"I Just Don't Know What to Say!"

Countless times I've encountered someone in crisis and not know what to say or how to say it.  Usually I refer to my honest stand-by "I'm praying for you/your family,"  but there have been occasions where I've done the Wal-Mart turn around.

You know it. You see someone coming down the aisle at you and rather than have to deal with a difficult situation you either become engrossed in the varieties of chicken stock and make your decision with the weightiness of deciding whether Luda or Coolio is the greatest hip hop/rap artist since Tupac or turn your cart around with a sudden desire to return to the pet food aisle. Perhaps the 28 lb. bag will be insufficient.

Having been the recipient of many Wal-Mart turnarounds, I want to share what I've learned. (And if you said anything on the negative lists to me, do NOT feel bad. I know you had the best intention, and I love you for trying.  I'm posting this because I think we can better help others in crisis.)

Things to say when someone is in crisis:

I'm sorry.

You don't deserve this.

Whatever decisions you make are the right ones.

You don't have to make any decisions right now.

Life will get better.

You are bigger than this.

You are special.

I'm thinking about you.

I'm praying for you.

I'm here for you.

We can talk about what is going on if you want, but don't feel like you need to.

I want to help you. I will... (bring food, take your child to the park, clean your bathroom, rake your leaves, change your light bulbs, walk your dog, bring you copious amounts of chocolate...) and I won't take no for an answer.

How do you want me to feel?
I went through something similar.  If you want, we could talk about it.

Ask any concrete question about life.

One friend made it her mission to make me laugh. It was wonderful to hear funny stories and receive her daily text messages of affirmation. How can you be desolate when you have a stuffed dog shaking his hips to Sir Mix-a-Lot's best hit, "I Like Big Butts."

Things not to say:

I know exactly how you feel. 

You need to pray for the strength to forgive.

What are you going to do?

How can I help?
God has His reasons for this.

How are you doing? (Followed by sympathetic head tilt.)

The worst:

Say nothing.

My Secret Shame

From March 22, 2012

I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to make a pregnant woman pee in a cup on a weekly basis, but I'll bet all the impulse buys in Target that it wasn't a woman in her 3rd trimester.

You see, as the rate of doctor visits increases, the circumference of belly increases, and the volume of liquid reduces due the frequent need to release said liquid due to baby's increasing size and strength of kicks. This creates the opportunity for a perfect storm in the OBGYN's tiny water closet.

For those of you who are male or have yet to enjoy the privilege of carrying a 39 week fetus, I have a little experiment for you to try.

Supplies

Twelve ounces of drinkable water

One available toilet

One Dixie cup

One blindfold

Two extra large pillows

One roll of duct tape

One XL bag of white flour

Procedure

Step 1: Drink water.

Step 2: Lie on floor . Place bag of flour on your stomach below your navel. Place extra large pillows on top of flour. Duct tape pillows and flour to your person in a belt-like fashion. Make it tight. Tighter.

Step 3: Stand. Waddle the floor for 15 minutes.

Step 4: Head to the toilet with a dixie cup and blindfold. (See where we're going?)

Step 5: Tie on blind fold.

Step 6: Eliminate waste into Dixie cup. (Note: This may take a fair amount of Cirque du Soleil-ing.)

Did you have success?

Yeah, me neither. Every week I am weighed (thankyouverymuchfortheextraslidetotheright, nurse), handed a little cup, and marched into my own version of urine misery. Not only is it nearly impossible to aim, it is definitely impossible to see the stream, and incredibly difficult to manage the volume of product.

If too much product makes it into the cup I feel embarrassed about my output and generally pour the superfluous liquid into the toilet. Sometimes then, too much is poured out and I feel the need to refill, increasing the likelihood of splashing. On other occasions, I struggle to eliminate anything, much less allow it to make it into the cup. This is far worse, as I then apologize profusely to the nurse as she tips the cup angularly to check my hCG level.

After a few mortifying sessions (yep, I'm the cautionary tale person who dropped the plastic cup into the porcelain), I imagined bringing a funnel to assist. Its true. I'm a problem solver.

And, it worked.

(Now, you know my secret shame. And, because I know you're wondering... I threw the funnel away at the doctor's office. My freezer jam is safe to enjoy.)

Happy? Un-niversary

Three Years Ago

Three years ago, today, I vowed before God, my family, and my friends to love honor and cherish my husband. I gleefully and whole-heartedly promised to love him and to be faithful to him. My heart was light with joy and soppy-full of happyhope. I thought that 8/8/09 was the beginning of my happily ever after. Just over 30 months later I signed papers filing for divorce. I felt (and sometimes still feel) like a failure.

Going to a Christian counselor was one of the best decisions I made these past 6 months and he has really helped me handle this feeling, "I am a failure." Basically, he explained that just like it takes two to tango, it takes two committed people to make a marriage. When one person refused to be committed and actively chose to break vows repeatedly, the other cannot make a marriage alone. It just isn't possible. Even so, I regularly have to talk myself through his example to keep from getting down on myself.

I'm not sure how to celebrate this 'un-niversary.' Technically, today I have been married for 3 years. Do I cry about the loss of the marriage I thought I had? Do I hide out in my living room order to spare anyone the uncomfortable situation of seeing me today? Do I go on as though life is normal? Does Hallmark even have a card for this? (If not, I bet someecards.com does...)

(And, they did!)

I feel some sadness at the loss of those dreams I imagined. On our wedding day, I could picture being surrounded by family and friends 10, 25, and 50 years down the road. I never visualized that exactly three years later I would be alone listening to the deep breathing of our sleeping son and he would be serving jail time. Who could have forseen this?

I don't miss STBX (soon to be ex- which is the nicest acronym I can come up with) and don't want him back. (Ever. Evereverevereverever.) I don't want my marriage back. I'm so much less lonely now than I was living with him.

Even so, today I'm mourning. This should have been a day marked with celebration, or at least happy acknowledgment, but instead it commemorates a lost dream.

Time to dream a new dream.

He Doesn't Owe Me Squat

May 8, 2012

In the days between January 25th (the afternoon I found out about STBX's- Soon T Be eX- infidelities) and April 2nd (when Peanut was born) I worried. A lot. To those of you who know me or read this blog, it should come as no surprise that I worried.

Throughout those weeks, I was so fearful about life. I felt certain that something would be wrong with my little Peanut. Colic. Birth defects. Stillbirth.

My brilliant therapist said it best, "If I were driving my car along a road and it felt a little off, I would think, 'No big deal. I'll stop by a mechanic's shop and have the engine looked at. This is a problem I can fix." Then, while driving to the mechanic's out of nowhere a MAC TRUCK plows into me. I would then think that life was unpredictable and scary." (Metaphorical genius, he is.)

That was exactly how I felt about life.

When I shared my concerns with many others they assured me, "Your baby will be just fine. He will be born healthy, happy, and beautiful. God wouldn't add any more difficulties to your life. He knows just how much you're dealing with."

And then, I would feel better. 'Of course. God loves me. He doesn't want hardship to come to me. He will protect Peanut. He wouldn't give me more to handle right now.' I would be smug and comforted by the thought until the fears would return.

One day I shared my fears with one of the most faith-filled women I know, who also happened to be a colleague. She looked me in the eye and told me that my worries could be true. Peanut might not be healthy. She shared, "God doesn't owe you anything, Ashley. You owe him everything, and for everything he gives you, you should rejoice and be thankful."

Owie.

Her words stung, but the more I thought about and prayed about them, the more I knew she was right. God doesn't owe anyone anything. He loves us and wants the best for us, sure.* But it is in hardship that many find faith or deepen their relationship with Him. Isn't that a blessing in itself?

It was only through her words that I gained true relief. Whatever happened to Peanut and me would be okay because we had a powerful, loving God who gave his son for us (and you). He doesn't owe me anything, so I should give thanks for everything.

Everything.

*I assume and hope based on the experiences of my faith journey. It seems awfully cocky to say I know what God is thinking.   

Sleep Training Isn't for Sissies or In Which I Get Belligerent with a Book

Mommy hearts aren't meant to let their sweet babies cry. As I sit here in the overstuffed armchair my dad reclaims on every visit to my home, all I want to do is go rescue my adorable son from his loneliness. You see, we are sleep training. He is in his Rock'n'Play. Alone. I am in the living room. Alone. The dog is pacing the hallway, clearly unsure of why I am letting his little brother cry (evidenced by the way he nudges my hand or knee every three laps.)

Peanut is sad. I am sad. We are sad. (Je vous en prie, repete, "Peanut est desole. Je suis desole. Nous sommes desole.")

(Aside: That French was probably VERY inaccurate. Since studying French I've attempted German and Russian. Truthfully, I stink at them all. Sorry Madame Hodge, Keeta, and Maike.)

I could fix our saddies SO easily. Walk into the room. Pick up Peanut. Cuddle. Problem fixed.

Yay! Mommy fixed the saddies!

For now.

Unfortunately, I want Peanut to learn to self-soothe. For a few nights I've attempted to put him to bed awake, but drowsy after our nighttime routine. Every night except last night he fell asleep before I put him down. Last night he was drowsy and whimpered for a few minutes before crashing.

Tonight he was drowsy, but has now worked himself into a frenzy equal to the crowd waiting in line for deep fried Oreos at the Ohio state fair. 

In an effort to keep my tush in this chair I am reading and rereading Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Marc Weissbluth. My belligerance with this author is increasing. Example:

HSHHC: This may be the first time you will ignore your child's protests.

Me: No shit, Sherlock. Baby cries. Mommy fixes. Repeat. I want him to know that he can rely on me. Always. Leo+Mommy=Rainbows, push up pops, and cherry kool-aid happiness

See how happy cherry kool-aid can make one?

HSHHC: When your child is crying and he is not hungry, say to yourself, "My baby is crying because he loves me so much he wants my company, but he needs to sleep."

Me: Precisely! I will cuddle him as he sleeps. Agreed! (Begins to get up from chair as the next sentence catches her eye.)

HSHHC: I know the value of good sleep...

Me: (Warily agreeing) Yes...

HSHHC: ... and I love my baby so much that I am going to let him sleep.

Me: Damn you, Weissy. (Internal dilemna) Now if I go get him, The Weisster will accuse me of not loving him enough to give him quality sleep. Grr. (Booty resumes imprinting on chair.)

HSHHC: At some future point you will teach other health habits such as hand washing or tooth brushing... Later still, you're not going to risk brain damage by letting him ride his bike without a helmet.

Me: You're seriously equating picking up my crying, lonely 4 month infant with potential brain damage!? If I refill his disposable water bottle at socer practice when he is four, I suppose I'd be supporting cancer too, huh.

HSHCC: Starting early and being consistent are the keys to establishing good habits.

Me: Grrrr. Every once in awhile I agree with your drivel, and there you go, hitting my beginning of the school year theory perfectly. Rats. 

Hey... Leo is silent... Thanks, Dr. Weissbluth. (Until tomorrow, you blizzard-hating sadist.)

Soldier On

I'm totally overwhelmed by the response to this blog.

April 19, 2012

When I found out that my husband made choices which caused him to lose his job via resignation and deeply threatened the fiber of our marriage, I got out of bed. Despite the fact that I was 32 weeks pregnant, I got out of bed. Even though all I wanted to do was hide in bed with my dog and a box of Puffs Plus Lotion or do a full-out Jimi Hendrix on my kitchen floor, I got up.

Why?

Simple. I didn't have a choice.

I had a mortgage. I had a classroom of twenty-eight 4th graders who were in the middle of writing personal narratives. I had a car payment, a credit card bill, and utilities to pay. There were pets to feed. I had a baby on the way and a life to make for him.

I'd love to say it was my faith, or my family, or my friends, or my own determination that gave me the power to go on with day-to-day life, but the truth is starkly clear. I had no choice.

My life was falling apart all around me. If I laid in bed it would only continue to collapse, and I felt like I was dealing with enough problems for the moment. Someone had to step up and use the initial bits of duct tape and WD40 to begin to repair my life. That someone, by default, was me.

So, if you wondered how I went to work, or the grocery store, or to the doctor those days immediately following January 25th, now you know. I didn't have a choice.

woManning Up

From July 24, 2012

While revising and editing another blog entry I felt my spine tingle and then a trickle of wiggling snaked from my right shoulder to my left and back.

Was is a poignant observation?

A moment of foreboding?

A tickle of woman's intuition?

Nope. It was a bug. A shiny, jadeblack, six-legged creature. On my person.

Twelve months ago I might have shrieked and called in back-ups to kill it. I would have wiggled and itched and been creeped out simply by sitting in the same chair.

Not any more. When I reached around to scratch the wiggly spot and felt the bug move between my fingers I grabbed and threw that sucker to the ground in surprise. Then, I grabbed a paper towel and tracked down the invading creature, determine to destroy (or perhaps trap under a glass and release in the wild) the cretin.

I found. I smooshed. I flushed.

Victory.