It is so wonderful how you learn from your kids.
In a conversation with “the boy” this morning, we were
discussing his future entrepreneurship as an inventor. His latest addition to his creative repertoire:
Frog Suits.
Yes. You read that correctly – frog suits.
Evidently (according to Sam), frog bodies do not have enough protection. Therefore, they need utilitarian suits in which to better defend themselves from the perils that are associated with being tiny thin-skinned amphibians. A brief description follows:
-Primarily made of metal
-Plastic (not glass) helmet shield “force field” for the head (see-through, so you can tell it’s a frog)
-Jointed arms/legs so the frogs are not “stuck like they are dead”
-Heart replacement device in case they die (or “croak”—har har—I added the pun myself)
-Mechanical gloves that will allow frogs to move their fingers
I asked Sam just how many frog suits he thought he would need to make. His first guestimate was one hundred. After pondering for a moment, however, he realized he would need more like “a billion trillion” to cover the demand of all frogs on the planet.
Sam then commented that his room would be his workshop. I said it would probably need to be more like a factory since there would be such a high frog suit output. I also recommended that he consider hiring a helper/employee:
Me: You know; that’s a lot of frog suits. You might need someone to help you make them.
Sam: Like an automaton?!!
Me: Or a human friend…
Sam: (silent for a moment)….. Maybe Cameron (a friend from school). But I will have to tell him how to do it because he is not good at it.
We were almost late to school this morning as a result of this conversation. But I felt it was worth it. I found it to be sooooo fascinating. It was so the masculine version of my own fantasy life when I was little. Where I was thinking about unicorns and sparkles and rainbows as a child, my own child is thinking about turning frogs into cyborgs.
But even more interesting to me was Sam’s response when I suggested he might need human help with his proposed endeavor. He was reluctant. He didn’t think his friends would have the mental or inventive wherewithal to be capable of such a task. He was the expert, and the only one who would know how to do it right.
I remember playing unicorns on the playground with my friends when I was little. I was forever exasperated because my playmates were constantly failing to live up to my vision of the perfect unicorn life. “You’re not whinnying right!” and “You’re not galloping pretty enough!” are a couple examples of “helpful advice” I was
constantly dishing out in the schoolyard.
I look back at those years with complete embarrassment. I was a bossy jerk of a child. And I kind of knew it. Thankfully, however, my long-suffering friends loved me enough to stick with me in spite of my officiousness (some of them may actually even read this!). But honestly…I did not set out to be a third-grade fascist. I had my idea of how things should go, and I knew that if I could just transplant my brain into the brain of someone else, they would see just how brilliant my imaginings really were. I desperately wanted the world to be shiny, rainbow-y, and gorgeous. And I had nowhere else to look outside of the people closest to me. But they were just people and they were definitely not making my vision happen.
I feel sorry for Sam because of this. I see how unique he is, and he is definitely showing signs of feeling emotionally isolated. I see just how similar he is to me. But maybe he will be different enough to not be disappointed when the world doesn’t go his way. Maybe instead of retreating out of frustration, he will really come up with ways to make the world a shinier (more robot-y) place. And maybe he will learn to adjust when other kids aren't exactly how he wants them to be.
Maybe I will grow out of it someday, as well.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Songs from Before
So I thought it might be fun to occasionally post a blog about music I have loved. I *strongly* associate music with previous experiences and life events. Songs bring those moments back almost as vividly as a smell. I suppose it has something to do with my hippocampus. I will be walking down an aisle at the grocery store and will have to stop in my tracks because a song will stir a memory so intense it's like it has transported me elsewhere. I was going through my song collections last night. Lots of fun. I thought I would start with:
"You Are My Sunshine" is the first song I can remember hearing. It was my favorite in a set of songs my parents would sing with me in the car. We would be going on long trips and we would sing "You Are My Sunshine", "Home on the Range", "Skiddle MuRinky" (questioning the spelling on that one), and others. This song also brings back memories of my first bedroom living with my parents. My bedroom looked out an open field full of tractors behind our house. The back of the house faced west, which made for a lot of struggle on my part in going to sleep during the summer. I remember light streaming in and hearing the voices of other kids playing outside. It was so completely unfair I couldn't be outside too. But my mom would sing this to me and it always made my heart happy (even if it wasn't showing on the outside).
It always was and always will be my dad and mom song. I sing it to my kids and it makes me think of them, still.
This particular version is by Elizabeth Mitchell and is on her album with the same title. It is the sweetest rendition I have found (other than my dad playing it on guitar, of course).
"You Are My Sunshine" is the first song I can remember hearing. It was my favorite in a set of songs my parents would sing with me in the car. We would be going on long trips and we would sing "You Are My Sunshine", "Home on the Range", "Skiddle MuRinky" (questioning the spelling on that one), and others. This song also brings back memories of my first bedroom living with my parents. My bedroom looked out an open field full of tractors behind our house. The back of the house faced west, which made for a lot of struggle on my part in going to sleep during the summer. I remember light streaming in and hearing the voices of other kids playing outside. It was so completely unfair I couldn't be outside too. But my mom would sing this to me and it always made my heart happy (even if it wasn't showing on the outside).
It always was and always will be my dad and mom song. I sing it to my kids and it makes me think of them, still.
This particular version is by Elizabeth Mitchell and is on her album with the same title. It is the sweetest rendition I have found (other than my dad playing it on guitar, of course).
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
My Two Cents
The other night I was on facebook. I began to leave to go look at another site, but as the new page loaded, I did a total double take. Had I just seen what I thought I saw? I pressed "back", and sure enough, "Bin Laden is dead". My friend Elaine had posted the news.
Immediately, I felt.........
I am not sure I want to say.
I am not sure I want to share my current feelings on the matter because there are a lot of judgmental comments floating around. I have found that different people are reacting in different ways to the news. My frustration is that some people are seeing this event in our history as yet one more opportunity to judge one another.
There are valid points coming from both sides of the issue, but I just want to underscore the fact that most of what we are experiencing is so much emotion, and so little reason. Since we can't actually do a whole lot about the situation, all we can do is feel things about it. But to say that one's person's feelings is right or wrong is to attack their character. Feelings are an intrinsic part of who we are--they are ingrained, and they are unstoppable.
Should I be happy? Should I be sad? Should I be relieved? Should I be numb? For now, I am trying to remain as neutral as I can because I am afraid. I am afraid of what people will think of me if I disclose how I feel about the whole thing. I am afraid that others will think my feelings are not the feelings I should be experiencing. And that is what I feel is more messed up than any other part of the issue. I definitely have opinions, but thanks to certain individuals I mostly keep them to myself (I had to learn to be mostly discrete the hard way when I voted for Obama).
I feel the people of our country are in constant defense-mode. Not against terrorists, but against each other. I am so tired of hearing about Republican vs. Democrat, Obama vs. Bush--but at the same time, I can't look away. It's like watching a schoolyard fight--it's fascinating and horrifying at the same time. I don't want to get beaten up, so I just stand there on the sidelines, trying to decide what I should do. In the meantime, I feel the very infrastructure that this country is built on is crumbling, and all anyone wants to do is argue about who punched the first hole in the wall.
Immediately, I felt.........
I am not sure I want to say.
I am not sure I want to share my current feelings on the matter because there are a lot of judgmental comments floating around. I have found that different people are reacting in different ways to the news. My frustration is that some people are seeing this event in our history as yet one more opportunity to judge one another.
There are valid points coming from both sides of the issue, but I just want to underscore the fact that most of what we are experiencing is so much emotion, and so little reason. Since we can't actually do a whole lot about the situation, all we can do is feel things about it. But to say that one's person's feelings is right or wrong is to attack their character. Feelings are an intrinsic part of who we are--they are ingrained, and they are unstoppable.
Should I be happy? Should I be sad? Should I be relieved? Should I be numb? For now, I am trying to remain as neutral as I can because I am afraid. I am afraid of what people will think of me if I disclose how I feel about the whole thing. I am afraid that others will think my feelings are not the feelings I should be experiencing. And that is what I feel is more messed up than any other part of the issue. I definitely have opinions, but thanks to certain individuals I mostly keep them to myself (I had to learn to be mostly discrete the hard way when I voted for Obama).
I feel the people of our country are in constant defense-mode. Not against terrorists, but against each other. I am so tired of hearing about Republican vs. Democrat, Obama vs. Bush--but at the same time, I can't look away. It's like watching a schoolyard fight--it's fascinating and horrifying at the same time. I don't want to get beaten up, so I just stand there on the sidelines, trying to decide what I should do. In the meantime, I feel the very infrastructure that this country is built on is crumbling, and all anyone wants to do is argue about who punched the first hole in the wall.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Seeing the World in Negative
I have mentioned before that Greg has this thing for painting and drawing. He has not had much time to take part in this "hobby" (though I think it's more than that) since we had kids. I have always found his art intriguing and more than a little sexy. One of the things he takes great joy in is drawing in negative--looking at the world backwards--filling in the negative spaces with dark so that the content of the art itself becomes light.
Some mornings I wake up and have epiphanies. This was one of those mornings.
I have been so backward in my thinking for the past seven years. I have become cynical, frustrated, angsty, and pissed off at God. People often ask "Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" I am one of those people who has never had an answer, and has never been satisfied with the answers I have heard.
The other morning I was griping about this with Greg on a more specific level. "Greg? Why is God still making all this crap happen to us?" (this was about impending layoff notices--again). Greg looked at me and said, "What if God isn't the one who is making the crap happen? What if God is the one who is keeping worse things from happening?"
Well, I have been mulling this over for the past few days, and all of a sudden, while laying in my bed this morning it hit me. Greg was right! Just look at Job in the Bible. Pastors often talk about the last chapters of Job as being God just showing off His power. This is true, in part. But I think it was more that God was saying to a very whiny and depressed Job, "Look.. I could wipe this whole world out if I wanted to. I could destroy every single thing I have made." Essentially, "I brought you into this world, I can take you right back out."
I realized God does not "allow" bad things to happen to Greg and I any more than we "allow" Sam and Aunica to get hurt. They climb bookshelves and brick walls and then act surprised when they fall down and injure themselves. They hit each other and then act surprised when we discipline them.
This isn't to say there aren't bad things that happen to them outside of our control, but those things are just a part of living in this broken messed up world. God has gotten us through those things, faith-in-tact.
Noam Chomsky wrote of a Language Acquisition Device he believed we are all born with. According to him, we all have the capacity to learn language from the moment we are born, and actually begin learning language in the womb. Well, I believe God has put a Morality Acquisition Device inside the souls of each of us. We are born with a conscience, allowing us from the very beginning to tell the difference between what is right, and what is wrong. When bad things happen to good people, we know it is wrong because we have a sense of what should and should not be happening. God never intends for bad things to happen to us. But even when bad things do, He is not gone. He has not forgotten us. It is very likely that He is getting us through more than we know.
I believe every breath is a gift. Every single good thing in your life is a miracle. I look at my cat all curled up at my feet, hear my kids talking to Greg in the other room, realize I drove over 20 miles today without getting in a car accident. It could have been otherwise.
Otherwise
Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
This poem ends sounding somewhat pessimistic, but it is true. We all will die someday, we all will face the same end. BUT we have hope! And in the meantime, we should not spend our days being sad about the bad, but looking at the good. Because after all, it might have been otherwise.
Some mornings I wake up and have epiphanies. This was one of those mornings.
I have been so backward in my thinking for the past seven years. I have become cynical, frustrated, angsty, and pissed off at God. People often ask "Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?" I am one of those people who has never had an answer, and has never been satisfied with the answers I have heard.
The other morning I was griping about this with Greg on a more specific level. "Greg? Why is God still making all this crap happen to us?" (this was about impending layoff notices--again). Greg looked at me and said, "What if God isn't the one who is making the crap happen? What if God is the one who is keeping worse things from happening?"
Well, I have been mulling this over for the past few days, and all of a sudden, while laying in my bed this morning it hit me. Greg was right! Just look at Job in the Bible. Pastors often talk about the last chapters of Job as being God just showing off His power. This is true, in part. But I think it was more that God was saying to a very whiny and depressed Job, "Look.. I could wipe this whole world out if I wanted to. I could destroy every single thing I have made." Essentially, "I brought you into this world, I can take you right back out."
I realized God does not "allow" bad things to happen to Greg and I any more than we "allow" Sam and Aunica to get hurt. They climb bookshelves and brick walls and then act surprised when they fall down and injure themselves. They hit each other and then act surprised when we discipline them.
This isn't to say there aren't bad things that happen to them outside of our control, but those things are just a part of living in this broken messed up world. God has gotten us through those things, faith-in-tact.
Noam Chomsky wrote of a Language Acquisition Device he believed we are all born with. According to him, we all have the capacity to learn language from the moment we are born, and actually begin learning language in the womb. Well, I believe God has put a Morality Acquisition Device inside the souls of each of us. We are born with a conscience, allowing us from the very beginning to tell the difference between what is right, and what is wrong. When bad things happen to good people, we know it is wrong because we have a sense of what should and should not be happening. God never intends for bad things to happen to us. But even when bad things do, He is not gone. He has not forgotten us. It is very likely that He is getting us through more than we know.
I believe every breath is a gift. Every single good thing in your life is a miracle. I look at my cat all curled up at my feet, hear my kids talking to Greg in the other room, realize I drove over 20 miles today without getting in a car accident. It could have been otherwise.
Otherwise
Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
This poem ends sounding somewhat pessimistic, but it is true. We all will die someday, we all will face the same end. BUT we have hope! And in the meantime, we should not spend our days being sad about the bad, but looking at the good. Because after all, it might have been otherwise.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Moving On
Sometimes it will hit me that I am done making babies and it makes me *really* sad. Other times I am so relieved I want to do a happy dance. These kids of mine! I know, I know.. the kid blogs get old. But they are such an intrinsic, important, ridiculously perpetual part of my life, I can't exactly help it. To ignore them, would be to ignore myself.
Aunica is energy on speed. Sam is a skinny little enigma. I get tired of them. I love them. I wish they would grow up. I wish they would stay young. I hope they rebel so I know they are becoming independent. I hope they are good so I don't have to deal with the drama. I don't want them to get hurt. I want them to learn from their own mistakes. I want to have them near me. I want my own space. I want to buy them everything. I don't want to spoil them. I want hugs. I don't want to catch their colds. I want them to be childlike. Won't they please be quiet? I want to spend time with their dad. I want them to have a good relationship with him too. I want to be a good home-maker. I hate housework. I love watching them play outside. There are so many dangerous things in the back yard. I can't wait to play tooth fairy. I wish Sam wouldn't lose his adorable baby teeth. I hope they are brave. I hope they are careful. I hope Sam stays this vulnerable. I wish he'd stand up for himself more.
I want more. I don't want more.
Aunica is energy on speed. Sam is a skinny little enigma. I get tired of them. I love them. I wish they would grow up. I wish they would stay young. I hope they rebel so I know they are becoming independent. I hope they are good so I don't have to deal with the drama. I don't want them to get hurt. I want them to learn from their own mistakes. I want to have them near me. I want my own space. I want to buy them everything. I don't want to spoil them. I want hugs. I don't want to catch their colds. I want them to be childlike. Won't they please be quiet? I want to spend time with their dad. I want them to have a good relationship with him too. I want to be a good home-maker. I hate housework. I love watching them play outside. There are so many dangerous things in the back yard. I can't wait to play tooth fairy. I wish Sam wouldn't lose his adorable baby teeth. I hope they are brave. I hope they are careful. I hope Sam stays this vulnerable. I wish he'd stand up for himself more.
I want more. I don't want more.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Friday, December 10, 2010
Winter
When I was little there was a view of a large blue house across an acre-sized field that we could see the back of from our own front windows. It was an old grand victorian--probably one of those that people bought all the supplies and blueprints for in a Sears and Roebuck Catalog from 1899. In the wintertime, that ornate old place looked positively ethereal. After the snow fell and the clouds had cleared and there was a full moon, everything reflected blue and white and grey. Because of the moon and colors, the house itself looked like it was glowing a bit. The field sparkled as did the icicles hanging from the neighbor's roof. Occassional deer would wander through the scene, looking for food. I remember standing in our dining room, staring at that old blue place -- yearning.
Another time we were driving home from Cedarville. We had just put on an MPAT Christmas performance. As we drove through the mountains, the uncontaminated snow silently waited on pine trees. Shadows played games with boulders partially hiding under drifts, and stars shimmered. I was with my friends, the car was warm. I was happy.
I inwardly dwell in winter. Sometimes, when I am feeling sad or anxious, thoughts of those scenes pop into my brain. Pine trees and moonbeams, twiggy leafless branches and stars call to me. I think I love Southern California for living life, but I think I love the mountains for dreams. I picture myself living in a house full of brass and bronze, tarnished silver and mahagony -- Christmas trees as tall as my 14-foot crown-moulded tin-embellished ceilings will allow -- wearing kid-gloves and capes and dresses with trains (and not having it be just "dressing up"). Candles and lanterns instead of flourescent bulbs. Violin Music. Burgundy-reds and forest greens. Our neighbors are at least 1/2 a mile away and the only thing you can see is occasional slices of stars through the giant fir trees surrounding our house.
But I want it the way I want it, though. The winter can't be cold. There must always be a fire to keep us warm. Aunica will love wearing dresses (she doesn't right now). And Greg will always be home.
My mental heaven.
Another time we were driving home from Cedarville. We had just put on an MPAT Christmas performance. As we drove through the mountains, the uncontaminated snow silently waited on pine trees. Shadows played games with boulders partially hiding under drifts, and stars shimmered. I was with my friends, the car was warm. I was happy.
I inwardly dwell in winter. Sometimes, when I am feeling sad or anxious, thoughts of those scenes pop into my brain. Pine trees and moonbeams, twiggy leafless branches and stars call to me. I think I love Southern California for living life, but I think I love the mountains for dreams. I picture myself living in a house full of brass and bronze, tarnished silver and mahagony -- Christmas trees as tall as my 14-foot crown-moulded tin-embellished ceilings will allow -- wearing kid-gloves and capes and dresses with trains (and not having it be just "dressing up"). Candles and lanterns instead of flourescent bulbs. Violin Music. Burgundy-reds and forest greens. Our neighbors are at least 1/2 a mile away and the only thing you can see is occasional slices of stars through the giant fir trees surrounding our house.
But I want it the way I want it, though. The winter can't be cold. There must always be a fire to keep us warm. Aunica will love wearing dresses (she doesn't right now). And Greg will always be home.
My mental heaven.
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Highlighting
Warning: Boring information ahead:
I am studying right now, and I have been studying a lot recently. One of the things that keeps coming up in my head (distractingly, so) while I am reading is the use of highlighting as a tool for learning.
When I was in high school, a certain teacher held up a book for the class to see (mine)--using it as an example of "excessive use of highlighting". He then held up a classmate's book (don't recall who) as an example of "just the right amount of highlighting". It was defnitely noticeable, the difference between our two books. And it's not like I actually *use* the highlighted info later on. I think the reason I do it is to go over information twice--"Oh! That's important!" so I highlight it (while reading it again, I guess).
But it is EXASPERATING to me that I just can't get this stupid incident out of my head--and it still comes up while studying 14 years later.
During reading for my English classes, I wouldn't just highlight--I would write in the margins, I would underline twice. I would ruminate on and remember stuff that stood out. The stuff I am reading now is so straightforward no extraneous thoughts come to mind. There are no abstractions, no expansions to be made regarding the material I am reading in Anatomy or Language Development or Audiology. It's all fact-based. So instead of thinking about the material I am reading, I end up wondering if I am highlighting too much. And it is distracting and it is maddening
The end.
I am studying right now, and I have been studying a lot recently. One of the things that keeps coming up in my head (distractingly, so) while I am reading is the use of highlighting as a tool for learning.
When I was in high school, a certain teacher held up a book for the class to see (mine)--using it as an example of "excessive use of highlighting". He then held up a classmate's book (don't recall who) as an example of "just the right amount of highlighting". It was defnitely noticeable, the difference between our two books. And it's not like I actually *use* the highlighted info later on. I think the reason I do it is to go over information twice--"Oh! That's important!" so I highlight it (while reading it again, I guess).
But it is EXASPERATING to me that I just can't get this stupid incident out of my head--and it still comes up while studying 14 years later.
During reading for my English classes, I wouldn't just highlight--I would write in the margins, I would underline twice. I would ruminate on and remember stuff that stood out. The stuff I am reading now is so straightforward no extraneous thoughts come to mind. There are no abstractions, no expansions to be made regarding the material I am reading in Anatomy or Language Development or Audiology. It's all fact-based. So instead of thinking about the material I am reading, I end up wondering if I am highlighting too much. And it is distracting and it is maddening
The end.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Finishing Statistics
Never in my 29 years have I EVER worked so very hard for a class. I started statistics with fear and trepidation. I have never been very excited about math--let alone good at it. But honestly, of all of the math courses I have ever had to take, Statistics has been the most enjoyable. It has real life application, and that is helpful. I *see* what is going on and I really like that about it. I also have enjoyed having access to all these tools to help me do well--online calculators and Microsoft Excel.
I am surprised at how well I did. I don't know my final grade, but suffice it to say, I know I did better than I ever would have expected.
In opening my bookmarks just now, I ran across my "statistics help" folder, which actually made me say, "Awwww.. I won't be needing you any more, little Z-score calculator"...
Now onto grad school apps. Joy.
I am surprised at how well I did. I don't know my final grade, but suffice it to say, I know I did better than I ever would have expected.
In opening my bookmarks just now, I ran across my "statistics help" folder, which actually made me say, "Awwww.. I won't be needing you any more, little Z-score calculator"...
Now onto grad school apps. Joy.
Friday, September 24, 2010
1:08 a.m. Randomness
Things that are fabulous right now:
I got Greg this book for his birthday. It is chock full of geekalicious goodness -- time-space paradoxes, flow charts--who could ask for anything more?
In addition, as a late "celebration" for Greg's 40th, we are going here . This has become a semi regular yearly event for us. It's just a really great place to visit and be romantic and things.
I am doing Awana this year, which has been a lot more fun than I expected. Sam is in Sparks, and since I am a Sparks leader, I get to watch him do all sorts of super great things. Here is a link to him doing the pledge of allegience as practice for getting his vest and book. He also got up in front of his class and sang the Awana theme song and very sincerely told them about Adam and Eve and sin and the fall of mankind.
So far, I am doing fabulously with my own school studies, though I miss Greg/the kids. I literally spend about 10 hours per day studying. This is why I am up at 1:30 a.m. writing this post. I have had no down-time to speak of. But guess what. I am actually really happy. I don't have any of that weighed-down feeling anymore. I feel like I have a brain again. It has been extremely invigorating. I am still worried about Grad School acceptance, but God will take care of it. I really do have faith in that.
So that's what's new.
I got Greg this book for his birthday. It is chock full of geekalicious goodness -- time-space paradoxes, flow charts--who could ask for anything more?
In addition, as a late "celebration" for Greg's 40th, we are going here . This has become a semi regular yearly event for us. It's just a really great place to visit and be romantic and things.
I am doing Awana this year, which has been a lot more fun than I expected. Sam is in Sparks, and since I am a Sparks leader, I get to watch him do all sorts of super great things. Here is a link to him doing the pledge of allegience as practice for getting his vest and book. He also got up in front of his class and sang the Awana theme song and very sincerely told them about Adam and Eve and sin and the fall of mankind.
So far, I am doing fabulously with my own school studies, though I miss Greg/the kids. I literally spend about 10 hours per day studying. This is why I am up at 1:30 a.m. writing this post. I have had no down-time to speak of. But guess what. I am actually really happy. I don't have any of that weighed-down feeling anymore. I feel like I have a brain again. It has been extremely invigorating. I am still worried about Grad School acceptance, but God will take care of it. I really do have faith in that.
So that's what's new.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Where Have I Been???
Things have been insane. Sam started school mid-August, and I am running around like the proverbial headless chicken. I am excited because I am getting closer to applying to graduate schools. I am nervous because I am getting closer to applying to graduate schools. I am taking 4 classes this term (5, if you count the one that is an anatomy class/lab combo as 2 classes). It is overwhelming, but good to have a big workload. I feel as though I am learning how to juggle more this way, which I am sure will be useful very soon.
In the meantime, Greg is turning 40 on the 12th. This has been difficult for me. Growing up as a pastor's kid, I have seen way too many single elderly people being lonely and sad to not care about Greg getting older. You are probably thinking,
"Dude, Crystal. You're the one who married a 32-year-old when you were 21. You asked for it."
And I think that to myself too. But then I remember how *worth it* Greg is--how much I cherish and love him and how God brought us together in a way that we couldn't have helped falling in love, even if we hadn't wanted to (which I actually kind of didn't at the time). But yeah, I am anticipating the last part of my life being spent alone. And that is hard. But this is how I prepare myself for things--I have to think about the worst because I hate being caught off guard more than I hate anticipating the inevitable.
For now, I am loving every minute I spend with my husband. And I am loving our kids, too. Which brings up another topic. Sam--he is preoccupied with death these days. A while back, my Great Aunt Ada passed away. Sam knew her and her death really impacted him. He keeps asking us when we are going to die--how old we are--if we are "healthy". Greg sees it as a sign of depth of character on Sam's part. It makes me feel bad for Sam, though. I don't want Sam thinking about these things. I want him being a kid--having fun chasing the animals/his sister around the house... pummeling things. But he does do those things too. So I guess he's ok. I guess I don't need to worry until he starts dressing like Greg did in high school, right?
In the meantime, Greg is turning 40 on the 12th. This has been difficult for me. Growing up as a pastor's kid, I have seen way too many single elderly people being lonely and sad to not care about Greg getting older. You are probably thinking,
"Dude, Crystal. You're the one who married a 32-year-old when you were 21. You asked for it."
And I think that to myself too. But then I remember how *worth it* Greg is--how much I cherish and love him and how God brought us together in a way that we couldn't have helped falling in love, even if we hadn't wanted to (which I actually kind of didn't at the time). But yeah, I am anticipating the last part of my life being spent alone. And that is hard. But this is how I prepare myself for things--I have to think about the worst because I hate being caught off guard more than I hate anticipating the inevitable.
For now, I am loving every minute I spend with my husband. And I am loving our kids, too. Which brings up another topic. Sam--he is preoccupied with death these days. A while back, my Great Aunt Ada passed away. Sam knew her and her death really impacted him. He keeps asking us when we are going to die--how old we are--if we are "healthy". Greg sees it as a sign of depth of character on Sam's part. It makes me feel bad for Sam, though. I don't want Sam thinking about these things. I want him being a kid--having fun chasing the animals/his sister around the house... pummeling things. But he does do those things too. So I guess he's ok. I guess I don't need to worry until he starts dressing like Greg did in high school, right?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Going Back To Work
I've been thinking a lot about the future recently. As you may have seen in my last post, I am going back to school--probably "for reals" this time. And as I consider that somewhere down the road, I will very likely be taking on a real job, with real pay and real benefits, I panic. I don't panic because I don't like the thought of these things. I panic because I do. I worry that I am going into this for the wrong reasons--security, stability, knowing I have something to fall back on. Are these the right reasons to get into something?
But here's the thing: Greg has already had cancer once. He is 11 years older than me. We have two kids. If he died (I know it's a ridiculously morbid thought, but it's one we have to address), what would I do? Move back in with my parents?
And this house--this house is tiiiny. It feels so cramped to me sometimes I feel like the incredible hulk, and somehow, if I get too mad or something, the house will explode around me, and I will be standing there on our foundation with no walls. We've decided we are either going to add onto this one, or buy a new one. But that's not feasible right now... we need more money in order to do that. We are 100 grand upside-down on the house the way it is right now.
And I feel sorry for our kids. They are here at home all day with their bored and cranky mother--how stagnant I feel being here all day. I am realizing the whole super-mom label doesn't fit quite right (even though it feels like that's what I should expect from myself, since I am only a mom right now). How I get antsy and angsty, and how ungrateful I feel all the time. I feel like a fairy-tale princess pining away in her castle, waiting for life to happen. I am realizing this *is* life and there is nothing to be done but to do something about it. I wish I could be content with talking about the kids 24-7 with other mothers--bad mouthing my husband and renovating and moving furniture around and sanitizing. Honestly, as much as I have hated studying for the GRE, I find it preferable to "home-making". And as much as it sounds like I have scorn for women who choose to stay home with their kids, I actually find them amazing. I wonder how they do it with enjoyment.
So, ultimately, I come to the conclusion that my motives are right... that my working is the lesser of two evils--that I would rather be tired from work and happy to come home than tired of home and want to go back to work.
But here's the thing: Greg has already had cancer once. He is 11 years older than me. We have two kids. If he died (I know it's a ridiculously morbid thought, but it's one we have to address), what would I do? Move back in with my parents?
And this house--this house is tiiiny. It feels so cramped to me sometimes I feel like the incredible hulk, and somehow, if I get too mad or something, the house will explode around me, and I will be standing there on our foundation with no walls. We've decided we are either going to add onto this one, or buy a new one. But that's not feasible right now... we need more money in order to do that. We are 100 grand upside-down on the house the way it is right now.
And I feel sorry for our kids. They are here at home all day with their bored and cranky mother--how stagnant I feel being here all day. I am realizing the whole super-mom label doesn't fit quite right (even though it feels like that's what I should expect from myself, since I am only a mom right now). How I get antsy and angsty, and how ungrateful I feel all the time. I feel like a fairy-tale princess pining away in her castle, waiting for life to happen. I am realizing this *is* life and there is nothing to be done but to do something about it. I wish I could be content with talking about the kids 24-7 with other mothers--bad mouthing my husband and renovating and moving furniture around and sanitizing. Honestly, as much as I have hated studying for the GRE, I find it preferable to "home-making". And as much as it sounds like I have scorn for women who choose to stay home with their kids, I actually find them amazing. I wonder how they do it with enjoyment.
So, ultimately, I come to the conclusion that my motives are right... that my working is the lesser of two evils--that I would rather be tired from work and happy to come home than tired of home and want to go back to work.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
What To Do Next?
So I am working on a degree in Speech and Language Pathology. I am more than a little freaked out right now. I am such a wimp when it comes to getting things done, and that is because I am deathly afraid of things not working out. I don't know where this comes from. Generally, my life has been handed to me on a silver platter. Sure, I've had my moments of hardship (especially in the past 5 years or so), but this all started way before that. Maybe I've been told I'm not good enough? Maybe I tell myself I'm not good enough? Either way, here is what I have to accomplish in the next 12 months or so.
-Pass the GRE with a score of 1200 or better
-Find professors willing to give me stellar letters of recommendation
-Raise my GPA from 3.16 to 3.3 or better
-Take statistics
-Take 30 other units of online classes
-Apply to grad school
-Get accepted to grad school
I'm feeling really overwhelmed. I just don't know what to do with all of this, and am trying to prioritize and figure out what should come next.
I would appreciate prayers from anyone who reads this
-Pass the GRE with a score of 1200 or better
-Find professors willing to give me stellar letters of recommendation
-Raise my GPA from 3.16 to 3.3 or better
-Take statistics
-Take 30 other units of online classes
-Apply to grad school
-Get accepted to grad school
I'm feeling really overwhelmed. I just don't know what to do with all of this, and am trying to prioritize and figure out what should come next.
I would appreciate prayers from anyone who reads this
Monday, July 05, 2010
Those Special Moments (Part I)
Have you ever thought about how some specific points of growing up are utterly disturbing in nature? And yet, we celebrate over them. Our parents told us these events were "special" and their parents told them the same thing. Who knows how far back this brainwashing really goes. I think humans do this so the freakishness of these events will not seem so alarming. Also, kids are wonderfully gullible, impressionable little suckers. For example:
CHILDHOOD ME:
So I am six years old, taking a bite out of an apple and one of my front teeth literally falls out. This. Is. FABULOUS!!! Some of my fellow classmates have also lost their tooth, and they have gotten immediate bragging rights. I get to give said tooth to the teacher, she announces it to the class and I am so excited. I take it home in an envelope. That night, the tooth fairy comes. She leaves me a note (my goodness, her handwriting is exactly like my mother's) and a dollar in quarters. From that day on, I am tooth-loss obsessed. I go so far as to let my friend Mandi play dentist and extract my teeth for me over lunch recesses (even when they are not completely ready to come out). I earn a whopping 4 dollars in 1st grade, alone! People on the street tell me I look cute and my parents tell me I look cute too. There is nothing better than this.
ADULT ME:
Really, Crystal? You weren't disturbed by this? Your teeth fall out and you are happy about it? I recently realized Sam is getting relatively close to the age I was when I lost my first tooth. As I often do to my son, I thought I would do a psychological experiment on him. I love getting to be the person who sees his face when he's told about things of this nature. I was not expecting a positive reaction. As predicted in my hypothesis, Sam was extremely weirded out by this revelation, and immediately covered his mouth with his hand, emphatically pointing out that he would like to keep his teeth.
God bless whoever came up with the idea of the tooth fairy, though. Now Sam is stoked. Like his mother in kindergarten, he has now heard of the joys of toothlessness from friends at school and family members and he is no longer afraid. I am glad of this, because I don't want him freaked out over something that can't be helped. He is blissfully unaware that it is highly likely that when he is 80, he will start losing his teeth again--this time with no replacements. And there will be no rejoicing. People will say, "Oh, poor Sam" and avert their eyes as he inserts his dentures.
Not only is the tooth fairy myth awesome for its calming properties, but also for the fact that it allows parents to dispose of (or at least hide away) the teeth their children have lost. Greg recently had a wisdom tooth pulled at the dentist. We took it home so Greg could show Sam. When we told Sam he couldn't keep Greg's tooth (we knew we'd find it around the house), and we were just showing it to him, he was heartbroken. Teeth are pretty icky--kind of like toenail clippings and hair from hairbrushes. It's not like any parent really wants to make a necklace out of their kids teeth or anything. That would be so completely culturally unacceptable. So, when you think about it, you realize the tooth fairy acts rather like a broker ("You give me your tooth, I'll give you a dollar!"). What a deal! Everybody wins.
We believe our parents when they tell us things are special. But once kids experience these things, sometimes there is no joy in mudville and there is no turning back.
I had surgery when I was 9. I got my adenoids out. In order to lessen the anxiety over undergoing the knife, the doctor and my parents both encouraged me by saying I would get to eat all the ice cream I wanted.
As I woke up from surgery, I started vomiting like I had been on an all-night drinking binge. Ice cream was the furthest thing from my mind. I was much wiser the second time I had to have the operation (my adenoids grew back) and nobody even bothered to try to calm my heart. We all knew what I was in for. This time, I got a bike instead.
The best example for me and a million others, though:
The whole collective experience of adolescence/puberty was SUCH a letdown. I went to public school. Toward the end of 4th grade, we were given a two-hour rundown of what we were about to experience in our "tween" years, as well as some of the things that would come further down the road. The girls stayed in Mrs. Carsten's room, and the boys went to talk to Mr. Harder. We watched a video starring an actress who had played Annie on Broadway, who told us all about our changing bodies, sex, getting pregnant, and periods and all of the extra hair we would be getting. The boy stuff pretty much remained a mystery (we were given a few disgusting details), which was fine with me at the time.
Sex didn't sound all that appealing to me (guh-ross), but for some reason, periods did (yay?). This became the equivalent to first grade's tooth loss, and we girls awaited our first cycles with the expectancy of a slumber party. We also got very competitive about it. Whoever got their periods first was obviously way more "mature" than anybody else and therefore way cooler. Periods came with "accessories", and you got to chose from a whole variety of options. My mom also promised we'd go out for ice cream whenever "it" happened. I couldn't wait.
Three years later-- oh wow, what a wakeup call. I will spare you the details, but I remember the bathroom, my mom standing in the doorway, me weeping, "I HATE this!". I also remember thinking, "Ice cream is so not worth this". Welcome to PMS, 12-year-old self..
Having boobs was not rewarding in any way, shape, or form (no pun intended) either. If boys noticed, I wasn't noticing them noticing--and I was still too gawky and awkward to know how to dress to make them look good (and my mom sure wasn't telling me). And bras were annoying beyond belief.
And my butt was suddenly really droopy. And I had cellulite (before you go and chew out my mother, nobody told me this. I noticed it on my own) And I constantly was cutting myself shaving my legs. And suddenly I was stinky and having to shower all...the...time if I didn't want to be stinky. And I ravenously liked boys even though I didn't want to. My friends and I were becoming cattier and more competitive than ever.
I didn't feel grown up.. I just felt miserable. I didn't like myself. I remember grieving because I literally felt childhood slipping away. It was extremely sad to me, and I missed that wonderment and innocence.
But I am sure that as my children continue to grow, I will tell them most of the same things my parents told me. If I had known how annoying and embarrassing and disgusting a lot of the things that were going to happen were, I probably would have closed myself up in my room and never have come out. I am glad I was able to live in some ignorance of what was to come. Life was a little bit more fun because of it.
CHILDHOOD ME:
So I am six years old, taking a bite out of an apple and one of my front teeth literally falls out. This. Is. FABULOUS!!! Some of my fellow classmates have also lost their tooth, and they have gotten immediate bragging rights. I get to give said tooth to the teacher, she announces it to the class and I am so excited. I take it home in an envelope. That night, the tooth fairy comes. She leaves me a note (my goodness, her handwriting is exactly like my mother's) and a dollar in quarters. From that day on, I am tooth-loss obsessed. I go so far as to let my friend Mandi play dentist and extract my teeth for me over lunch recesses (even when they are not completely ready to come out). I earn a whopping 4 dollars in 1st grade, alone! People on the street tell me I look cute and my parents tell me I look cute too. There is nothing better than this.
ADULT ME:
Really, Crystal? You weren't disturbed by this? Your teeth fall out and you are happy about it? I recently realized Sam is getting relatively close to the age I was when I lost my first tooth. As I often do to my son, I thought I would do a psychological experiment on him. I love getting to be the person who sees his face when he's told about things of this nature. I was not expecting a positive reaction. As predicted in my hypothesis, Sam was extremely weirded out by this revelation, and immediately covered his mouth with his hand, emphatically pointing out that he would like to keep his teeth.
God bless whoever came up with the idea of the tooth fairy, though. Now Sam is stoked. Like his mother in kindergarten, he has now heard of the joys of toothlessness from friends at school and family members and he is no longer afraid. I am glad of this, because I don't want him freaked out over something that can't be helped. He is blissfully unaware that it is highly likely that when he is 80, he will start losing his teeth again--this time with no replacements. And there will be no rejoicing. People will say, "Oh, poor Sam" and avert their eyes as he inserts his dentures.
Not only is the tooth fairy myth awesome for its calming properties, but also for the fact that it allows parents to dispose of (or at least hide away) the teeth their children have lost. Greg recently had a wisdom tooth pulled at the dentist. We took it home so Greg could show Sam. When we told Sam he couldn't keep Greg's tooth (we knew we'd find it around the house), and we were just showing it to him, he was heartbroken. Teeth are pretty icky--kind of like toenail clippings and hair from hairbrushes. It's not like any parent really wants to make a necklace out of their kids teeth or anything. That would be so completely culturally unacceptable. So, when you think about it, you realize the tooth fairy acts rather like a broker ("You give me your tooth, I'll give you a dollar!"). What a deal! Everybody wins.
We believe our parents when they tell us things are special. But once kids experience these things, sometimes there is no joy in mudville and there is no turning back.
I had surgery when I was 9. I got my adenoids out. In order to lessen the anxiety over undergoing the knife, the doctor and my parents both encouraged me by saying I would get to eat all the ice cream I wanted.
As I woke up from surgery, I started vomiting like I had been on an all-night drinking binge. Ice cream was the furthest thing from my mind. I was much wiser the second time I had to have the operation (my adenoids grew back) and nobody even bothered to try to calm my heart. We all knew what I was in for. This time, I got a bike instead.
The best example for me and a million others, though:
The whole collective experience of adolescence/puberty was SUCH a letdown. I went to public school. Toward the end of 4th grade, we were given a two-hour rundown of what we were about to experience in our "tween" years, as well as some of the things that would come further down the road. The girls stayed in Mrs. Carsten's room, and the boys went to talk to Mr. Harder. We watched a video starring an actress who had played Annie on Broadway, who told us all about our changing bodies, sex, getting pregnant, and periods and all of the extra hair we would be getting. The boy stuff pretty much remained a mystery (we were given a few disgusting details), which was fine with me at the time.
Sex didn't sound all that appealing to me (guh-ross), but for some reason, periods did (yay?). This became the equivalent to first grade's tooth loss, and we girls awaited our first cycles with the expectancy of a slumber party. We also got very competitive about it. Whoever got their periods first was obviously way more "mature" than anybody else and therefore way cooler. Periods came with "accessories", and you got to chose from a whole variety of options. My mom also promised we'd go out for ice cream whenever "it" happened. I couldn't wait.
Three years later-- oh wow, what a wakeup call. I will spare you the details, but I remember the bathroom, my mom standing in the doorway, me weeping, "I HATE this!". I also remember thinking, "Ice cream is so not worth this". Welcome to PMS, 12-year-old self..
Having boobs was not rewarding in any way, shape, or form (no pun intended) either. If boys noticed, I wasn't noticing them noticing--and I was still too gawky and awkward to know how to dress to make them look good (and my mom sure wasn't telling me). And bras were annoying beyond belief.
And my butt was suddenly really droopy. And I had cellulite (before you go and chew out my mother, nobody told me this. I noticed it on my own) And I constantly was cutting myself shaving my legs. And suddenly I was stinky and having to shower all...the...time if I didn't want to be stinky. And I ravenously liked boys even though I didn't want to. My friends and I were becoming cattier and more competitive than ever.
I didn't feel grown up.. I just felt miserable. I didn't like myself. I remember grieving because I literally felt childhood slipping away. It was extremely sad to me, and I missed that wonderment and innocence.
But I am sure that as my children continue to grow, I will tell them most of the same things my parents told me. If I had known how annoying and embarrassing and disgusting a lot of the things that were going to happen were, I probably would have closed myself up in my room and never have come out. I am glad I was able to live in some ignorance of what was to come. Life was a little bit more fun because of it.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
A Controversy of a Very Serious Nature
So Greg and I are debating an extremely important problem that is pertinent to the generation before us, as well as any generations that will succeed us after we are gone.
The question is this:
In the song "Do a dear" from "The Sound of Music", there is one line whose meaning has become a source of great contention between Greg and myself, as found out this morning as I was brushing my teeth:
"La...a note to follow So"
Greg is under the impression (I say wrongfully), that the word "note" pairs with "La" in that law can be reinterpreted as "Law". Therefore, the line means that La is (within the context of the song), a law to be followed in a certain way (so).
I, however, believe that the line is actually rather lame, and has no other "special" meaning other than what it says, because obviously a law is not a "note". Money, yes. Laws? No. I am thinking the writers couldn't come up with anything more clever than one note following another.
Thoughts? We are having a very difficult time with this one. Lawyers.. can the word "law" be synonymous with the word, "note"? (Please say no because I'd so love to be right on this one).
Monday, May 24, 2010
Cancer Scares
They come more frequently than I would like. Greg will feel something down there that doesn't go away and will later tell me.
And as Greg tells me he's found a new lump (this has happened 4 times now, twice since his vasectomy)-- every time it is the same.
I can't speak for Greg. I don't know what his heart and mind go through when he finds something new. Inevitably he lets me know of what's going on while he is at work, so I am often alone with the kids when I find out.
And what I go through is starting to get familiar, but it is definitely not getting any friendlier.
I get this weird cold vibrating feeling that starts at the back of my head and travels down my neck--almost like someone put ice there.. at first the feeling is completely physical and I feel no emotion other than shock. And then I can't say anything for a minute. And then I say, "Are you sure?" And of course, he is sure. And then I try to reason with him--come up with some logical explanation for why there is a lump on his testicle (as if there is any "normal" reason for such a thing to happen). Then the panic sets in, and then I feel light-headed and like throwing up and then I start crying. And then I usually call one or both of my parents and weep to them ("What will HAPPEN to him????"). And they don't actually have the answers I think I need, and I am annoyed at myself for freaking them out before we really know anything. But it is good to hear their voices anyway.
But it stays like that--I feel insane and completely distraught for as long as we don't know Greg's ok.
And I plead with God--beg Him to let this not be happening again.
And I try not to, but I can't help it --I go ahead a month... three months... a year in my mind and imagine the inevitable stuff we will go through if it is what we don't want it to be. I see Greg recovering from another surgery, Greg's parents taking care of the kids--frazzled and scared, Greg going for more rounds of chemo (this time there will have to be more because it is a recurrence), Greg being violently ill because of an out-of-order immune system, Sam bringing home more illness from school, me staying up all hours of the night, sick myself with the kids sick too...
I skip imagining the Greg dying part--it's just too horrible to imagine. I go straight to me alone, having to figure out the bills, the mortgage, not having a job, moving back in with my parents, Greg's parents a painful reminder of their son...
Thoughts like this remain until Greg is able to see a doctor. And then Greg and I go to the doctor and the doctor will either say something reassuring or say they don't know for sure and Greg should go get an ultrasound to be sure.
We got lucky this time--Greg's doctor was so certain it was epididymal cyst, he didn't even send Greg for an ultrasound.
Seriously.. how many men can say they are relieved they have a cyst on their testicle? But we are always relieved by anything that isn't cancer.
"Oh, you mean it's just a cyst forming because of some traumatic injury to my epydidimus? Sweet!"
But we still want to be cautious about how we approach it, because hope is flighty and unreliable. We almost fear hope more than we fear cancer itself. Trust me--it is not better to have hoped and lost than not to have hoped at all. There is comfort in expecting the worst because the worst can never let you down.
But later on, the hope comes anyway. I find myself feeling a little lighter. And I thank God a million times, and hug 50 Greg times more often than normal, and I can play with the kids without feeling distracted, and I am breathing again.
It is good to get good news.
But...
I know many of my friends and family have actually been further down this road than I have ever been, and as a result, I often feel really jumpy in my reactions to Greg's bodily idiocyncracies. It makes me feel like I am being selfish because Greg *did* make it through the first time around. So many people don't get that lucky. Survivor's guilt.
I know I blow things way out of proportion. I know that deep down, I will always be paranoid of the words "lump" and "tumor" and that that is ridiculous. But sometimes, when you have been through something awful, your fear outweighs your mind. And you don't have any clue as to why you react the way you do--you just know that you are afraid.
And the fear is always there crouched in the corner of your brain. It gets smaller, but it never really does go away.. not completely. You end up wrapping your life around the fear instead. It is always there at the center, but it is cut off until the next scare. And then it grows and shrinks again--kind of like a tumor of its own.
And as Greg tells me he's found a new lump (this has happened 4 times now, twice since his vasectomy)-- every time it is the same.
I can't speak for Greg. I don't know what his heart and mind go through when he finds something new. Inevitably he lets me know of what's going on while he is at work, so I am often alone with the kids when I find out.
And what I go through is starting to get familiar, but it is definitely not getting any friendlier.
I get this weird cold vibrating feeling that starts at the back of my head and travels down my neck--almost like someone put ice there.. at first the feeling is completely physical and I feel no emotion other than shock. And then I can't say anything for a minute. And then I say, "Are you sure?" And of course, he is sure. And then I try to reason with him--come up with some logical explanation for why there is a lump on his testicle (as if there is any "normal" reason for such a thing to happen). Then the panic sets in, and then I feel light-headed and like throwing up and then I start crying. And then I usually call one or both of my parents and weep to them ("What will HAPPEN to him????"). And they don't actually have the answers I think I need, and I am annoyed at myself for freaking them out before we really know anything. But it is good to hear their voices anyway.
But it stays like that--I feel insane and completely distraught for as long as we don't know Greg's ok.
And I plead with God--beg Him to let this not be happening again.
And I try not to, but I can't help it --I go ahead a month... three months... a year in my mind and imagine the inevitable stuff we will go through if it is what we don't want it to be. I see Greg recovering from another surgery, Greg's parents taking care of the kids--frazzled and scared, Greg going for more rounds of chemo (this time there will have to be more because it is a recurrence), Greg being violently ill because of an out-of-order immune system, Sam bringing home more illness from school, me staying up all hours of the night, sick myself with the kids sick too...
I skip imagining the Greg dying part--it's just too horrible to imagine. I go straight to me alone, having to figure out the bills, the mortgage, not having a job, moving back in with my parents, Greg's parents a painful reminder of their son...
Thoughts like this remain until Greg is able to see a doctor. And then Greg and I go to the doctor and the doctor will either say something reassuring or say they don't know for sure and Greg should go get an ultrasound to be sure.
We got lucky this time--Greg's doctor was so certain it was epididymal cyst, he didn't even send Greg for an ultrasound.
Seriously.. how many men can say they are relieved they have a cyst on their testicle? But we are always relieved by anything that isn't cancer.
"Oh, you mean it's just a cyst forming because of some traumatic injury to my epydidimus? Sweet!"
But we still want to be cautious about how we approach it, because hope is flighty and unreliable. We almost fear hope more than we fear cancer itself. Trust me--it is not better to have hoped and lost than not to have hoped at all. There is comfort in expecting the worst because the worst can never let you down.
But later on, the hope comes anyway. I find myself feeling a little lighter. And I thank God a million times, and hug 50 Greg times more often than normal, and I can play with the kids without feeling distracted, and I am breathing again.
It is good to get good news.
But...
I know many of my friends and family have actually been further down this road than I have ever been, and as a result, I often feel really jumpy in my reactions to Greg's bodily idiocyncracies. It makes me feel like I am being selfish because Greg *did* make it through the first time around. So many people don't get that lucky. Survivor's guilt.
I know I blow things way out of proportion. I know that deep down, I will always be paranoid of the words "lump" and "tumor" and that that is ridiculous. But sometimes, when you have been through something awful, your fear outweighs your mind. And you don't have any clue as to why you react the way you do--you just know that you are afraid.
And the fear is always there crouched in the corner of your brain. It gets smaller, but it never really does go away.. not completely. You end up wrapping your life around the fear instead. It is always there at the center, but it is cut off until the next scare. And then it grows and shrinks again--kind of like a tumor of its own.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Symbols of AnxietyTransformed To Symbols of Hope
It's funny how certain mundane, seamingly meaningless, things take on a lot of importance depending on the situation you are in.
I've been staring at this ID card for Aunica's Medical Insurance every day. Since Greg got his preliminary layoff, that ID card has come to mean "May 30th"--the day that our insurance would expire if Greg got that final layoff notice.
Greg's ties, hanging on the coat hanger in the living room have meant days spent not knowing whether he would need a tie in upcoming months.
The calendar on the fridge has meant a constant countdown to the day when we might be without work.
The checkbook and debit card have meant money disappearing and maybe stopping coming.
Oh, and the gas price signs? Don't even get me started on those.
You begin to realize that it's not that you are worried about the *stuff* you have. It's worries about maintaining life as you know it. It's about uprooting once again. It's about having to wonder if you are going to have to move in with your parents or in-laws. It's about having to figure out if you can pay for insurance, mortgage, and bills on a substitute teacher's salary alone. It's about those practical things that you always take for granted.
God is definitely not letting us take anything for granted. Ever. And I am actually thankful for that. Because when we lived in Whittier, I was miserable. I couldn't pin it down to anything at the time, but now I think I just had it too, uh, cushy? Life was just too easy. It never felt anything but.. mundane. Since 2004, we have had nothing but upheaval, but if nothing else, you can say it has kept life interesting.
It's nice to worry sometimes.
So yesterday, we were supposed to get Greg's layoff notice. We didn't. We still could get it tomorrow, but I am hopeful that it won't come. And Greg is too. And we are all dancy and excited because we get to stay in our house and we get to relax just a little more.
And slowly, the insurance card is beginning to mean we will have insurance for one more year. And the bank accounts are not going to tap out. And we are going to be able to buy gas. And there will be another calendar on the fridge.
It's good to have a little of both hope and fear. I'm glad life isn't too easy. Things are more interesting and I am more grateful this way.
(But that doesn't mean I really want another layoff notice next year)
I've been staring at this ID card for Aunica's Medical Insurance every day. Since Greg got his preliminary layoff, that ID card has come to mean "May 30th"--the day that our insurance would expire if Greg got that final layoff notice.
Greg's ties, hanging on the coat hanger in the living room have meant days spent not knowing whether he would need a tie in upcoming months.
The calendar on the fridge has meant a constant countdown to the day when we might be without work.
The checkbook and debit card have meant money disappearing and maybe stopping coming.
Oh, and the gas price signs? Don't even get me started on those.
You begin to realize that it's not that you are worried about the *stuff* you have. It's worries about maintaining life as you know it. It's about uprooting once again. It's about having to wonder if you are going to have to move in with your parents or in-laws. It's about having to figure out if you can pay for insurance, mortgage, and bills on a substitute teacher's salary alone. It's about those practical things that you always take for granted.
God is definitely not letting us take anything for granted. Ever. And I am actually thankful for that. Because when we lived in Whittier, I was miserable. I couldn't pin it down to anything at the time, but now I think I just had it too, uh, cushy? Life was just too easy. It never felt anything but.. mundane. Since 2004, we have had nothing but upheaval, but if nothing else, you can say it has kept life interesting.
It's nice to worry sometimes.
So yesterday, we were supposed to get Greg's layoff notice. We didn't. We still could get it tomorrow, but I am hopeful that it won't come. And Greg is too. And we are all dancy and excited because we get to stay in our house and we get to relax just a little more.
And slowly, the insurance card is beginning to mean we will have insurance for one more year. And the bank accounts are not going to tap out. And we are going to be able to buy gas. And there will be another calendar on the fridge.
It's good to have a little of both hope and fear. I'm glad life isn't too easy. Things are more interesting and I am more grateful this way.
(But that doesn't mean I really want another layoff notice next year)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Grandpa Campbell
Sometimes I think of him just out of the blue.
He was a the best grandpa a little girl could ask for. All I remember of him are good things. I honestly can't remember having one negative thought toward him. The things that were strange about him, they were just quirks--they weren't *bad*, just funny. He was charasmatic and joyful. He always was smiling and was the most kind-hearted person I think I've ever met.
Trips to Reno (where we'd go pick him up at the airport) were some of the best traveling experiences of my life. I remember he would sit in the front seat, and I would always sit directly behind him. I remember staring at the back of his bald head and saying, "Hi Grandpa!" just because I didn't have anything else to say--I was just happy he was there.
I don't know why my assocations with childhood and Grandpa are so interlinked, but they are. Maybe it's because he was a person who truly knew how to love, and all the best things about childhood had him as a part of them--Christmases, Thanksgivings, Birthdays, Summers... he made sure to be there for many of them from my adoption to just before I turned 7.
He was giving, gracious--my mom says he was a "man without guile. He loved books, and therefore was totally excited to read to me. I think he was a major factor in me becoming kind of a ravenous reader.
He was a definite lover of Southern California and lived there his whole life. I think that love rubbed off on me quite a bit. I still have this palm tree obsession, even though I see them all the time around here. I have yet to have one of my own. We're trying to grow one, but it's really little and so it doesn't count.
He took us to Disneyland twice. Those were the best trips to Disneyland I can remember.
Grandpa was sophisticated, but not pretentious. He loved anything classy--old movies and musicals were his favorites. He had been a tour guide and gave garden tours in Europe. He was very in-the-know when it came to new technologies. We have home movies he put together from when *he* was a young man, up to home movies from when my sister and I were little. Greg was touched when he saw all the home movies of me. He said, "Wow. Grandpa Campbell really loved you."
My mom says he was short, but I remember him being tall. I suppose that is because I was little the last time I saw him, and maybe because I looked up to him so much.
I was devastated when he died, even though I was only seven years old. It was a month before my 7th birthday. We were expecting him to come to visit, and I am still feeling like it was pretty unfair for him to go and leave like that. It's only because he was such a great person. I would have kept him around forever. I wish he could have met my kids.
Grandpa, I love you and miss you and can't wait to see you again someday.
He was a the best grandpa a little girl could ask for. All I remember of him are good things. I honestly can't remember having one negative thought toward him. The things that were strange about him, they were just quirks--they weren't *bad*, just funny. He was charasmatic and joyful. He always was smiling and was the most kind-hearted person I think I've ever met.
Trips to Reno (where we'd go pick him up at the airport) were some of the best traveling experiences of my life. I remember he would sit in the front seat, and I would always sit directly behind him. I remember staring at the back of his bald head and saying, "Hi Grandpa!" just because I didn't have anything else to say--I was just happy he was there.
I don't know why my assocations with childhood and Grandpa are so interlinked, but they are. Maybe it's because he was a person who truly knew how to love, and all the best things about childhood had him as a part of them--Christmases, Thanksgivings, Birthdays, Summers... he made sure to be there for many of them from my adoption to just before I turned 7.
He was giving, gracious--my mom says he was a "man without guile. He loved books, and therefore was totally excited to read to me. I think he was a major factor in me becoming kind of a ravenous reader.
He was a definite lover of Southern California and lived there his whole life. I think that love rubbed off on me quite a bit. I still have this palm tree obsession, even though I see them all the time around here. I have yet to have one of my own. We're trying to grow one, but it's really little and so it doesn't count.
He took us to Disneyland twice. Those were the best trips to Disneyland I can remember.
Grandpa was sophisticated, but not pretentious. He loved anything classy--old movies and musicals were his favorites. He had been a tour guide and gave garden tours in Europe. He was very in-the-know when it came to new technologies. We have home movies he put together from when *he* was a young man, up to home movies from when my sister and I were little. Greg was touched when he saw all the home movies of me. He said, "Wow. Grandpa Campbell really loved you."
My mom says he was short, but I remember him being tall. I suppose that is because I was little the last time I saw him, and maybe because I looked up to him so much.
I was devastated when he died, even though I was only seven years old. It was a month before my 7th birthday. We were expecting him to come to visit, and I am still feeling like it was pretty unfair for him to go and leave like that. It's only because he was such a great person. I would have kept him around forever. I wish he could have met my kids.
Grandpa, I love you and miss you and can't wait to see you again someday.
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