Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Hump Day

The way my life is currently structured, with various jobs and whatnot, Wednesday is the new Friday.  Sort of.  It ends up feeling that way most weeks, and is kind of nice.  I don't work on Thursdays, so it's sort of like I get two Fridays in one week.  Of course, I also end up sort of having two Mondays, but we won't dwell on that.

This first Friday of the week started out a little earlier than I had hoped for.  It started at around 3 a.m. when it thundered and my kids bolted out of bed.  It was then we realized there was a TORNADO WARNING and we all piled in the interior wallled downstairs bathroom.  Who doesn't want to be doing that at 3 a.m.?

Can we just take a moment to discuss the weather?  Because, frankly?  It is on my nerves.  I swear Nashville exists under some sort of snow repellent force field.  It's annoying.  I mean, I don't fancy moving to Alaska where there is snow year round.  But I don't mind a couple of good snows in a year.  Ok, so fine.  Snow can fall in all surrounding areas and skip me, but DO NOT bring a tornado up in my life in the middle of January!!

When we first moved to Nashville I was amazed at the amount of tornadic (spellcheck is telling me that word is wrong.  I just can't imagine it any other way) activity.  Did I accidentally move to Kansas? Over the years I have learned to brace myself for tornado season.  The bracing has been ratcheted up since having two children who are terrified of storms. But, let it be known that I will not abide tornadic activity in the middle of winter.

And by not abide, I mean, there's not one cotton-pickin' thing I can do about it, but I think it is absurd.

So, in sum, last night: high 70s, tornado.  Tonight? Snow flurries.  Obviously.

But the good news is, tomorrow is first Saturday!  I'm beginning my weekend state of mind starting....


Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Something or Nothing?

My day can be summed up by two things:

First, Emily and I ate ice-cream sandwiches from the Dollar Tree for lunch.  Not just having dessert before lunch.  It was our lunch.

Second, in the same store there was a woman who reminded me SO MUCH of my mom that I almost a) hugged her, and b) started sobbing.

I'm having a grief flare these days, and I'm not a fan.

Right there is where I should end this post, because I really don't have anything else to say.  This is why I'm a terrible "regular" blogger.  It's hard for me to come here and just jot down some stuff for the sake of putting up a post.  The truth is, though, that I don't mind reading those kind of posts on other people's blogs.  I'm trying to decide if I will post on nothing days or not.

It's those big life decisions, you know?

Also, I love when you comment!  Not because I'm a comment hog or care anything about a blog stat (whatever that might be)  It just makes me feel connected to you.  I know there's some sort of signing up process to it.  I'll look into whether or not I can fix that.  But for those of you who do, thanks! (Ps. Do you like my optimism about "fixing" something on here?)

Currently, my heart is simmering with emotions.  We all know simmering leads to a rolling boil, and if we're not careful, a big mess on the stove top.  Some of what may show up here in coming days will probably not put you in a good mood.  I am sad, so sad is probably what is leaking out all around me.

We'll just all cross our fingers that another kid will use private part language in Sunday School, just to lighten the mood!

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Sunday: Say What??

All of you know I spend a lot of time around kids.  Little kids.  The kind of kids that have no perceptible inhibition or shame.

Today...well, today takes the cake on any and every word I've ever heard come out of a child's mouth.  And friends, that's taking the cake from a lot of words.

I taught Sunday School today.  I was sitting on my comfy blue stool working like a fool to engage a roomful of three year olds in today's story.  All of a sudden, one of the volunteers says, "Henry (not his real name.  Protecting the innocent-ish) please don't take off your pants."  Say wha?  I look over to my right and sure enough Henry has unsnapped and unzipped his pants.  Ummm....

"Henry," I say, "We don't take off our pants at church.  Do you need some help zipping and buttoning them?"

Says Henry, "But my [insert technical term for male part] hurts."  I say nothing.  Because, really?  What does one say?  So, unfortunately, I didn't cut it off at the pass.  I really should have.  Because this came next, "Sometimes my [insert technical term for male part] hurts because it gets hard."


I seriously did not feel I was going to be able to recover from this one.  The other teachers and I just looked at each other-eyes big as saucers.  And then I started laughing.  A lot.

Thank goodness the rest of the class seemed glassy-eyed and oblivious.

It is my life's greatest wish that I still know this child when he gets married.  And that he invites me to his wedding.  I'll be old by then. You know, the kind of old where you have no perceptible inhibition or shame? It'll be one hell of a toast...

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Catching Up and Hanging On


I was informed by someone close to me that it is no longer the day after Christmas.

You could've fooled me, though, because I only put my Christmas decorations up today.  I have a really good reason that only slightly lands on the side of productivity over sloth.  I have been involved in a month long attic/closet purge.  Oh yeah.

My attic is the place in my house that I loathe the most.  I really try to be thankful for my attic, contemplating all the people in the world who have no attic, or no need for an attic, because only when you have too much stuff do you need an attic.  But, try as I might to count my 1,000 attic gifts, I can't get rid of the bitterness.  First, its placement is horrible.  The attic stairs are in the master bedroom closet.  This means the landing area for things needing to go to the attic is in the master bathroom.  Which, you know, is what you want if you're going for the Sanford and Son look in your bathroom.  (You just sang the theme song, didn't you?) Also?  The opening is so narrow.  Also? There are these springs that open the door and they jut out another inch making the opening even more narrow.

Because of my sheer impatience with the attic situation, I have been in the habit of just cramming stuff up there as fast as possible.  This resulted in a horrible mess in the attic.  And it was on my nerves.  You should also know there was a pre-Christmas attic incident that really takes the cake in the Christmas Tree stories category.  I didn't blog about it because, at the time? Not funny. It involved me putting my foot through the ceiling.  Let 's just say that major home damage will bring all the cheer and merriment to a screeching halt.

Have I mentioned I hate my attic?  I didn't really intend to write a whole post about my attic. Apparently, I have some pent up emotion...

Anyway. I finally decided to clean up the attic-make it more organized and a little neater (more neat?) Donning the head lamp Nana Karen got for one of my children for Christmas, I went head to head with my attic, and frankly, I kicked its ass.  I hope you're not offended that I said "ass".  Sometimes you just need that stronger word.  (Someday I'll talk to you about my hatred for the word "butt", especially as a prefix...)  The attic is purged and organized (along with three other closets!) and now the Christmas stuff is tucked away.  I even found a new place to store the Christmas Tree. I'll take a picture soon, so you can see.  It's redneck-alicious! All of this work is why there has been no blogging.

That, and I have been out of words for a while.  I have rammed up against some sort of emotional wall. And the really scary part is that I don't even really want to deal with it.  It's sort of like I smashed into the wall, slid down it, and just decided to stay.  I don't want to examine the wall because we all know how that goes.  It usually involves crying, which leads to a cry headache (please tell me someone else gets these!), which leads to needing to lie down with a cold pack on my eyes.  So, I say, let's skip all the crying and just get in bed with a cold pack!

I believe the fact that the pace of my life has slowed for the first time in 2 years has led to a true mourning over all that has come to pass in that time.  I'm tired.  Soul tired.  That deep, down weary that doesn't go away with a nap or a cup of coffee.  I've decided grief is like a chronic condition.  Once you get it, its never going away.  Some days will be good days.  Other days grief will flare and threaten to choke out your very breath.  Some days there is peace in your heart.  Other days grief comes like a battering ram.

What marks this life as fallen is the loss.  It hurts so much because it was never meant to be this way.  We were meant to experience life together without the rift of separation.  Without separation from each other and without separation from God.  The fall, and ugly, black sin, ripped a hole right through what should've been.  And it's been going about ripping holes ever since.  That's what it feels like-ripping.

I've been through a season of a lot of ripping.  My soul is raggedy and in need of some mending.  I've decided not to make a project out of it.  I've invited the mender to come, and I'm just going to wait.

That's His business, you know.  Mending.  I hope you know Him that way.  You don't have to make it a project either.  Just ask Him in to start sewing up the holes.