tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90392081513165817532024-02-19T07:39:40.040-05:00THE Feisty Irish WenchEntertainment - generally at my expense.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.comBlogger454125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-57785673514024536432018-09-18T10:08:00.000-04:002018-09-18T10:08:17.909-04:00Better understanding of the outcrySo, a while back I <a href="http://feistyirishwench.blogspot.com/2014/12/life-matters-no-matter-packaging.html" target="_blank">posted about a then-recent hashtag</a> of BlackLivesMatter. At the outset, I didn't understand the root of it. I saw the surface with the disruptions. After having spent time (stretched out over a long duration) observing the numerous points of view, I finally did get it. I still stand behind the comment I made about if black lives matter, then every single black life matters no matter how long the heart beats. But I also have been given stories from friends that shed clearer light on why there is such a loud, heavy, and distraught lamentation from our community of color. I do understand and respect the difference in experiences that others have and I have completely lacked. I lack the articulation needed to impress upon some of my loved ones who still do not comprehend the perspective. I'd be convincing them against their will, and in an effort to keep the relationship with hopes of one day getting them to see a glimpse of perspective, I have to take the mustard seed planting approach. I wish I could just clobber them with a clue-by-four, but relationally speaking, that is going to completely implode. I came to the realizations I did by others planting mustard seeds with me. I have to trust the process and keep planting.<br />
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For those of you who may still not grasp the complaint, let me just say this: Just because you personally have not witnessed or experienced something, does not mean that it does not exist. Be quiet and observant long enough to take in what others are trying to say. Listen for the sake of learning and not for the purpose of just hearing and responding. Push pause on your countercomplaints for a while. You can disagree and still be respectful. You can say "I still don't see it, and I still don't understand it" without railing and name calling. All it does is waste valuable energy yelling at those you perceive to be your opposition and nothing gets accomplished but more vitriol and frustration.<br />
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Listen, so that you may hear and understand. Response can be paused long enough to absorb the messages.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-73894237895215359602018-05-09T10:53:00.000-04:002018-05-09T10:53:37.128-04:00Facebook forgetsFacebook seems to remember all the things. There's the "on this day" feature that pops up with memories of years past. There is a plethora of everything that you may or may not want or need to know, see, or join. And the one thing that drew social media users away from other platforms was the feed. With MySpace, you had to go to a user's page to see their content and interact with them. But whoa, here was this new platform that FED YOU the information in a list and you didn't have to navigate away from anything. That's both good and bad in many ways.<br /><br />However, the biggest complaint about Facebook that users have been making seems to surround the curation of the feed that has become so frustrating for so many. It has prompted people to figure out, and even offer paid lessons on, how to work the system in a user's favor. I don't begrudge the income potential here at all. Knowledge is power in this instance. I was one of the ones who left MySpace in favor of the Facebook feed. Humans are inherently lazy, or at least geared to seeking the more efficient means for them personally.<br /><br />So, can someone explain to me why Facebook has started resembling MySpace in that you pretty much have to go to someone's timeline/page/wall (whatever it is/was called) in order to catch up with their posts? Incidentally, doing that will temporarily put that person back in your feed but unless you interact enough to tweak the algorithms, that friend's content won't be shown in your feed. It's no wonder that despite the claim of number of active users increasing, most people I know are opting for other platforms to stay in contact, reach people, build their business presence in social media, or to just interact with the virtual world.<br /><br />Facebook seems to be forgetting what got them to domination, and their algorithms are the source of derision, disdain, and frustration. I for one would rather have full control of the content in my feed versus a "curation" based on some random math result that makes no sense to anyone - until it does make sense and things immediately change again.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-20231985154120440292017-10-09T01:25:00.000-04:002017-10-09T01:25:38.426-04:00Why moms love Laura Joffe Numeroff stories so much<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="8vsf8" data-offset-key="4juh0-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="4juh0-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Mom life: if you give a mom a reminder to take her vitamin, she'll realize she needs a drink to take it. So she'll get her cup and see her plate that needs to be washed. So she washes her plate and finds other cups that need to be washed, and washes them. Then she sees that the counters are gross and wipes them clean. She swept crumbs to the floor so that means she has to sweep the floor. She goes to empty the dustpan, and finds the trash is full. She pulls the trash bag and takes it outside to the collection bin. She returns to put a new bag in the kitchen trash can. Then she sees the splats the kids left behind and mops the floor (swiffer wet jet, really). Then she remembers she came to the kitchen to take her vitamins before bed and finally takes them 20 minutes later.</span></div>
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Moms love Numeroff stories so much because moms can freaking <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">RELATE.
</u>Well played, Laura, well played.</div>
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Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-42865446808262818022017-07-16T11:05:00.000-04:002017-07-16T11:05:31.519-04:00So, we did a thing....As many of you may recall, we had a pregnancy loss in 2015 that knocked us for a big loop. It was a winding and arduous journey to healing enough to function on the most basic level. We grew our family unintentionally as it were, and out of it has come great adventure. Imagine some of our surprise, when a year and a half later, that we learned that we were expecting another little person!<br />Because of our loss, we waited with bated breath for labs and scans to confirm it was in fact a potentially viable pregnancy. I didn't trust my body to do things the same way at 40 as it did even at 37. We were too scared to announce anything outside of precious few who we trusted with the news, and knew would be supportive of what ever came of the pregnancy. Add to it, the family size comments we garnered previously, and there was just little room for dealing with the kind of garbage that comes from negative opinions. Every pregnancy has been darkened by something, and our hearts just didn't have the capacity for more of it. The decision was made that we'd keep it off social media and basically keep it quiet till we couldn't. We told the kids at Christmas, and were met with a variety of reactions from them. As the pregnancy progressed, I kept a photo journal of weekly bump pictures. And by Easter, there was pretty much NO more hiding it at all. If anyone asked, I wasn't going to deny it, but I still wasn't going about intentionally announcing it either. And for once, aside from the keeping it quiet, we were able to enjoy this pregnancy. We didn't have to deal with the barrage of comments fraught with other people's opinions. And that has become part of our healing. We didn't even tell family members outside of our kids and my husband's parents.<br />
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Then I was gifted an opportunity to model for a photographer, and the session was on my due date. I have not ever been able to do something like this, and fully expecting that this really *is* our last baby, I was excited for the chance to document it with something better than bathroom selfies and pictures taken by my kids.<br />
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And here I am now, typing this from the hospital with a freshly hatched mini human beside me who is our Rainbow Baby. She was born on Friday the 14th, and we are embarking on this new leg of our family's journey. She's an opinionated little stinker and getting her here was its own adventure. We're hooked up to phototherapy lights at the moment due to some elevated bilirubin.<br />
<img height="225" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t35.0-12/20149019_10214008701317846_1038390796_o.jpg?oh=8e513295bdd50bfe9a9e6711ac0b6d4d&oe=596D6FDB" width="400" />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-82861547167471146352017-07-01T22:47:00.000-04:002017-07-01T22:47:31.865-04:00Of the offense and the rebuke<a class="verse-content" data-reactid=".7igqw4fyf4.2.1.$55.1" href="https://www.bible.com/bible/55/MAT.18.15.DRC1752" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: black; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block !important; font-family: ArialMT, "Helvetica Neue", Arial, "Liberation Sans", FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; line-height: inherit; margin-top: 15px; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;" title="Read St Matthew 18:15 DRC1752"></a><br />
We have<a href="https://www.bible.com/bible/55/MAT.18.15.DRC1752" target="_blank"> this Bible verse</a> in play lately:<br />
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<span class="verse v15" data-usfm="MAT.18.15" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit;"><span class="label" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; color: #777777; display: inherit; font-size: 0.85714rem; margin-right: 0.28571rem; padding: inherit;">15</span><span class="content" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">But if thy brother shall offend against thee, go, and rebuke him between thee and him alone. If he shall hear thee, thou shalt gain thy brother.</span></span></div>
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<span class="verse v15" data-usfm="MAT.18.15" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit;"><span class="content" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">It seems that I have this penchant for pissing off people in some way or another in the past many months. I've either said or done something that has offended someone somewhere. It was not intentional, but it stinks knowing you've upset someone - especially a friend. I am generally not a people pleaser, so it's not related to that aspect of things. Nor am I just guns blazing give no craps who gets upset with me either. </span></span></div>
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<span class="verse v15" data-usfm="MAT.18.15" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit;"><span class="content" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">But I've long been aware that I am at risk for hurting someone's feelings or offending their sensibilities. I do try to keep it in check, but sometimes, it happens anyway. And most of the time, my friends know they can just tell me that I've done as much and we can work through the situation. However, there are times someone who doesn't know me that well (or maybe at all) finds something I've said or done offending to them, and they won't say anything. I can't say if it's a fear of causing an uproar, an attempt to remain civil/polite, or they don't have the fortitude and courage to just confront me about the situation. </span></span></div>
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<span class="verse v15" data-usfm="MAT.18.15" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit;"><span class="content" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">The problem becomes then that they're harboring a resentment toward me, and I'm clueless to it. I can't own my mistake and attempt to rectify it if that person doesn't own their upset with me and tell me it happened. I have a relative who hated me for years based on the word of their mother, who was unhappy with me. Neither addressed their grievance directly with me, and still have not. Those 2 people absolutely do own their problem with me until they make it my problem. I can't fix it without their involvement. I don't know if they are still upset with me or not, and it's been about 23 years since it all started. When they decide to talk to me about it, we can do something. But until they do, it is still their ball bouncing in their court. </span></span></div>
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<span class="verse v15" data-usfm="MAT.18.15" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit;"><span class="content" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: subpixel-antialiased; box-sizing: inherit; cursor: pointer;">Most recently, I posted something on Facebook, and told of someone else's situation, and a reflection of things. It was an emotionally charged thing in my realm. However this other person took it as making their situation about me. Instead of directly confronting me, there was a vaguebook post made about it, and the ire demonstrated there. I privately apologized, explaining that I would not ever seek to usurp their situation as my own. This person said they'd been bothered by my relating their story on previous occasions and asked that I not do that anymore. </span></span></div>
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Oh good gravy, if this person had just told me the FIRST time they were uncomfortable with me telling of their story, I would have never done it again. Instead, this person harbored resentment and lashed out about it. Well, what was already a charged thing for me became more so because the hurt I thought I'd caused originally was no where near what the cause of hurt actually was. Now we've got other things at play. In addition to remorse for offending someone, there's now annoyance because they opted not to address it immediately and privately, ignored me completely when I attempted to make contact along the way which left me believing that they had something else going on, and then it blew up loudly. What would have only been briefly awkward, may be such permanently now. </div>
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So, if you have a grievance, there really is merit to addressing it in a timely manner, and directly to the person who has committed it upon you. If you need moral support, then utilize it as needed. But don't let it fester and brew for so long that it becomes this severing explosion. And if anyone truly knows me, then they surely know they can come to me to express a problem exists. I'm not such a hardass that I can't see where I have made a mistake, and I'm not so callous that I can't or won't attempt to make amends. And even if we aren't good friends, that still stands. My skin is not so thin that someone saying I've done something to upset them is going to cause me to behave badly. Yes, I might be upset at first and my kneejerk reaction may not be initially what either of us expect. But I am willing and capable of working through my reactions, sorting through where the offended is coming from with their problem with me, and attempting to make amends or politely parting ways as the situation merits. </div>
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Just don't sit there and be offended and tell everyone else about it, <b><i><u>BUT</u></i></b> the person who needs to hear it first and foremost.</div>
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Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-61086004218900163422017-03-28T22:43:00.000-04:002017-03-28T22:43:13.373-04:00Trickling down, around, forward, aboundMy husband used to work at Home Depot. He impressed the store manager so much that 9 months after he got there, he was promoted to manager. You need to know that my husband has always been a leader, it's one of those natural born traits he has. A few of our kids have that gift as well. But before he could officially promote, this store manager required that every new promotee read Cmdr Michael Abrashoff's book It's Your Ship first. That was how they were to run their departments because that was how she wanted the store run. Apparently he was so good that every time she transferred him to a different department, she got minimum 15 requests from people around the store to transfer to that department. They wanted to work for him. Seriously, it was crazy and the managers who were there before him and operating on different mindsets couldn't handle it.<br /><br />He took his Marine Corps training, his natural leadership skills, and his DILLIGAF of what anyone thought about him, blended with this approach, and it was golden. He rarely had to write up anyone after a single corrective conversation. He had people seeking him out for various things. Customers would drive an hour just to find out if he was there and turn around if he wasn't because they didn't want to talk to anyone else. Employees begged to work in his department. I've rarely seen anything like it, but if more people operated like that, the world would be a more productive and happier place to work.<br />
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He got moved to garden center during peak season, not having much knowledge of actual gardening. He mowed the grass too short every time and did things that made me crazy. Our yard left a lot to be desired, and that's all I'm going to say about it. But he's always been willing to learn and try, so he did. He had a part time associate working for him who was there to fill a job gap and make some extra money. They were working together one day, and the other guy was spotting for my husband on a forklift, making sure customers kept clear of the area and that my husband was warned of problems and safety issues. My husband asked the other guy if he wanted to learn how to operate it. The guy said "nah, I'm an admin kind of dude." My husband told him he couldn't screw up anything on it and that it was easy enough, almost like a video game joystick. He taught this associate how to operate the machine, and helped him gain the company's required certifications to operate the machines. That was around 2008 or 2009.<br />
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Fast forward to the past year, where my husband was able to secure a job that has been a bit of a dream for us. He was working on something, and recognized a guy in the vicinity and kept wondering where he knew him. Meanwhile this other guy was wondering the same about my husband. Finally someone said something. And they reconnected. My husband is easy to remember, hard to forget.<br />
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They got to talking and the other guy told my husband that he left working with a relative because things were not going well and now owns a forklift rental company. And it all started because my husband took the time to share knowledge, and he handled customer service differently, and led by example in a way that other managers didn't. My husband would explain the why and how behind a company decision and the results it would have when associates followed those instructions. He taught them how to read reports and understand the operational side of the store beyond just getting product in the customers' hands. The other guy even said that when he's talking to people about how to do things within his business, he uses my husband's name saying "He knows how to take care of customers AND coworkers."<br /><br />It absolutely made my husband's day, and it made my day to hear about it. One simple action, one small gesture, one shift in behavior is all it takes to be different. And you do different well enough, you influence others to be different too. And when you empower your employees, they want to work for you. When you keep your employees happy, they can keep the customers happy. Small influences have big impact. If my husband had not been willing to share his knowledge, this young man would have never thought he could have the option to own forklifts and rent them out to people. He would have continued thinking "nah, I'm just an admin guy" and kept looking for desk jobs. Instead, he took his "admin guy" experiences, his customer service experiences at Home Depot, the business knowledge he probably learned from my husband, and he put it together in his own business.<br />
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Know that every choice you make not only impacts you, but it impacts others. Every action you take yields a result you'll never see or know. Occasionally, you get really blessed and someone shares how your influence impacted them. And it's ridonkulously cool when they tell you that because of your influence, they have had some amazing experiences. The trickle is there, all you have to do is listen for it and let it flow.<br />
<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-36858035076955021502016-10-19T10:06:00.000-04:002016-10-19T10:06:48.935-04:00Leggings and ListeningMany of you have heard of a company that sells clothing on a direct sales platform, wholesale to the consultant who sells it for retail. I was first introduced to this company by a member of my downline team, who decided to join the clothing company last winter. <br />Now, the business model is such that there is a limited number of pieces cut from any particular print of fabric. So it makes the product appealing because of how unique the pieces are. It's mass-production but limited due to the choice of materials. There is a definite draw to it because of the uniqueness. Along with it comes some level of crazy but that's going to happen no matter where you go anymore. <br /><br />I could talk about the cut of the styles, the fabrics, etc. if you're a fan, I don't need to explain it. If you're not or you never heard of it, all I can say is you need to put your hands on it and wear it to comprehend it. I can't do it justice with my words. It's midnight and I've been busy, so the pistons are shutting down quickly here. But I will tell you the clothing is COMFORTABLE. Seriously, I almost crawled in bed wearing one of the dresses a couple weeks ago.<br /><br /> I was talking with a friend and it occurred to me there was more drawing women to these clothes than the rare find prints, the extreme comfort, the versatility, etc. In the past many years, dare I say over a decade, clothing for women has become more insulting to our intelligence (sizing and fit issues anybody?), more revealing, and mothers across the country are begging the question: "Why do retailers offer skimpy clothing for our daughters, but our sons can find the same standard clothes?" Just do a handy internet search of your own to find any number of blogs and articles lamenting the double standard in what is offered. We have shorter and shorter hemlines being offered to both women and girls. I can't take my daughters shopping without having to nix most of the choices, or stipulate that a camisole must be worn under something because of a fault in the design that doesn't meet our dress standard. And to be clear, we are not horridly strict here. Our girls and I have long femur bones, so it's even more difficult to find shorts that cover where we deem that they should. We have curvy parts that require extra fabric to dress those areas. It's not an option to allow otherwise. We don't do sheer and see-through where a swim team bathing suit would cover. We don't even need to discuss necklines, do we? If I can see cleavage from my vantage point, I am not comfortable wearing it. It's that simple. The way I move, and doing the kind of work I do, that kind of neckline puts me at the edge of sharing parts of me that I do not wish to share.<br />
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The revelation I had this evening was that this company is such a draw to women because they offer clothing that fits a variety of ways, is versatile, fun, and here's the biggest thing - it's <u><i><b>MODEST</b></i></u>. None of these pieces are excessively short, low cut, or scant. Yet, when I wear the pieces, my husband swoons because they flatter my figure, and he thinks it makes me more beautiful, and even sexy. It might be that I'm also insanely comfortable in what I'm wearing, and not tugging, pulling, or checking for exposure. If I have to fight with my clothes, I won't wear it. I fight with enough other more important stuff in my world. The things I wear aren't a priority for fighting.<br />
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Women have an option versus the ones offered in stores, and they are voting with their dollars. I'm sure the big box retailers are surveying the landscape and discerning why their bottom line is affected. The reality is that they have been failing us for many many years, our complaints have fallen on deaf ears, and now that we can find something they don't offer and we've been wanting, even begging them to provide, we are taking our business elsewhere. <br />
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<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-89349946844931672412016-07-03T22:30:00.000-04:002016-07-04T01:24:34.409-04:00Shocked at Mass todayThere was a family in the pew behind me at Mass today with a small child and a baby who I'd guess was about 14 or 15 months old. The little guy had a noisy couple of minutes and dad was trying to quell the noise. Then someone came over to them, stepped into the pew and chastised them. I couldn't make out everything being said. But the family responded by getting up and leaving in the middle of the Mass. I was not expecting that reaction. <br /><br />I'm going to skip my commentary. It's well known with a simple search of my blog my thoughts and they have not changed. Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-27739398473914097012016-05-04T10:51:00.000-04:002016-05-04T10:51:33.976-04:00Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.<br />
After being told she's less of a woman by people who were supposed to be on her side, your decision to have mothers stand and be honored or prayed over by the congregation has driven her decision. Even 50 some-odd years later, my father still grieves the loss of a child, and then the other loss 30ish years ago. My FATHER, a man, who is supposed to apparently be stoic and push aside *his* grief. My own husband is having a difficult time of it himself. My best friend's grandmother had a loss in the 60s, and the doctor was anything but compassionate toward her. She told him to never say that crap again and he was not to return to her room. He returned the next day with more of the same junk, and she threw a bar of soap at his head. She is 50+ years out from that loss, it still burns with an indescribable ache, and she was one of the ones who suffered in silence all these years. Women like her are why I have my big mouth and why I refuse to keep it shut. <br /><br />So, pastors, get creative. Get compassionate. Get your congregation involved. Get them talking. Get them to understand the pain. Get them to show love to the women with empty arms, even if they also have full ones. <br /><br />
I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. <br />
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<a href="http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/" target="_blank">http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering" target="_blank">http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering</a><br />
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I am NOT saying skip the celebrating of mothers. I am saying shift a couple gears and rework it. I'm saying that while you're celebrating mothers in May and fathers in June, that you plan for October to honor the reason parents grieve too. I'm saying you've got noble intentions, and there is room to make it better. Believe me, word will get out that you do something awesome for the moms-of-a-different-sort, and you will build your community and have a group of women who are going to wrap their arms around newly-grieving families so that they do not suffer in silence like my friend's grandmother and countless other women, or like my father and husband. Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-56738750600161745382016-04-05T13:51:00.001-04:002016-04-05T13:51:50.393-04:00Putting yourself in someone else's shoes<div class="_1dwg" style="padding: 12px 12px 0px;">
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In an online loss support group, someone shared that they were told by a guy that nobody chooses to experience loss, but they DO choose how they respond to it. He just failed to comprehend how we simply can not just not-cry when there's a reminder. I suggested she put it in terms a guy who has never experienced a loss, or held a sister, wife, mother, girlfriend, or other female in the throes of grief over losing her child would understand.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />"Tell him to imagine getting punted in the nads so hard they may never recover, and he’s not allowed to cry, yell, double over in pain, wince, or even blink twice about it. He still has t<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">o go to work like normal digging a trench to lay conduit, or climbing a ladder to paint a vaulted ceiling, or pushing a lawnmower. And that he isn’t allowed to respond to it at all. He can’t even talk to his doctor, significant other, or minister about it. And then add to it, all his buddies tell him to man up and suck it up buttercup, it’s just a kick in the nads and he can still have sex." </span></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">I'm sure watching a few episodes of Jackass might be a fair start in getting someone like that to gain any insight. Somehow, I suspect people like that will never get a clue till life slams them in the back of the head with a clue-by-four.</span></div>
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Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-39295158060969359662016-03-06T16:34:00.001-05:002016-03-06T16:34:43.947-05:00How a mug & spoons help me manage my grief and my life<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUR8Z6Um9BnVXTeTmVSTDHp3CbL5W1TfbNgXAuH-mr_VVHmuZD2XLmA-XBng4JxTWq_5BENHdBcZumR9Ff-UeLqx_nDAWou49iN4hI1MFNVkAP9vJL7jQnHU6QVkEsTJg3T2sysyHvVaTD/s1600/coffee+mug+no+spoons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUR8Z6Um9BnVXTeTmVSTDHp3CbL5W1TfbNgXAuH-mr_VVHmuZD2XLmA-XBng4JxTWq_5BENHdBcZumR9Ff-UeLqx_nDAWou49iN4hI1MFNVkAP9vJL7jQnHU6QVkEsTJg3T2sysyHvVaTD/s320/coffee+mug+no+spoons.jpg" width="180" /></a>The day I went to the ER for a suspected miscarriage, my husband wandered the hospital halls after the ultrasound to find food, and stopped at the gift shop. Once we returned to the room after the scan, and the medical staff exited, I told him I did not see a heartbeat on the screen. He claimed hunger, which I knew was true because I heard his stomach growl, and it was well past his usual lunchtime. He came back a while later with a cafeteria cup (probably containing sweet tea) and this mug. He was trying to cheer me up and be a little funny. Unfortunately, the mug stinks at keeping coffee warm enough for very long, and it has a chip in the rim from someone else leaving it in the van. I pulled it from the cabinet for sentimental reasons. I didn't want it broken in circulation. To me, it is more than *just* a mug. It is one of the very few tangible items I have connected to the very brief existence of our Francis.<br />
<br /><br />In the Healing After Pregnancy Loss group I joined, we talk about spoons. It is related to the blog post about <a href="http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/" target="_blank">The Spoon Theory</a>. One day, I was feeling frustrated with the poor reconciliation of my to-do list versus the got-it-done list. My upline director suggested I change how I view the spoons. Instead of using up the spoons, decide how to spend them and what kind of investment will be to spend them. I had a HUGE moment of AH-HAAAA!<br />
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I went to the box of plastic cutlery, and I grabbed a handful of spoons out of it. I then found a sharpie marker that actually wrote clearly and worked. I labeled the majority of the spoons. I did leave several blank for those days the grief visits, the stress plays hard in the day, the work of the day wears on me. But the others, I gave a name. As I use a spoon, I turn it handle up in the mug.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Crafting - because I haven't done any in a long time, and it is something I want and need to do. Most days my brain just can't fire the pistons correctly for the simplest of knitting though. It's there when I'm ready for it.</li>
<li>31 - I have two of these for my business, so that I intentionally touch my work daily - one for the fun stuff, one for the must-do stuff.</li>
<li>Schlepping people - I have to get people places on time and some days, it pulls a lot out of my resources to do it. But it has a name on a spoon because it is a must-do and it helps my family.</li>
<li>Reflection - time at the end of the day to journal and end the day on a positive note.</li>
<li>Time with my spouse- probably the most important spoon in the bunch. He is incredibly busy and stretched, and we must connect regularly so we avoid drifting in opposing streams.</li>
<li>D.W.O.P.S. - Dealing With Other People's Stuff (or the expletive as it were). When it's not just a friend venting, and you find yourself getting sucked into it. Or your kids are just at each other's throats all day and you're wearing thin of hearing it or refereeing it.</li>
<li>Morning - Mornings take a bit out of me because I'm not a morning person, and there's a time crunch, and coffee isn't always hitting the brain fast enough. </li>
<li>Self Care - bathing, grooming, even getting out of my pajamas on those heavy-spirit days.</li>
<li>Home Care - because a tidy space blesses everyone, and some days I struggle to even move a dish to the sink or dishwasher. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVghDv2bUSniYgIW7cr0JsG1jvuPD62lQh-_88nnNjUPe85l8sXgVDL9LOh-6TyAtjdb6xUUztvfmOzPpiXumAxpmDPjfJtk7gfgj7sGidGJ-vAK5q33ocw4Qzijkbii12wJz5K5pouIBY/s1600/spoons+no+mug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVghDv2bUSniYgIW7cr0JsG1jvuPD62lQh-_88nnNjUPe85l8sXgVDL9LOh-6TyAtjdb6xUUztvfmOzPpiXumAxpmDPjfJtk7gfgj7sGidGJ-vAK5q33ocw4Qzijkbii12wJz5K5pouIBY/s320/spoons+no+mug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3FA0h4zNvhrYv_GIpxqhme99QhrnS6mb2WsnWGzvE_DdVvappJ4KA60CbvOc5Va5uP4rfDNRIvt8tvXwYB37eS6tXtEX5StBNXnKpWS7J1KrJuOoHP5wmMACW6LAB0H8fXiS4MU_ipTG/s1600/coffee+mug+with+spoons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3FA0h4zNvhrYv_GIpxqhme99QhrnS6mb2WsnWGzvE_DdVvappJ4KA60CbvOc5Va5uP4rfDNRIvt8tvXwYB37eS6tXtEX5StBNXnKpWS7J1KrJuOoHP5wmMACW6LAB0H8fXiS4MU_ipTG/s320/coffee+mug+with+spoons.jpg" width="180" /></a>This is how I sometimes have to manage my days, and manage my grief. I'm a visual tactile person, and some members of my family do not always comprehend the burden on my soul or how it affects my ability to be the matriarch of my household. They can look at the spoons and see how many are available with the handle still down. I have reached a point that I don't need to use the mug of spoons to manage my days as regularly, but it's a gentle reminder to me that life must keep moving, and that there is space and spoons available to allow the grief to visit me for a few minutes, and spoons that are an investment in my life and that of my family.<br />This coffee mug is not just a silly mug to me. It was a gift from my husband, an attempt to demonstrate his pain to me where he can not articulate it, and his way of sharing humor to kiss my heartache that exists in a way he can not touch. This mug holds a value to me that only someone who has grieved a heavy loss and holds a tangible item related to that situation can fathom. To the rest of the world, it's *just a mug*. If you have a loved one who has such an item, please be respectful about it. When you treat it as an ordinary object, while it has special meaning to them, what you do is disrespect their grief and mourning. Every loss is difficult, regardless of the circumstances. Losing a child though, is a suffering that is more than a loss of the life, but the future that life would have had and the role others would have played in the child's story.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-55180517648323761692016-02-27T22:28:00.002-05:002016-02-27T22:28:56.972-05:00Horror and heartbreakPlease keep my family in your prayers. As I sit her mourning my own loss last summer, and the due date that never came, a relative of mine is mourning the tragic loss of both parents in different ways this past week. I am completely stunned, and my heart breaks for this branch of my family, suffering so very much. Prayers for peace to come to those left behind and for the eternal repose of the deceased.<br />
If you are able to help them bury their matriarch, please consider helping in what ever amount you can.<br /><a href="https://www.youcaring.com/sheena-martin-macnulty-529729" target="_blank">https://www.youcaring.com/sheena-martin-macnulty-529729</a>Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-43884659644201383142016-02-24T23:35:00.002-05:002016-02-24T23:35:52.433-05:00I shouldn'tI shouldn't be sitting here drinking this wine.<br />
I shouldn't be able to fit into this pair of pajama pants.<br />
I shouldn't be able to walk normally.<br />
I shouldn't be able to move without worrying about my hip dislocating.<br />
I shouldn't be able to move my arms without whacking my engorged breasts.<br />
I shouldn't be able to see any part of my body from the midsection down to the floor.<br />
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But I can, and I am, and I do.<br />
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I should've been a shuffling, waddling, fat husk fielding a <a href="http://feistyirishwench.blogspot.com/2013/08/originality-and-humor.html" target="_blank">million questions</a>.<br />
I should've been using a <a href="http://feistyirishwench.blogspot.com/2013/10/hippy-chick.html" target="_blank">plastic bag on my driver seat</a> to get in and out of my van.<br />
I should've been worrying about choosing a name.<br />
I should've been reconfiguring car seats.<br />
I should've been having heartburn.<br />
I should've been having insomnia.<br />
I should've been excited and nervous.<br />
I should've been worrying about juggling a toddler and a newborn.<br />
I shouldve been perhaps even actually <i>holding a squishy new baby.</i><br />
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Instead, I am forging a new normal that doesn't include any of that.<br />
Instead, I regularly find myself counting how many <a href="http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/" target="_blank">spoons</a> I have left to get through the rest of the day.<br />
Instead, I found myself having the sensations of a phantom pregnant belly as I laid in bed this afternoon.<br />
Instead, I cry in the hot shower as I look down and see my frame and body all the way down to my feet.<br />
Instead, I am staring at my fertility awareness app on my phone, and seeing that the only thing due this week is my menstrual cycle - and <i>*not*</i> my baby. Oh, mind and body, you are cruel playmates this week.<br />
Instead, I'm praying to get through the next week without as much heavy grief as I had nearly 7 months ago.<br />
Instead, I am sitting here, mournful and sad, completely depleted of energy.<br />
Instead, I am drafting plans for an annual collection for a charity in honor of Francis' due date that never came.<br />
Instead, I carry the weight of a heavy heart of miscarriage and feeling alone in my grief event though I know I am not.<br />
Instead, I am finding myself comforting other mothers of angels in their journey, just as others walked with me in mine. It is a supremely sucktacular sisterhood have to join.<br />
Instead, I argue with <a href="http://feistyirishwench.blogspot.com/2015/10/go-pink-and-blue-for-october.html" target="_blank">platitudes</a> intended to comfort when all they do is cut deeper and sharper.<br />
Instead, I fight with myself to find silver linings, hidden graces, and the what-ifs that I couldn't do if I had continued that journey.<br />
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Instead, I get to say things like "If a girl has to endure the suckage of mourning the loss of a child, she deserves the kind of love and support I got."<br /><br />And instead, I know not everyone does. And they shouldn't get anything less than I received.<br />
<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-56375154403602948672015-10-10T17:44:00.000-04:002015-10-10T17:44:07.059-04:00Miscarriage and child loss grief resourcesI am aiming to find an organization to direct funds toward that aids people in times of child loss. I was exploring my options as a fundraiser, and where to responsibly direct support to help others. In asking friends about the idea, someone sent me this link. I have not fully explored every link contained on this page, but if it helps anybody else, it's worth it to share the link.<br /><a href="http://babylosscomfort.com/grief-resources/">http://babylosscomfort.com/grief-resources/</a>Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-25773130212164449432015-10-03T21:47:00.000-04:002015-10-10T17:44:29.110-04:00Go Pink AND Blue for OctoberOctober 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day, and has been seen abbreviated as PAIL in some places.<br />
There is a link going around crackbook with the headline saying something about how it is important that Mark Zuckerberg is being open and honest about the miscarriages he and his wife had. I shared the link with this blurb of commentary. I share it here, because at any point I may accidentally make a public post not so public, and the sentiments need to be shared where possible. The awareness ribbon for this is half pink, half blue. There's a hashtag going around social media, #goPINKandBLUE related to the awareness campaign. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.4667px;">"Talking about miscarriage should not be taboo, nor should it bring criticism and shame. No one should suffer alone or in silence in the wake of a pregnancy loss. I didn't, and that was only because I have amazing people in my life. They're amazing because I gave them the opportunity to demonstrate as much having reached out and shared with them. If you know someone who had a prior loss, or is going through a loss, do not be silent. Even if you only say "ugh, that sucks", that</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21.4667px;"> is better than no words, or worse, the crappy attempt at platitudes. When we're in the throes of grief, we do not want to hear "God has other plans" "you're young, you can try again", "it wasn't really a baby", "get over it already", or any number of things that are well meaning but actually hurt more. God may have other plans, but it still sucks monkey butt. Some people try and try and try and babies don't come easily to them. It was definitely a baby to that parent, because it sure as hell wasn't a puppy. There is never any getting over it. My 89 year old father still mourns the miscarriage losses of 50 & 30 years ago. And he wasn't even the one who was physically pregnant.<br />If my annoying people by talking about my miscarriage helps even one person to feel less alone in their grief, then you'll just have to suck it up and be annoyed about it. I don't keep talking about it to get sympathy. I talk about it because it not only helps me heal, but it helps someone else to just know they are not alone in their sorrow."</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/ForeverMySweetPea" target="_blank">Forever My SweetPea</a> is offering a free awareness ribbon graphic through October 14, 2015. This project is an amazing work of kindness, and I know it is taking a chunk of extra time and effort for them to do this for those of us with angels. If you have a moment, thank them for their generosity.<br />
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<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-29102046655872807212015-09-07T02:13:00.000-04:002015-10-10T17:44:54.671-04:00A month seems so long yet is notAs I got dressed for church, I grumbled. I could not just wear jeans today, since I was scheduled as Lector. Most of the pants I have are either too small, or too big. Or they fit my waist, but my hips and thighs make them too tight. Or they fit my hips and leave so much gap that it would look crappy with all the fabric bunching in a belt. Such is the life of having a ghetto bootie. Dammit, I should be fitting in to that pair of maternity pants, not trying to figure out if this regular pair might fit. They should ALL be too small! None of these pants are supposed to fit. I am supposed to be seeing a little 14/15 week bump and lamenting that nothing fits because there is a mini human in the making who is causing me to grumble about my wardrobe. I huffed as I settled on the purple striped dress. I was running out of time to look for anything else, it was appropriate for church, and it fit.<br />
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It was not till I was about to walk out the door, that I realized I was wearing the same dress I was wearing 5 Sundays ago. And the same shoes were on my feet. The only difference was the undergarments, and that was only because the ones I wore 5 weeks prior were too big for me now.<br />
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Then my friend came by with a shawl she knitted for me, made out of the same yarn as the tiny miniature blanket and hat she made while we sat vigil over a month ago. It is a beautiful blue, with beading, and lace, and a lot of love in it. She said it was so that I would have a warm hug when I needed it. I knew she was making it, but had not seen the pattern. She wouldn't have posted the project in her Ravelry project page because she knew I might run the chance of seeing it before she gave it to me. I tucked it into my bag because I wanted to show it to anybody who would listen, and I might need a hug.</div>
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I arrived at church early enough to catch any instructions from the sacristan, and glance over the Prayers of the Faithful. If you are not Catholic, this is the part where the congregation responds to prayer intentions with "Lord, hear our prayer". I was stopped cold at the 3rd line. That one was for people in grief. I asked the eucharistic ministers for extra prayers during that portion of Mass. I was afraid I would lose my composure at the ambo in front of the congregation. I sought out Father J to ask him to send up extra prayers and shared my concern. I got through it with a cracked voice and I could feel the prayers bolstering me, cheering me on with a quiet "You can do this. Keep going." I went to my seat but did not stay there but a few seconds. I escaped to the conference room to cry because I could not hold it in any longer. It took me several minutes to regain my composure and return to the sanctuary. I could see Father J was relieved that I was back. </div>
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After Mass, my daughter said that she heard my voice crack and she immediately looked at Fr J, and he was about ready to continue for me if I wasn't able. I was also greeted by a couple friends asking what was going on with me. I told them. I had a miscarriage at the end of July. It has been a tough month. One of these friends has always told me I need to stop saying "upright and breathing" as a response to someone asking me how I am doing. My answer to that is if I'm having a craptastical day, I am not lying by saying "fine" when I am in fact not fine. She argued that it was speaking something other than gratitude or joy into the world. Today I told her that it was perfectly acceptable to say "upright and breathing" because I am just *not* fine, well, dandy, or good. Some days I'm barely surviving. </div>
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I came home, changed clothes and just crawled into bed. I didn't even greet my husband. I was just on the verge of tears. He found me a few minutes later, asking if I was mad at him. I related the gist of things and bed surfed most of the afternoon. I could not muster the energy to do anything. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted and it was taking a physical toll on me. I fell asleep a while later, and when I woke up, my husband was making soup and grilled cheese for dinner. Once again he is picking up my slack and taking care of me. I don't know where he is with his grief or mourning, but I do know that he wants me to just be ok, and when I am not, he does what he can to at least bolster me. I am in awe of how much he pours his love in to me and just wants me well. He will tell you he is not good with words. Sometimes he has said things that did not help me in my grief, although well-intended. But his actions speak volumes to me. And I don't know how long it will take till I don't need to rely on those little actions so much to get through the moment. I only know exactly how much they mean to me when I am at a weak spot.</div>
Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-27703483861590788762015-09-04T12:47:00.002-04:002015-09-04T12:51:38.696-04:00You look good for .... what?In the past several weeks, I have repeatedly heard "You look good for having five kids."<br />
<br />
whut tha whut??<br />
<br />
First of all, what *SHOULD* I look like for having five children? Well, 6 when you count angel Francis. Seriously. What is anyone expecting? Frumpy? Dowdy? Do they expect that I'll be dressing like the stereotypical evangelical homeschooling matron? Do you expect that I am supposed to look like I just rolled out of bed in my clothes from yesterday like a slovenly teenager from a 1980s movie?<br />
<br />
Stop saying that to people.<br />
<br />
Either we look good, or you look silent. Full stop. When people say to me "You look good for having 5 kids", I have taken to snarkily responding with "How about I just look good, period." What people see about me is physical appearance, and it is one that people want for themselves or they hate me for it. <a href="http://feistyirishwench.blogspot.com/2014/04/size-matters-depending-on-how-you-see-it.html" target="_blank">I have said it before</a>, and I will say it again. I. CAN. NOT. HELP. THE. PHYSICAL. PERSON. I. HAVE. Do not hate me for winning the genetic lottery, because it comes with caveats. My grocery bill will forever look like I'm feeding a herd of teens. My clothing is difficult to fit properly because of curves, a long rise, big feet, and broad shoulders, and what is available in stores is not always appropriate for my age.<br />
<br />
What you don't know or care to know is that I am not the picture of health. I have weak core that my chiropractor has been nagging at me for 6 years to rebuild. I have not done it. I own my laziness, and I make no excuses such as time, energy, etc. I just do not do it. I know this. I admit every second of it. What you don't know or care is that I have a high metabolism, and if I skip meals, I get migraines. It has gotten worse the older I get, too. What you don't know or care to know is that I think people who say "You look good for....(insert qualifier)" are problematic. You need to know and you need to care about that last one.<br />
<br />
When you tell me I look good for having 5 kids, what you are telling my best friend with 5 kids is that she's fat, slovenly, ugly, a pig, or she is lazy. A lazy day for her still outpaces my busy ones by a million miles. She battled an eating disorder and STILL fights it daily as an adult. She has diastasis recti which is only going to be corrected by surgery because pregnancy really did a number on her and physical therapy has only done so much to improve it. When you tell me I look good for having 5 kids, what you tell another friend of mine is that she is inadequate for not being able to lose all that weight after just one baby. She has PCOS and some other issues, not that it is any of your business. Maybe it needs to be your business, so you can educate yourself on the challenges of that situation. What you're telling another friend who doesn't have any children is that she is not enough because she's overweight, and has no excuse for it since she didn't have any kids yet.<br />
<br />
What you're telling me when you say I look good for having 5 kids is that I am doing something wrong. You're telling me that I shouldn't "qualify" to look this way, or that I shouldn't "qualify" to have 5 kids. Nope, no way. I don't need to qualify for either equation. I am raising kids to be independent, capable of functioning without me in the adult world, and to have the kind of work ethic to be a leader that gets stuff done. THAT is what matters most. Am I proud of the way I look? Yes, I am. There is no shame in the way I look. I know I am easy on the eyes, but I also know that could change in a BLINK with one momentary turn of the world. Do I enjoy getting compliments? Absofreakinlutely! Who doesn't!?!?!<br />
<br />
I do enjoy the reactions I get when people learn I am the mother of many, and that my oldest can make the beer run for me, or that I am nearing age 40. It's fun. It gives people something to think about in terms of looks being deceiving. It boosts my mood when I hear a compliment. But a compliment should not come with a qualifier, or at the cost of someone else. Lift up someone's soul without exception, qualification, or exclusion. Do it because it is the right thing to do, or because someone's spirits just need the boost. Don't do it because your expectations and their reality are in different lanes.<br />
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<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-86867994246535303462015-08-30T02:18:00.000-04:002015-10-10T17:45:28.129-04:00Finding our new normal hereSo, it's been a month.<br />
<br />
It has been a busy month at that.<br />
<br />
Trying to deal with the mental and emotional aftermath of a loss, and still keep going with life is a challenge at best. It's not entirely as difficult because I dealt with a lot of junk that whole dreadful week. But it has still been difficult. It has been compounded by a new school year in a new school. At the same time, Devildog changed jobs and entered into the electrical apprenticeship program, which comes with him going back to school part time, and working full time. Clone is really having to step up the ante in her game across the board after 2 years of middle school elsewhere, and having been in remediation that still did not bring improvement in her test scores (not that I rely on test scores for assessing her ability). Blur requires extra monitoring to keep her moving and develop the habits she needs to make her self sufficient. Speedy has been a typical toddler and just exhausts me. But on the upside of things, I have begun attending Mass daily at a geographically nearby parish since I'm right there every morning anyway. There is no excuse for missing it. I am not rushing off to punch a clock, and I would otherwise be at home doing little else except trying to do something productive or being lazy. So, I go 4 days during the week that there is Mass in the morning. I'd been attending mid-week Mass at my parish while Clone was in religious ed classes for the past several months. I can't say I am able to pay a whole lot of attention because Speedy is not still, and I am incessantly chasing him. I figure this is my opportunity to help teach him during the week at a shorter Mass so that he can manage to sit through Sunday Mass just a bit more. At least, that is my hope. Some days are better than others. Tonight...I struggle to shut my brain up so I can sleep. Hence this brain-dump into a blog to get it out of my head so I can't mentally harp on it so much like I am hard-wired to do. And writing this has brought tears to the surface - not entirely a bad thing but not really a way I wanted to end my day.<br />
<br />
My hormones are still out of whack, and I know they will be for a while. I was surprised that my first post-miscarriage menses would bring up so much emotion and difficult pain for me, but it did. To be blunt and border on TMI here, I had heavier bleeding than when I was miscarrying. I had cramps that needed heat to alleviate them, which is totally new for me, and they were in a different spot than usual. I've also been wrestling with the idea of another child. I do not quite know where I am in terms of wanting another child versus preferring to avoid another pregnancy. There is fear of a lot of things. Some of that is the fact that I'm nearing 40, I never rebuilt my core muscles after my 4th pregnancy, dealing with symphasis pubis dysfunction sucks royally, I don't know that I want to re-enter that phase my mommy-board friends call "baby jail". Speedy is at that point where he can feed himself, get his feet into his shoes himself, identify when he needs a diaper, occasionally uses the potty, starting to talk, and he's just plain a monkey toddler who gets into everything. It really is exhausting, and my attempts to get anything done in a day are interrupted by his antics. Do I really want to go back to a mewling newborn, completely dependent upon me and start the clock all over again? Am I feeling like I want another child only because Francis was taken from us? Am I even considering this idea because I don't want a loss to be the end of the story of our babies? Or do I really want to enter that realm again and have another child solely because I really am crazy enough to actually legitimately want that for our life? And here is a lame one: But I have these cute cloth diapers and was looking forward to putting them on the new baby since I can't use velcro diapers with Speedy. I was loving the idea of using cloth on our next baby too, and not having to buy diapers because - hey look here's a really good stash of butt covers. I honestly have no answer for any of it. I just know that a month ago, my life spun a different course and I am still having moments of reeling, frequent spots of sadness, and forever wonder who my child would have become. And I will always have them. My 89 year old father lost 2 children to miscarriage. Each of his two wives bore a 4th child directly into heaven, and to this day he still laments over them - some 50 and 30 years later. It will never go away for any of us.<br />
<br />
And then there is the other side of this loss. A strange sense of relief that I won't have to deal with an expanding body that physically struggled with the 4th & 5th pregnancies. That the exhaustion of pregnancy is not coinciding with the exhaustion of raising a child in the toddler stage. That the exhaustion of a newborn and infant stage isn't right there with the exhaustion of a toddler becoming a preschooler. And then all that sense of relief leaves me feeling guilty for feeling relieved. And I grapple with the reconciliation between the pain of a loss, the relief of not having that segment of my life to handle, and the guilt of it all. I ache to know who my child would have become, what kind of personality quirks would appear, the kind snark our family is known for having, what kind of amazing things would be done at my child's hand. And that is an ache I feel in every part of my person. I get sad, angry, frustrated and sometimes just have to stop what I am doing and spend time being in that moment of emotion to acknowledge it and let it have a visit. I am also always afraid of getting stuck in that emotion too long, or even not enough. I am afraid of moving onwards and forward too much or too soon. I'm afraid of allowing myself to be angry too long or too much. I just don't want to get stuck there, and I know I run that risk every time I let any of it visit. But I can't run away from it or hide. I have to run headlong into it so that I don't ignore it, shove it aside, or insulate myself too much from it. Maybe I have some warped logic that wants to immerse myself in the pain in hopes of getting it over with so I can find some kind of normalcy that I lack currently.<br />
<br />
I don't even have a lot of direction right now, and I am feeling like I have an idea of where I want to head, but there are so many spoons in my fire at the moment, I can't do everything. And that is bugging me because Devildog is making dinner more often than he should have to, especially since I am the one at home most of the day. I'm fighting to up my own ante, and I feel like I am battling muddy banks on a rainy afternoon. I just want some kind of normal and not this haphazard random flopping around that I feel like I am doing. But I don't even know what my new normal is supposed to even look like. I am just incredibly grateful that my husband is this patient, understanding, and kind man who does not complain when I haven't gotten dinner ready and it's nearing dinnertime. Which then prompts more guilt. But it's laced with immense gratitude for his help and strength where I can't muster it. He spurns me forward when I stall out, and he graciously takes up my slack as I work to heal. Every time I think I have gained some measure of improvement, I hit a point of detour or pain and he bolsters me yet again. I keep feeling like I can't let that stay the norm, even though he can cook some amazing food that makes mine look boring. A girl could get really used to that, and my husband would be willing to keep it up if that's what it took to get me over the hurdle.<br />
<br />
Regardless, I am still patiently seeking to find our next version of our normal. This just does not feel like it'sFeisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-5784225491694207822015-08-13T01:16:00.000-04:002015-08-13T01:16:02.548-04:00Wheelbarrows are not always funSeveral years ago, a visiting priest gave a homily that stuck with me.<br />He told of his childhood visits to see the circus, and the high wire act in it. He told of the guy who pushed his teammate across the high wire in a wheelbarrow. He said he was impressed with the amount of trust the guy in the wheelbarrow had in his teammate, because you can not be both in the wheelbarrow AND pushing it.<br />We are supposed to trust God to lead us and direct our path. Outside of the recent miscarriage, we've had another big issue that has been brewing for a while, and it's reaching a tipping point and it too can alter the course of our journey into a different direction completely. It has been a huge challenge for me to stay in the wheelbarrow. I admit to having control issues. I want to know what is going on, how it is happening, etc. It's the Type A side of me. In reality, I live in the Type B side, but the Type A side has strong influence. So, this tumultuous part of life is wearing on me, and testing my mettle and my faith. I am aware that I have a part in things, and decisions I make and action I take factor in to the results. But my faith tells me that God is in control and our role in our own lives is smaller than we would like to think it is. But there are also other people involved in making decisions about this situation and that is scaring me to no end. This other pile of stuff I'm dealing with is wearing on me, and I am prone to feeling like I just want to throw my hands up and walk away from it all and start over somewhere else.<br />And then, my husband changed jobs this week, leaving the company after 3 years, to take a lower paying job through the electrical apprenticeship program. It's a scary proposition and change always upsets my apple cart. But my husband's soul and being are lighter for not having to face an environment at work that played by rules he does not follow, and where the behavior of a handful of people make the existence there difficult at best. He decided that long term, this path was going to provide him more opportunity and afford him certifications and credentials that he would not be able to attain without formal training.<br />Once more, I am being asked, ... no, told, to get my butt in the wheelbarrow, and hang on tight. Wheelbarrows can sometimes be pretty damn exhausting. It adds to the exhaustion on a mental, emotional, and spiritual level. So, hang on tight I will. The ride is a bit bumpy.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-1428577046523559852015-08-06T20:37:00.001-04:002015-08-06T20:37:49.816-04:00Uncertainty, Hope, and Waiting<h4>
This is a somewhat graphic, quite long, and emotionally charged post. </h4>
<h4>
It was drafted as I traveled this journey over the course of several days. I am baring my soul in this post, and this is part of how I work to heal. My pain is not unlike almost every other woman's in the world. There are millions suffering in silence. I refuse to be one of them. I will use my big mouth to help others. The world needs to know how this affects those around them, and that certain comments are best left completely unsaid. Be respectful in your comments, and if you have a point of disagreement, choose your words carefully. </h4>
<h4>
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All I am able to do at this point is pray, hope, and wait. And repeat. <br />
<br />
As I type this while lying down, I am completely uncertain. I think my brain knows more than my heart wants to admit. And I hate that this is where I am.<br />
<br />
I am on doctor's orders for rest, and a follow up with my regular doctor in a few days. I am home from the emergency room because of spotting. I thought it was just because I overdid it on Sunday after church, shopping with 2 kids in tow while wearing wedge heeled shoes. Seeing it when I went to use the bathroom made me gasp loudly, and Devildog came to check on me. It was brown and it subsided after several hours of rest and plenty of water. Spotting is considered a normal occurrence in this situation, and as long as it's not red, and cramping is not involved, it could just be a slight swish in the cycle. And then today, it resumed, increased, and at some moments blood-tinged. Plus there has been some cramping that feels like dull pressure. I was advised to go to the E.R. because all diagnostic tools were there, and if this was an ectopic pregnancy, I would need to be there anyway. It's not ectopic. But I didn't see a heartbeat in the ultrasound. I don't have a trained eye, but having had 5 children before, I know what to look for and where. To the best of my ability, I was unable to see what I'd hoped to see. Every ultrasound tech is quick to point out fetal heart rate. There was no such point of conversation today. That doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means my fears were neither confirmed or denied. But I still didn't *see* a heartbeat. According to what is known as LMP dates, I should be 9 weeks 4 days. According to charted details, that's farther ahead than my potential actual dates. My HCg beta levels are measuring 7-8 weeks. But even this early, a fetal heartbeat can be detected. Sadly, I am only clinging to a thread of hope here. And as the pressure has increased the last few minutes while typing this, I'm losing my grip on even that.<br />
<br />
I'm fairly attuned to my body, and when something isn't right, I can usually tell. I haven't been feeling the same way this pregnancy as the others. People ask how I'm doing, and I feel normal. I don't feel exhausted, nauseated, or have sore boobs. I was still nursing when I got pregnant, and I weaned shortly after discovering that I was pregnant because the vasospasms were really problematic for me. Between the hormonal dump of that, and the hormonal surges of pregnancy, I figured it was just balancing itself out. But it was always something in the back of my mind that felt different. I know every pregnancy and baby is different. So I just chalked it up to being different.<br />
<br />
This was something that we did not look for in our journey, but having it happen is not a bad thing. We were growing excited about this new baby, and joking about how to reveal the pregnancy, and deciding when to do so. My sister-in-law is due in a few months with their first, and some of my hesitation was a worry about stealing some of her thunder. Other issues are the opinions of others who differ from ours about this, and have said things to us in the past about our family size. I opted to wait because I did not want those opinions to spill over in conversation in earshot of my 13 year old daughter while traveling with relatives to and from camp. She doesn't need to hear that commentary, nor does she deserve it. She is one of my children, and criticizing our family in front of her, means she too is being criticized. I needed to spare her that nonsense. Right now, I am kind of regretting the decision to wait to share the news, only because I want so desperately to have support and prayers from those who know us. Right now, only select friends who we trust and who we know will not make backhanded comments have been told that we are pregnant. Some people we do trust still don't know because we haven't gotten around to it. So if you didn't know, please don't take it personally. <br />
<br />
And if this pregnancy does end in loss, do us and every other parent who has lost a child a huge ass favor. Shut up. Don't say a word about "at least....", better places, better off, you have enough kids, you're young, you can try again, God has plans, etc. Don't. Just do.not.do.it.ever. Seriously. I don't care that you think things will be better off this way. I don't care that you think I have enough kids. I don't care. I don't want to know your opinion. All you have to do is say "I'm sorry. That really sucks." and leave it at that. That is a million times better than some of the other stupid crap well-meaning people say. It does not help assuage the pain. It hurts. It jabs the knife deeper and twists the blade. So shut up. Never say those things to me, or any of the others you know who have had a loss, are experiencing a loss, or will experience a loss in the future. If you say it to me, you are seriously at risk for having a new butthole drafted for you. <br />
(July 27, 2015 - 5pm)<br />
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Here it is, a couple hours later, and the spotting has become red. I am fairly certain that I am in the early stage of losing this pregnancy to a loss. And I am in tears. I want to go cry in my husband's arms but he's asleep, and I don't want to wake him. He would hold me, and let me cry. But I'm on the couch for now. I will probably go cry with him later. Right now, I want to let him rest. He's been dealing with a lot outside of home and he's exhausted. I will call on him when I need the extra support. For now, I am chatting with friends online and getting support that way. He too, will mourn his own way, and we will walk this leg of this journey together. In the meantime, I retrieved the old chuckpad I swiped from the hospital when I gave birth to my eldest and put that under me on the couch. This thing has seen 5 kids' fourth trimesters, potty training, sick nights of pukey kids, and a few hefty visits from Aunt Flo. Somehow there is a measure of comfort in its presence beneath me. (7 pm)<br />
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And an hour and change later, I got up to pee, the bleeding has increased and clotty tissue has started releasing. I crawled in bed with my husband, woke him up with my crying, and he did all he could do. He held me as I cried. An incredibly amazing friend took the kids so we could go to the ER and is keeping the 2 youngest kids overnight to allow us uninterrupted time and space. She just left with a bag of clothes for them, and to drop off a jar and saline solution. She is sadly all too familiar with this experience. I want to help my husband in his mourning, but I don't even know what I'm going to do to get through this, much less help him. I am regretting that I didn't ask for a printed picture of the ultrasound. I'm not even sure I would have been granted one.<br />
And another wave of abdominal pressure is starting to appear. I don't want to go pee even though my bladder feels full. I would rather not be in this situation. (8:40pm)<br />
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As the night has progressed, my butt was growing sore from 2 days of couch surfing. I got up to clean my tub around 10:30 or 11. Some of it was because I needed to just DO something instead of laying on the couch waiting with dread. It was also that I'd rather not reach into the toilet to reclaim my child's remains. I've been peeing in the tub and washing it out instead. I was using the hall bathroom earlier, but my tub has this divot where water pools in it. I decided that this one was going to enable me to catch anything I don't want going down the drain. But it was in dire need of cleaning. And especially in this situation there is no dignity in a gross tub. I have decided not to return to the ER unless it becomes emergent. I don't want that experience. I don't want the sterility and cold and strangers. I had called a new OB's office on the way home from the ER and booked an appointment for a follow up check. At that earlier hour, I was still holding hope for viability. That appointment will be altogether different now. As I started scrubbing the tub, the tears began to flow, and my body heavy with the sobs. Here I was on a perfunctory level, just cleaning my tub. In reality, I was preparing the place where my child's person would land for me to collect. In essence, it felt like I was preparing a coffin of sorts. My husband found me several minutes later, half scrubbing, half sobbing and unintentionally startled me. He listened to my lamentations of how unfair it was that people fight and struggle to get pregnant and can't, yet I seem to get pregnant just looking at him sideways. Or people who harm their children get to keep them, and people who would make amazing parents have empty arms. I later apologized in advance to him for any unexplained emotional outbursts or upsets. They are bound to happen. The cramping is more like a dull pressure and ache at this point, and I feel the bleeding. I occasionally get up to use the bathroom or check things. My husband is worried about me. I know this is weighing on him, and his primary concern at the moment is me, how I'm doing, and how I'm handling this. But I know his heart is breaking too. <br />
I got a text from a best friend checking on me. Then another from the best friend keeping the kids for me. I laid out the tub story for her. This loss of mine is churning up deep pain for her own 9 losses. I am glad for her support, but heartbroken for her that I am part of a painful experience for her. She said she was knitting a hat and a blanket. She is always knitting. Last month when I'd told her I was pregnant, she'd found a heart lace blanket pattern to make for this baby. One of the things in her projects includes finishing projects for others who can't complete them. I thought when she said she was knitting, that it was for one of those things. I said "well I suppose this helps shrink your queue." She stunned me silent with "they're miniatures". I don't even have to ask. (July 28, 2015 - 12:30 am)<br />
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After finally crawling into bed at 2am, I drifted off to sleep, albeit lightly. My husband's bi-pap machine often disrupts my sleep, but it's nothing like his snoring. He and our oldest left for work at 5:45, and I crawled back in bed with my laptop and a bowl of cereal to try to get something done but the printer wasn't working. I eventually tired again and fell asleep for a few hours. I have been getting texts, and messages on facebook checking on me. That comforts me, and I am thankful for this circle of support around me, virtual and real. I can not imagine doing this unsupported in the physical or the emotional aspects. In my reflections and hindsight, I suspected that the feeling normal was not normal, and the sixth sense I have, I knew before I knew. I also had a weird loss of hair last week when that much hair loss only happens postpartum. At the time, I chalked it up to stress from another big life storm brewing outside of this pregnancy. I now suspect that was when this baby actually died, and my body has finally responded to the cessation of life within my womb many days later. (11:00 am)<br />
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I had to go register my girls for school, and that was an exercise in fortitude on a day I didn't want to face people. In the activity of getting myself ready to leave, I began crying again, lamenting aloud while alone. It took me a while to muster the energy to get back up off the couch and go, but it's mostly completed save a trip tomorrow to collect grade and test reports and take to the new school. That two and a half hours has exhausted me. I'm nauseated, partly due to insufficient food, and partly due to being part of this process. I'm hoping my husband is able to leave work on time. He is always a comforting presence to me, even at those times when I'm upset with him. At this moment, I just want him near me for solace, and to sense his own grief. It might be weird to some, but I can feel his energy, and he needs comfort just as much as I do. (3:45 pm)<br />
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I've been bedsurfing most of the day. Too much activity is wearing on me. I find the waiting game to be wearisome and am ready for it to finish its course. It's not unlike any other labor where I await it to commence and get annoyed that my body is taking its time like it is. I'm still bleeding, and clots are more frequent. I think I'm starting to see bits of tissue and I feel a bit like a weirdo sifting through this gross stuff in my tub when I go pee. But this is how I am processing this loss, and I need to do it this way. Around 5pm, I found in a Facebook group the midwife who I have the follow up appointment with on Thursday. I asked if I should keep the appointment considering the progress and she said it was my call. I answered her questions with what I know or suspect, and she was very kind. I felt that I was intruding on her mom-duty, and told her deal with mom stuff first. Work later. I know she has a difficult job sometimes, and her family needs her. She would have kept talking to me if that's what I needed. I felt her kids needed her more. I have other support, her kids may not. But I later asked if she could get me a picture from the ultrasound. I wanted to ask for one, but felt that I wouldn't have been able to get one. She told me that she could. As the evening progressed, I dozed off and on, my husband made dinner for me, and sat with me. Then nausea crept in and hung around like a drunk acquaintance, annoying but not enough to get to me. It subsided after I took my allergy med and nixed the post nasal drip that was probably a culprit. I still have the headaches. I think its related to the BP or slacker bun, or both. My husband eventually found me in the bathroom, and asked if I was ok. I find myself wanting to shield him from the imagery of what leaves my body, because I don't know how he would handle it. He tells me it wouldn't bother him. Some of it might be my fear of being considered weird or crazy for sifting through this stuff to find the pieces that do not deserve to flush down the drain. My husband and I crawled into bed around 11pm and he held me, we talked, I cried, he said some amazingly beautiful things, and apologized for making me cry. He's worried about me, and his wish is to take away my pain. I brought up the idea of naming this child, and why, and the names I was considering. I have felt this child was a boy, and have been looking for names that have good meaning. I am careful about the names we give our kids, because the meaning is important to me. (July 29, 2015 - 12:13am)<br />
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I laid in the bed from the time I woke at 8 till after 10, when a caffeine withdrawal headache and a high-metabolism-starvation dragged me to the kitchen to get breakfast. I felt a hair tickling my arm, and couldn't catch it, so I grabbed my comb, and stood over the trash can, combing, and combing, and combing. I got pissy. I told myself that it was just hair. But it wasn't the hair. It was what the massive hair fallout represented. And then I got angry. My anger was because we hadn't told our parents yet. And instead of sharing exciting news, we will share heartbreaking news instead. I am angry at how we let the reactions of others cause us to hide the last 3 pregnancies, even though we were married and over 18. I am angry that people were doubly robbed of this joy. I am angry that we felt shamed, as if we were still 17 and in high school. I was angry that we have not been granted the same joy and dignity at the news of an impending child that other people receive. I told my husband that we will never hide another pregnancy, should one happen. "We will not hide God's light under a basket." were my exact words. I updated the handful of friends walking with me through this virtually, and my best friend who has my kids - still, 3 days now. And I talked with a friend who is on my team to share the news with her. I only left the house because I needed to collect my daughter's report card and test history to take to her new school, and find remaining pieces of uniforms I needed for the girls. I was up and moving another couple hours. I stopped at the grocery store but forgot the debit card, so I was only able to get some raspberry zinger tea that I needed to steep with the red raspberry leaf tea. Up to that point, things were not progressing much more than the pace already in motion. My plan was to drink the tea to help my uterus do its job. Which by the time I got home, it was starting to do on its own. Kinda like taking the car to the mechanic, oh look, it behaves. My husband called at 4pm to update me on his whereabouts due to work. I came home, steeped tea, chatted with friends to update them. I've been sitting at the table because the thought of laying in the bed or on the couch another day was not where I wanted to be. And in the last 2 hours since getting home, things have started moving faster and getting messier. I don't wish this on anyone. I'm having back labor again, like I did with my 5 previous live births. I've grabbed my rice sock and heated it so I can try to ease the discomfort. TENS unit is another option if I need relief. And my husband is finally home so that I'm not alone. My best friend was about ready to come over here if he wasn't going to be home soon. She really worries, and wants to make sure I am safe. I am forever grateful she is helping us. It is truly a gift. (July 29, 2015 - 6:15pm)<br />
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It's been a few hours, and the pressure and discomfort has been in varying waves and extents. I've been back and forth to the tub, changing the pad almost hourly at some points. My husband has gone to bed because he's exhausted (I can see it in his eyes), and he needs to go to work in the morning, barring my needing him. I was instructed to call upon him if I needed him. It's been 4 days, and the wait is wearing on me. The tea helps encourage things along, it just tastes awful. Some of the contractions are gaining intensity. I am hoping for this to complete soon. It's dragging on for days, I want my younger 2 kids home again, and my husband is having a hard time with their absence. I just know I can't get through this with a toddler in the house who is prone to getting into EVERY thing he can. And I need to hug my babies. Like many labors, mom's body often waits till the house is quiet and everyone has left her in peace to progress. I wonder if that is what is happening with me. (11:10 pm)<br />
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I ended up falling asleep on the couch, and after waking up and crawling into my bed in the morning I wished I'd slept there instead. I was so tired the night before that I was afraid moving to the room would wake me just enough that I'd have a hard time getting back to sleep. I lazed in the bed for a while till hunger dragged me to the kitchen. I asked my husband if he was interested in or able to get off work to come to the follow up appointment. He's been so focused on me that I am not wanting him to be left out of anything if he can be part of it. He can't take away the pain. But he's setting his own aside to help me with mine. And if there is a step in this journey that he can join, I invite him to do so. He couldn't get off work early enough to come, so I told the doctor's office that if they nudged another patient ahead of me, to allow him time to come, I wouldn't have issue with it. The midwife who had already been awesome as it is said she would move my appointment to later so he could join us. My husband left work a little early and was able to be there. While waiting, I started having cramping and it was getting stronger. Then in the exam room they were getting downright unpleasant. I needed my husband to apply counter pressure on my back. Really? Even in a loss, I freaking have back labor? I drew upon the hypnobirthing lessons from my 5th birth to get through it. After answering the nurse's preliminary questions, she left to get the midwife. The midwife came in, introduced herself, told me what the ER records indicated from Monday's visit. The ultrasound measured 6 weeks 3 days, and registered no heartbeat. I was 9 weeks 4 days at that point. I *knew* there was no heartbeat. I should have been told, instead of being allowed to leave the ER with a thread of pointless hope. She said it infuriates her that it happened that way. She then had me get on the exam table so she could see what was going on with me. And as she started, her tone got very subdued and you could tell she was affected by what was happening. The placenta and sac were passing through my cervix, and she was witness to it. She asked if I wanted it sent for genetic testing, and I declined. She carried it like precious cargo, asking if I wanted to see it. "This is what I've been waiting for?" came out of my mouth. I asked for gloves so I could get a closer look. The midwife gingerly set it on a chux pad and began to separate the clots to find the sac. She stopped, realizing that wait...she was leaving me in a bit of a compromised spot, went back to complete the exam and do an ultrasound to check for retained tissue. She gingerly resumed her search and asked me if I wanted her to open the sac to find the baby, telling me that if she did anything to upset me to say stop. She was intrigued by this on an intellectual level as much as I was. But she was reverent and respectful about it. She felt honored that we would indulge her curiosity, and allow her to be part of something so intimate. She had never seen a baby at that early gestation. The earliest she'd seen was 14 weeks, and here she was witnessing a 6 weeker. We were both in awe of it. It may seem gross or weird to some, but I had my husband take pictures. I think it bothered him a bit, but this is how I've been processing it as it happens. I didn't get an ultrasound picture, and I may not be able to get one. If I'd kept the earlier appointment I might have, but then, we might not have been granted the opportunity we were as things ended up unfolding. The midwife hugged me, saying she was sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, and thanked me for allowing her to be part of it. She was so careful and respectful in honoring everything, I am grateful for her role in this journey over the last 5 days.<br />
Francis Anthony <br />
born 9w3d gestation<br />
Thursday July 30, 2015 approximately 4:18pm<br />
Into the hands of the midwife, and laid on mom's stomach. <br />
His names mean Free and Peace.<br />
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Having spent the last 4 days in lamentation, reflection, and tears, I have gotten a lot of catharsis out of it. I know reading this has yanked hard on your own heartstrings, and if you are part of this club, they get yanked harder. I will be forever changed by this. As much as it hurts, I do actually have peace. I've worked through some of the immediate emotional stuff, but I know there is a lot more coming. I'm mentally at ease because I'm no longer waiting for things to culminate. I can pee on the commode again! Physically I felt better immediately, with some residual soreness and tiredness from the whole experience. Based on the lingering dull pain, I'd venture the placenta was attached at the top left side of my uterus. I can now put my life back in gear and move onward. In serving me, my friend was helped with her own healing. She was able to give me the support those around her were unable or unwilling to give her. I am forever grateful and I have been given a gift that most do not receive. I have
been supported near and far, prayed for, listened to with a wide berth, hugged, and loved.
I know I have been blessed with amazing friends, and I have never taken
any of it for granted. It is times like this, you discover just how much people really do love you.<br />
(July 30, 2015 - 11:39pm) Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-60533598565580214682015-07-11T18:21:00.000-04:002015-07-11T18:21:25.343-04:00Fluffy tush and how it started I don't know that I've shared here that I started using cloth diapers for Speedy last year. It started on Ash Wednesday, as part of my Lenten Penance. It need not be abstaining from something. Sometimes, it can mean adding something, especially it has value, merit, or conserves resources, or it increases one's spiritual connection to God. I needed to find a way to save money since the merchandising job went away with the company shuttering shortly after my maternity leave ended, and my Thirty-One business was not yet consistent. I had a literal handful of pocket diapers that a couple friends gave me. I liked them, but didn't have enough of them to make it fully feasible. So, I started out with using cloth while at home, and disposables while we were out of the house. At that time, we were leaving home to go to a lot of places, so it was about a 50/50 split. As we used up the disposable diapers, and I gained confidence in using cloth diapers, I found myself leaving the house without changing the fluff butt to paper butt. Plus, I was growing fond of the cute prints some of my covers have. <br />
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Fast forward to this year, and I've scored a couple ninja deals on a couple bundles of second-hand diapers that I have shared with a friend. She expressed interest in trying cloth for her youngest, and got hooked on it, to the point that she decided to start cloth diapering her 3 year old triplets who have shown no interest in using the potty. She bought more diapers, costing as much as 3 months' worth of disposables. The diapers have already paid for themselves, and the family is using that money to pay off debt. I know some people look at me sideways when I tell them that we use cloth diapers. But these are not the ones I had when my 22 year old was born. If I'd had the diapers I have now when he was a baby, all of my kids would have been in cloth. These do not require pinning a moving target. It doesn't mean I touch poop. Besides, if you actually read the instructions on a package of disposable diapers, it tells you to knock solids into the commode. Nobody does that, and there is a lot of unfiltered biohazardous poop in landfills as you read this. I am guilty of putting a share of it there. <br /><br />It does mean that we save easily $30+ each month, going on low estimates of using store brand diapers, or the big case of Luvs at BJ's. It does mean that I can't remember the last time we had a poosplosive diaper. It does mean 2 extra loads of laundry a week. Since I don't wash my husband's laundry, or the older kids' stuff, I have room in my repertoire. This goes back to other posts where I explain why I don't do the family laundry, among other oddities my household practices. I can guarantee you that my electric and water bills have not increased $30 each month since we've started cloth diapering. The human ovens in my household playing dial-down-the-AC causes more havoc to the bill than washing 2 loads of diapers a week does. So, if you want to say it's too expensive, your argument is invalid.<br />
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Personally, I have spent $95 between the 2 lots I purchased second-hand, and the diapers gifted to me from friends. There are lending programs in many places that loan out diapers for families to try, or to help them avoid having to decide between diapers and something else that is needed. I *might* spend $10 a month in electricity, water, and detergent to wash the diapers, and that is a high estimate. When I am done with the diapers, I can sell them and make back what I have paid for them. You can't resell used disposable diapers. And when we do some math, based on the history of my older kids finally potty training at age three and a half, we're looking at three years of using cloth, which means a savings of $1080, based on a $30 per month expenditure on disposables. Those numbers can be higher if national brands are used and couponing deals not utilized. Even subtracting the cost of laundry, my savings is $720. This is for one child. When I resell the diapers, I am going to recoup the initial investment. So, even if I break even and sell them for what I paid, we're looking at $815 saved on one child. There is a chance I could sell them for more than I paid, but since I'm still using them, we won't know that till later. Again, all of these figures are personal to my household, and if a child can't tolerate store brands and must use a national brand disposable diaper, these numbers will be very different.<br />
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Yes, time is money, and my time has value. When you think about it though, the time spent going to the store and arranging the trek around kids, naps, meals, other errands, and payday takes longer than throwing a load of laundry into the machine between other tasks, refereeing kids, and keeping the toddler safe from himself. Plus, I don't have to be publicly presentable to do it. I also do not have to deal with the challenges of taking my very active children to the store to procure the butt covers. Some days it is just not worth leaving the house. <br />
<br />So, all that said, it isn't for everybody. It works for me. It works for a lot of other people. There are just as many brands and types of cloth diapers as there are disposable diapers. Pockets, flats, fitteds, covers, PUL, aplix, velcro, snaps, .... yea, I've been acquiring the language. As I learn more, I will share, including products that I have used and what I think of them. In the meantime, on other social media venues, you can search for the hashtag, #makeclothmainstream so you can see some of the cute fluffbutts that make mamas like me happy to see.<br /><br />
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<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-17402003960365860642015-04-22T09:36:00.000-04:002015-04-22T09:36:42.571-04:00My kids don't do your idea of normalFor years, there have been stereotypes as to what little boys and girls do in terms of playing, socializing etc. And for the last 21 years, MY kids have been doing their own version of these things. My eldest asked for a Barbie for his 7th birthday. My 3rd child wanted a toy dumptruck for her birthday. I have provided my boys with toy kitchens alongside their cars, and my daughters with Rip-Stiks alongside their dolls. Honestly, my girls have a tiny doll collection by comparison to some of my friends' daughters. I did too. And I dug in the dirt as a kid. If my dad, who abhors yardwork, had a tree I could've climbed in the yard, I would have. He bought the smallest lot on the block so he wouldn't have to do much mowing or gardening. So my tree climbing skills never blossomed. <br /><br />I also was prone to hanging out with boys more often than girls, because boys didn't have the same B.S. going on than my female peers. The fact that I now have a TON of female friends is sometimes boggling to me. But, I've also gotten girlier as I've gotten older, and then this crazybaglady gig I do *is* rather girly. And my daughters are a healthy blend of girly and tomboy, and I am not doing anything to squelch it. It does pose some challenges at school because our genetic quirks make us and our children outside the herd. The herd doesn't know how to handle us right away, and the kids struggle with fitting in at school. <br /><br />My 5 year old tells me with regularity that the girls in her class move away from her, and that it makes her sad because she likes them. It hurts my heart because I know what that means for her. It means that she isn't someone they relate to easily, and she's probably a bit rowdy at school (because she is at home too), so the girls don't want to get involved with a rowdy girl who would probably play better with the boys. My suggestion was to just leave the girls alone and hang with the boys. My daughter said that the girls are better than the boys and she didn't want to play with boys. I told her that sister and I were faced with the same problems as little girls, and we decided that girls were annoying and we hung out with the boys instead because they were just more fun.<br />
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It is a bittersweet realization that my daughters are SO much like I am, because I know the difficulty they have been living. My 12 year old was one of 2 girls in 5th grade who opted to go play football with the boys instead of walking around the playground gossiping. Middle school has been tough on all of us, and I truly wish more parents embraced variety and encouraged their daughters to go climb a tree, play football, go fishing, or skateboard. I wish more parents embraced their sons' softer sides a little more and let their sons play with kitchens and dolls. All of these things for each gender serves purpose, and makes them more well-rounded individuals. My oldest sons are awesome caregivers to their siblings, and can care for a home. My daughters will eventually learn the nuances of mowing the yard so my husband won't have to do it as often, and basic hardware use so they can install their own curtain rods, unclog the sink drain, or check the fluid levels in their cars. <br /><br />Why do I do things this way? I do it because I don't want my sons to be a source of frustration for their partners by never helping around the house. I do it because I don't want my daughters to feel like they must settle for a partner who does this stuff, but neglects her soul or worse yet, abuses her. I want them all to appreciate what their partners do for them, because they understand what it entails. We're too weird to be your idea of normal, but we're too normal to be weird. And speaking only for myself, I am absolutely ok with that because... well, frankly I don't care if you think we're weird. I do, however, care that you teach your kids to not be jerks to mine for being slightly off center from your definition of normal.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-56878787369716331562015-04-16T15:54:00.001-04:002015-04-16T15:54:21.299-04:00Weddings and bridesmaid tortureThere is a post elsewhere asking for pictures of people in their wedding dresses which spun off to another thread asking for pics of bridesmaids in their attire. <br />So, here ya go...I've been a bridesmaid twice. And I can safely say that the honor is work regardless of where in the lineup a girl is. I am insanely thankful that neither bride was a horrible witch.<br />
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<br />Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-39408342613848846662015-04-11T14:58:00.005-04:002015-04-11T14:58:59.891-04:00Daylight and diapersAgain, with the preference for the instant gratification of being on crackbook and the feedback I get over there. <br /><br />It's been a crazy few months with taking care of my dad, then him being tired of being here and going to my sister's house. Dealing with him is more exhausting than dealing with a toddler. At least with a toddler, you can redirect and reframe things. With an elderly adult having dementia, they.are.not.budging.no.matter.what.you.try. Plus he helped install the buttons, she he can find them easier than the kids do. Mad props to anyone who works with elderly, or has a caretaker role of the kind. <br /><br />The ability to breathe again has made me realize that I was whiny when I didn't want to take the kids to the store with me. I still prefer to go alone, but I don't bemoan schlepping kids as much - except when my 5 year old has been on Spring Break and not having a big enough outlet to expend energy. Taking her with me added about 45 minutes to the journey, and prompted me to get cranky. <br />
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And in my cloth diapering adventures, a product I use broke. I contacted the company about replacing it under their warranty, and was asked about using a new product. I'm certainly amenable to beta testing things. If the product can withstand my brute force crew, and our distinct lack of dainty-floweredness, then I will gladly talk about it. I have been tossing around the idea of creating another blog page specifically for product reviews anyway. <br /><br />I recently posted a picture on Facebook of my drying rack full of diapers sunbleaching in the front of my house which faces West and gets more hours of sunlight than my well-shaded back yard. It apparently created an uproar with a neighbor. If you're a reader of my blog, you know I did not give a rip that this person took issue with it. It just means the connection with that individual got relegated to the next concentric circle away from the center of my people. I value experiences and insight from those around me. What I do NOT value is condescending opinion of how I should be doing things in my household, or opinions from others who do not take active part in my day to day living. I value people who are heart-in and hands-on with regards to our friendship. The fact that I have a better friendship with some people online elsewhere who I've never met, than I have with some of the people geographically nearest me is sad. It's not for my lack of trying. I do try to make person-to-person connection with people. The problems start with my shooting from the hip, but to put it nicely, I am authentic. Then it continues with my hybrid traditional/modern approach, because some people can not handle a blend when they want all one way or another. In short, I am too weird to be normal, but too normal to be truly weird. <br />
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I am comfortable in my own skin, and have been able to discern people fairly quickly in their motives and what kind of behavior I expect from them. I do my version of me really well, and that is what draws the kind of people to me who appreciate it. The ones who don't usually end up looking foolish in the end anyway by their own actions.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9039208151316581753.post-84563065748230363972015-02-12T13:31:00.000-05:002015-02-12T13:31:09.301-05:00Opportunities wastedMy son has T-Mobile for his cellular service. He went to a local franchised store to get a phone, and in the course of the transaction, the associate didn't give him his ID back, and he forgot to ask for it. Crap happens, everyone is human. When he was called later to notify him that his ID was there, he said "I don't have a ride to get it, I'll be back when I can." He could have called me to help him, but he knows we're quite busy here and it would be a bit of challenge getting it for him with everything going on over here. <br /><br />Getting the ID back has proved impossible, and has demonstrated this local franchisee's lax levels of customer service. I spoke to the store manager yesterday, and was given one set of information. My son was there the day before but nobody could find it, and as such, he couldn't start a new job since he needs the ID to demonstrate eligibility to work. He called again today and was told the regional manager took the IDs to the DMV "to be mailed" but they automatically get shredded due to security regulations. OK, fine, but be honest with us, and say "sorry, they get shredded". Or maybe if your store routinely has a stack of IDs, get on the ball and make sure the IDs get returned. <br /><br />On the first visit, my son was told that someone may have taken his ID home even. Uh, hellooooo!!! Now we're looking at the potential for identity theft! I am beyond livid with these individuals for their slackass handling of this, plus the appearance that there is a repeated problem with failing to return IDs, and the store manager not having the keys to the safe while in the store. My son called the corporate office to find out what he can do about it, and the corporate line said he would need to handle it locally. Well, clearly after the store manager gave me a line of fluff while I was there, and then told my son the regional manager took the IDs to the DMV, we were not going to get far locally. He called the store to find out the corporate number for the franchisee owners, and was told "1800TMobile" and the person hung up the phone. <br /><br />I was done. Two trips to the store to attempt to retrieve the ID, various stories given about what came of the ID, the possibility of identity theft being raised, the abrupt response and disconnect, all left me livid. I called TMobile corporate on my son's behalf. Yes, he's 21, but he's also got a snot-filled head, and coughing, and I've got some skill in dealing with customer service. <br /><br />I spoke to Adrian at the corporate office, related to her what our experience was and that we're horribly frustrated, having to replace the ID, and that now personal information has been compromised, leaving us facing any number of scenarios. Then there's a week of lost income for not having the ID. Plus, the store had the opportunity to demonstrate stellar service, and instead took the crappy path. Just be honest with us if there's a problem. If we had to get a new ID because his was shredded, we could've dealt with it Tuesday, yesterday, or this afternoon between appointments for my dad instead of chasing down bad information and service, and trying to sort around other logistics tomorrow or Tuesday - both horribly busy days for the DMV. We can't do it Monday because it's a holiday. Adrian offered a partial credit toward the ID, and advised us on putting a consumer statement on the credit files (which we already knew to do). She apologized for the way things got handled, but she shouldn't have to be the one to apologize. She said she would be forwarding the complaint to the company's appropriate channels. <br /><br />When tasked with serving customers, mistakes can and do happen. However, HOW the rest of the problem gets handled makes a huge difference. Owning up to the error, apologizing for it, and doing what you can to rectify it will leave a positive mark for the customer. I will say that given the entitled mindset of a huge segment of the population, some people will never be satisfied because their tush wasn't kissed enough. But if there is an opportunity to make a positive impression, do everything possible to avoid warranting a call to corporate to have me vent about the poor service. I've been on the receiving end of those kinds of complaints and they are no fun. It's not cool to have to apologize for the errors other people make. And when you have to complain about someone else, be as kind as possible to the person tasked with taking your complaint. How you lodge it could have an impact in the resolution you get from them. They're trying to make it right with you, they don't deserve being abused for the screw-up someone else caused. They are taking the opportunity the first person didn't take.Feisty Irish Wenchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00689381839029507940noreply@blogger.com0