"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend."- Didn't Jesus say that?
I was working-out in the garage yesterday morning. (We have a lovely home gym in one bay of the garage; it's quite adequate.There's TV, stereo, cardio machines, and all kinds of weights and benches. Not like a garage at all. Besides, Tim keeps the garage incredibly tidy.)
So...
There I was, working my pitiful muscles, when I had a thought.
It must have been a result of increased blood flow to the brain. It went like this:
In the garage, on the incline bench, with the music blaring, I looked over and saw Tim's beautiful car. Tim is funny about his car. It's a totally custom Ford Expidition, with a Unique paint job. We affectionately call it the "T-Rex." He loves it, as only a man can love a vehicle. The thing is, he lets me drive it. He takes my car to work, because the heater is unpredictable, and it's freezing to drive. This act of personal sacrifice is more than enough proof of his love for me.
When I met Tim, 5 years ago, he looked like the ultimate man of leisure. Nice cars, lovely home, great kids....perfect life.
It occured to me in that moment that Tim gave me his magical life. He used to drive that Warm T-Rex, sculpt his considerable muscles in the garage, stay home all day, and cook every night. Now I have steped in to his life, and he has gone off to work and support us, to make it all possible.
He gave up his life for me.
He gave up his life to me.
What kind of love is that? I am so awed by the gift, so cognisant of the responsibility. I am so in love, and so very blessed.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The latest on being a normal housewife
This is Tim's second full week of work, and I know more of what to expect. Last week I missed him rather a lot. The kids need more of me when he's not here, so I feel a bit drained. However, ever the opptomist, I am game for the new routine. Mostly.
Things in the house have settled down a bit since I last posted. (I've never met a crisis that lasted very long.)There's still lots going on, though. All of it in the form of children, school, and housework. Three of my favorite things.
Tim no longer brings me coffee in the mornings. Alas. My days of being spoiled are a thing of the past. He's out the door at 6:30 am, and so that's when I pry my eyes open and glare at the day. I jest...it's actually easier to get up, now that I've switched to decaff. Who would have thought? I am no longer dependant upon the caffine to wake me, so my brain begins to function almost immediately.
I bought a crockpot at Costco. I'm pretty much in love with my crockpot. Tim no longer cooks every night of my life, so I am compelled to magical feats of culinary wonder.
The kids really do require more than I expected during the day. They need to be driven to their various classes, of course, so that's a lot of pillars in my day. But they need more from me emotionally than they did before. I help with homework. They bicker amongst themselves rather a lot. They want to each ask me seperately, and repeatedly, what our plans for the day are. They are messy and needy. The whole thing wears me down a bit, by the time Tim gets home. I'm an awesome mom, huh?
It's an adjustment, for sure.
I always thought I could be Super Mom. This fantasy persisted until my eldest reached about 10. Now, I live in the confidence that I've no idea what I'm doing. I pray that my children won't need too much therapy when they are adults. I pray that I will love them enough. I pray that I won't wring their necks. I pray that they would be nice to each other. I pray that I would be nice to them. Parenting is really good for prayer.
I'm going to go pray, in fact. Then I need to refill my cup o' decaff, and begin parenting.
Things in the house have settled down a bit since I last posted. (I've never met a crisis that lasted very long.)There's still lots going on, though. All of it in the form of children, school, and housework. Three of my favorite things.
Tim no longer brings me coffee in the mornings. Alas. My days of being spoiled are a thing of the past. He's out the door at 6:30 am, and so that's when I pry my eyes open and glare at the day. I jest...it's actually easier to get up, now that I've switched to decaff. Who would have thought? I am no longer dependant upon the caffine to wake me, so my brain begins to function almost immediately.
I bought a crockpot at Costco. I'm pretty much in love with my crockpot. Tim no longer cooks every night of my life, so I am compelled to magical feats of culinary wonder.
The kids really do require more than I expected during the day. They need to be driven to their various classes, of course, so that's a lot of pillars in my day. But they need more from me emotionally than they did before. I help with homework. They bicker amongst themselves rather a lot. They want to each ask me seperately, and repeatedly, what our plans for the day are. They are messy and needy. The whole thing wears me down a bit, by the time Tim gets home. I'm an awesome mom, huh?
It's an adjustment, for sure.
I always thought I could be Super Mom. This fantasy persisted until my eldest reached about 10. Now, I live in the confidence that I've no idea what I'm doing. I pray that my children won't need too much therapy when they are adults. I pray that I will love them enough. I pray that I won't wring their necks. I pray that they would be nice to each other. I pray that I would be nice to them. Parenting is really good for prayer.
I'm going to go pray, in fact. Then I need to refill my cup o' decaff, and begin parenting.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
Personal crisis involving Kleenex
Oh.
Hi...
When I haven't written for a few days, the blinking cursor on the blank screen seems quite accusatory. I did beging writing the other day, but it was melodramatic and maudlin, so I slammed the netbook shut and pursued vigorous baking.In fact, I've been in the kitchen a great deal since Tim started his new job. I've made lots of cookies for the kids, and dinners for the family. I love cooking for people who love eating. It's such a validating experience.
There's been way too much to do around here. With Tim leaving early for work, I am getting up really early. Then I'm productive before the kids even get out of bed, and I like that morning quiet time. I am finding, though, that I have no time to sit down all day. It's making me even more grateful for the past couple years, where I was on a sabbatical as much as Tim was.
There's been more than housework going on, though, and no mistake.
-Health issues of loved ones
-friend's marriage crisis
-And my own personal favorite....My Teenager.
Let's discuss
My teenager ( I have three, but only one causing me grief at the moment) Is stressing me out. This kid has always been well-mannered, sweet-natured, if slightly bossy, and beautiful. (Come to think of it, that could describe more than one of my children.) Anyway, this child is making abominable choices. By abominable, I mean that the choices are bad enough that I am not going to tell you what they are. They are that bad. I am telling you this much because there is not room between my ears for much more than that, so it neccessarily limits my creative powers regarding blogging.
I'm not much of a weepy sort, but lately I've had some of those gasping, sobbing, hicupping crying jags. I wish I was like one of those movie stars that looks glassy-eyed and lovely with tears streaming down her face. This is not my experience. My nose runs, my eyes turn bright red and swell shut, and I can't breathe. I look like a zoombie.
So, the other night at the dinner table, one of the kids said something that made me start to laugh (an ironic, somewhat hysterical laugh) and then I started to bawl. While laughing. You know how that is? Well, my 9-year-old, who is Clueless in a charmingly childish way, thought this was terribly funny. He started laughing loudly and with delighted appreciation for what he said were my "tears of joy." Now, everyone else at the table knew that joy was not a factor, so they started laughing at how clueless Aaron was (Michael singing "If I only had a brain!)...which he interpreted as mutual family jocularity....by that time, it was. Now Aaron thinks the phrase "tears of joy" is a punchline guaranteed to get a laugh, so he says it every time he senses the merest hint of a glassy eye. It's bound to be a family joke for years to come.
There's more to tell, but it's now time to get going.
I'm so glad we had this little chat.
Hi...
When I haven't written for a few days, the blinking cursor on the blank screen seems quite accusatory. I did beging writing the other day, but it was melodramatic and maudlin, so I slammed the netbook shut and pursued vigorous baking.In fact, I've been in the kitchen a great deal since Tim started his new job. I've made lots of cookies for the kids, and dinners for the family. I love cooking for people who love eating. It's such a validating experience.
There's been way too much to do around here. With Tim leaving early for work, I am getting up really early. Then I'm productive before the kids even get out of bed, and I like that morning quiet time. I am finding, though, that I have no time to sit down all day. It's making me even more grateful for the past couple years, where I was on a sabbatical as much as Tim was.
There's been more than housework going on, though, and no mistake.
-Health issues of loved ones
-friend's marriage crisis
-And my own personal favorite....My Teenager.
Let's discuss
My teenager ( I have three, but only one causing me grief at the moment) Is stressing me out. This kid has always been well-mannered, sweet-natured, if slightly bossy, and beautiful. (Come to think of it, that could describe more than one of my children.) Anyway, this child is making abominable choices. By abominable, I mean that the choices are bad enough that I am not going to tell you what they are. They are that bad. I am telling you this much because there is not room between my ears for much more than that, so it neccessarily limits my creative powers regarding blogging.
I'm not much of a weepy sort, but lately I've had some of those gasping, sobbing, hicupping crying jags. I wish I was like one of those movie stars that looks glassy-eyed and lovely with tears streaming down her face. This is not my experience. My nose runs, my eyes turn bright red and swell shut, and I can't breathe. I look like a zoombie.
So, the other night at the dinner table, one of the kids said something that made me start to laugh (an ironic, somewhat hysterical laugh) and then I started to bawl. While laughing. You know how that is? Well, my 9-year-old, who is Clueless in a charmingly childish way, thought this was terribly funny. He started laughing loudly and with delighted appreciation for what he said were my "tears of joy." Now, everyone else at the table knew that joy was not a factor, so they started laughing at how clueless Aaron was (Michael singing "If I only had a brain!)...which he interpreted as mutual family jocularity....by that time, it was. Now Aaron thinks the phrase "tears of joy" is a punchline guaranteed to get a laugh, so he says it every time he senses the merest hint of a glassy eye. It's bound to be a family joke for years to come.
There's more to tell, but it's now time to get going.
I'm so glad we had this little chat.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Turning over a new leaf
My diet has improved markedly since my Diagnosis. But, my overall relationship with food is downright unhealthy. I expect more from food than from my husband.
This is what I was thinking about during Second Breakfast, which was not about nurishment, but more about heat. I'd eaten a banana and a yogurt earlier, and found the effect to be unsatisfactory. So, I made nice, hot oatmeal and toast. This infusion of carbohydrates was also warm enough to snuggle with,while perched upon my barstool.
It occured to me then, as I philisophically evaluated my eating habits, that perhaps those 10 extra pounds are a function of high expectations. I expect food to satisfy, energize, entertain, and comfort. It must make me feel warm, happy, and vibrant, while keeping me slim. Food should serve me as encourager, be asthetically pleasing, and thrill my soul.
I want food to love me back.
There is a whole section of my local library devoted to this very topic, so I know I am not alone in this. And that is some consolation.
In other riveting news: Tim got The Call. He starts work tomorrow morning, so this is our Last Day Together. He and I were trying to find a word that means "the end of a sabbatical" and the best we could come up with was "Reality."
Today we have parent-teacher-conferences, but very little else. Today is an end.
Tomorrow is a beginning. The alarm will go off at 5:30 am......
This is what I was thinking about during Second Breakfast, which was not about nurishment, but more about heat. I'd eaten a banana and a yogurt earlier, and found the effect to be unsatisfactory. So, I made nice, hot oatmeal and toast. This infusion of carbohydrates was also warm enough to snuggle with,while perched upon my barstool.
It occured to me then, as I philisophically evaluated my eating habits, that perhaps those 10 extra pounds are a function of high expectations. I expect food to satisfy, energize, entertain, and comfort. It must make me feel warm, happy, and vibrant, while keeping me slim. Food should serve me as encourager, be asthetically pleasing, and thrill my soul.
I want food to love me back.
There is a whole section of my local library devoted to this very topic, so I know I am not alone in this. And that is some consolation.
In other riveting news: Tim got The Call. He starts work tomorrow morning, so this is our Last Day Together. He and I were trying to find a word that means "the end of a sabbatical" and the best we could come up with was "Reality."
Today we have parent-teacher-conferences, but very little else. Today is an end.
Tomorrow is a beginning. The alarm will go off at 5:30 am......
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
I have no title for this, as my brain is frozen
Tim is still not working. He has been hired, you understand, but he doesn't actually go to work. We are curious to see when that call will come that involves an invitation to join the workforce. There are so many details involved with being hired these days; it's quite complicated. They have paperwork and drug tests and background checks. I think he's thrown them off with his perfect Self.
Meanwhile, we wait.
Yesterday was my least favorite holiday, if you are dying to read my thoughts on the matter, click HERE.
Michael and Don watched some scary movie, Aaron and Faline dressed up as me and collected candy. They did. Aaron wore my old clown outfit (have I told you about how I used to work as a clown? I was "Jewel, the Court Jester"). Faline wore an old prom dress with my black cape and gloves, she looked like she was going to the opera. Is it weird that my kids need look no further than my closet for suitable costumes?
Recently, I had occasion to read an article about the singer Katy Parry. She was explaining how her parents raised her to view Halloween, which sounded exactly like my own children's experience. They saw it as a pagan event with no redeeming qualities, and they certainly didn't celebrate it. I totally concur. I was wondering if the similarity means that my children are going to turn out like Katy Parry. She's very rich, which may be lovely, but she's not quite the moral standard I'd like my own children to be. I wonder if her parents are proud. I only hope that if my children grow up to sing about sex and partying all the time, they get paid as well as Ms Katy does. It's more likely they wouldn't get paid at all.
I was just explaining to my cardiologist that having teenagers might be affecting my blood pressure. Now, Cardiology would be a lucrative profession. They had a bill for over a hundred dollars, just for taking my blood pressure and chatting. Certainly we were chatting on a specialized topic, but it was rather brief, as chats go. My blood pressure, you'll be happy to know, has responded nicely to the medications I'm on. I did ask my doctor why such a minor little issue as I have has impacted my daily life so much. There are so many restrictions upon me, that I end up thinking too much about what I can't do, what I can't eat, and the coffee I can't have. She corrected my misconception by explaining that while my aneurysm is mild, it is my no means a minor issue. It's rather un-minor. I did not ask if that makes it major.
That's about all I have to say. Which means that I need to get out of bed and see about breakfast. Getting out of bed is less welcoming than it ought to be on account of the no caffeine, and also the no heat. My handsome husband is opposed to turning on the heat anytime prior to the first of November. Today is the big day, then, but the house is freezing cold this morning. Alas.
Meanwhile, we wait.
Yesterday was my least favorite holiday, if you are dying to read my thoughts on the matter, click HERE.
Michael and Don watched some scary movie, Aaron and Faline dressed up as me and collected candy. They did. Aaron wore my old clown outfit (have I told you about how I used to work as a clown? I was "Jewel, the Court Jester"). Faline wore an old prom dress with my black cape and gloves, she looked like she was going to the opera. Is it weird that my kids need look no further than my closet for suitable costumes?
Recently, I had occasion to read an article about the singer Katy Parry. She was explaining how her parents raised her to view Halloween, which sounded exactly like my own children's experience. They saw it as a pagan event with no redeeming qualities, and they certainly didn't celebrate it. I totally concur. I was wondering if the similarity means that my children are going to turn out like Katy Parry. She's very rich, which may be lovely, but she's not quite the moral standard I'd like my own children to be. I wonder if her parents are proud. I only hope that if my children grow up to sing about sex and partying all the time, they get paid as well as Ms Katy does. It's more likely they wouldn't get paid at all.
I was just explaining to my cardiologist that having teenagers might be affecting my blood pressure. Now, Cardiology would be a lucrative profession. They had a bill for over a hundred dollars, just for taking my blood pressure and chatting. Certainly we were chatting on a specialized topic, but it was rather brief, as chats go. My blood pressure, you'll be happy to know, has responded nicely to the medications I'm on. I did ask my doctor why such a minor little issue as I have has impacted my daily life so much. There are so many restrictions upon me, that I end up thinking too much about what I can't do, what I can't eat, and the coffee I can't have. She corrected my misconception by explaining that while my aneurysm is mild, it is my no means a minor issue. It's rather un-minor. I did not ask if that makes it major.
That's about all I have to say. Which means that I need to get out of bed and see about breakfast. Getting out of bed is less welcoming than it ought to be on account of the no caffeine, and also the no heat. My handsome husband is opposed to turning on the heat anytime prior to the first of November. Today is the big day, then, but the house is freezing cold this morning. Alas.
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