Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Of goddesses and mortals
My wonderful sweet sister-in-law gave me a day at the spa for Christmas, so I spent Saturday afternoon getting a facial and massage. I was the only one in the shop, there were beautiful beachy paintings on the walls, island flute music playing... I laid on a warm bed with heated blankets and towels and rocks on me... and all the while the lady smeared lovely-smelling goop over me. When I use nice cosmetics myself, I'm stingy about it, but she was glopping it right on.
It was so great.
I laid there, half asleep, wallowing in luxury and indulgence while she worked, and I felt just like the Royal Kumari--the girl selected in Kathmandu to be worshipped as the incarnation of the goddess Taleju.
Except that I'm not a little girl.
Nor have I been removed from my family to live alone in a palace.
Nor do I get carried through the streets.
Nor do crowds worship me.
So, not much like the Royal Kumari at all.
Many times the chosen girl is as young as three years old. So, on the off chance that we become Hindus and move to Nepal, could Lizzy be selected for such an honor? Supposedly, there are quite a few criteria, including:
- A set of twenty teeth... check!
- Dainty feet.... sure!
- Eyelashes like a cow... check!
- A neck like a conch shell... um...
- Voice soft and clear as a duck's. This isn't quite how I would describe Lizzy's voice. Especially the "soft" part. And maybe the "duck" part.
- Serenity. Ok, it's hopeless. We'll stay in America and get her a day at the spa.
I don't know if they do criminal background checks on potential Kumaris, but Lizzy's rap sheet might also disqualify her.
This is Ada's running list of nighttime offenses. The listings indicate the number of items Lizzy stole while Ada slept, often from right off Ada's top bunk.
We're working on a solution to this problem, but in the meantime, Ada sleeps with a sword at her side. If she catches Lizzy climbing up the bed, she uses it to chase her off.
This forces Lizzy to be more stealthy. The other morning she announced proudly to me, "I put away everything I stole!" Hooray for stage one morality!
Thanks for the spa day, Jo! We all like to be a goddess for a little while.
It was so great.
I laid there, half asleep, wallowing in luxury and indulgence while she worked, and I felt just like the Royal Kumari--the girl selected in Kathmandu to be worshipped as the incarnation of the goddess Taleju.
Except that I'm not a little girl.
Nor have I been removed from my family to live alone in a palace.
Nor do I get carried through the streets.
Nor do crowds worship me.
So, not much like the Royal Kumari at all.
Many times the chosen girl is as young as three years old. So, on the off chance that we become Hindus and move to Nepal, could Lizzy be selected for such an honor? Supposedly, there are quite a few criteria, including:
- A set of twenty teeth... check!
- Dainty feet.... sure!
- Eyelashes like a cow... check!
- A neck like a conch shell... um...
- Voice soft and clear as a duck's. This isn't quite how I would describe Lizzy's voice. Especially the "soft" part. And maybe the "duck" part.
- Serenity. Ok, it's hopeless. We'll stay in America and get her a day at the spa.
I don't know if they do criminal background checks on potential Kumaris, but Lizzy's rap sheet might also disqualify her.
This is Ada's running list of nighttime offenses. The listings indicate the number of items Lizzy stole while Ada slept, often from right off Ada's top bunk.
We're working on a solution to this problem, but in the meantime, Ada sleeps with a sword at her side. If she catches Lizzy climbing up the bed, she uses it to chase her off.
This forces Lizzy to be more stealthy. The other morning she announced proudly to me, "I put away everything I stole!" Hooray for stage one morality!
Thanks for the spa day, Jo! We all like to be a goddess for a little while.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
It's not quite raising the dead...
...but a miracle nonetheless!
The insurance company will pay for Caleb's helmet! Hooray!
We know more about the appeals process than we ever really wanted to, but hours and hours of arguing our case has paid off in the form of a very welcome letter yesterday.
Cute though he is in these pictures, the helmet phase is not one I'd like to relive.
The worst part was the physical therapy, which I had to perform multiple times a day, holding his neck in an uncomfortable position while he cried to break your heart.
Caleb had plagiocephaly and torticollis: related conditions that result in a stiff neck and a misshapen head.
Apparently I'm overzealous about growing umbilical cords, because both Caleb and Lizzy were born with the cord wrapped twice around their neck.
Lizzy suffered no ill effects, but Caleb was wrapped so tight in there that his neck had limited range of motion at birth. Thus, he always laid on the same side...resulting in a big flat spot.
The insurance company will pay for Caleb's helmet! Hooray!
We know more about the appeals process than we ever really wanted to, but hours and hours of arguing our case has paid off in the form of a very welcome letter yesterday.
Cute though he is in these pictures, the helmet phase is not one I'd like to relive.
The worst part was the physical therapy, which I had to perform multiple times a day, holding his neck in an uncomfortable position while he cried to break your heart.
Caleb had plagiocephaly and torticollis: related conditions that result in a stiff neck and a misshapen head.
Apparently I'm overzealous about growing umbilical cords, because both Caleb and Lizzy were born with the cord wrapped twice around their neck.
Lizzy suffered no ill effects, but Caleb was wrapped so tight in there that his neck had limited range of motion at birth. Thus, he always laid on the same side...resulting in a big flat spot.
Night and day for 4 1/2 months and now only his mother can tell he's a little crooked!
Thank God for answered prayers and an insurance miracle! And especially for a sweet, symmetrical, handsome little boy.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The snowy day
It snowed 7 inches here this week. (At least that's what the newspaper said about the next town over. I'll take their word for it, rather than go out to an undisturbed area and stick a ruler in it, like my brothers would. Besides, 7 inches looked about right from inside my heated living room. Who cares? "It snowed a bunch" is plenty accurate enough for me.)
Anyhoo, today, 3 days after the snowfall, I figured I would emerge from hibernation and make magical memories in the snow with my delighted children.
I was immediately reminded of this hilarious post from the extremely funny blogger at Crappy Pictures.
My children who are 8 and 6 enjoy playing in the snow, can put on their own boots, and have enough sense to keep their mittens on.
Guess how long it takes to locate and don socks, boots, snowpants, coats, mittens, and hats for one adult and two toddlers? And who should get dressed first? Me, so I'm sweating as I wrestle their feet into their boots? Or Lizzy, who will start taking things back off while I dress myself and Caleb? Or Caleb, who learned to use his legs most recently and hasn't mastered standing up in boots without falling over?
So we finally step out the front door and are immediately blind and staggering from the snow-covered world. The brick steps are icy. I'm concentrating on carrying Caleb down without injury to either of us, but of course Lizzy, who cannot grip the handrail in her polar bear mittens, starts to slip and does a complete head-over-heels somersault, hitting her head and landing on her back before I can catch her at the bottom.
Caleb having recently fallen down the indoor flight of stairs to a chorus of screams, my heart was racing while I waited for Lizzy's wailing to start.
Instead, she continued her conversation right where she left off. Apparently the ten minutes of preparatory dressing paid off, and she was bundled as well as Randy in The Christmas Story.
I had fun sledding for ten minutes. Caleb was brave going down the hill, but Lizzy didn't like how snow flew in her face and the high speed made her mitten fall off. Both of them much prefer eating the bits of snow that fall off our boots once we come inside. Yum.
But, no injuries to anyone, so I'd say my mommy-memory-making duties have been well fulfilled for the winter! Now to return to my heated living room and enjoy the beauty of fresh snow outside my window.
Anyhoo, today, 3 days after the snowfall, I figured I would emerge from hibernation and make magical memories in the snow with my delighted children.
I was immediately reminded of this hilarious post from the extremely funny blogger at Crappy Pictures.
My children who are 8 and 6 enjoy playing in the snow, can put on their own boots, and have enough sense to keep their mittens on.
Guess how long it takes to locate and don socks, boots, snowpants, coats, mittens, and hats for one adult and two toddlers? And who should get dressed first? Me, so I'm sweating as I wrestle their feet into their boots? Or Lizzy, who will start taking things back off while I dress myself and Caleb? Or Caleb, who learned to use his legs most recently and hasn't mastered standing up in boots without falling over?
So we finally step out the front door and are immediately blind and staggering from the snow-covered world. The brick steps are icy. I'm concentrating on carrying Caleb down without injury to either of us, but of course Lizzy, who cannot grip the handrail in her polar bear mittens, starts to slip and does a complete head-over-heels somersault, hitting her head and landing on her back before I can catch her at the bottom.
Caleb having recently fallen down the indoor flight of stairs to a chorus of screams, my heart was racing while I waited for Lizzy's wailing to start.
Instead, she continued her conversation right where she left off. Apparently the ten minutes of preparatory dressing paid off, and she was bundled as well as Randy in The Christmas Story.
I had fun sledding for ten minutes. Caleb was brave going down the hill, but Lizzy didn't like how snow flew in her face and the high speed made her mitten fall off. Both of them much prefer eating the bits of snow that fall off our boots once we come inside. Yum.
But, no injuries to anyone, so I'd say my mommy-memory-making duties have been well fulfilled for the winter! Now to return to my heated living room and enjoy the beauty of fresh snow outside my window.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
About me
Hello. My name is Mindy, and I have an anxiety disorder.
I am an introvert and the primary caretaker of four young children with precious immortal souls, breakable bodies, and limited appreciation for what is good and right. My daily responsibilities include, but are not limited to, feeding hungry mouths, bandaging bloody cuts, changing diapers, washing laundry, preventing blunt force trauma, teaching third grade, breaking up fights, teaching kindergarten, soothing tears, preventing death by strangulation, and keeping permanent markers away from the wall.
This may have something to do with my anxiety.
Nevertheless, anxiety is something I have struggled with almost as long as I can remember, and I have periodically battled its sister condition, depression, since college.
I am not alone in this. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 7% of American adults experience depression and 18% experience an anxiety disorder in any given year. That's a lot of anxious souls. Women are much more likely than men to experience either problem.
After resisting the idea for twelve years after the first time a doctor suggested I take an antidepressant, I have joined the 11% of Americans who do.
I am so glad.
During my physical this past fall, I admitted to my trusted PCP that I feel anxious. A lot. Every day. All day. That I can't bring myself to open the bedroom door in the morning and face the day. That I'm strung out and impatient with my kids. That I hide in the afternoons and dread waking them from their naps. That I don't enjoy, well, anything.
I left that day with a prescription and a long list of doubts. Is it wrong to take a "happy pill?" Would it lobotomize me? Maybe my feelings are just a normal part of life. Would it have terrible side effects? What's wrong with me, anyway, that other people can cope with life and I can't?
In the end, I looked at certain of my children, who were starting to disproportionately freak out at minor problems, and knew that I did not want them to model their behavior on an anxious, depressed mother. I also looked at the sad face of my husband, who is profoundly impacted by my (lack of) mental health. The pill that I could not swallow for years for my own good went down largely out of love for them.
Zoloft hasn't lobotomized me. And it hardly has had any side effects. It hasn't changed me into someone I'm not; in fact, it has lifted the clouds and freed me to be who I really am. Depression and anxiety were like a crippling backache: I could barely function and wasn't acting like myself until the pain was gone.
Is it wrong to rely on an antidepressant? Well, is it wrong to live in a fallen world? If prayer, Bible study, memorizing verses about anxiety, exercise, journaling, gardening, creative hobbies, outdoor walks, yoga, vitamin D, enough sleep, good nutrition, or, especially, trying harder to be positive could cure my problems, I would've been skipping through fields of wildflowers singing tra-la-la by now. Twelve years is a long time to try everything but medication.
Are a lot of people on psychotropic drugs? Yes. Are some people being given a pill when they really need counseling and/or lifestyle changes? Yes.
Has Zoloft been for me an immense mercy straight from the hand of a loving God? Yes.
What about those other people who can cope better than I? Well, 11% of them are on drugs too. And the rest...well, I'm not them. One major change is that Zoloft helps me accept imperfection--in my kids, in my environment, and in myself. I'm not a superhero. That's a lot more ok than it used to be.
 |
| Until recently, this is how my mood chart always read |
I am an introvert and the primary caretaker of four young children with precious immortal souls, breakable bodies, and limited appreciation for what is good and right. My daily responsibilities include, but are not limited to, feeding hungry mouths, bandaging bloody cuts, changing diapers, washing laundry, preventing blunt force trauma, teaching third grade, breaking up fights, teaching kindergarten, soothing tears, preventing death by strangulation, and keeping permanent markers away from the wall.
This may have something to do with my anxiety.
Nevertheless, anxiety is something I have struggled with almost as long as I can remember, and I have periodically battled its sister condition, depression, since college.
I am not alone in this. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 7% of American adults experience depression and 18% experience an anxiety disorder in any given year. That's a lot of anxious souls. Women are much more likely than men to experience either problem.
After resisting the idea for twelve years after the first time a doctor suggested I take an antidepressant, I have joined the 11% of Americans who do.
I am so glad.
During my physical this past fall, I admitted to my trusted PCP that I feel anxious. A lot. Every day. All day. That I can't bring myself to open the bedroom door in the morning and face the day. That I'm strung out and impatient with my kids. That I hide in the afternoons and dread waking them from their naps. That I don't enjoy, well, anything.
I left that day with a prescription and a long list of doubts. Is it wrong to take a "happy pill?" Would it lobotomize me? Maybe my feelings are just a normal part of life. Would it have terrible side effects? What's wrong with me, anyway, that other people can cope with life and I can't?
In the end, I looked at certain of my children, who were starting to disproportionately freak out at minor problems, and knew that I did not want them to model their behavior on an anxious, depressed mother. I also looked at the sad face of my husband, who is profoundly impacted by my (lack of) mental health. The pill that I could not swallow for years for my own good went down largely out of love for them.
Zoloft hasn't lobotomized me. And it hardly has had any side effects. It hasn't changed me into someone I'm not; in fact, it has lifted the clouds and freed me to be who I really am. Depression and anxiety were like a crippling backache: I could barely function and wasn't acting like myself until the pain was gone.
Is it wrong to rely on an antidepressant? Well, is it wrong to live in a fallen world? If prayer, Bible study, memorizing verses about anxiety, exercise, journaling, gardening, creative hobbies, outdoor walks, yoga, vitamin D, enough sleep, good nutrition, or, especially, trying harder to be positive could cure my problems, I would've been skipping through fields of wildflowers singing tra-la-la by now. Twelve years is a long time to try everything but medication.
Are a lot of people on psychotropic drugs? Yes. Are some people being given a pill when they really need counseling and/or lifestyle changes? Yes.
Has Zoloft been for me an immense mercy straight from the hand of a loving God? Yes.
What about those other people who can cope better than I? Well, 11% of them are on drugs too. And the rest...well, I'm not them. One major change is that Zoloft helps me accept imperfection--in my kids, in my environment, and in myself. I'm not a superhero. That's a lot more ok than it used to be.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Why coloring supplies require maximum security
The drama du jour on Friday was Ada's early-morning discovery that a mysterious perpetrator had defiled her beloved mini-notebook in the night. The unknown criminal had used up all the pink sparkle ink in Ada's special new pen by coloring on every page but two in Ada's notebook.
There was wailing. There were tears. There was gnashing of teeth.
How would the doer of this heinous crime ever be brought to justice?
Perhaps we could discover clues to the identity of the guilty party in the notebook itself. Perhaps he or she left a self-portrait!
There was wailing. There were tears. There was gnashing of teeth.
How would the doer of this heinous crime ever be brought to justice?
Perhaps we could discover clues to the identity of the guilty party in the notebook itself. Perhaps he or she left a self-portrait!
Ok, so we could rule out police sketch artists.
Perhaps the offender left a trademark sign, a calling card, so to speak.
Aha! We have a suspect! But wait...
Either the perpetrator is trying to throw us off her trail, or Ada self-inflicted this damage as an insurance scam.
Then the last piece of evidence made it all clear.
Mommy (alias "Mmommo"). Always the one you least expect.
Mmmm, marriage
I love cake.
I love Jason.
So what could be better than...
...Jason on a cake?
This great idea came from the brilliant A Piece of Lisa. She has a terrific step-by-step tutorial posted there. I was so pleased that mine came out as well as hers!
Marriage is sweet, but Jason-and-Mindy cake was delicious.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
A pretty mushy post
Tomorrow is our tenth wedding anniversary.
I love this man.
Ten years of health and sickness, better and worse; and through it all, richness of love.
For a whole decade, my husband has made my life happy.
I could not imagine a better man to spend the last ten years or the rest of my life with.
You're my best friend, my faithful love, and the most tangible evidence of God's grace to me.
I love you, Jason.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
What is a lintel and how do you get under it?
When God called the Israelites out of slavery in ancient Egypt, the final and most terrible plague visited on the Egyptians was the death of all the firstborn. God instructed His people beforehand to slaughter a lamb and paint its blood on their doorposts and lintels. Every door frame covered in the blood was spared this tragedy.
This dramatic event pointed forward to the true Lamb of God who would come many years later. Jesus shed His blood on the cross to protect all who would take refuge under His sacrifice.
The day of God's judgment will come on us as surely as it visited the Egyptians. Life and safety was granted to those Israelites residing under a bloodstained lintel. Our only hope when judgement comes is to rely on Jesus' blood to cover us as the blood of the Passover lamb covered the doors of the ancient believers.
"When He sees the blood on the lintel and on the two doorposts, the LORD will pass over the door and will not allow the destroyer to come in to your houses to smite you." Exodus 12:23
"Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" John 1:29
"Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household." Acts 16:31
Monday, January 13, 2014
The state of the household
I'm thinking of cutting my hair short. I'm looking forward to this, as I enjoy having someone do my hair.
Caleb, not so much.
Jason is in charge of buzz cuts around here. Jeddy wiggles a little, but Caleb writhes and screams and flails and generally makes haircuts as traumatic as possible for the whole household.
As a result, we always miss a spot or two. These usually become apparent only the next day, when his hair stops cowering and decides to stand up straight again. But it's never worth going through all that trouble just to fix an odd spot, so this is what he currently looks like:
Caleb, not so much.
Jason is in charge of buzz cuts around here. Jeddy wiggles a little, but Caleb writhes and screams and flails and generally makes haircuts as traumatic as possible for the whole household.
As a result, we always miss a spot or two. These usually become apparent only the next day, when his hair stops cowering and decides to stand up straight again. But it's never worth going through all that trouble just to fix an odd spot, so this is what he currently looks like:
He has two long hairs on his crown sticking straight up like a TV antenna.
It's better than it was, though. I did use a scissors on him after we discovered a pretty major tuft over one ear:
Fortunately, blonde strays don't show up in pictures.
Lizzy loves her new Doodle Bunny. This was Doodle Bunny's first "bubble bath" in the washing machine and she was quite concerned about it.
Caleb is tolerating his suspenders now, since everyone knows not to mention them. We sneak them on when he's distracted.
They all love their new training chopsticks, too. They ate their breakfast cereal with them this morning.
And a fun school lesson today:
Spelling words in a salt tray. (Please ignore the piles of dishes in the background. We always do school in a pristine, orderly environment.)
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Guess what? Chicken butt
It's always a nice development when the kids stop putting every inappropriate thing immediately in their mouth. Caleb is getting pretty good about giving me small items he finds on the floor instead of eating them.
Usually he puts them in my hand.
Last night I bent down--just for a second!--to wipe a spot on the floor, apparently just as Caleb had discovered a little scrap of leftover chicken. And something possessed the child to come straight over and put the scrap in my plumber crack. Does he have a mother planet that sends him these ideas?
I felt his hand there and jumped, but I had no idea what he had done until I stood up and started walking, and the tasty tidbit started working its way downwards. Ever had chicken in your underwear? Yeah, me neither, until now. But that's why we have children, to experience new joys in this life.
In other news, most of us enjoyed Nana and Grandpa's belated Christmas visit and the gifts they generously brought.
Except Caleb.
The first gift he opened was a pair of baby suspenders. *I* was thrilled, because his pants always fall down his skinny self, but Caleb was enraged. Lizzy had just opened a toy, and I guess he expected something similar. He threw the suspenders and threw every other gift he got. When I put the suspenders on him, he went around crying and tugging on them like Sméagol in the elvish rope leash. It burns! It burns! Take it off us!
Here he is sadly tolerating his suspenders.
Thanks for the visit, Nana and Grandpa! I'm sure he'll learn to like them.
Usually he puts them in my hand.
Last night I bent down--just for a second!--to wipe a spot on the floor, apparently just as Caleb had discovered a little scrap of leftover chicken. And something possessed the child to come straight over and put the scrap in my plumber crack. Does he have a mother planet that sends him these ideas?
I felt his hand there and jumped, but I had no idea what he had done until I stood up and started walking, and the tasty tidbit started working its way downwards. Ever had chicken in your underwear? Yeah, me neither, until now. But that's why we have children, to experience new joys in this life.
* * * *
In other news, most of us enjoyed Nana and Grandpa's belated Christmas visit and the gifts they generously brought.
Except Caleb.
The first gift he opened was a pair of baby suspenders. *I* was thrilled, because his pants always fall down his skinny self, but Caleb was enraged. Lizzy had just opened a toy, and I guess he expected something similar. He threw the suspenders and threw every other gift he got. When I put the suspenders on him, he went around crying and tugging on them like Sméagol in the elvish rope leash. It burns! It burns! Take it off us!
Here he is sadly tolerating his suspenders.
Thanks for the visit, Nana and Grandpa! I'm sure he'll learn to like them.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Developing a love of reading
This week I went to get Caleb out of bed after his nap and found this:
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The crib, mind you, was not near the bookcase, but he's figured out how to scoot the whole bed across the room, presumably by throwing himself repeatedly against the side.
Most of these ripped up pages are from various Bibles, so now we're concerned about the state of his soul.
Furthermore, he reached a copy of the U.S. Constitution but threw it out onto the floor. I'm sorely tempted to comment on the sad state of his political leanings...
On the other hand, he does have impressive literary taste. Notice the college handbook in there? Medieval Myths? There's also some C. S. Lewis and John Piper. And Le Petit Prince, in the original French. I was equally impressed with the books he rejected and left on the shelf--a French dictionary, for one (who needs translation?); and Anna Karenina. That's my boy! I never liked Russian literature either.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
My very first blog post, ever
"We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb." ~Pride and Prejudice
Mr. Darcy may have held out for the brilliance that would amaze the whole room, but at least he didn't have to worry about amazing the whole planet. I'm not sure blogging would have been his thing.
Those of us who regularly read witty blogs and hold an expensive degree in creative writing may identify with Mr. Darcy's hesitation to speak to strangers.
However, with the confidence that this blog's audience will be much closer to zero than 7 billion, and remembering that His grace is sufficient though my brilliance is not, I'll try out the fun of speaking to posterity, with or without the éclat of a proverb.
Mr. Darcy may have held out for the brilliance that would amaze the whole room, but at least he didn't have to worry about amazing the whole planet. I'm not sure blogging would have been his thing.
Those of us who regularly read witty blogs and hold an expensive degree in creative writing may identify with Mr. Darcy's hesitation to speak to strangers.
However, with the confidence that this blog's audience will be much closer to zero than 7 billion, and remembering that His grace is sufficient though my brilliance is not, I'll try out the fun of speaking to posterity, with or without the éclat of a proverb.
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