Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....

I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.
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.

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.

I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. 

http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/
http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering

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.

How a mug & spoons help me manage my grief and my life

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.


In the Healing After Pregnancy Loss group I joined, we talk about spoons. It is related to the blog post about The Spoon Theory. 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!

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.

• 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.
• 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.
• 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.
• Reflection - time at the end of the day to journal and end the day on a positive note.
• 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.
• 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.
• 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. 
• Self Care - bathing, grooming, even getting out of my pajamas on those heavy-spirit days.
• Home Care - because a tidy space blesses everyone, and some days I struggle to even move a dish to the sink or dishwasher.
  
   

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.
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.

I'd fire my bladder but I can't transplant it

And I had to go to the ER for such antics, but only because the Dr's office was closed on a Friday afternoon! I was getting an oil change on the mom-bus and just sitting in the waiting area. I kept feeling like something was leaking randomly. It was a bit unnerving. I called my friend and she said I needed to call the doctor to be doubly sure that it wasn't an amniotic leak. The office was closed and the answering service had the nurse call me back. She told me that I should go to the ER to get checked. So I made a round of calls to make sure Clone got picked up from school, let Devildog know where I was heading, a friend to ride with me in case they kept me so she could drive my van home, and then a slew of friends to ask them to pray for us. Off I went, and was pretty much whisked in there and taken care of fairly quickly. Apparently ER's don't really like delivering babies - term or otherwise. Go figure. They did the pH swab test - negative. They did a urinalysis - clear. They did an ultrasound - and because of liability can't tell me ANY thing. She wasn't even allowed to show me the screen. I still have to wait till NEXT Friday the 8th to have the official scan. She did say that the baby has a strong heartbeat and the discharge report says that its around 150 beats per minute. She technically wasn't even allowed to say that but because I was feeling movement she felt safe to say that much. The official diagnosis is "stress incontinence". So basically the magic numbers of Baby #4, and 30-something Mom equals a bladder that said "screw you, and while we're at it, pee on ya too". Basically my bladder has decided it's no longer willing to hold its liquids and seal the exit till otherwise instructed. I get to keep my drawers lined and up the ante on the Kegels.

My poor husband was completely unnerved while he was at work and my friend Persnickety went with me while I went to get checked. I feel foolish for the ordeal, but it's far better to be safe than sorry. Persnickety delivered her 5 year old at 23 weeks and had been leaking fluid for a week prior and didn't realize it. I didn't want to do the same thing, especially since I'm 19 weeks. She also has a heart condition, and teased me saying she wasn't going to let me live down this adventure. Her commentary was "I go to the ER because my heart decides to stop functioning like it's supposed to, and YOU go to the ER because you wet your pants." We've known each other since 9th grade and teasing is nothing new to our friendship. Once again, I live up to the subtitle of my blog - Entertainment at my expense. At least I was able to entertain the ER staff. Nothing like yet another cranky patient to add to their day. I prefer to leave them smirking at the antics and commentary. Besides Persnickety and I hadn't seen each other in a while, so you know me, the drama queen, had to get her "Snick fix" and we needed to feed each other's snark. ANY excuse for a party right? Or in Persnickety's case, a colorful and descriptive blog post.
We're very relieved that it's this *lovely* stuff and not anything worse.

God Laughs at Grand Plans

And yet, I still have difficulty learning this lesson in my life. I get all these ideas, and make plans for this stage of my life, or that stage, or whatever. A variety of monkey wrenches have been thrown into my gears numerous times in my life, and yet, I still don't learn apparently. Somewhere in there, I better learn or I'll keep making jokes about how I'll be at the car dealer on X birthday, saying " I need a vehicle with a maximum of two doors, back seat completely optional." Because in my life it's gone from 38, to around 45, to 52.
I will go so far as to admit I've pretty much gotten into arguments with the Big Guy about where my life is "supposed" to go, and there have been times I was a recalcitrant child, kicking and screaming. Lately, I don't kick so much but I sure stomp my foot a time or two. I'm hoping you figured this out already. Since this has two lines on it, that should pretty much clear things up for you. According to the "wheel" I am due at the end of September, so you'll be regaled with stories of my gestating misery in this Florida heat in a few months. I have children that arrived in July and October. Don't let anyone fool you. It's still hot in October. Which means September isn't going to be that much better. So, Persnickety and I were not traveling alone, without spawn like we thought. We had a stowaway apparently. Well, correction: *I* had the stowaway on board.
To answer your questions:
No, it was not planned or expected. This is a surprise, a fourth one at that. I'll quote a friend with four kids spaced farther apart than mine are "after three, what's one more."
Yes, we are well aware of what causes this. We are obviously good at it, given that we've had 16 years of practice. We also tend to enjoy it.
Yes, all of my children have the same baby daddy...why would you ask? Oh wait, nevermind, I get to be different on that one too.
Yes, we've been acquainted with prevention methods. I refuse to comment on that one.
No, I don't have a clue how we're going to handle this, but like everything else we've been handed, we will handle it.
And no, not everyone is happy for us. As a matter of fact, a certain relative has taken to being vile, mean and underhanded in their comments. For whatever reason, they can't be happy for anyone else out of their own misery. I pray for understanding, forgiveness and healing. This other person has their own legitimate problems in life, but the individual chooses to handle things poorly. I don't have to allow it to invade my life. And I won't. The excitement others have for us, is starting to rub off on me at least, and all I can say for Devildog is that he's coming to terms with the news. Poor guy hasn't slept well lately. His grand plans now have a monkey wrench too. That's ok, it'll be a cute one.

Trying

Today is my little brother's birthday. Of course he's taller than I am, but he will ALWAYS be my LITTLE brother. Sadly I didn't get him a birthday gift yet. Being broke sucks like a shop-vac. I got him a stocking (disappointingly empty even) with our favorite college team and he was pleased. He's always so appreciative of the crap I give him. Devildog isn't quite as appreciative, but then again, I give him a different type of crap than I give my brother. Anyway, on to the purpose of my post today...it's a blog about the husband.
Devildog got home from work and apparently needed to download his day with me. There was a very challenging customer who called trying to get something she honestly was not entitled to receive, and attempted to do so with sniping, name calling and lies. Really....that whole karma thing never occurred to her apparently, because it came back to bite her unsunny place. There was another associate in the store who left their assigned department hanging while he took an early lunch break, resulting in a very frazzled associate that was left behind to tend all those customers solo. Sales plan buddy, it's one of those key indicators that the big cheese in corporate offices use to determine how many hours you get to work, and if you even get to KEEP your job. I'm sure this individual simply does not care about that at all. The big puzzle of a store's day is lost on that associate. There were inventory issues needing to be sorted out and remedied. And transfers were arranged, of course I got to hear about how one store never reciprocates and how that just peeves Devildog to no end (among other things I shouldn't repeat).
Then his lunch break was no exception to the Darwinian associations. He went to McDonald's...they know him there and he never deviates from his usual. When I worked at McDonald's (looks at oldest...) 16+ years ago, we had our "usuals". Regina always got a double cheeseburger, small fries and a small coke. She ate all her meals at McDonald's and one time threw me for a complete loop when she ordered a McRib instead, laughing heartily at foiling my attempt to beat her in the door and have her order ready to go for her. There was the hoarding curmudgeon who drove a late 1960's Chevy 4 door loaded to the top with old newspapers. The trunk, back seat, floorboards and front seat were full of papers. I suspect the lack of comfortable space contributed to his crankiness (clutter does that), and he was very terse. My husband is a regular, except he's not all that eccentric as those etched into my memory of my days at the mcjob. He likes his burgers plain, and nothing has changed in all the years we've been together. No condiments please, except cheese. His McPals near the job know this and try to have his food ready for him. Today there were 6 in line, Devildog included. He and another party in line had special orders. Everyone else had stuff they generally have at the ready. This other party ordered twelve (yes a dozen) double cheeseburgers, no ketchup no pickle. This large special order was second in line, Devildog was sixth. These two individuals were getting testy because people in line behind them dared to order food that wasn't a special order, and got their food ahead of them. They were saying things like "our food? anytime soon? like now?" and other insolent things that make the employees move slower just to be spiteful. I wouldn't dream of knowing anything about this, but I've heard things indicating as much. Devildog, having been on a roll with this difficult customer and annoying coworker interjected with his rapier wit. "Oh be patient, grab a chicken and gnaw on the leg to hold you over. They have to go out back and catch the cow and slaughter it for your burgers." The crew was just waiting to see what came next. Impatient Special Ordering people got puzzled and gave quizzical looks. Devildog had to break it down for them, because their apparently excessive grease consumption fried their cognitive abilities. "What do you expect? You come in here and order not just a special order, but a LOT of a special order. It's coming, they're working on it and it will be up in a minute. Geesh." Impatient Special Ordering people were not amused. Further proof that too much grease isn't good, it zaps your humor too. Eat a salad people! The roughage might clear the blockage and you may one day laugh again. However the McCrew was really bemused by Devildog's candid assertion and he became endeared to them that much more for it.

Devildog got back to work and there was more trying of his patience. He was saying to no one in particular "I'm trying to be better. I really am, but it's hard to be nice when they're being stupid." And a nearby coworker was quick on the draw and quoted Ron White. "You can't fix stupid". And it doesn't matter how much you try, that condition is just irreparable beyond any hope.

Can I borrow your fork?

Because really, somebody stick a fork in me. I'm done. I did not wake up this morning with the goal of being a stark raving lunatic yitch. By 6 PM, I'd worked a few hours of the phone job, been tortured by the 15 year old asking to use the computer (nevermind that he went well over his allotted time last night), annoyed by the 14 year old talking in such a way that was only grating my nerves because his brother strummed the last patient chord I had, and heard "Mommy" from my 6 year old so many times I asked if she realized Daddy was even home, awake and could be found to lend assistance too. While there are glaring exceptions to my next statement.... a penis does not always mean total incompetence. Really, he helped spawn the spawn, and he's capable of being a parent-type, even if he's grumpy. Poor man, he stayed out of my way, but failed to inform the kids. He said it took him 16 years to learn this, and the kids would have to learn the hard way like he did. I had my fill of annoyances by 5:30 when I went outside to seek quiet and discovered half my trash was still sitting BESIDE my trash can, yet the collection trucks had come and gone already. Oh and lovely holiday week that it is, the city one-call line is closed. I just want Waste Management (with their green trucks and 'nifty' WM logo to come back and pick up the trash they seemingly left on purpose. They're not city employees, they're contracted company employees. And one more whiny request begging to use the computer and a "mommy" from the clone for good measure, I grabbed my keys and left with the clone to get away from the chaos. Except, I was JUST as annoyed by the crazy people on the road with their freaking out "omigod-it's-almost-Christmas-Eve-and-I-HAVE-to-go-shopping-NOW-on-my-way-home-from-work" mentality. Road rage plus teen torment equals really mean me.
I forgot to mention Devildog is coming down with the same stuff again that he had at Thanksgiving and didn't want to do anything at all today on his day off, which is part of why he's grouchy. He said we could decorate the tree when he's at work tomorrow. The boys brought the tree out of the attic, so at least it's available now. But seriously, the man fails to realize that if he'd given the kids permission to set up the tree (Charlie Brown model that it is), that they would have been entertained for a while and wouldn't have been strumming those chords with me. I MAY have been less irritated in general and wouldn't feel like a Christmas grinch right now. I still have a tension headache, and the oldest tension-causer is STILL awake and occasionally trying to join the cranky adults to seek entertainment.
Of course, some of the headache is from my eyeglasses breaking last month and the optical place giving me a run-around. So, me being me, I emailed the vendor for clarification because I absolutely KNOW that in March when I ordered them, the guy at the optical place told me they had a one year warranty. When I remove the glasses from my face and the nosepad stays on my nose...seems a little warranty related to me. So I've been a month without full use of my glasses and I miss them terribly. I haven't had time coincide with location so I can go seek a replacement frame for my glasses. We get new insurance at the first of the year. I may be able to get a new pair then, and if so, I'll make sure I find a frame that has a different style nose pad that can be replaced with replacement parts.
I'm just a barrel of monkeys when I'm this kind of compounded cranky huh?

And the Generosity Continues...

I am getting better, and have regained the use of my vocal cords again. I still have bouts of coughing but overall the lungs are returning to their duties, albeit reluctantly. Meanwhile, my husband has something painful. The left side of his face is swollen, and tender. He thinks some food or something may have gotten caught in a crevice and is irritated. He came home from work and went straight to bed. He got up a few hours later and I talked him into going to a doctor (he HATES doctors after many years of painful experiences with them after a childhood injury). However his timing sucked mucho. The doctor's office is 15 minutes away at a minimum, it was half an hour after they take their last patient, and he wasn't willing to wait at the Med-Mill (walk in clinic chain) because he'd likely be there 4 hours just waiting. So, he's making do with what he can and we're going in the morning. He's a big baby and won't go if I don't take him. Maybe I'll tell you about the ER visit sometime. Except this time, he probably needs a translator or something. Even the kids didn't understand him when he was talking. His dad's ex-wife (yes we get along) called to invite us to Thanksgiving dinner, but the germs aren't worth it. I begged off, citing unknown contagions. As much as I'd like to share Thanksgiving with friends like we did last year, I don't see that happening. It was a complete and total blast, and I would need no reason to hang out with them, especially since they won't gripe about how I cook the turkey upside down like a certain nameless fat man complained 2 years ago. Never mind that he piled his plate with it, and didn't leave any on the plate. So as much as I'd like to be generous and invite someone over here for dinner, or offer to share the cooking workload at their house...I'm fighting urges to over commit myself and remember to adhere to the K.I.S.S. principle. I can make those special side dishes anytime, and I don't need a date on the calendar to tell me it's ok to do it. Besides, I am the only one who will eat the darn broccoli casserole and my neighbors might not want any. Then there's the whole germs thing. Devildog has such generous coworkers. I hope to personally thank them in a couple weeks at the Christmas party.

Princess of the Obvious

Recently Devildog was once again frustrated by the disappearance of the remote. He saw the Clone walk by and asked where it was, combined with instruction to aid in the search.

Clone asked Devildog "did you look under the cushion?"
Devildog: "What cushion?" (we have a sum total of two cushioned chairs in the living room btw)
Clone: "uhh, the one you're sitting on?"

It's a good thing I was in the kitchen.

I just can't win

First, I need to vent just ONE tiny second, and really don't require a response to this portion of my blog entry. I can't wait for election day to be over. EVERY day the mail is delivered, I get at a minimum of 2 campaign flyers. MINIMUM. TWO. DAILY. Can't they figure out a better way to spend money. How about knocking on my door when I'm actually HOME (which isn't as often as it was a month ago) and getting my 2 cents. "Campaign season" is just about as bad as being sent to the yard to get your own switch, and then having to anticipate the sting for what seems like an interminable amount of time. Meanwhile all you're thinking is "Just smack me and get it over with so I can deal with it and move on from here."


Which interestingly enough, is kind of how I'm feeling at the moment. I can't seem to win with my family. Mostly my clone and my spouse. He's still pissed about the whole hair thing. I'm not even going to give it credence anymore.

Then Clone missed me today while I ran errands. I just didn't want to be distracted and aggrivated by children in the grocery store etc. They run off with my cart right as I turn to deposit a purchase into it for one thing. That was nice to control my own shopping cart. But she missed me. And after Devildog made burgers (his are da shizit) for dinner and I was puttering, I had to pee. Sorry, it's a human condition to eliminate liquid waste, I just choose to talk about it. I was reading something and enjoying the quiet. Apparently I was gone too long again. Clone was thirsty. She walked PAST the dad, and came to ask me for milk.
She walked past Devildog, who was sitting easily 20 feet closer to the milk, not behind a closed bathroom door on a commode, and not doing anything but watching tv...to ask ME for milk. Not just because she was thirsty.
Because she missed me. MISSED ME. WHYYYYYYY??? Nevermind, don't answer, I don't have the energy to entertain it.
Upon my departure from the water-closet (yes it's that small here), the conversation went like this: (Dev-DH. Me-Yours Truly)
Dev "You made her cry" (because I told her to go ask him since I was on the potty)
Me "I was on the toilet. She walked past YOU to get to me"
Dev "you made her cry"
Me "But I was ON the toilet!"
Dev "She hasn't seen you all day"
Me "you're gone all the time and nobody cries about it"
Dev "because nobody loves me"
Me "No, that's because I make everybody's life easier"
::crickets chirping::

See?

There comes a point when inefficiency must end

And for me, when it gets to the point that I am in public looking like this:


(meaning: hair coiled into a "bun" and a scrunchie slapped around it)

It becomes time to sit down, restructure, and cut some losses:


So that something can operate more efficiently:



And yes, the current cut is shorter than last year's de-maning of sorts


And the DevilDog....
He's really not happy with me for a few things today. Most notably this:



But I have to argue, if the girl is smiling THIS much because of something as simple as a haircut of her own choosing,

How can I deny her the joy, that included a dance in front of the mirrored column?

Seriously the girl got up in the chair, put her finger where she wanted her hair to be and said "I want it here, but keep this (pointing to the face-framing layers mom installed last year) because I like that part." It was only about 3 or 4 inches she wanted gone, which was all split ends anyway.
LaNae, the manager at the Hair Cuttery, said "OK, so I have my marching orders mom, and apparently that's all there is to it"
I happen to think LaNae absolutely ROCKS, because as rarely as I am able to visit her chair, she never fails to make me look better than when I walked in the door. And she helped make my clone smile THAT much with her first "official" haircut not performed by mom.
DevilDog came home from work, started making small talk asking what we did today. I waited for him to notice the hair 6 or 8 inches shorter...and in the middle of a sentence he said "HEY! you got your hair cut!" Then got no specifics from me when interrogated about Clone's hair. I told him she wanted it that way. I commented that he wasn't mad about my hair and that was met with something affirming the fact that I'm a grown woman with my own mind and ability to choose my hair style. He grunted something about Clone's hair not meeting with approval, him taking care of her hair till she was 16, and some other stuff that quite honestly, I didn't hear over my own cackling at him. He was so disturbed by this, it apparently required beer. He's not really talking to me at the moment. But that's ok. I'm incredibly bemused by his disturbance, and just typing this blog post is an exercise in stifling my laughter.