Last year week was the one-year anniversary of my blog. I intended to write a post on exactly that very day, but things got crazy around my household and so it never happened. Sadly, the blog is the first to go when my day is overwhelmed with busyness. And writing keeps my soul healthy. It’s a conundrum. I need to write yet I have no time to write. Go figure.
On that note- in reviewing the past year of "A Complicated Woman," I’ve noticed that my postings have dwindled dramatically. Abysmally dramatically. One reason for this is because, candidly, it is an excruciatingly painful season for me for some very personal reasons. So my Fun-O-Meter is reading in the negatories. There are days when I consider blogging authentically from my heart, but, my goodness, I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer and send you running for Prozac afterwards. I’d rather make you laugh and bring you joy. Life is difficult enough right now with the bad economy and all, and I don’t want to contribute to anyone’s melancholy mood. Or have you worry that I am going to become a tragic Sylvia Plath-like figure. Which I am not. I have hope within me.
Another reason for my recent low volume of postings is that I broke my right ring finger when I caught it on a bread basket at the market. The splint is too large and cumbersome to wear comfortably, so I’ve been not wearing it, and trying to hold it straight on my own. But I often forget and bend the finger, and it is quite painful…..blahblahblah…too much information…..to summarize my long-windedness: It’s been difficult to type.
Now on to The Gratitude Portion of this post. Thank you. Thank you for reading my blog over the past year! You have been extremely encouraging and gracious, and I am beyond humbled that you stop by. (Especially to the Train James’ Boys. You know who you are.) It took me two years to work up the courage to start a blog. It felt so self-promoting. And one of my pet peeves is the Shameless Self-Promoter. She ranks right up there in my book with the Entitled Narcissist. The self-absorbed among us really irk me for reasons that I don't know but should discuss with my therapist. And having a blog felt like I might be perceived that way. But I decided that it would be good accountability for me to discipline myself to write on a regular basis. So I began to blog for my own pleasure, and therapy, and desire to chronicle the lives of my family. So I hope, in some small way, I have succeeded in entertaining you…..or making you think or learn more about yourselves through some of my processing. Or point you to God. Or, at the very least, feel better about your day when you read about my son peeing on the dog.
So Happy One Year Anniversary to us. I look forward to continuing my posts over the next year. And I put my stories in the hands of the Master Story-Creator. Who knows what He will weave together?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
His Goodness is Beyond
I know that my God is good all the time. But sometimes His goodness jumps out at me and grabs my soul and causes me to pause and notice and celebrate. Just like the faithful maple tree that guards my home. I pass it by several times a day, barely giving it a second thought. But this week it has turned a vibrant red, and I find myself slowing to look and drink in its brilliant color. God has felt “vibrantly red” to me, this week, like the maple. His goodness has been remarkable and outstanding and entirely intimate. And oh how I have needed that!
I had heard, last weekend, of a news story about a little 6-year-old boy named Cole who had been abducted at gunpoint and taken from his home. There was apparently a link between a drug gang and the boy’s grandfather. The details didn’t matter to me. All I focused on was the fact that a little boy, the very age of my own little boy, was taken from his home by some violent and dangerous men. He was missing, and undoubtedly terrified. And in grave danger.
Something stirred in my heart, and I began to connect deeply with little Cole. I felt a burden of prayer for him so heavily, it was as if I’d suddenly added chain mail to my attire. God waved the news story in front of my face, so to speak, and said, “This one’s for you, Kel. Pray hard! I’m counting on you!” And so I did.
For several days, I was drawn to Psalm 91. I read it back to God, day and night, imploring Him to remember His word, and protect this little boy. Was Cole scared? Cold? Hungry? In pain? I worried, and I cried out to God, and I prayed. “Be his refuge and fortress, God. I trust you to do that.” (vs.2) “Cover him with your feathers. Give him a refuge under your wings. Let him not be harmed!” (vs.4)
I was awakened at 3am Saturday morning, my face wet with tears. I felt an urgency to intercede for Cole, as if he were my own son. “May he not be afraid in the night!” (vs.5) “Send your angels to protect him right now!” (vs.11)
The next morning, I read God’s promises, “I will rescue him….I will protect him…..I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation.” (vs.14-16) I begged God to answer those prayers. “Let this little boy find his way home this very day, God! Please!” Peace flooded my heart as I felt a gentle reassurance from God; as if His hand reached down from Heaven and patted me on the back and said, “The little boy will be okay. It is done.”
I cannot fully articulate the jubiliance I felt the next morning, when I read that Cole had been found walking a suburban street by a bus driver on Saturday night. His abductors had let him go. He was returned to the arms of his overjoyed parents, safe and sound, 3 days after his abduction.
And so I celebrate the compassion of our Father, who cared so much about a very little 6-year-old blond boy with glasses. He heard his cries, felt his terror, and grieved at the injustice. His eyes searched the earth, seeking the attention of some intercessors who were paying attention, and used them to pray this child home. I am beyond humbled to have been part of that.
God is good. So overwhelmingly, fabulously, beautifully good. It is abundantly clear to me this week! And I am grateful that He reminded me!
I had heard, last weekend, of a news story about a little 6-year-old boy named Cole who had been abducted at gunpoint and taken from his home. There was apparently a link between a drug gang and the boy’s grandfather. The details didn’t matter to me. All I focused on was the fact that a little boy, the very age of my own little boy, was taken from his home by some violent and dangerous men. He was missing, and undoubtedly terrified. And in grave danger.
Something stirred in my heart, and I began to connect deeply with little Cole. I felt a burden of prayer for him so heavily, it was as if I’d suddenly added chain mail to my attire. God waved the news story in front of my face, so to speak, and said, “This one’s for you, Kel. Pray hard! I’m counting on you!” And so I did.
For several days, I was drawn to Psalm 91. I read it back to God, day and night, imploring Him to remember His word, and protect this little boy. Was Cole scared? Cold? Hungry? In pain? I worried, and I cried out to God, and I prayed. “Be his refuge and fortress, God. I trust you to do that.” (vs.2) “Cover him with your feathers. Give him a refuge under your wings. Let him not be harmed!” (vs.4)
I was awakened at 3am Saturday morning, my face wet with tears. I felt an urgency to intercede for Cole, as if he were my own son. “May he not be afraid in the night!” (vs.5) “Send your angels to protect him right now!” (vs.11)
The next morning, I read God’s promises, “I will rescue him….I will protect him…..I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation.” (vs.14-16) I begged God to answer those prayers. “Let this little boy find his way home this very day, God! Please!” Peace flooded my heart as I felt a gentle reassurance from God; as if His hand reached down from Heaven and patted me on the back and said, “The little boy will be okay. It is done.”
I cannot fully articulate the jubiliance I felt the next morning, when I read that Cole had been found walking a suburban street by a bus driver on Saturday night. His abductors had let him go. He was returned to the arms of his overjoyed parents, safe and sound, 3 days after his abduction.
And so I celebrate the compassion of our Father, who cared so much about a very little 6-year-old blond boy with glasses. He heard his cries, felt his terror, and grieved at the injustice. His eyes searched the earth, seeking the attention of some intercessors who were paying attention, and used them to pray this child home. I am beyond humbled to have been part of that.
God is good. So overwhelmingly, fabulously, beautifully good. It is abundantly clear to me this week! And I am grateful that He reminded me!
Friday, October 17, 2008
"We Take Discover"
My long-suffering husband and I had a “Burger King Breakfast and Jean Shopping Date” yesterday. The goal, I told him, was to nurture our marital relationship. My shadow mission, however, was to build my winter wardrobe. By using his credit card. So, after bribing Super Hubs with a breakfast of an egg-and-sausage sandwich and cheesy tots, I dragged him to the nearby outdoor mall with promises to “be in and out in a jiffy.”
We entered American Eagle, and stopped in dismay. There were 6 different shelf units filled with women’s jeans of all shapes, sizes and colors of blue. Where to begin? The friendly sales girl pounced on us, pledging to find me “just the cutest little pair of versatile jeans that would make me look like a 20-something;” jeans that I could wear “to the office” and also for my “evenings out.” (Which spun me into a fantasy of having a high-rise office at a high-powered job upon which I’d leave at 5pm to go out clubbing. So, were they magic jeans? Ones that, when I wore them, would morph me into a Hot Partner At A Law Firm With A Rockin’ Social Life?? Hmmmmm.)
Then she peppered me with questions: Did I want “Skinny?” Or “Bootcut?” “Flair; Real or Extreme?” “Tight through the hips and things, or looser around the legs?” She assured me that I’d look fabulous in “Wide Leg” with the “Rip and Repair Wash” or “Favorite Boyfriend Cut” in the “Super Bleach.” My head spun. It had been a few years since I’d bought a pair of jeans. I had no idea the variety…the enormity of choices…the utter overwhelmingness of possibilities….”I just need a new pair of jeans that are blue. Ones that fit me,” I said definitively.
She gave me a cool once over, and began pulling pants off the shelves and piling them into Super Hubs’ arms. I was then ushered into the unisex dressing room, where I began trying on clothes like a crazed runway model. Super Hubs sat on the bench in the hallway, watching me prance in front of the mirror until his eyes glazed over.
In the end, I left a pile of jeans on the dressing room floor. And I acquired two new purchases, one in “Vintage Destroyed” and the other, “Indigo Wash.” Both felt cozy, friendly and….me. Me with my humble little suburban lifestyle. The three of us were going to become fast friends, I could just tell.
We went home, and I put on “Vintage Destroyed.” “Indigo Wash” rested up in the closet, acclimating to its new home. And Super Hubs crashed on the couch, exhausted. I was beyond happy. It’s a big day when a girl finds the perfect pair of jeans that make her feel fabulous. And an extra pair for half price.
We entered American Eagle, and stopped in dismay. There were 6 different shelf units filled with women’s jeans of all shapes, sizes and colors of blue. Where to begin? The friendly sales girl pounced on us, pledging to find me “just the cutest little pair of versatile jeans that would make me look like a 20-something;” jeans that I could wear “to the office” and also for my “evenings out.” (Which spun me into a fantasy of having a high-rise office at a high-powered job upon which I’d leave at 5pm to go out clubbing. So, were they magic jeans? Ones that, when I wore them, would morph me into a Hot Partner At A Law Firm With A Rockin’ Social Life?? Hmmmmm.)
Then she peppered me with questions: Did I want “Skinny?” Or “Bootcut?” “Flair; Real or Extreme?” “Tight through the hips and things, or looser around the legs?” She assured me that I’d look fabulous in “Wide Leg” with the “Rip and Repair Wash” or “Favorite Boyfriend Cut” in the “Super Bleach.” My head spun. It had been a few years since I’d bought a pair of jeans. I had no idea the variety…the enormity of choices…the utter overwhelmingness of possibilities….”I just need a new pair of jeans that are blue. Ones that fit me,” I said definitively.
She gave me a cool once over, and began pulling pants off the shelves and piling them into Super Hubs’ arms. I was then ushered into the unisex dressing room, where I began trying on clothes like a crazed runway model. Super Hubs sat on the bench in the hallway, watching me prance in front of the mirror until his eyes glazed over.
In the end, I left a pile of jeans on the dressing room floor. And I acquired two new purchases, one in “Vintage Destroyed” and the other, “Indigo Wash.” Both felt cozy, friendly and….me. Me with my humble little suburban lifestyle. The three of us were going to become fast friends, I could just tell.
We went home, and I put on “Vintage Destroyed.” “Indigo Wash” rested up in the closet, acclimating to its new home. And Super Hubs crashed on the couch, exhausted. I was beyond happy. It’s a big day when a girl finds the perfect pair of jeans that make her feel fabulous. And an extra pair for half price.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Let Me Off!
I like my coffee hot, and my orange juice cold; my roller coasters fast and my Sundays slow. I was a sprinter in high school and I’m a napper currently. Life is often an up and down, back and forth conundrum of extremes. Which can make it good and exciting and rich. But my goodness, sometimes I want my life to resemble a good old average-priced glass of merlot served room temperature! (With just a handful of cashews to spice it up.)
Nothing I’ve ever encountered in my (phenomenally many) years of living has prepared me for the emotionally-taxing parenting of teens. And my introduction to parenting, 17 years ago, was not exactly stress-free. I spent my first 5 weeks of motherhood living with a newborn in a third-world country with very bad water in the midst of a civil war. (I cringe when I hear other mothers talk about the horrors of parenting newborns. I want to say, “You have no idea! Try caring for a tiny baby while living in a foreign country. With no English-speaking pediatricians anywhere. And no electrical power. Which meant Bad Hair days always.) But my husband and I survived, and our newborn survived, and, in retrospect, it was actually a walk in the park compared to Teen Parenting.
I have two really, really great teenagers whom I love with all my heart and soul. I would jump in front of a train for either one of them. I honestly would. They are good, wonderful people. But, that being said, they quite often drain me emotionally. And I believe that if anyone ever says that Teen Parenting is easy, they are either lying, in denial, or have a really great au pair that enables them to stay in denial.
This is the deal: The life of a teenager is fraught with drama. This is caused by a combination of hormones, unformed gray matter, immature life perspective, and a tad bit of self-absorption. And where teens do not have real drama, they create drama. Or their friends do. Or their enemies. Or parents of their enemies. And Teens view TV shows like “Gossip Girl” that perpetuate the theory that a teen life without drama is not a life well lived. So every day there is a soap opera -worthy story of who broke up with who, and who got arrested for what, and who picked on who, and who is their new best friend, and who they love and who they hate and so forth. I simply cannot keep up.
One of my friends very wisely told me to “Get off the roller coaster now.” She said there was not one mortal reason why I needed to feel the high highs and low lows with my teens. I had no business ride-crashing and that I should hightail it to the nearest park exit sign immediately. She was right. It’s just easier said than done when I’m the Tender-Hearted Feeler Type with Co-Dependent Tendencies. Super Hubs detaches really well. He won’t ride the ups and downs with The Teens. He’ll simply say, “Get your homework done.”
(Big sigh.) I’m tired. I’m just sayin’. More on this topic later. (After my nap.)
Nothing I’ve ever encountered in my (phenomenally many) years of living has prepared me for the emotionally-taxing parenting of teens. And my introduction to parenting, 17 years ago, was not exactly stress-free. I spent my first 5 weeks of motherhood living with a newborn in a third-world country with very bad water in the midst of a civil war. (I cringe when I hear other mothers talk about the horrors of parenting newborns. I want to say, “You have no idea! Try caring for a tiny baby while living in a foreign country. With no English-speaking pediatricians anywhere. And no electrical power. Which meant Bad Hair days always.) But my husband and I survived, and our newborn survived, and, in retrospect, it was actually a walk in the park compared to Teen Parenting.
I have two really, really great teenagers whom I love with all my heart and soul. I would jump in front of a train for either one of them. I honestly would. They are good, wonderful people. But, that being said, they quite often drain me emotionally. And I believe that if anyone ever says that Teen Parenting is easy, they are either lying, in denial, or have a really great au pair that enables them to stay in denial.
This is the deal: The life of a teenager is fraught with drama. This is caused by a combination of hormones, unformed gray matter, immature life perspective, and a tad bit of self-absorption. And where teens do not have real drama, they create drama. Or their friends do. Or their enemies. Or parents of their enemies. And Teens view TV shows like “Gossip Girl” that perpetuate the theory that a teen life without drama is not a life well lived. So every day there is a soap opera -worthy story of who broke up with who, and who got arrested for what, and who picked on who, and who is their new best friend, and who they love and who they hate and so forth. I simply cannot keep up.
One of my friends very wisely told me to “Get off the roller coaster now.” She said there was not one mortal reason why I needed to feel the high highs and low lows with my teens. I had no business ride-crashing and that I should hightail it to the nearest park exit sign immediately. She was right. It’s just easier said than done when I’m the Tender-Hearted Feeler Type with Co-Dependent Tendencies. Super Hubs detaches really well. He won’t ride the ups and downs with The Teens. He’ll simply say, “Get your homework done.”
(Big sigh.) I’m tired. I’m just sayin’. More on this topic later. (After my nap.)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
What's Up With Her Buying A Lamborghini?
I believe I am having a crisis, of sorts. The Travel-Into-Another-Era type. The Middling-On-The-Timeline-Of-My-Life kind. One marked by transitions, turning points, and the desire to rebel by eating junk food for breakfast. Okay, I’ll quit hedging and just say it. I AM HAVING A MID-LIFE CRISIS! And I intend to enjoy every minute. Because they can actually be a little fun. I can act in bizarre and immature ways, and it’ll all be excused with a wink and a nod and the whispering of: “She’s having The Crisis. Just humor her, and pretend she looks great in those skinny jeans and nose ring.”
Mid-Life Crisis, from what I’m learning, are not All Bad. They can be an excellent time of exploration about oneself, and reevaluating the trajectory of one’s life. They are a time of opportunity. They needn’t be harmful or destructive, or an episode of Desperate Housewives. I don’t plan on spending my daughter’s college fund on implants, or leaving my loyal and faithful husband for a 20-year-old buff Cabana Boy named Sven.
I am finding fellow Crisis Travelers among some of my women friends, and realizing that we are all dealing with this season in a different way. For example, I have a friend who is lusting for adventure. She recently went on a girl’s weekend where they white-water rafted by day, and then drank wine until the wee hours. And in a few months, she’s going to go Tree Top Trekking. Tree Top Trekking is apparently an aerial adventure in the tops of trees using ropes and suspended bridges. Then you sleep in hammocks, much like Tarzan and Jane. Well, good for her, I say. That’s just not me. I’d prefer to have My Crisis in a four-star hotel with a hot tub and room service. But to each her own.
My Mid-Life Crisis is so far causing me to have feelings of restlessness. And wondering what the rest of my life should be like. And terror that I will end up looking like my Aunt Millie. And I am finding myself contemplating the application of a little tattoo to mark the moment. And I fantasize about spending the evening clubbing rather than homework helping. Or having a complete image makeover and dying my hair a vibrant shade of red. Just little, teeny acts of rebelliousness. Or independence.
I’ll keep you posted on my journey. And I’m open to suggestions. And if anyone wants to join my on my Mid-Life-ing Adventures, just let me know. We'll do it together.
Mid-Life Crisis, from what I’m learning, are not All Bad. They can be an excellent time of exploration about oneself, and reevaluating the trajectory of one’s life. They are a time of opportunity. They needn’t be harmful or destructive, or an episode of Desperate Housewives. I don’t plan on spending my daughter’s college fund on implants, or leaving my loyal and faithful husband for a 20-year-old buff Cabana Boy named Sven.
I am finding fellow Crisis Travelers among some of my women friends, and realizing that we are all dealing with this season in a different way. For example, I have a friend who is lusting for adventure. She recently went on a girl’s weekend where they white-water rafted by day, and then drank wine until the wee hours. And in a few months, she’s going to go Tree Top Trekking. Tree Top Trekking is apparently an aerial adventure in the tops of trees using ropes and suspended bridges. Then you sleep in hammocks, much like Tarzan and Jane. Well, good for her, I say. That’s just not me. I’d prefer to have My Crisis in a four-star hotel with a hot tub and room service. But to each her own.
My Mid-Life Crisis is so far causing me to have feelings of restlessness. And wondering what the rest of my life should be like. And terror that I will end up looking like my Aunt Millie. And I am finding myself contemplating the application of a little tattoo to mark the moment. And I fantasize about spending the evening clubbing rather than homework helping. Or having a complete image makeover and dying my hair a vibrant shade of red. Just little, teeny acts of rebelliousness. Or independence.
I’ll keep you posted on my journey. And I’m open to suggestions. And if anyone wants to join my on my Mid-Life-ing Adventures, just let me know. We'll do it together.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Report Card
Little Squirt received his first report card of kindergarten today. Frankly, I’m disappointed. Where is the verbiage about his intelligence? His brilliance? His Harvard-bound smarts? Does his teacher have no discernment?? Perhaps I should share a few vignettes with her about his incredible resourcefulness. Oh, soooo many stories! The child is amazingly clever. How can she not see that??
Behavior: “Demonstrates improving behavior.” Improving. Improving? He’s gotten through the past 4 weeks without another Poopy Pants Incident and nary a toilet seat stuck on his head. I’ll say he’s improving! She doesn’t know the half of it.
Work Habits: “Needs some assistance.” Well, duh! My flirtatious little boy loves women! Why would he work independently when he could have his adored teacher help him to form his lower case letters? The male version of “the damsel in distress” sort of thing. He ain’t no fool!
Effort: “Average.” Average. Average?? Now that really bothered me because it made him sound so……. “average.” And “average” my boy is certainly not. Of course…..Little Squirt does only want to do what he loves to do. Things that he finds adventurous and breath-taking and spine-tingling. And seat work is definitely none of those things. Little Squirt has told me that seat work is “boring.” That he wants to “quit seat work.” That he likes recess and gym best of all. And “singing class.” So…… I suppose if he was doing something he vastly disliked, such as seat work, he might show minimal to average effort.
But still. He’s my baby and I know in my heart of hearts that he’s special. And today he drew me a picture with markers. It was a portrait of Moi with bright yellow hair, a blue dress and radiant ruby lipstick. And he wrote on it, “Mom,” without asking me how to spell. It was a darned good A+ Brilliant Adaptation of Me That Showed Greatly Improved Independent Effort of Excellent Proportions, if I do say so myself.
Behavior: “Demonstrates improving behavior.” Improving. Improving? He’s gotten through the past 4 weeks without another Poopy Pants Incident and nary a toilet seat stuck on his head. I’ll say he’s improving! She doesn’t know the half of it.
Work Habits: “Needs some assistance.” Well, duh! My flirtatious little boy loves women! Why would he work independently when he could have his adored teacher help him to form his lower case letters? The male version of “the damsel in distress” sort of thing. He ain’t no fool!
Effort: “Average.” Average. Average?? Now that really bothered me because it made him sound so……. “average.” And “average” my boy is certainly not. Of course…..Little Squirt does only want to do what he loves to do. Things that he finds adventurous and breath-taking and spine-tingling. And seat work is definitely none of those things. Little Squirt has told me that seat work is “boring.” That he wants to “quit seat work.” That he likes recess and gym best of all. And “singing class.” So…… I suppose if he was doing something he vastly disliked, such as seat work, he might show minimal to average effort.
But still. He’s my baby and I know in my heart of hearts that he’s special. And today he drew me a picture with markers. It was a portrait of Moi with bright yellow hair, a blue dress and radiant ruby lipstick. And he wrote on it, “Mom,” without asking me how to spell. It was a darned good A+ Brilliant Adaptation of Me That Showed Greatly Improved Independent Effort of Excellent Proportions, if I do say so myself.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Homecoming
All The Homecoming Hoopla at The Teens high school is officially over for the year. And frankly, just watching Butterfly embrace the festivities was exhausting to me, a mere observer! She pranced through the week with the energy of a colt let out to pasture. Her main focus was wardrobe. (God love her- she is my daughter through and though.) Every day after school she went on a mission to purchase the perfect accoutrement for the theme of the following day: Country-Western, Beauty and The Geek, Cross-Dressing, etc. If the girl would put that much effort into her studies, she’d be a competitive candidate for Oxford U. Then there was the Homecoming Football game of which she is a Super-Fan. She bathed in green and gold paint, hosted a tailgating party for much of the senior class, and cheered loudly to the 35-point game win. Then danced the night away with her friends at the Homecoming Dance.
Rock Star is a more sedate freshman. He didn’t actually think about his wardrobe until each morning, when he’d climb into the costume his sister laid out for him. But he thoroughly enjoyed his first Homecoming weekend with its parade, football game and “crank that” at the dance. He walked through the door at 1:30am, his shirt and tie crumbled into a ball in his fist, sweaty and tired after a post-party. But he’s completely encompassing the high school culture.
The Glory Days.
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