single for as long as He wanted me to be!
HIM:  So you were trusting God that He would bring the right man into your life?
ME:  Yes.
HIM:  Don’t you think He’ll do the same thing with our house?  [exit stage left]

*sigh*  For the record, he is right a lot.  A LOT.  It can be REALLY ANNOYING!

I started thinking about how house hunting was kind of like dating, because I love a good analogy.  (Actually, it doesn’t even have to be good, I just like analogies.)  I was thinking about when I was younger and I would date.  I would go out with a guy and wonder, “Is he the one?”  I would write my first name with his last name all over a piece of paper.  With my middle name, with my maiden name.  Mrs. Vanessa HisLastName.  I would daydream about what our kids would look like. 

Then, one horrible marriage and an abusive relationship later, I wised up.  I needed to be pickier, to notice qualities that wouldn’t work for a long-term commitment.   AND I most definitely needed to trust that God would show me the right one when he came along.

So, same thing with these houses I’m seeing.  First and foremost, I do believe God will let The Husband and I know when it’s the right one.  Just like the night we met.  Or, if you don’t believe in love at first sight, on our second date, when we talked and talked and talked and found out that we had all the same ideas and hopes for our futures, and when I grabbed onto his hands to show my enthusiasm for something we were talking about, it seemed like electricity filled the room and…

Okay, back to real estate.

God will show us the right house.  The Husband wants this just as bad as I do — he’s waited just as long.  He also wants it to be right.  He wants it to be a long term commitment.  It’s worth it to be picky, and just see some of these houses once and then dump them.  I don’t need to get all carried away and start doodling my name above the address on a college-ruled sheet of paper hidden in my Trapper Keeper.

I trust God, and I trust The Husband. 

One day my House will come.

B.C. and A.D. May 12, 2009

This is an essay I entered in a contest that our newspaper had for Mother’s Day.  I didn’t win, but they did quote part of it — the mushiest part, of course.  I guess I needed more sap! 

My life can be divided into two eras: B.C. and A.D. – that’s Before Children and After Delivery.

Before Children, I doubt I ever even used the words “poopy diaper,” “placenta” and “pureed peas”. After Delivery, I was able use them all in one sentence – and it would make sense. Before Children, I took for granted the ability to go to the bathroom without an audience. After Delivery, I became a master of heading to the restroom silently, delicately tip-toeing like a ballerina in new shoes on a freshly waxed stage.

In the B.C. Era, I was entertained by Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Monica, Joey and Phoebe. Living in A.D., it’s Mover Rich, Mover Dave, Mover Scott, Mover Smitty, Nina and Knit Knots. Instead of hearing about Ugly Naked Guy, I’m hearing about Warehouse Mouse – which is an improvement, really. The B.C. Me didn’t understand how parents could let the television “babysit” their kids. The A.D. Me needed 25 minutes to get ready in the morning and decided “preschool on TV” was ingenious, and one episode of Dora the Explorer wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Before Children, I didn’t eat vegetables. (And, contrary to what I was told might happen, lived to tell!) After Delivery… Well, I still don’t eat vegetables that often, but I do try them more. I take a deep breath, smile bravely and show my children just how delicious broccoli really is – or whatever green, slimy, oddly textured side item is on my plate. (Which is how I found out I like asparagus. Go figure!)

In my life Before Children, the only image of myself I could count on was the one looking back at me in the mirror. After Delivery, I became aware of my own reflection as it was presented to me in miniature form. My words repeated, my actions mimicked. No other life experience made me want to change for the better than knowing I could be shaping two little personalities with my own.

Before Children, I thought I knew joy and pain. After Delivery, I realized that those emotions are far more intense when seeing them through my children’s eyes, and feeling them through my children’s hearts. There is no greater joy than theirs, nor is there any greater pain that that which breaks their spirits.

Before I became a mom, I thought I loved, respected and appreciated my own mother. After I became a mom, I realized that I still did – only on a whole new level. I am in awe of her – for putting up with my sister and I and what we dished out, for holding herself together when we made choices that could have had disastrous consequences, and for showing us a strong and constant love through it all. If I can be a fraction of the mom to my girls that she was to me, I’ll be happy.

Interestingly enough, at this point in my life I’ve spent far more time in the B.C. era than A.D. And although B.C. brought me from infancy to adulthood, I believe A.D. has brought about more change, more growth, and more fulfillment than anything offered in the 27 years prior. The changes I have experienced have been for the better, all because of the two precious agents of change that brought them about.

Mom May 7, 2009

Sunday is Mother’s Day.  If somehow that comes as a shock to you, then you need to step away from the computer, head to your nearest Hallmark and buy your mama a card.  Then mail it.  Or hand-deliver it, whichever works.  But let your mom know that you’re thinking about her.

I have had some amazing moms in my life.  Yeah, moms.  Lemme ’splain.

My Mother-In-Law.  Our poor maternal in-laws, they get such a bum rap.  Now, I know some of them earn that reputation, but there are so many amazing in-laws that hardly get any air time.  Take it from me, very few people want to hear about your incredible mother-in-law.  They only want to hear about the time she gave the 6-month-old baby chocolate-covered peanuts while administering the first haircut, all without the baby’s mother’s approval and/or knowledge.  I don’t have any stories like that about my mother-in-law.  She is sweet and loving, honest and caring.  She respects my decisions for my girls, and if she’s going to give unsolicited advice, she does it in such a soft and sensitive way. 

She also gets a zillion brownie points for raising The Husband to be the man that he is today.  

My Granny.  That’s my mom’s mom.  I lived with Granny for several years.  Even though she was mostly homebound and connected to an oxygen tank while I was there, that didn’t stop her from caring for people.  It didn’t stop her from taking action when action needed to be taken.  If a family member was in the hospital and Granny couldn’t visit, you could bet that she was going to be calling the nurse’s station to find out how they were doing, and making sure that they were being well taken care of.  When I was away at college, she sent me cards and care packages a couple of times.  When I’d come home, she’d make sure one of my favorite meals was waiting for me.

There were times when Granny’s emphysema made it very difficult for her to even get around her own home.  She didn’t feel sorry for herself, though.  The world never just revolved around her.  Sure, she certainly could have been considered a “tough old bird,” but that woman had a heart of gold.  You never wondered where you stood with her, you always knew that she cared.

I can be so self-absorbed sometimes, and narrow-minded, only considering how certain things will affect me and my life.  Then I think about Granny, who could have very well given up on caring about other people and their needs — she had her own problems to deal with!  But she didn’t.  She did the best she could with what she had in any situation.  She was awesome.

My Mom.  What can I say about my own mom?  I know growing up that I never wondered if my mom loved me, I always knew.  And it wasn’t like she was a huggy-touchy-feely kind of person — I just KNEW.  Maybe it was in the way she took care of us.  The Husband still has to remind me when I’m sick that he’s not my mom.  When I was younger and would have to stay home from school, it seemed like I never had to ask for anything, it would just appear.  I would think, “Boy, a small glass of juice would be great right now,” and there she would be with a glass of juice!  Or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with just the right amount of each spread on to the slices of bread.

Sure, as I grew up I had my moments of “ohmygosh my mom doesn’t know ANYTHING,” but I’m pretty sure those moments passed quickly, because I always thought my mom was brilliant.  Not just smart, although she was and is very smart, but also wise.  Oh, so wise.  And, almost, all-knowing.  I can’t even count the number of times I would confess something, only for her to tell me she already knew.   And she never made me feel like my problems were small.  I’m sure in her life she had plenty of her own crap to deal with, but she always took the time to hear about mine.

If ever I have met someone who knew or knows my mom, they always have kind things to say.  I consider it high praise when someone says, “You remind me so much of your mom.”

Growing up, my mom was an excellent parent.  Now that I’m “all grown up” (when do I actually get to feel that way?), she’s still an excellent parent, but she’s also one of my best friends.  I have never been afraid to tell her anything, ask her anything, or come to her for any reason.  If I can be just marginally the kind of mom to my girls that she was to me and my sister, I think I’ll be doing okay.  I would love for them to grow up and have the kind of relationship with me that I have with her.

Moms out there, I hope you have a very Happy Mother’s Day.

To my mom, I love you so much.  You are an incredible woman and a wonderful mother.  You’re also a pretty awesome Nana.  Thank you for everything — for being you, and for making me me.  You are the wind beneath my wings. 

What?  Too much? 

I love you.

Note to Self May 6, 2009

• 8:30 p.m. is clearly too late for you to have a grande chai tea latte (with skim milk).
• Sitting downwind of college students who are smoking clove cigarettes will make your hair stink and your throat sore.
• When you live in the same place for 33 years, you will run into someone you know every time you go out.
• There are little tabs on sides of the boxes of aluminum foil so the roll doesn’t get yanked out when you’re tearing it.  (That information is, indeed, awesome.)
• Holy crap, she blogged!
• The best sign you’ve ever read said, “If the world didn’t suck, we’d all fall off.”
• A brownie at close to 2 in the morning after you’ve been on a caffeine high probably isn’t a wise idea.  Especially after you realized that you did have a chocolate chunk cookie before the latte earlier.
• The “Record This Series” option on the DVR has to be selected in order for it to work.
• This post is a knock-off version of this.  And this.
• You need to go to bed.