Patience, Peace, Sick Kids, and Water Leaks

This was a Monday straight out of The Carpenters song: Rainy Days and Mondays. Ok, not entirely because if you google the lyrics, there's a lot of walking around with nuthin to do and feeling like a clown. On the contrary, I had more than my fair share to do, and I don't know how clowns feel because they scare me, so I prefer not to think about them at all. Here's how my rainy Monday went down: We discovered a roof leak in the closet, above my side and all my stuff. Then, as I'm stepping out of the shower, my husband ushers the 130 pound dog who had an accident in her crate into the shower with me. Have you bathed a Great Dane in the shower? Oh, you don't own a gigantic house horse? Picture the hairiest adult you know wreaking of urine on all fours in your shower. It's your job to soap him up and make sure the underside is thoroughly rinsed even though you do not have a hand held sprayer to do that job. Super fun, right?!
Next, I cleaned out the potty crate, which took an entire roll of paper towels and involved me getting stuck (not because of my size, but I have a bad knee still healing from surgery). Feel free to replace my vivid shower imagery with a grown woman wriggling out of a dog crate with drippy wads of paper towels. You know what, we should move on. Don't picture any of that. The girl child had a screaming meltdown at breakfast because her big brother hid her shoes. One was in the freezer and the other in the mop bucket. She was still bawling in the car about her cold foot and her smelly mop water foot. So I drove three fighting children to school, took myself to the doctor where I got x-rayed and sentenced to six more weeks in my fabulous knee brace that seems to provoke strangers to make the oddest comments to me about my condition. That's a whole blog of its own for another day. As I left the doctor's office, the school called me to pick up a sick kid. I had just enough time to discover water seeping out of a wall at home before the boy and I proceeded to wait in another doctor's office for 2 hours. In the meantime, my husband was texting me pictures of the dry wall he had to cut to expose a leaking pipe. My stress level maxed out when my kid started leaping off the exam table using our umbrella as his parachute. I had checked the hallway multiple times to be see if they remembered we were still there, and upon finding no one at all to help me, I finally walked out, told the receptionist it was unfair to make a sick kid wait that long, and asked for my copay to be refunded. I did not storm out. I calmly informed her that we wouldn't be waiting any longer.

Thankfully, the plumber came quickly to fix the pipe and turn the water back on, but my bad day didn't let up even a hair until my husband came home with dinner in hand. At one point in the midst of disaster, I read my Bible app verse of the day: "But the Holy Spirit produces fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!" (Galatians 5:22-23, NLT)
Oh great. I had failed to show fruits of the spirit as I dealt with a crummy day. Then I realized, in some ways, I had shown extreme patience. Walking away from the doctor's office when I was about to lose that patience, was a show of self control. I spared an unsuspecting health care worker an unpleasant unleashing of frustration by leaving before it erupted. Two out of nine fruits! Perhaps a godlier woman wouldn't erupt in the first place, but I'm betting that woman didn't start her day with a Great Dane in her shower and her head in a crate full of pee. Sometimes we all need to walk away before we have to apologize for losing our cool. Today I will try again to show love, joy, gentleness, patience, faithfulness, peace, kindness, goodness, and self-control. But I have to preface physical therapy, which I dread, with a trip to the hardware store so we can patch a giant hole in the wall, so there's a good chance I will be met with opportunities to drop the ball again. In that case, I can hold onto 2 Corinthians 12:8 where God says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I certainly give The Father plenty of room for perfection because I have SOOO much weakness, but we survived a rainy Monday together, and He will make up for my shortcomings many more times before the sun pokes its face out again. 

Will the Real Joy Thief Please Stand Up

Someone tried to steal my joy this week and make me feel like a bad person. I stewed over it for 24 hours and fumed and thought "how dare she?!" I even thought how nice it would be if Throat Punch Thurday was a real thing. (I wrote this on a Thursday btw). I was so enraged by the event that I felt like a bad person. In my bitterness God said to me, "you're the one robbing yourself of joy, and you are letting a minor blip eat you alive. Throat Punch Thursday? Do you really want to punch yourself?" And I thought, no, I already limp severely; I don't need a black eye to draw even more unwanted attention to myself. For the record, I didn't audibly hear all that dialogue from the Heavens, but nonetheless, God convicted me in my spirit.

How often do we steal our own joy? How many times a day do we blame others for how we feel? Why can't we all Taylor Swift it and just shake it off when we feel wronged? Or pull an Elsa and let it go? It's because we like our own drama. We are like dogs who come back to smell their own business. Gross? So is the filth we wallow in just so we can play the role of martyr. And worse, we bring our friends and family to see our dirty business so they can turn up their noses too. And once we have a contingency behind us agreeing with us about how awful we've been wronged, our small predicament becomes a full blown catastrophe. Here's an example. 

Last weekend the 5 Kings were in a hotel room, and I jokingly told my oldest his sister's dolls were going to watch him sleep. Well that just provoked him to move the dolls, which provoked the girl to explode into hysterics. She sounded like she was having a limb removed from her body all because her dolls face planted at the hand of her diabolical brother. This lasted over an hour and resulted in a hyperventilating kid who is now grounded from playing with said dolls because of her dramatic display. If you think I'm exaggerating her reaction, we can check the hotel surveillance footage. She was wronged in her mind, and her anger extended itself to the entire building. CPS is still investigating! That part might  be an actual exaggeration, but her outcry was absurdly loud, ugly, and eternal. The whole family, if not the entire 4th floor, got to be disrupted right along with her because she made sure we all beheld the dirty deed she'd been dealt. Yet here I am, just a few days after this nonsense, failing to see the ridiculousness of my own display. I stole my joy, and I let someone else take the blame for it. Shame on me. John C. Boger said, "Anger and bitterness are two noticeable signs of being focused on self and not trusting God’s sovereignty in your life. When you believe that God causes all things to work together for good to those who belong to Him and love Him, you can respond to trials with joy instead of anger or bitterness.” Responding to trials with joy is a virtue I have yet to master. However, I am still moldable clay in the Potter's hands, and I am willing to be reshaped by His patient mercy and grace rather than becoming hardened by my circumstances.
So if you hear me rant about a righteous indignation, please hum a little pop princess tune to me, and I'll know it's time to shake it off, let it go, and move on.

Mom's Last Nerve is More Sensitive Than the Others

 Tonight I blew it...that's it. The story of my life summed up in four painful words. Once again in this crazy parenting side show, I lost my cool and screamed at my kids. When my angels are driving me mad, I say "you're getting on my nerves!" And some smarty pants always wants to know which nerve they're on because as long as it's not the last one, they're safe. Well this was one of those all too frequent times when they had no warning; they'd just stepped on all the nerves at once.
Here's the thing, my husband has a great job that has him home at a decent hour almost every night. Occasionally though, this week being one of those occasions, he has to travel out of town, leaving me home with the spawn of his loins all by my unprotected lonesome self. The kids see Daddy being away as a free-for-all because he's the parent who prepares healthy meals and sticks to the schedule. I get distracted (usually by laundry) and forget to put them to bed, after I've fed them take-out and sniffed their pits to see if bath time can fall by the wayside. Side-note to the hubs: There you have it, honey, all my dirty little secrets. You can never leave us because we would fall apart.
 So tonight's merriment included eating takeout on the patio while throwing the dog's ball (totally unsanitary while eating with one's hands, but if you don't throw the ball, the dog will lick your food. Either way you're eating dog slobber, but hey! Dad's not here to stop us and mom won't catch on for another five minutes because she's still helping with homework and trying to get the toothpaste stain out of a karate gi), spraying a sister with the water hose, and sneaking ice cream bites right out of the freezer while mom sorts 9,000 notes in three backpacks that all need to be signed and have checks attached.
I hit my breaking point when 2/3 of them thought me saying "go brush your teeth" was merely a suggestion and chose to ignore me.
At first yelling felt good. Not gonna lie, it released a bit of the tension I built up over the course of the aforementioned activities. Then I just felt like a bad mom. I hurt my babies' hearts and put them to bed feeling lousy. I hate getting into this cycle, but sometimes I feel powerless to overcome it. I am a Proverbs 14:29 What Not To Do. "People with understanding control their anger; a hot temper shows great foolishness. (NLT) Now what? I did the only thing I could do after blowing it in my parenting. I backtracked. I apologized to my kids and kissed and hugged them again. I also reminded them that it's still important that they obey me even when Dad's not home. Then I came downstairs and read James chapter 3. His wise words speak truth about how difficult it is to tame our tongues and yet how valuable doing so is. Verse 18 renews my spirit that I can try again tomorrow  to be a "peacemaker [who] will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness."
Lord, thank you for your mercy that covers my multitude of mistakes. Please help my kids turn out great in spite of them, and please oh PLEASE protect their father so that I never have to raise them on my own!

Where are all the mom bloggers of big kids?

I just read a blog post on www.homesanctuary.com that asked this question. It's a great read as Rachel Anne Ridge talks about how we become more isolated online as we morph into being a mom of an middle schooler.  Silent now are postings about the cute chaos of toddlerhood, sleepless nights, and pic comments like "OMG so PRESH." She's so right! It's not totes adorbs to post about mood swings, braces, acne, and homework meltdowns. Many of the circles that sustain and refresh preschool moms (MOPS, play groups, etc) are visibly missing for moms of 5th graders about to send their firstborns to the dog-eat-dog world of middle school. But we are still very present and very much in need of support from one another. On top of the drowning in the lost world of adolescent hormones and hurt feelings, (SO MANY FEELINGS!) many of us are also embarking into deep waters with ailing parents, career changes,  and even our own less than perfect health. Getting older is painful and scary, and I swear if I see one more skinny girl selfie with the post "I finally lost all my baby weight; it's about time!" while holding a 6 month old infant on her hip, I'm going off the social media grid with a box of cupcakes and a bottle of fine wine like I never could have afforded when my kids were in diapers. Sorry, that was random. I meant to say, even though we have braved the teething and potty training fronts and emerged victorious, we older moms still need one another. Who else will help me now that my daughter is whispering about cute boys for the first time or hold my hand in reassurance after I drive my oldest to the ER to get stitches for attempting ridiculous acrobatic feats with items salvaged from a dumpster? (true story. You can't make up that kind of crazy, folks) And neither can you warn a new mom that her angel face will be the one who pulls the fire alarm at church one day (not a King shenanigan, but true nonetheless)? There's no way to prepare someone for the stuff our older kids will do, but we can continue to be there for one another and share our adventures. Be a voice for your friend who needs to hear it. We shouldn't be lonely as we weed through this ugly phase of parenting, and we should still find humor and preciousness in our growing offspring, even when their shoes size and attitudes far exceed our own. Solidarity, sisters!

"Pearls" of Wisdom about Warty Toes...sort of

Here's a short biology lesson: Do you know how and why oysters make pearls? You did know pearls come from oysters, right? Well we can't all be experts at shellfish trivia. Oysters form pearls out of nacre, the same mineral substance that produces the shell of the mollusk, over time to cover an irritant such as sand that has entered its domain. The end result is a jewel.
Sometimes pain and suffering in life can produce pearls within us. God takes the bad experiences and works them for good in those who love him. (Romans 8:28) Need an example? A member of our family was senselessly murdered many years ago. His death led to one of his sons starting a ministry that has touched countless individuals.
Today I started thinking of the oyster metaphor pertaining to the urging of the Holy Spirit in my heart. If I ignore the Holy Spirit long enough, eventually I won't hear Him at all. It's sort of the same as the bivalve protecting itself from an irritant except the opposite. See, John 16:3 says of the Holy Spirit, "He will guide you into all truth." Therefore, his prompting, though it may seem irritating or painful when we are out of control, cannot possibly be a bad thing. It is the jewel. Yet, when we are unwilling to listen, we build a protective barrier to tune it out. Unlike nacre, which is just the science term for mother-of-pearl, our barrier is gross. Picture warts on a foot! A foot that not only has warts, but toenail fungus and corns. Maybe even a bunion or hammer toe.Now picture that the human connected to that hideous thing doesn't see a problem, so he (could also be a she, but my mind refuses to accept that a female would do this) walks around in flip flops displaying his grossness for the general public. I was going to include a pic of gross feet, but my Google search of images that fit the bill made me sick. You get the idea though that it ain't purdy. That's how our heart becomes when we ignore the Holy Spirit over time. Sometimes I know that's what I'm doing to myself, and sometimes I'm not so aware. That's why 1 Thessalonians 5:19 commands, "do not stifle the Holy Spirit" (NLT) God doesn't want my heart to look like a nasty foot! Nor does He want yours to. Need a spiritual pedicure? I'm not an educated professional on the subject, but I do know reading 1 Thes. 5 in its entirety is a great place to start. 

Consider the lilies of the field and the cold water wimps

Do you ever question how much God really cares about the day to day events of your life? Do you avoid bothering Him with the little details and hiccups you face constantly because, well, He's God, and He's got Ebola and war to deal with rather than your missing car keys? Take a load off and let me regale you with a true tale of just how much the little things do matter to The Almighty.

This is my soaking wet selfie I took yesterday to document why exactly I would be changing my relationship status from "married" to "widowed." You see, the weather was hot and summery, so the family (minus me) thought we should all go for a swim. This mama, who moonlights as the resident pool boy, knew the water temp was nowhere near the ballpark of the atmospheric temp, and if there's one thing I absolutely detest, it's cold water. Also mice and turnips. And dog hair on anything other than dogs . Wait, what was I talking about? Long story short, I was spontaneously included in the back yard Polar Bear Plunge, jeans, shoes, and all.
It wasn't until much later t that I realized one of my favorite earrings was absent from its usual spot in my ear lobe. Losing earrings is usually a non-issue because so few possessions are sentimental to me. They come, they go, I buy more. But this pair is special because they were my Christmas gift from my husband our first year of marriage. Losing one of them definitely made me sad. Figuring it came out in my futile struggle to stay dry, I vowed to search the back yard and pool in the morning. Then I didn't think about it again until 11 p.m. tonight. Armed with the flashlight on my phone, I said a prayer for God to show me where my earring was and walked outside. Immediately I spotted the small, shiny, earring-shaped treasure in the bottom of the deep end. Here I stopped and prayed again asking God to protect my phone. It's still very new because my prior new phone met its demise in water a week after I got it. I knew there'd be no living with my hubs if I baptized another phone, regardless of my good intentions. I carefully balanced the phone at the water's edge so I could keep the earring spotlighted while using both hands to maneuver the long pole with a net attached to retrieve it. Pool nets are designed to grab leaves, toys, even the occasional tomato (let's just call it a doggy fetch game gone wrong, and in case you're wondering, tomatoes do not float), not tiny pieces of jewelry. I finally conceded that the only way to get it out was to pick it up with my fingers.
More praying ensued as I undressed and thought about how painfully cold I was about to be. How I mustered the strength (and silence, because I tend to shriek loudly when I step or am thrown into cold water) to wade in up to my neck when no one's life was in peril can only be a testament to the hand of God at work. I was able to use my monkey toes to grasp the earring instead of getting my hair wet reaching to the bottom. Again, more merciful blessing!
Matthew 7:7 says, "ask and it will be given to you." Now I know that doesn't mean God is a magic genie and grants us whatever whim we desire. He is far more powerful and loving, and He withholds what isn't best for us. We don't give our kids sodas every time they want them because we are good parents and know what our children need. God is the ultimate dad, and he won't always let you have what's not healthy for you. (i.e. praying for A's on tests you didn't bother to study for may not render the desired results. Been there, tried that) But as a good dad, He wants to help us, and He cares about the things that matter most to us, even little earrings at the bottom of frigid pools.   

Mammogram survival 101

It has been 4 years minus one day since my last mammogram. I celebrated the anniversary by having to get another one. And let me tell you, I enjoyed this one just as much as the first. In case you're a virgin to the process, here's my recap: I was taken to a dressing room and given a gown, "tag goes in the back," and told to wait with the dressing room door open until they came back for me. Good thing I did! I kept thinking "this thing doesn't even come together in the front!" Then the door across from me opened, and the woman who emerged had a much more modest gown than mine!  Seems there were three arm holes to maneuver, and I had missed one. Glad I didn't parade down the hall bare-chested before the rest of the procedure even began.  That would have been awkward. Here's a selfie of my successful gown attempt.

Next, a stranger finagled my girls onto a butcher block one at a time and lowered a big plastic thing onto each one. A pasta maker would have been an equally fun way to go with the squishing process. The digital display on the boob smasher informed me that 16.8 pounds of pressure were holding me (or at least a very small part of me) to the block. I've been doing bicep curls with 15 pound weights for a while. It would seem I should have been conditioning my B cups instead. Now I'm cracking myself up in the naked waiting room because I'm picturing a dumbbell taped over my breast as I press 15 pounds :D What's the naked waiting room? It's the holding area where you sit in your gown that opens to the front while you wait to find out if you can get dressed or if they need to redo the fun part you just experienced. Well I got called back. Had to get an ultrasound. You know, where they dump axle grease on you and show you your baby. Except further north and no baby. I did get a chuckle though when I asked the tech if my lump was a boy or a girl. My awesome husband pulled strings to have my results read immediately by the radiologist. What a blessing. I highly recommend having a spouse with influence at a medical facility! I walked into the room with computer screens and gave my own recommendation for the place: "y'all need to get really short mammogram machines that smash testicles!" I was given a clean bill of health and asked to never return. 

In all seriousness, as opposite of fun as this was, breast cancer is immeasurably worse. Take care of your girls and get them smashed!!! It really could save your life.