Scavenger Hunt Sunday

1. Macro/Close-up

2. Found Texture

3. Home (My 5-year old took this photo, I can only take credit for the edit).

4. Cover

5. The Tree

I Have...

Been married for 10 years and one week.

I have had four children with my husband of 10 years and one week.

I have taken vows for better or worse; for sickness and health.

I have taken care of my husband through the sickness part of the vows for the last eight weeks; something I didn't think would happen until we were both old and gray.

I have caught a man fainting; falling on me on his quick descent down; adrenaline and angels taking over when I didn't know how.

I have called an ambulance with shaking hands and a fluttering heart; looking down at my husband in a pool of his own blood.

I have seen the sirens blazing in the very early hours of the morning; those sirens signaling their warning they are on the way.

I have had to watch as they whisked him away; me staying behind with my still-sleeping children; a miracle they didn't wake up to see the horror I still see in my dreams. 

I have gotten down on my quivering knees and prayed to God to heal.

I have heard the words "three bleeding ulcers", and "invasion of a nearby artery", and "losing blood with every pump of his heart".

I have been the wife in the waiting room, being met by the surgeon telling me "he needs to have emergency surgery, we are taking him now".

I have been the grateful wife being told by the surgeon after the surgery, "he's a very lucky man; lots of people die from this".

I have heard a man scream in pain; the sound so unbearable my knees gave out as I sunk into the wall; leaning against it for fear I would faint.

I have heard those same screams every night in my head; trying to find sleep for my ever-swirling thoughts.

I have heard from the doctors and nurses, "brush with death", and "I've never seen someone conscious or even alive with a hemoglobin count of only 4".

I have had to ask for help with my children for the ten days my husband was in the hospital.

I have had to put a smile on my face for the sake of my children; when on the inside I've been a scared little child myself.

I have had nightmares; waking up in cold sweats; my thoughts being processed only in the safety of dreams.

I have been a nurse; after infection takes hold and his fresh incision opened back up; recovery taking months now instead of weeks; daily dressing changes on a healing wound; his the physical wound, mine the emotional.

I have thanked God every day for sparing my husband; the father to our children; wondering why he was spared when so many others like him hadn't made it.

I have come to the conclusion I am a strong woman; stronger than I ever thought I could be.

I have also come to the conclusion that God spared my husband because I'm not sure how I could raise our four children all by myself.



Thank you Mama Kat for allowing me to process this in the safety that is the blogging community.

Rites of Passage

As a mother, there are certain situations you must endure to be able to call yourself "seasoned" in the parenting field.

One of these situations involves a tantrum-throwing toddler in a public place...such as Target for instance.

When my oldest was still small enough to ride in the cart, I thought I had everything figured out about this parenting gig. We'd pass by other kids having super-sized meltdowns, screaming at the top of their lungs while the parents tried to quiet them with bribes or just ignore them altogether, and I'd always think to myself, that will never be me. I will do things differently. I'd walk past the red-faced toddler and look at the red-faced, flustered, embarrassed mom and judge. Why can't she control them? Why don't you just tell them no? 

Well...guess what? All of my children have had scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs, glass-shattering, spin-your-brain-in-circles, catastrophic meltdowns in public places.

And this sweet, dimple-cheeked, little guy is the latest offender.

He's going through the phase of tantrum-throwing I wish would pass over our house and land on some other mother who has the perfect child, has never heard of a tantrum, and forgets to take her judgy-pants off in the presence of other mothers with less-than-perfect kids.

Tantrums are not discriminating. They don't care where you are; who you're with; how many people are watching.

When this little man screams, heads turn in Exorcist style, people slow their cars down to make sure no one is bleeding, and I want to bury my head in a hole.

Good times.

There's no reasoning when it comes to tantrums; no bribes will work; getting mad only worsens the situation; so my best line of defense is to ignore.

Ignore the eardrum-shattering screams; ignore the stares from the strangers on the street; ignore the judgmental glares from other moms, shaking their heads in chagrin.

Soon enough, the tantrum will end. It will end whether I get embarrassed or not. It will end if I get mad or not.   It will end with shallow gasps for air. It will end with tear-stained cheeks. It will end with a "sorry" and a hug and "I won't do it again".

But the strangers and the judgy moms and the drivers in the cars don't get to see the end.

source

I guess I've learned my lesson about judging people...

especially mothers with tantrum-throwing children who make their heads spin in circles.

      

Tips for New Moms...not really

I don't give advice...especially to new mothers.

It's not that I don't want to help, if someone asks me, I'll be glad to tell them what worked for me...but usually you just have to figure out what works best on your own.

Sooo, when Sue came up with this Monday Listicle topic, I decided I needed to rebel, no offense, Sue. 

Here's my list of random...stuff.

I ran in the half-marathon on Saturday. It was AWESOME!!!!  I mean, it was take-your-breath-away, swallow-the-huge-lump-in-my-throat AWESOME!!

I finished in 1:54:40. I know, who cares about the seconds, right? Runners do; I do; the timer attached to my shoe did. I came in 493rd place out of 1418 other half-marathoners. I know, who cares what place I came in?

I do.

Those people? Best cheerleaders EVER!!

The sunrise? Amazing. Breathtaking. Beautiful.

The scenery? Not quite as vivid as this...but close. As I came down a hillside, I looked over my shoulder and saw a thousand other runners with the rising sun silhouetting their outlines in a giant line behind me. It was one of those moments etched in my memory; so vivid in detail I won't soon forget it.

In between the cheer-zones, and when the nervous chatter of the runners died down, the only sounds were the pounding of thousands of shoes against the pavement; the breaths of a thousand people in perfect harmony; all of us solace-seeking, lone runners uniting in one huge group run, not alone anymore.

My dad asked how I felt today; if I was sore or not.

I feel great! I feel amazing! I feel like I should have gone for a run today.

Clearly, I didn't run hard enough. I could have pushed myself to run faster; harder; finished stronger.

Maybe I need to put my big-girl pants on and go for the whole marathon next year...

Maybe.

Scavenger Hunt Sunday

1. Words

2. Under

3. Orange

4. Fly

5. Look on the bright side

    

Reflections...

Reflections are a funny thing.

They are often times distorted, blurry, out of focus. When I look in the mirror sometimes I feel that way. My insides and outsides don't match.

Sometimes I see the "plump girl" that I was at various stages of my life. My eyes drift to the wrinkles around my eyes that previously weren't there. I see strands of gray, imperfections, an uneven tooth.

Lately I've been wondering what my children see when they look at me.

Do they see those same imperfections? Are they too young to notice? They won't always be.

Do they see the shy, awkward girl I once was and sometimes still am on the inside? Or do they see the confident, strong, proud mama I project on the outside? Soon they will be able to know the difference.

Do they see a reflection of themselves in the eyes we all share?  Do they see the love for them reflected in those same eyes? I hope they can feel it.

Do they see the mom that wants to have a clean house AND free time to play and giggle and read and Go Fish with them? Do they see me struggle with the guilt of not being able to have both? Sooner rather than later they will realize it.  

When they smile, do I always remember to smile back? Or do they think I'm too busy to just stop for a moment and truly match their grin? I can do better at this so they remember their mom with a smile on her face rather than a crease in her brow.

When they do something well do they see how proud I am? Or do they remember what they felt like when they spilled the milk for the third time that day and I raised my voice because I was frustrated?  It's only spilled milk, after all. I remember how I felt when I spilled the milk as a child; I vowed never to make the same mistake with my own children.

My reflections of their childhoods will most likely differ from their own reflections. I hope they will look back and know how they were loved; wanted; the genuine happiness they have given to me.

When they look back and reflect, I hope they don't remember all the times they asked me to play and I said, "Not until I finish the dishes, sweep the floor, fold the clothes."...

My list is endless, but their childhood isn't.



This is one of my favorite posts I've ever written. Mainly because I feel like this every day, and every day I try to do better, be better; more patient, more kind. I'm a work in progress.

Autumn

Apple-picking, pumpkin-patching, leaf-dancing memories.

Crisp, frosty morning runs; leaves crunching beneath my feet.

Silly faces carved in pumpkins; candlelight bringing them to life at night.

Warm apple crisp with scoops of vanilla; our cozy house filled with the soothing scent of cinnamon and our bellies filled with sweet, brown sugar goodness.

The countdown to trick-or-treats; costumes picked; candy buckets bought. Sweet candy dreams fill their little minds; already talking about candy trades while mama decides on her hiding place for Milky Ways, Milk Duds, and Kit Kats of her own.

Trying to hang on to the last slivers of the Indian Summer; the warmth of the sun; the walks to the park.

I soak up the sun and tuck it in the farthest corner of my mind; just like the memories of leaf-dancing, apple-picking, pumpkin-patching moments; forever to be cherished to warm my soul on the winter days to come.

Delicious autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive
autumns. ~George Eliot
For you, what does autumn evoke?

My guilty pleasures

I have more than I'd like to admit, since I found it so easy to come up with a list of ten. I could easily come up with more...

I guess that makes me truly blessed.

1. Running-duh.

2. Chocolate-who guessed that would be on my list? All of you?

3. Ice Cream

4. Thursday night T.V. -Grey's Anatomy-I love you.

5. New running shoes...I'm sure you're all concerned about my running shoe situation, since I haven't mentioned them for a few weeks now. Nike has won me over once again...until they discontinue these.

6. S'mores-I tend to have a bit of a sweet tooth. How many s'mores can you guys eat? I'll tell you my number if you tell me yours.

7. Reading

8. Social media...blogging, tweeting, Pinterest...

9. Photography-a new hobby of mine. I'm slightly addicted. And a big shout out to my family who are my guinea pigs...and the trees.

10. Park play while the house is dirty-this happens a lot. A LOT.

11. Coffee-this is a major guilty pleasure plus a necessity.

I know!! That's eleven! I'm making up for the weeks I only had nine.

 

Monday Listicles brought to you by Stasha of The good life.  
And let's hear it. How many s'mores? There's no judging here, I'm sure I could out-eat all of you in a chocolate/s'mores/ice cream eating contest.