Today I am 39 weeks pregnant.
I am only 5'1" and very short waisted. 'Baby Bump' just doesn't quite seem to cover what is going on in my midsection. I feel that I am past the cute stage, and have moved into the full blown pregnant lady waddle. In fact, a woman saw me at the grocery store today and gave me her most sympathetic smile and said, "Oh... Bless your heart!" I returned her smile and continued waddling by, because what is there to be said, really?
Upon seeing me, the inevitable question at this point seems to be, "Are you ready?" I don't really know how to answer this question. Can a person really be ready to be a first time parent?
I'm convinced the question that people actually want to know is, "Are you completely sick of being pregnant yet???" To which the answer is...
I'm getting there.
Give me another week.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Friday, March 02, 2012
Our First Adventure at Just Between Friends
Parenting is 'spensive!
Not that this comes as a shock to anyone. In an article released in 200, MSNBC reported that, "A two-parent family that earns less than $57,000 annually will spend about $160,000 on a child from birth through high school. " That's us. Yikes! It is amazing the way that expenses pop up left and right from the moment you find out you're pregnant. (Hey, pregnancy tests ain't free!)
I come from a very frugal line of jewish/german women. Spending money hurts! So from the beginning I have been looking for ways to cut costs in order to raise this kid. We are looking at anything from cloth diapering to making our own baby food. It's not because I'm a crunchy mama! It's because I hate, I hate, I HATE spending money.
One of the things that I was made aware of in early pregnancy was Just Between Friends, a sale that takes place several times a year in locations all over the country, giving families a chance both to get rid of things that they don't need through consignment, and the rest of us a chance to get the things that we need for much cheaper than they would cost new!
Bubba and I attended our first JBF Sale last night. We gave ourselves $100 to spend (easily blown in just a couple of items at Babies R Us...) and were really hoping to find a stroller. Well, folks. The stroller didn't happen, but that is kind of my fault.
One of the ways that I'm trying to cut costs is with the whole stroller/car seat issue. I am not into paying for a new car seat every time our little guy grows 20 pounds, and where on earth would I put all of those unused car seats??? That is why I registered for this car seat which adapts through the three different stages of front facing, rear facing and booster, for children anywhere from 5-100 lbs. Brilliant? I think so. A little more expensive temporarily, but cheaper long term, and again. I don't have to try to find space for unused car seats in our already crowded (and becoming even more so...) little apartment. But back to the stroller issue!
We looked at a stroller that included baby carrier/car bases for $80. That's a pretty great deal, even though it was a little dirty and worn. But when it came right down to it, the regular stroller that I'd registered for was $100. So... $100 for something that I'd planned on using all along, or $80 for something a little dirty, worn, and I'd have to adjust a lot of plans for. It just didn't seem worth it to us. So we hesitantly laid aside our plans of scoring a super-sweet stroller and moved on to see what else we could find.
Here is a list of the stuff that we ended up getting with our $100, ($83.00, actually!) along with retail prices to get them new.
Safety 1st Diaper Pail
Paid $7
Retails $19.99
Baby Innovations Leather Diaper Bag (for Mommy)
Paid $15
Retails $59.99
(I discovered this morning that Babies R Us is actually having a sale on this for $15.98. Kind of a bummer, but it's still a great deal, and I didn't have to pay shipping. I just have to figure out how to make it not smell like a tent! Ideas are appreciated.)
Columbia Trekster Diaper Backpack (for Daddy)
Paid $20
Retails $39.99
Cloud B Sleep Sheep
Paid $8
Retails $28.99
Unopened Melissa and Doug Shape Stacker
Paid $6
Retails $7.95
Fitted Medium Cloth Diaper
Paid $4
Retails $15-$19
BumGenius Cloth Diaper Sizable Inserts
Paid $5/5
Retails $3/6
(Ohhhhhh, can anyone say burned? I was researching other things and should have looked this one up!)
Fisher Price Rainforest Melodies & Lights Deluxe Gym
Paid $15
Retails $69.99
We did get burned/not really a great deal on a couple of things, but if you look at it in the grand scheme of things, we made a steal! Our grand total was about $83 after tax. We made off with $244.90 worth of stuff, had we bought them new in stores!! That's about $162 dollars in savings. Cha-ching!
So what do I have to say about the JBF experience in general? WORTH IT. Sure, you do have to sort through some gross/dirty/junky stuff. Kind of like a big (but extremely well organized!) garage sale. Some items you'll look at and think, $30 for that disgusting pack and play? Are they on crack?! And others you'll look at and think, $15 for that gently used baby gym? Are they on crack?!
Even Bubba had a good time. He's going to be a great daddy and was totally into trying to score some sweet loot for cheap for Caleb. I gave him a hard time as he was contemplating which man-purse (aka diaper bag) he wanted to get, unzipping all the little pockets and percolating about the merits of one over the other.
After we left he said, "I saw some guys in there who really didn't look like they were into that." "Were you?" I asked him. "Yeah! I was way more into that than Babies R Us! That place can die and go to hell." And I concur. If you ever want to have an anxiety attack, do a registry at Babies R Us. Roam the aisles for a few hours. Take in the chaos. It is reminiscent of Parks & Recreations 4th floor of City Hall.
And with that, I'll leave you.
Stay cheap, friends!
Not that this comes as a shock to anyone. In an article released in 200, MSNBC reported that, "A two-parent family that earns less than $57,000 annually will spend about $160,000 on a child from birth through high school. " That's us. Yikes! It is amazing the way that expenses pop up left and right from the moment you find out you're pregnant. (Hey, pregnancy tests ain't free!)
I come from a very frugal line of jewish/german women. Spending money hurts! So from the beginning I have been looking for ways to cut costs in order to raise this kid. We are looking at anything from cloth diapering to making our own baby food. It's not because I'm a crunchy mama! It's because I hate, I hate, I HATE spending money.
Bubba and I attended our first JBF Sale last night. We gave ourselves $100 to spend (easily blown in just a couple of items at Babies R Us...) and were really hoping to find a stroller. Well, folks. The stroller didn't happen, but that is kind of my fault.
One of the ways that I'm trying to cut costs is with the whole stroller/car seat issue. I am not into paying for a new car seat every time our little guy grows 20 pounds, and where on earth would I put all of those unused car seats??? That is why I registered for this car seat which adapts through the three different stages of front facing, rear facing and booster, for children anywhere from 5-100 lbs. Brilliant? I think so. A little more expensive temporarily, but cheaper long term, and again. I don't have to try to find space for unused car seats in our already crowded (and becoming even more so...) little apartment. But back to the stroller issue!
We looked at a stroller that included baby carrier/car bases for $80. That's a pretty great deal, even though it was a little dirty and worn. But when it came right down to it, the regular stroller that I'd registered for was $100. So... $100 for something that I'd planned on using all along, or $80 for something a little dirty, worn, and I'd have to adjust a lot of plans for. It just didn't seem worth it to us. So we hesitantly laid aside our plans of scoring a super-sweet stroller and moved on to see what else we could find.
Here is a list of the stuff that we ended up getting with our $100, ($83.00, actually!) along with retail prices to get them new.
Safety 1st Diaper Pail
Paid $7
Retails $19.99
Baby Innovations Leather Diaper Bag (for Mommy)
Paid $15
Retails $59.99
(I discovered this morning that Babies R Us is actually having a sale on this for $15.98. Kind of a bummer, but it's still a great deal, and I didn't have to pay shipping. I just have to figure out how to make it not smell like a tent! Ideas are appreciated.)
Columbia Trekster Diaper Backpack (for Daddy)
Paid $20
Retails $39.99
Cloud B Sleep Sheep
Paid $8
Retails $28.99
Unopened Melissa and Doug Shape Stacker
Paid $6
Retails $7.95
Fitted Medium Cloth Diaper
Paid $4
Retails $15-$19
BumGenius Cloth Diaper Sizable Inserts
Paid $5/5
Retails $3/6
(Ohhhhhh, can anyone say burned? I was researching other things and should have looked this one up!)
Fisher Price Rainforest Melodies & Lights Deluxe Gym
Paid $15
Retails $69.99
We did get burned/not really a great deal on a couple of things, but if you look at it in the grand scheme of things, we made a steal! Our grand total was about $83 after tax. We made off with $244.90 worth of stuff, had we bought them new in stores!! That's about $162 dollars in savings. Cha-ching!
So what do I have to say about the JBF experience in general? WORTH IT. Sure, you do have to sort through some gross/dirty/junky stuff. Kind of like a big (but extremely well organized!) garage sale. Some items you'll look at and think, $30 for that disgusting pack and play? Are they on crack?! And others you'll look at and think, $15 for that gently used baby gym? Are they on crack?!
Even Bubba had a good time. He's going to be a great daddy and was totally into trying to score some sweet loot for cheap for Caleb. I gave him a hard time as he was contemplating which man-purse (aka diaper bag) he wanted to get, unzipping all the little pockets and percolating about the merits of one over the other.
After we left he said, "I saw some guys in there who really didn't look like they were into that." "Were you?" I asked him. "Yeah! I was way more into that than Babies R Us! That place can die and go to hell." And I concur. If you ever want to have an anxiety attack, do a registry at Babies R Us. Roam the aisles for a few hours. Take in the chaos. It is reminiscent of Parks & Recreations 4th floor of City Hall.
And with that, I'll leave you.
Stay cheap, friends!
Thursday, February 02, 2012
Check out my new tatt...
And I wasn't even drunk!
The above is photographic evidence of what happens when one ridiculous person marries another, they make a baby, and then they go to Wal-Mart and end up with 50 cents in their pockets.
Angry Birds tattoos.
No alcohol was consumed. We are just this fun all the time!
Oh. And I'm definitely not usually one for the bare-bellied pics. I don't normally care to show that much skin. But oh yes. Be jealous of this body. I don't think I'm at risk for causing people to stumble with this goin' on. Because really, who can resist that belly button?
We actually bought two tattoos. One for him and one for me. The other one was the Red Bird.
I do not play Angry Birds. (I know. Whaaaaat? Where have I been for the last 2 years? But I am kicking Temple Run's butt, so...) While I do not have any knowledge of the characters or what they do, red is my favorite color, so I kind of wanted that one.
I asked Bubba which one would be more appropriate, and he said Black Bird. Turns out he was right. Check this description out.
4. Black Bird – One of the strongest birds in this game. Because this one is fat it tends to destroy things on where it lands and after that, Kaboom! It wreaks havoc to its target point so pigs should be warned when this bird is up.
Special Ability – Anti – Matter Bomb (shattering walls and other materials especially evil pigs)
Strength – Strong
Size – Big
Cuteness – Very cute
Strength – Strong
Size – Big
Cuteness – Very cute
Haha! How great is that?
This description came from this website.
So you are all welcome for that!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Stop The Scare Tactics!
It is amazing how unbelievably confusing parenthood is, and I haven't even popped this baby out yet. (12 weeks and counting!)
It's just like with anything else you decide to take up. Pool maintenance, for example. I had never even thought twice about the water I was swimming in when I visited a pool, but when a relative decided to get an above ground pool and delegated my husband and I as the care takers, (...) I quickly learned to appreciate the beautiful, clear water that I had swam in before. (FYI, don't ask us to care for your pool. We were a miserable failure. Also, do NOT place a pool beneath a tree. That is the worst idea. Ever.) All of a sudden pool water went from being simple to being ridiculously complex. I don't know anything about pH levels or fungus or shocking or any of that stuff. For those of you who have learned this art, I applaud you. To me it was like trying to learn greek, and I quickly threw my hands up in despair as I gazed into the murky green depths.
I find myself in much the same quandary with this whole parenting issue. Only this time, I don't have the liberty of throwing my hands up in despair and risking being badmouthed as a bad and irresponsible... relative. (We will leave the specifics of the relations out in order to protect all involved.)
Anyway, as soon as you end up pregnant, you are all of a sudden bombarded with a million decisions to make, all of which you feel unqualified to make whatsoever.
What type of prenatal care should I receive? Should I go to an OB? Should I see a midwife? Should I get a flu shot? How much testing is actually necessary during pregnancy? If this test comes up positive, does getting amniocentesis make me a bad person? Does NOT getting it make me irresponsible? Vaccines! Are they safe? Are they really worth it? What is 'attachment parenting'? Babywise? Will letting my baby cry it out sometimes damage him forever? What is actually necessary to put on my registry? (I know Babies R Us says 4 strollers, but really? 4?) Cloth diapering? No? Yes? What kind of cloth diapers won't make me want to pull my hair out and make spending $2000 on disposables seem soooo worth it? Does it make me a hippy if I want to give birth in a tub? When I go into labor AM I GOING TO POOP ON MYSELF??? Why do I want ice cream right now? If I do eat ice cream, am I going to give myself gestational diabetes? I didn't finish all of my wine at New Year's communion. Does that mean I'm not a Christian because I didn't "Drink ye all of it"? (Mt. 26:27 KJV) Does it mean I've given my baby fetal alcohol syndrom? Wait, some people don't circumcise their boys? Why not? Who ever knew there was such a thing as 'holistic circumcision'? Why do I still want ice cream?
It feels much like trying to navigate a mine field. One wrong step and BOOM!!! You may have raised the next Charles Manson or something.
On the one side I have the medical community of people who I believe do genuinely care about all of their patients. Included on this side are those who are influenced heavily by the medical community, which is... I don't know. Almost everyone. This side trusts that medical professionals are just that. Professionals. They have studied. They have practiced. They know, and should be trusted. This side is pro-vaccine, pro-epidural, (God made people smart enough to invent them so that I wouldn't have to go through this pain!) all about disposable diapering, and anything else that makes parenting a little less stressful. If breastfeeding is really not working out for you, it is okay to switch to formula, and you shouldn't feel guilty about doing this. It may be in your baby's best interests. This side says you're really asking for it if you do not get vaccinations, and get them when your pediatrician tells you to. This side judges/worries frantically about hippies, *ahem* women who are not birthing in hospitals, because what if something happens? You and your baby could both die.
On the other side we have the natural birth community, etc. Attachment theory believers, La Leche leaguers, cloth diaperers, and other earth mamas. These women also care, but have been burned before. These women are trained to ask questions, either by themselves or by someone else. They do not accept the things told to them as absolute fact, regardless of a white coat. They want to see the data and try things for themselves. These people believe that an obstetrician is not necessary for the average birth, and that birth should take place at home, in a birth center, or in some relaxing environment, unless of course there is something that makes the delivery abnormally risky. These people are anti-formula, anti-drugs (in most, but not all situations. God created women's bodies wonderfully, and they are able to give birth in most cases without the help of drugs, hormones and tools,) extremely wary of vaccines, anti-television, anti-disposable diapers, etc. Breast milk is the elixer of life! Breastfeeding is the best thing for you and baby, and formula is really not as necessary as people think it is. Do your research. Try changing your diet, etc. before racing to Babies R Us to pick up formula when your pediatrician tells you it's okay. This side says you're really asking for it if you get vaccinations without doing your research, because some vaccines are live, and your baby could catch said virus and die. This side judges/worries frantically over the average imbecile, *ahem* woman who gives birth in a hospital, because she could receive unnecessary medical intervention and have to have an emergency c-section or worse. You and your baby could both die.
Then you have the things that both of these communities are saying. ORGANIC, ORGANIC, ORGANIC!!! If you are not feeding your baby organically grown fruits and vegetables, you are an idiot. You have not done your research. You are an unfit parent, and are causing your baby harm. (No matter that most of us are feeding our children hot dogs and the occasional McDonald's.)
See what I mean? One wrong step. BOOM!!!
In my mind's eye I see myself, baby in arms, deer in the headlights, completely confused at the screaming masses around me. It's terrifying, really.
What's a mommy to do?
I find myself mucking about in the midst of all of these opinions, hesitant to jump on anyone's band wagon to condemn all of the people who are parenting any other way.
I talked to my sister about this recently, and she mentioned that she is just sick of all of the scare tactics, regardless of which side they come from. And she is right. That is how I feel.
I am so tired of being made to feel guilty if I do/do not do what one source or another deems bad/good for my child.
I am sick of posters suggesting that spanking your child is equivalent to abuse.
While I want to be educated about risks/benefits etc., when it comes down to it, you don't know me, and you don't know my child. You cannot tell me that there is one way that works 100% of the time. So just. stop. ...Please.
It's just like with anything else you decide to take up. Pool maintenance, for example. I had never even thought twice about the water I was swimming in when I visited a pool, but when a relative decided to get an above ground pool and delegated my husband and I as the care takers, (...) I quickly learned to appreciate the beautiful, clear water that I had swam in before. (FYI, don't ask us to care for your pool. We were a miserable failure. Also, do NOT place a pool beneath a tree. That is the worst idea. Ever.) All of a sudden pool water went from being simple to being ridiculously complex. I don't know anything about pH levels or fungus or shocking or any of that stuff. For those of you who have learned this art, I applaud you. To me it was like trying to learn greek, and I quickly threw my hands up in despair as I gazed into the murky green depths.
I find myself in much the same quandary with this whole parenting issue. Only this time, I don't have the liberty of throwing my hands up in despair and risking being badmouthed as a bad and irresponsible... relative. (We will leave the specifics of the relations out in order to protect all involved.)
Anyway, as soon as you end up pregnant, you are all of a sudden bombarded with a million decisions to make, all of which you feel unqualified to make whatsoever.
What type of prenatal care should I receive? Should I go to an OB? Should I see a midwife? Should I get a flu shot? How much testing is actually necessary during pregnancy? If this test comes up positive, does getting amniocentesis make me a bad person? Does NOT getting it make me irresponsible? Vaccines! Are they safe? Are they really worth it? What is 'attachment parenting'? Babywise? Will letting my baby cry it out sometimes damage him forever? What is actually necessary to put on my registry? (I know Babies R Us says 4 strollers, but really? 4?) Cloth diapering? No? Yes? What kind of cloth diapers won't make me want to pull my hair out and make spending $2000 on disposables seem soooo worth it? Does it make me a hippy if I want to give birth in a tub? When I go into labor AM I GOING TO POOP ON MYSELF??? Why do I want ice cream right now? If I do eat ice cream, am I going to give myself gestational diabetes? I didn't finish all of my wine at New Year's communion. Does that mean I'm not a Christian because I didn't "Drink ye all of it"? (Mt. 26:27 KJV) Does it mean I've given my baby fetal alcohol syndrom? Wait, some people don't circumcise their boys? Why not? Who ever knew there was such a thing as 'holistic circumcision'? Why do I still want ice cream?
It feels much like trying to navigate a mine field. One wrong step and BOOM!!! You may have raised the next Charles Manson or something.
On the one side I have the medical community of people who I believe do genuinely care about all of their patients. Included on this side are those who are influenced heavily by the medical community, which is... I don't know. Almost everyone. This side trusts that medical professionals are just that. Professionals. They have studied. They have practiced. They know, and should be trusted. This side is pro-vaccine, pro-epidural, (God made people smart enough to invent them so that I wouldn't have to go through this pain!) all about disposable diapering, and anything else that makes parenting a little less stressful. If breastfeeding is really not working out for you, it is okay to switch to formula, and you shouldn't feel guilty about doing this. It may be in your baby's best interests. This side says you're really asking for it if you do not get vaccinations, and get them when your pediatrician tells you to. This side judges/worries frantically about hippies, *ahem* women who are not birthing in hospitals, because what if something happens? You and your baby could both die.
On the other side we have the natural birth community, etc. Attachment theory believers, La Leche leaguers, cloth diaperers, and other earth mamas. These women also care, but have been burned before. These women are trained to ask questions, either by themselves or by someone else. They do not accept the things told to them as absolute fact, regardless of a white coat. They want to see the data and try things for themselves. These people believe that an obstetrician is not necessary for the average birth, and that birth should take place at home, in a birth center, or in some relaxing environment, unless of course there is something that makes the delivery abnormally risky. These people are anti-formula, anti-drugs (in most, but not all situations. God created women's bodies wonderfully, and they are able to give birth in most cases without the help of drugs, hormones and tools,) extremely wary of vaccines, anti-television, anti-disposable diapers, etc. Breast milk is the elixer of life! Breastfeeding is the best thing for you and baby, and formula is really not as necessary as people think it is. Do your research. Try changing your diet, etc. before racing to Babies R Us to pick up formula when your pediatrician tells you it's okay. This side says you're really asking for it if you get vaccinations without doing your research, because some vaccines are live, and your baby could catch said virus and die. This side judges/worries frantically over the average imbecile, *ahem* woman who gives birth in a hospital, because she could receive unnecessary medical intervention and have to have an emergency c-section or worse. You and your baby could both die.
Then you have the things that both of these communities are saying. ORGANIC, ORGANIC, ORGANIC!!! If you are not feeding your baby organically grown fruits and vegetables, you are an idiot. You have not done your research. You are an unfit parent, and are causing your baby harm. (No matter that most of us are feeding our children hot dogs and the occasional McDonald's.)
See what I mean? One wrong step. BOOM!!!
In my mind's eye I see myself, baby in arms, deer in the headlights, completely confused at the screaming masses around me. It's terrifying, really.
What's a mommy to do?
I find myself mucking about in the midst of all of these opinions, hesitant to jump on anyone's band wagon to condemn all of the people who are parenting any other way.
I talked to my sister about this recently, and she mentioned that she is just sick of all of the scare tactics, regardless of which side they come from. And she is right. That is how I feel.
I am so tired of being made to feel guilty if I do/do not do what one source or another deems bad/good for my child.
I am sick of posters that show children in bed with butcher knives, claiming that co-sleeping is just as dangerous.
I am sick of posters suggesting that spanking your child is equivalent to abuse.
While I want to be educated about risks/benefits etc., when it comes down to it, you don't know me, and you don't know my child. You cannot tell me that there is one way that works 100% of the time. So just. stop. ...Please.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Hearing, Listening, Obeying
We just got in last night from a Midwinter Retreat at Guadalupe Christian Camp. The theme for the retreat was 'The Voice', inspired by the reality TV show, but with an obvious twist; The Voice, being God's voice.
The speaker was great, inspiring all of the kids listen to God's voice and telling them how God speaks to us as believers.
Again, the speaker was really good, but I also had this nagging thought in the back of my mind that comes from my experience watching a 2 year old; listening is good, but it isn't worth a thing if you don't obey.
There are so many times where I tell Lincoln to do something. Anything from, "Would you please pick up that piece of trash," to, "Please do not slam doors." He's a 2 year-old boy, so sometimes he gets a little spacey.
I end up repeating myself several times and saying, "Lincoln, did you hear me? Lincoln, are you listening?"
"Yes," he responds.
"What did I say?" And about 50% of the time he can repeat it back to me. Then the question is, "Why aren't you obeying?"
Sometimes a time-out is necessary, the result of not listening. But really, that's really only half of it. It's the not obeying that got him in trouble. So my phrasing went from simply encouraging him with, "Listen..." to asking him to, "Listen and obey."
And this was the nagging thought in the back of my mind. As a teenager, it is much easier to listen to God's voice when you are away from home, away from your parents who drive you nuts, away from the bad influences of school, and you have no internet connection. It's when you get back that it gets difficult, because the voice of God has so many competitors! So training in listening is so very important, but I don't want to forget that it is still possible to hear the voice of God and not obey it. And that's really where things can go bad.
Jesus confronts this issue in Matthew 7 when he says, "Therefore, anyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice..." and then later, "But anyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice..."
It's terribly important that we don't go half way on this, because that could be the difference between a life with a firm foundation, and a life with a shifty one.
I'm sure it's no accident that as I was continuing my reading in Ezekiel this morning, I came across the following passage:
Ezekiel 33:31-32
"So My people come pretending to be sincere and sit before you. They listen to your words, but they have no intention of doing what you say. Their mouths are full of lustful words, and their hearts seek only after money. You are very entertaining to them, like someone who sings love songs with a beautiful voice or plays fine music on an instrument. They hear what you say, but they don't act on it!"
Am I expecting God to settle for getting my attention, but none of my obedience? Are you?
The speaker was great, inspiring all of the kids listen to God's voice and telling them how God speaks to us as believers.
Again, the speaker was really good, but I also had this nagging thought in the back of my mind that comes from my experience watching a 2 year old; listening is good, but it isn't worth a thing if you don't obey.
There are so many times where I tell Lincoln to do something. Anything from, "Would you please pick up that piece of trash," to, "Please do not slam doors." He's a 2 year-old boy, so sometimes he gets a little spacey.
I end up repeating myself several times and saying, "Lincoln, did you hear me? Lincoln, are you listening?"
"Yes," he responds.
"What did I say?" And about 50% of the time he can repeat it back to me. Then the question is, "Why aren't you obeying?"
Sometimes a time-out is necessary, the result of not listening. But really, that's really only half of it. It's the not obeying that got him in trouble. So my phrasing went from simply encouraging him with, "Listen..." to asking him to, "Listen and obey."
And this was the nagging thought in the back of my mind. As a teenager, it is much easier to listen to God's voice when you are away from home, away from your parents who drive you nuts, away from the bad influences of school, and you have no internet connection. It's when you get back that it gets difficult, because the voice of God has so many competitors! So training in listening is so very important, but I don't want to forget that it is still possible to hear the voice of God and not obey it. And that's really where things can go bad.
Jesus confronts this issue in Matthew 7 when he says, "Therefore, anyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice..." and then later, "But anyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice..."
It's terribly important that we don't go half way on this, because that could be the difference between a life with a firm foundation, and a life with a shifty one.
I'm sure it's no accident that as I was continuing my reading in Ezekiel this morning, I came across the following passage:
Ezekiel 33:31-32
"So My people come pretending to be sincere and sit before you. They listen to your words, but they have no intention of doing what you say. Their mouths are full of lustful words, and their hearts seek only after money. You are very entertaining to them, like someone who sings love songs with a beautiful voice or plays fine music on an instrument. They hear what you say, but they don't act on it!"
Am I expecting God to settle for getting my attention, but none of my obedience? Are you?
Friday, January 13, 2012
What were we thinking?!
As Caleb's due date creeps closer and closer, (and closer,) I find myself becoming more and more scared of the day that he makes his first appearance. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it, and it will be a day of joy and celebration for Bubba and I, along with our friends and families, but there is also this part of me that says, "How will I ever be a parent?"
It's a funny thing. When girls are little, even 2-3 years old, they enjoy taking care of baby dolls, especially when they see their mommies taking care of babies. It cools down for a while, but somewhere around 13-14 they begin again to start noticing babies and wanting to take care of them. That instinct grows stronger and stronger as the years go by until hopefully they are married, and BOOM! Full blown baby-fever strikes.
Now, I realize that this is not how it happens for every single girl, but it is a scientifically proven fact that almost universally, women feel the desire to have a baby at some point in their lives, usually around the ages of 18-30.
I was reading about this in Glamour magazine the other day, (thank goodness my subscription expired. Stupid magazine,) and it was addressing this fact, and how it is affecting the mindset of young American women who have careers and such. When are you ready? What do you do about your career? Why does this happen? I think that they came to the conclusion that it had something to do with evolution and the desire to prosper the human race, or something along those lines.
However, this my firm belief as to why that thing snaps in a woman's brain.
Genesis 1:27-28
God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them; and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it."
Tada! There's your baby-fever right there. God put it in there, and it's been driving women crazy (no, literally crazy. As in doing crazy things in order to have children,) ever since. Even the most career minded of women have a moment where they realize that, "Holy toledo! My eggs are going bad! I need to find myself a man, and FAST!" And so movies like Tina Fey's 'Baby Mama' are born. And thank goodness, because that movie is hilarious.
What confuses me about this whole process is the fact that in the midst of all of this craving for babies, why does the thought never occur to us women, "Parenthood is the most daunting challenge ever introduced to the human race. RUN!!!" And even if it does, we just brush the thought aside and continue the painful longing for a baby at our bosom and dreaming of nursery themes and adorable baby outfits!
So one day we pee on a stick and run in to our husbands with tears and hugs and kisses and say, "I'm going to be a mommy!" and then a week or a month later we wake up in cold sweats, pulse through the roof and say, "I'M GOING TO BE A MOMMY!!!"
Okay, so the first part of that isn't exactly how it went for me, but the second part is pretty spot on. I find myself waking up with my heart pounding out of my chest quite frequently. The cause has gone from the thought, There is a baby inside of me, and eventually it will have to come out. Very unpleasantly, to recently, What will Bubba and I ever do with a teenage boy of our own? I mean, we practice on other people's children all the time. But does it make me a bad youth minister's wife to say that I'm not at all confident to raise my own kid?
Parents of our students come to us about their children with stories. "My teenager snuck out of their window last night and hasn't come home yet." "My teenager who has always done well in school is now failing out of 2 classes." "My teenager just has no respect for me and wants to live with my ex. What do I do?"
Since we were engaged, Bubba and I have been watching situations like these and saying to each other, "What if our kid goes through that? How would we handle it?" But at that point it was really more like a fun little game, akin to 'Would You Rather?' or something like that. But now I find myself looking at Bubba and going, "No, really. What are we going to do if this happens?"
The things I worry about now are things like, When is the right time to let our kid have a cell phone? What kind of plan do we get him? The internet. Can we just get rid of it? How do we handle the 'allowance' situation?I do realize that the teenage years are a ways off yet, but this is stuff that really is concerning to me.
But in the end, I know that God is faithful, and that He is really in charge of handling most stuff.
Proverbs 22:6
Train up a child in the way he should go,
Even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Do your thing, God!
It's a funny thing. When girls are little, even 2-3 years old, they enjoy taking care of baby dolls, especially when they see their mommies taking care of babies. It cools down for a while, but somewhere around 13-14 they begin again to start noticing babies and wanting to take care of them. That instinct grows stronger and stronger as the years go by until hopefully they are married, and BOOM! Full blown baby-fever strikes.
Now, I realize that this is not how it happens for every single girl, but it is a scientifically proven fact that almost universally, women feel the desire to have a baby at some point in their lives, usually around the ages of 18-30.
I was reading about this in Glamour magazine the other day, (thank goodness my subscription expired. Stupid magazine,) and it was addressing this fact, and how it is affecting the mindset of young American women who have careers and such. When are you ready? What do you do about your career? Why does this happen? I think that they came to the conclusion that it had something to do with evolution and the desire to prosper the human race, or something along those lines.
However, this my firm belief as to why that thing snaps in a woman's brain.
Genesis 1:27-28
God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them; and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it."
Tada! There's your baby-fever right there. God put it in there, and it's been driving women crazy (no, literally crazy. As in doing crazy things in order to have children,) ever since. Even the most career minded of women have a moment where they realize that, "Holy toledo! My eggs are going bad! I need to find myself a man, and FAST!" And so movies like Tina Fey's 'Baby Mama' are born. And thank goodness, because that movie is hilarious.
What confuses me about this whole process is the fact that in the midst of all of this craving for babies, why does the thought never occur to us women, "Parenthood is the most daunting challenge ever introduced to the human race. RUN!!!" And even if it does, we just brush the thought aside and continue the painful longing for a baby at our bosom and dreaming of nursery themes and adorable baby outfits!
So one day we pee on a stick and run in to our husbands with tears and hugs and kisses and say, "I'm going to be a mommy!" and then a week or a month later we wake up in cold sweats, pulse through the roof and say, "I'M GOING TO BE A MOMMY!!!"
Okay, so the first part of that isn't exactly how it went for me, but the second part is pretty spot on. I find myself waking up with my heart pounding out of my chest quite frequently. The cause has gone from the thought, There is a baby inside of me, and eventually it will have to come out. Very unpleasantly, to recently, What will Bubba and I ever do with a teenage boy of our own? I mean, we practice on other people's children all the time. But does it make me a bad youth minister's wife to say that I'm not at all confident to raise my own kid?
Parents of our students come to us about their children with stories. "My teenager snuck out of their window last night and hasn't come home yet." "My teenager who has always done well in school is now failing out of 2 classes." "My teenager just has no respect for me and wants to live with my ex. What do I do?"
Since we were engaged, Bubba and I have been watching situations like these and saying to each other, "What if our kid goes through that? How would we handle it?" But at that point it was really more like a fun little game, akin to 'Would You Rather?' or something like that. But now I find myself looking at Bubba and going, "No, really. What are we going to do if this happens?"
The things I worry about now are things like, When is the right time to let our kid have a cell phone? What kind of plan do we get him? The internet. Can we just get rid of it? How do we handle the 'allowance' situation?I do realize that the teenage years are a ways off yet, but this is stuff that really is concerning to me.
But in the end, I know that God is faithful, and that He is really in charge of handling most stuff.
Proverbs 22:6
Train up a child in the way he should go,
Even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Do your thing, God!
Our Little Creature
It's a boy, and his name will be Caleb Michael. We take names pretty seriously, and biblical names are kind of tradition in my family. (Between first and middle names, it's getting a little difficult not to repeat, by the way! There are plenty of names in the Bible, but really, who is going to name their kid Jehoiachin or Uz or Buz? We also want our kid not to have to endure merciless teasing at the hands of schoolmates...)
We love the integrity of Caleb in Numbers 13 and throughout his life. The fact that he and Joshua stood up in the face of peer pressure with faith that God would do what He promised, despite the grim outlook of the rest of the troops is something that we hope our son aspires to. We pray that he has the same kind of stubborn, reckless faith.
Michael is Bubba's first name, and it means 'Who is like God?'
Despite what a couple of students and former students may have thought when we announced the name, no. He is not named after any of you. No offense. We love you, but no. We have had those names chosen for years now, long before we met you.
Here is the best picture, in my opinion. Here is our Caleb, looking 'tender and mild', a picture of tranquility and innocence.
Aaaand then there's this one.
Now I realize that this might make me sound like the meanest mom ever, but I think that this picture of our little guy is absolutely terrifying. He weighed about 12 oz. at this point, and he really didn't have whole lot of meat on his li'l bones. This was the second round of photos, and for him, the show was over. He was scared (to the point that I almost asked the technician to stop...) and was hiding his little face and retreating as far back into me as he possibly could, while trying to cover his poor little ears. It really was the saddest thing. So this picture was taken in the midst of all of that. It is my honest opinion that he bears a strong resemblance to the creature Gollum. Tell me you don't see it. I dare you.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Quickening
Tomorrow I will be 19 weeks pregnant.
Even in a short 19 weeks, pregnancy has had plenty of ups and downs.
Pro: No one judges me for how much food is on my plate. Ever. In fact, I could probably get away with eating sticks of butter at the moment. (No, I do not crave butter.) In fact, most people actually encourage heaping portions of any and everything on my plate. Never mind that my diet is only supposed to increase by a scant 100-150 calories compared to my pre-pregnancy diet. But hey, it's always a relief to know that should I want a second piece of lasagna, no one will blame me or complain that I got more than my share.
Con: While everyone has been encouraging me to "Eat for two..." since I was 5 weeks, there was a good 7+ weeks in there where eating for 1/2 was a challenge, and keeping it in my body even more so. I will spare you the gritty details.
Pro: Pregnancy is the best motivation in the world to be nicer to your body. (Eat better things, take supplements, lift things that aren't quite so heavy, for which my joints are certainly grateful.)
Con: Motivation is actually a nice word. Non-negotiable demands may be more accurate at times, usually regarding when I eat, urinate, and beginning to be how I sit, etc.
Pro: The beautiful knowledge that life is being cultivated within my womb.
Con: The moments where I wake with heart pounding and palms sweating with the jolting realization that there is a baby in there, and one way or another, it has to come out.
So yes. Lots of pros and cons. You can read my earlier post about pregnancy and easily see that I hated being pregnant at that point. I no longer hate it, and am actually enjoying it now, but my frustration has been that other than the weird way I felt, the swelling of my belly (which I see as a major deal, but most people see as very slight,) and the fact that we can hear a tiny, fast little heartbeat on the Doppler at appointments with my midwives, I didn't feel like things were changing, namely because I couldn't feel the little nugget moving.
When I reached 15 or 16 weeks the questions started coming. "Have you felt the baby move?" To which my blank, sad stare would communicate that no, I haven't. What exactly am I supposed to be "feeling" for? If you want women to get really weird really quick, get them to start talking about fetal movement. I'm serious. Women will tell you all kinds of things.
"It starts as just little flutterings, like a butterfly in your stomach."
"It feels like someone is tickling you! Just like this." *proceeds to give my belly a little tickle.* Teehee!
"It feels like an air bubble. Almost like you just drank a Dr. Pepper and some carbonation is just being weird in your stomach."
"It feels like gas."
And my personal favorite, coming from my friend Kara who is currently in the hospital on bed rest, pregnant with twins, "When it feels like a goldfish is swimming around in there, you know it's the baby!" Turns out, this has been the most accurate, but I get ahead of myself. (To learn about Kara's miraculous journey so far with her twins, here is a link to her blog.)
3 weeks may seem like a short amount of time, but when you spend every day waiting for something, it feels like an eternity. We all know how long 3-5 business days are when we are waiting for UPS to drop off that new book/gadget that we ordered. Just imagine that, but longer. Every day I would lay down and concentrate and will myself to feel that baby. Sometimes I would think, *gasp* Maybe that was it! But for all I know, I ate too much spicy food at dinner. (They said it feels like gas. Maybe what they felt actually was gas.)
I watched bitterly and cynically as I unfortunately sat through Twilight: Breaking Dawn and, (SPOILER ALERT!!!) it depicted Bella feeling her baby moving after a short 14 days post-conception. For those of you playing at home... In the real world, you know, planet Earth where real women are delivering real babies, 2 weeks post-conception the baby hasn't even earned the name of 'fetus' yet. It is still simply referred to as an 'embryo'. It will be 2-3 weeks before it even begins developing arms and legs and is incapable of moving. Disclaimer: No, I haven't read the Twilight books, and am not sure that I will ever be able to stomach reading them. I do realize that Bella's pregnancy is not "normal." But come on. 2 weeks? Give me a freakin' break. As we watched the movie I rolled my eyes and probably talked constantly to my husband about how stupid this was. I was mad because Bella could feel her baby moving, and I couldn't. Lame, I know. Pregnancy does stupid things to you. (Pro: You can blame ANYTHING on pregnancy and get away with it. Forgetfulness, mood swings, cravings, tears... anything.)
So now you are caught up to the completion of my 17th week. At my prenatal appointment my midwife recommended that I try laying down immediately after dinner to feel the baby, as that is the time when they seem to be the most active. (Sugar rush? Who knows.) I tried this and kept gasping and saying, "I think I might have felt it!" My husband was skeptical. He was certain that I only thought I could feel it because Kelly, my midwife, had told me I might be able to. (He is convinced that I am a hypochondriac and that any time a medical professional tells me something, I believe it. He thinks that if I am ever concerned that I may be getting sick, I am then certain to get sick, because I psyched myself into it. This is not true. The reason I always get sick when I say I think I'm getting sick is because I don't want to admit in the beginning that I may be getting sick, then by the time I admit it, I'm already sick. You are welcome for that unnecessary peek into our marital disputes.) He may have been right. I don't know if that was the baby moving or not. If it felt like gas, then who could know what was gas and what was fetal movement? Certainly not me. (The only reason I am admitting to gas is because I'm pregnant. It's the baby's fault. Please see the above pro.)
A couple of days ago, after I had eaten a late night snack, I was sitting at the computer bumming around on Facebook and I felt it. And I was certain. Somebody was kicking me in there. And not just kicking. The whole goldfish thing was pretty spot on. Ever put your foot in water and waited with incessant giggling for minnows to nibble your toes? It's okay, men. You don't have to admit that you were giggling. (But we all know it's true...) That's how I felt. It was a strange, strange feeling. But it was a relief to have confirmation other than hearing the heartbeat once a month that there really is something going on in there to justify all of these crazy symptoms.
My husband told me as he was pressing his hand on my stomach, "It's not fair that you can feel the baby and I can't." Well, there are a lot of things about this pregnancy that aren't fair, let me tell you. But we won't get into that. He tries to use my belly button like a microphone or a walkie-talkie to the baby. "This is your father..." Star Wars style. But all to no avail. I thought it would probably be a while before you could feel anything at all from the outside.
This morning as I laid in bed putting off getting up, (it's the weekend!) my stomach was kind of hurting. This is a common occurrence, really, because I'm convinced that overnight is when my organs decide to shift. They are all looking for room in there and decide that an all-nighter of abdominal organ tetrus is a good idea. So sometimes my abdomen (the place where a good deal of my digestive and internal reproductive equipment hang out) doesn't feel the best first thing in the morning. Oh well. Not that big of a deal. I sat there with my hand on my stomach, and was incredibly surprised when I felt something move. If that was gas, I would really be in trouble. Yikes. I grabbed my husband's hand (who was currently dead to the world,) and pressed it down on my stomach where I'd had mine. When I had woken him up enough, he too could feel somebody doing somersaults in there. "Did you feel that?" I asked him? "There's a baby in there!" he said, and shortly thereafter proceeded to roll back over and go back to sleep.
I am not the sappy type. I'm not good at sentimental garbage. I only cry in movies, where people have made it their life's work to figure out what emotional strings to pull at in order to eek a few tears out of women. I did not cry when I found out I was pregnant, or when I heard our baby's heartbeat for the first time. I kind of live in the camp that says, "The concept is cool, but hearing fuzzy whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sounds on the Doppler just doesn't bring me to tears." Does that make me a bad mom? I don't know. But getting to see my husband feel his baby for the first time this morning was the closest I've come to crying. I'll have to hold it together for months now, as I will be the first witness to daddy-baby bonding time.
Here goes nothing.
Even in a short 19 weeks, pregnancy has had plenty of ups and downs.
Pro: No one judges me for how much food is on my plate. Ever. In fact, I could probably get away with eating sticks of butter at the moment. (No, I do not crave butter.) In fact, most people actually encourage heaping portions of any and everything on my plate. Never mind that my diet is only supposed to increase by a scant 100-150 calories compared to my pre-pregnancy diet. But hey, it's always a relief to know that should I want a second piece of lasagna, no one will blame me or complain that I got more than my share.
Con: While everyone has been encouraging me to "Eat for two..." since I was 5 weeks, there was a good 7+ weeks in there where eating for 1/2 was a challenge, and keeping it in my body even more so. I will spare you the gritty details.
Pro: Pregnancy is the best motivation in the world to be nicer to your body. (Eat better things, take supplements, lift things that aren't quite so heavy, for which my joints are certainly grateful.)
Con: Motivation is actually a nice word. Non-negotiable demands may be more accurate at times, usually regarding when I eat, urinate, and beginning to be how I sit, etc.
Pro: The beautiful knowledge that life is being cultivated within my womb.
Con: The moments where I wake with heart pounding and palms sweating with the jolting realization that there is a baby in there, and one way or another, it has to come out.
So yes. Lots of pros and cons. You can read my earlier post about pregnancy and easily see that I hated being pregnant at that point. I no longer hate it, and am actually enjoying it now, but my frustration has been that other than the weird way I felt, the swelling of my belly (which I see as a major deal, but most people see as very slight,) and the fact that we can hear a tiny, fast little heartbeat on the Doppler at appointments with my midwives, I didn't feel like things were changing, namely because I couldn't feel the little nugget moving.
When I reached 15 or 16 weeks the questions started coming. "Have you felt the baby move?" To which my blank, sad stare would communicate that no, I haven't. What exactly am I supposed to be "feeling" for? If you want women to get really weird really quick, get them to start talking about fetal movement. I'm serious. Women will tell you all kinds of things.
"It starts as just little flutterings, like a butterfly in your stomach."
"It feels like someone is tickling you! Just like this." *proceeds to give my belly a little tickle.* Teehee!
"It feels like an air bubble. Almost like you just drank a Dr. Pepper and some carbonation is just being weird in your stomach."
"It feels like gas."
And my personal favorite, coming from my friend Kara who is currently in the hospital on bed rest, pregnant with twins, "When it feels like a goldfish is swimming around in there, you know it's the baby!" Turns out, this has been the most accurate, but I get ahead of myself. (To learn about Kara's miraculous journey so far with her twins, here is a link to her blog.)
3 weeks may seem like a short amount of time, but when you spend every day waiting for something, it feels like an eternity. We all know how long 3-5 business days are when we are waiting for UPS to drop off that new book/gadget that we ordered. Just imagine that, but longer. Every day I would lay down and concentrate and will myself to feel that baby. Sometimes I would think, *gasp* Maybe that was it! But for all I know, I ate too much spicy food at dinner. (They said it feels like gas. Maybe what they felt actually was gas.)
I watched bitterly and cynically as I unfortunately sat through Twilight: Breaking Dawn and, (SPOILER ALERT!!!) it depicted Bella feeling her baby moving after a short 14 days post-conception. For those of you playing at home... In the real world, you know, planet Earth where real women are delivering real babies, 2 weeks post-conception the baby hasn't even earned the name of 'fetus' yet. It is still simply referred to as an 'embryo'. It will be 2-3 weeks before it even begins developing arms and legs and is incapable of moving. Disclaimer: No, I haven't read the Twilight books, and am not sure that I will ever be able to stomach reading them. I do realize that Bella's pregnancy is not "normal." But come on. 2 weeks? Give me a freakin' break. As we watched the movie I rolled my eyes and probably talked constantly to my husband about how stupid this was. I was mad because Bella could feel her baby moving, and I couldn't. Lame, I know. Pregnancy does stupid things to you. (Pro: You can blame ANYTHING on pregnancy and get away with it. Forgetfulness, mood swings, cravings, tears... anything.)
So now you are caught up to the completion of my 17th week. At my prenatal appointment my midwife recommended that I try laying down immediately after dinner to feel the baby, as that is the time when they seem to be the most active. (Sugar rush? Who knows.) I tried this and kept gasping and saying, "I think I might have felt it!" My husband was skeptical. He was certain that I only thought I could feel it because Kelly, my midwife, had told me I might be able to. (He is convinced that I am a hypochondriac and that any time a medical professional tells me something, I believe it. He thinks that if I am ever concerned that I may be getting sick, I am then certain to get sick, because I psyched myself into it. This is not true. The reason I always get sick when I say I think I'm getting sick is because I don't want to admit in the beginning that I may be getting sick, then by the time I admit it, I'm already sick. You are welcome for that unnecessary peek into our marital disputes.) He may have been right. I don't know if that was the baby moving or not. If it felt like gas, then who could know what was gas and what was fetal movement? Certainly not me. (The only reason I am admitting to gas is because I'm pregnant. It's the baby's fault. Please see the above pro.)
A couple of days ago, after I had eaten a late night snack, I was sitting at the computer bumming around on Facebook and I felt it. And I was certain. Somebody was kicking me in there. And not just kicking. The whole goldfish thing was pretty spot on. Ever put your foot in water and waited with incessant giggling for minnows to nibble your toes? It's okay, men. You don't have to admit that you were giggling. (But we all know it's true...) That's how I felt. It was a strange, strange feeling. But it was a relief to have confirmation other than hearing the heartbeat once a month that there really is something going on in there to justify all of these crazy symptoms.
My husband told me as he was pressing his hand on my stomach, "It's not fair that you can feel the baby and I can't." Well, there are a lot of things about this pregnancy that aren't fair, let me tell you. But we won't get into that. He tries to use my belly button like a microphone or a walkie-talkie to the baby. "This is your father..." Star Wars style. But all to no avail. I thought it would probably be a while before you could feel anything at all from the outside.
This morning as I laid in bed putting off getting up, (it's the weekend!) my stomach was kind of hurting. This is a common occurrence, really, because I'm convinced that overnight is when my organs decide to shift. They are all looking for room in there and decide that an all-nighter of abdominal organ tetrus is a good idea. So sometimes my abdomen (the place where a good deal of my digestive and internal reproductive equipment hang out) doesn't feel the best first thing in the morning. Oh well. Not that big of a deal. I sat there with my hand on my stomach, and was incredibly surprised when I felt something move. If that was gas, I would really be in trouble. Yikes. I grabbed my husband's hand (who was currently dead to the world,) and pressed it down on my stomach where I'd had mine. When I had woken him up enough, he too could feel somebody doing somersaults in there. "Did you feel that?" I asked him? "There's a baby in there!" he said, and shortly thereafter proceeded to roll back over and go back to sleep.
I am not the sappy type. I'm not good at sentimental garbage. I only cry in movies, where people have made it their life's work to figure out what emotional strings to pull at in order to eek a few tears out of women. I did not cry when I found out I was pregnant, or when I heard our baby's heartbeat for the first time. I kind of live in the camp that says, "The concept is cool, but hearing fuzzy whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sounds on the Doppler just doesn't bring me to tears." Does that make me a bad mom? I don't know. But getting to see my husband feel his baby for the first time this morning was the closest I've come to crying. I'll have to hold it together for months now, as I will be the first witness to daddy-baby bonding time.
Here goes nothing.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Beauty in Difficulty
If there is one good thing I can say about pregnancy (and as of yet, I certainly don't have very many...) it is that I love the way that this process is binding my husband and I together, strengthening the bond made previously.
I hear that doing difficult things is good for you. We have had quite a lot of difficulties in our short 3 years of marriage. (Good heavens! Has it only been 3 years?) From the beginning it was rough. I am fully aware that many people's beginning years are far worse than ours. But ours have had their... uncomfortable moments. It reminds me of going to the doctor and getting poked and prodded, and they ask me how I'm doing. I'm uncomfortable. It could be worse. There is a 10 on that pain scale. So I tell them I'm fine, and I just try to deal with it until it's over. Going directly from the honeymoon weekend to living in his grandmother's mobile home with my father-in-law sleeping across the hall, things were uncomfortable from the get-go. I was grateful, certainly. But I also wanted a house, (or a mobile home, or an apartment,) with no one else in it. After a couple of months our place was liveable, so we were able to move.
I will spare you the details of our next year and a half, but suffice it to say... It was still uncomfortable. And throughout all of that time, I cannot say that I enjoyed the difficulty one bit. My husband and I fought about things. Sometimes they were worth it, and sometimes they weren't. In the first 6 months of marriage I remember thinking, We fight way more now than we ever did when we were dating. What is wrong with us? I no longer think anything was wrong with us. I hear it happens to most couples, and that first year and a half were hugely stressful. I contribute most of the fighting to that. I dwelt in a constant state of mild depression and complete overwhelmedness, (which spell check tells me is not a word. I disagree.)
Since we have relocated and gained a broader emotional/physical support system, things have been easier.
Enter our little Jelly Bean.
As you can read in my previous post, and if you've ever carried a child, you certainly know... This is most definitely one of the hardest things I have personally done. I am almost always an emotional wreck, and I am extremely needy. (You know those people who want to lock themselves away in a room while sick and stay in there until they feel better? I'm not one of those people. I just want to cry while you hold my hand. No, I'm serious. That's really what I want.)
Since nausea set in in week 6, I haven't cooked a real meal. Our house is liveable, with what my mother calls "discernible paths." I wash clothes when we run out of underwear. Or jeans. Or socks. Needless to say, my husband has to do most of the things around the house that get done, and he has to do them after a full work day. So the difficulty is mutual.
But throughout all of this, there are these little moments that I will cherish always. Moments like the ones where I erupt in tears, and all we do is hug, because really, what else is there to be done? When I look at him and say, "I know we had plans, but I just don't think I can make it today," and he looks at me and says, "Okay, we'll stay home." And that's okay. When in the middle of the night and he's dead asleep, he rolls over and rubs my belly. (And it's adorable.)
Through most of the difficulties that we've had, I've felt like there was some force trying to tear us apart. (And undoubtedly, there has been.) But this time, it is so special to have this difficult little growing life driving us closer together. It is supernatural in all of the good ways.
And it has only just begun.
I hear that doing difficult things is good for you. We have had quite a lot of difficulties in our short 3 years of marriage. (Good heavens! Has it only been 3 years?) From the beginning it was rough. I am fully aware that many people's beginning years are far worse than ours. But ours have had their... uncomfortable moments. It reminds me of going to the doctor and getting poked and prodded, and they ask me how I'm doing. I'm uncomfortable. It could be worse. There is a 10 on that pain scale. So I tell them I'm fine, and I just try to deal with it until it's over. Going directly from the honeymoon weekend to living in his grandmother's mobile home with my father-in-law sleeping across the hall, things were uncomfortable from the get-go. I was grateful, certainly. But I also wanted a house, (or a mobile home, or an apartment,) with no one else in it. After a couple of months our place was liveable, so we were able to move.
I will spare you the details of our next year and a half, but suffice it to say... It was still uncomfortable. And throughout all of that time, I cannot say that I enjoyed the difficulty one bit. My husband and I fought about things. Sometimes they were worth it, and sometimes they weren't. In the first 6 months of marriage I remember thinking, We fight way more now than we ever did when we were dating. What is wrong with us? I no longer think anything was wrong with us. I hear it happens to most couples, and that first year and a half were hugely stressful. I contribute most of the fighting to that. I dwelt in a constant state of mild depression and complete overwhelmedness, (which spell check tells me is not a word. I disagree.)
Since we have relocated and gained a broader emotional/physical support system, things have been easier.
Enter our little Jelly Bean.
As you can read in my previous post, and if you've ever carried a child, you certainly know... This is most definitely one of the hardest things I have personally done. I am almost always an emotional wreck, and I am extremely needy. (You know those people who want to lock themselves away in a room while sick and stay in there until they feel better? I'm not one of those people. I just want to cry while you hold my hand. No, I'm serious. That's really what I want.)
Since nausea set in in week 6, I haven't cooked a real meal. Our house is liveable, with what my mother calls "discernible paths." I wash clothes when we run out of underwear. Or jeans. Or socks. Needless to say, my husband has to do most of the things around the house that get done, and he has to do them after a full work day. So the difficulty is mutual.
But throughout all of this, there are these little moments that I will cherish always. Moments like the ones where I erupt in tears, and all we do is hug, because really, what else is there to be done? When I look at him and say, "I know we had plans, but I just don't think I can make it today," and he looks at me and says, "Okay, we'll stay home." And that's okay. When in the middle of the night and he's dead asleep, he rolls over and rubs my belly. (And it's adorable.)
Through most of the difficulties that we've had, I've felt like there was some force trying to tear us apart. (And undoubtedly, there has been.) But this time, it is so special to have this difficult little growing life driving us closer together. It is supernatural in all of the good ways.
And it has only just begun.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Confessions of a Pregnant Woman
My
husband and I have been married for 3 years, and for the first time we
have an answer to the annoying, and seemingly incessantly asked
question by our peers, parents, friends and students. "When are you
going to have kids?" Surprising in the first year of marriage, annoying
in the second, hurtful in the third after 9 months of hoping for
conception. But we now have an answer. April. We will have a kid in
April!
Now, to get past all of the nagging questions about whether we prefer a girl or a boy... While sure, one gender may be a little less intimidating than the other, why waste time hoping either way? We have a 50/50 chance, and setting ourselves up for any kind of disappointment seems silly. Do not talk to me about Chinese fertility calendars, threaded needles, what position the child was conceived in, etc. (And that last part is none of your concern.) I will bypass the ridiculous tests and quizzes. I do not want to pee on Drano crystals. I'll find out the "old fashioned way," (maybe not so much...) and just wait for the sonogram.
Already in month 2, I've had the thought many times, I thought this should have been easier. Amazing that something the size of a poppy seed, (half a pea, pinto bean, cherry) can so forcefully change the way you do life. Routine no longer agrees with my body, as it seems to demand things NOW! Otherwise, I pay for it later, bowing before the porcelain throne. I have an alarm set for 2am so that I can eat, in hopes that I will wake sans the compulsion to cradle my "puke bucket."
Nothing is the same. Heaven knows mornings are not the same. Church is not the same. Sex is not the same. House cleaning... God, please forgive me for making my husband live in a pig stye. Cleaning requires standing. Standing causes nausea. Not even sleep is the same, which seems kind of silly, considering there are no outward bodily changes. It's not lack of physical comfort that causes my nights to be weird. It is the dreams. I have always had weird dreams, but never before have I had such strange dreams about food. I've dreamed in detail about a deliciously iced, pink-and-white marbled peanut butter cupcake made by a friend. My friend told me I could have one, but that I had to buy any additional cupcakes I wished to consume, about which I was completely dismayed. (The cupcake never happened, but it should.) I dreamed that I threw a stomping, fist-banging fit in a restaurant because my order was not taken soon enough, and I was pregnant and starving. I've dreamed that rather than serving wafers and grape juice for communion, our pastor decided that we would have a buffet, (a la Golden Corral.) Not only was a buffet moved to the front of the sanctuary, but our pews were modified with railing to slide our trays, in order that the guests could eat and listen to the sermon simultaneously. Strange, strange, strange...
My husband swears I am crazy, although I feel the same way about him. Is it possible that the husband can be hormonal and irritated? Because I assure you, it's not me.
But as I write all of this out, it is far easier to feel hopeful about it, because this all just sounds like the hormonally-crazed rantings of a pregnant woman. And that is kind of comical, because I was somehow convinced that I was above it. Guess not.
Please bear with me as I am somewhat antisocial. I am taking a break from the general public beyond my necessary duties of work and volunteering. It's not you, it's me. It's all me and this little cherry sized alien inside me. And by all means, if you do see me, do not ask me how I feel. I'd rather not think about it. If I feel good, I'll let you know. Otherwise it's safe to assume I wish I had my puke bucket.
Now, to get past all of the nagging questions about whether we prefer a girl or a boy... While sure, one gender may be a little less intimidating than the other, why waste time hoping either way? We have a 50/50 chance, and setting ourselves up for any kind of disappointment seems silly. Do not talk to me about Chinese fertility calendars, threaded needles, what position the child was conceived in, etc. (And that last part is none of your concern.) I will bypass the ridiculous tests and quizzes. I do not want to pee on Drano crystals. I'll find out the "old fashioned way," (maybe not so much...) and just wait for the sonogram.
Already in month 2, I've had the thought many times, I thought this should have been easier. Amazing that something the size of a poppy seed, (half a pea, pinto bean, cherry) can so forcefully change the way you do life. Routine no longer agrees with my body, as it seems to demand things NOW! Otherwise, I pay for it later, bowing before the porcelain throne. I have an alarm set for 2am so that I can eat, in hopes that I will wake sans the compulsion to cradle my "puke bucket."
Nothing is the same. Heaven knows mornings are not the same. Church is not the same. Sex is not the same. House cleaning... God, please forgive me for making my husband live in a pig stye. Cleaning requires standing. Standing causes nausea. Not even sleep is the same, which seems kind of silly, considering there are no outward bodily changes. It's not lack of physical comfort that causes my nights to be weird. It is the dreams. I have always had weird dreams, but never before have I had such strange dreams about food. I've dreamed in detail about a deliciously iced, pink-and-white marbled peanut butter cupcake made by a friend. My friend told me I could have one, but that I had to buy any additional cupcakes I wished to consume, about which I was completely dismayed. (The cupcake never happened, but it should.) I dreamed that I threw a stomping, fist-banging fit in a restaurant because my order was not taken soon enough, and I was pregnant and starving. I've dreamed that rather than serving wafers and grape juice for communion, our pastor decided that we would have a buffet, (a la Golden Corral.) Not only was a buffet moved to the front of the sanctuary, but our pews were modified with railing to slide our trays, in order that the guests could eat and listen to the sermon simultaneously. Strange, strange, strange...
My husband swears I am crazy, although I feel the same way about him. Is it possible that the husband can be hormonal and irritated? Because I assure you, it's not me.
But as I write all of this out, it is far easier to feel hopeful about it, because this all just sounds like the hormonally-crazed rantings of a pregnant woman. And that is kind of comical, because I was somehow convinced that I was above it. Guess not.
Please bear with me as I am somewhat antisocial. I am taking a break from the general public beyond my necessary duties of work and volunteering. It's not you, it's me. It's all me and this little cherry sized alien inside me. And by all means, if you do see me, do not ask me how I feel. I'd rather not think about it. If I feel good, I'll let you know. Otherwise it's safe to assume I wish I had my puke bucket.
About Me
The last time I faithfully kept a blog was around the time I graduated high school. A lot has changed since then, and I feel the need to reintroduce myself to the world wide web. (Or as I like to call it, the webbernet.)
I grew up in a strange, but beautiful family. I was homeschooled my entire childhood.
There is a certain stigma that the homeschool community carries, and it looks something like this.
But my family was different! Well, maybe not so much. My brother might have looked kind of like that...
I do feel the need to clarify that I am not a brainiac. I did not attend the national spelling bee, neither did I get into college when I was 12. Some homeschooled kids are smart like that, but I think those kids have a lot more self-discipline than I did. And possibly crazy parents. I spent most of my time wishing I was in public school, because I craved social interaction. My family considered me a social butterfly, which may have been true by their standards, but only because I was so starved for friends.
My mom owned a small business in the community, and working the shop was counted as part of our education. In high school I did my mom's books for about a year and a half. We carried on more conversations with adults than with kids our age. So adults loved us, but kids tended to think we were kinda weirdos.
To a certain extent, this is still the case with me. While I consider myself to be pretty well socially developed, and yes, I am capable of participating in conversations with people my own age. Most people who meet me are actually surprised to hear I was homeschooled, but then give me this look like, "Oh. That makes so much sense." People almost always think I'm mature for my age. Mature and... well... different. (Which is still just another word for weird.)
My husband and I are an interesting couple. They say that opposites attract, and this is true of us. While I am very pointed and sarcastic on my blog, I tend to be much more soft spoken and non-confrontational in person. My husband says what's on his mind, regardless of whether or not people take offense at it. He is a product of the public school system, and proud to be so. Our getting together is somewhat of a miracle, because previous to dating we both had decided that a strictly platonic relationship with the other was all that the future would hold, and that was just fine. The following are actual thoughts, and in my case, spoken feelings. "I am so glad that God did not call me to marry that guy." My husband's thought- "I would never date her."
Our relationship was, in a sense, the beginning of my understanding how most teenagers and young adults think. My vocabulary was modified, not so much adding words as changing the way that I said things. While I was aware that certain things could be twisted to resemble sexual innuendo, I had absolutely no idea that 85% of the things that I said were a that's-what-she-said joke to the rest of society. I read some of my blog entries and cringe at how my verbiage must have been perceived.
My husband is a technology lover. Me? Not so much. I appreciate some things. Cell phones are awesome. The DVR is pretty cool. Netflix is the best! But there are a lot of ways that I just feel like technology makes things unnecessarily complicated, and I just have a hard time with them. This blog, for instance, has been (and will continue to be) completely changed to keep up with the times. All my husband's doing, of course, because I have a hard time working the thing.
While there are many, many quirky things about me, the last thing that I will say here is that I love to talk. I have a certain Anne of Green Gables quality. I have had many a conversation after which I think, Would it have killed me to shut up? I tend to ramble and come to a verbal conclusion the long way. For this, I apologize.
You will get to know me better in my (hopefully) upcoming posts. But until then...
I grew up in a strange, but beautiful family. I was homeschooled my entire childhood.
But my family was different! Well, maybe not so much. My brother might have looked kind of like that...
I do feel the need to clarify that I am not a brainiac. I did not attend the national spelling bee, neither did I get into college when I was 12. Some homeschooled kids are smart like that, but I think those kids have a lot more self-discipline than I did. And possibly crazy parents. I spent most of my time wishing I was in public school, because I craved social interaction. My family considered me a social butterfly, which may have been true by their standards, but only because I was so starved for friends.
My mom owned a small business in the community, and working the shop was counted as part of our education. In high school I did my mom's books for about a year and a half. We carried on more conversations with adults than with kids our age. So adults loved us, but kids tended to think we were kinda weirdos.
To a certain extent, this is still the case with me. While I consider myself to be pretty well socially developed, and yes, I am capable of participating in conversations with people my own age. Most people who meet me are actually surprised to hear I was homeschooled, but then give me this look like, "Oh. That makes so much sense." People almost always think I'm mature for my age. Mature and... well... different. (Which is still just another word for weird.)
Some of my friends refer to me as "an old soul." I don't believe in reincarnation, but I see their point. I tend to be more connected with an older way of life than most of my friends. I value silence in the house, (my husband and I used to fight about the TV frequently.) I know how to knit, crochet and spin, and was learning these things since I could count my age on one hand. (I mentioned that my mother owned a business. I failed to mention that I can technically say that I grew up in a yarn shop, because it was based out of our house for years.) I know how to can, and have stories of peeling apples until my hands were brown. I love a good county fair! These are just a few of my old lady attributes. They are an intrinsic part of me. Most people either love them or hate them, but most will notice them within a couple of conversations with me. I cannot separate myself from them, no matter how my husband sometimes wishes I could. (And when he dies, I will undoubtedly be the infamous cat lady of the neighborhood, sitting on my front porch in a rocking chair with my basket of cat hair-covered knitting.)
My husband and I are an interesting couple. They say that opposites attract, and this is true of us. While I am very pointed and sarcastic on my blog, I tend to be much more soft spoken and non-confrontational in person. My husband says what's on his mind, regardless of whether or not people take offense at it. He is a product of the public school system, and proud to be so. Our getting together is somewhat of a miracle, because previous to dating we both had decided that a strictly platonic relationship with the other was all that the future would hold, and that was just fine. The following are actual thoughts, and in my case, spoken feelings. "I am so glad that God did not call me to marry that guy." My husband's thought- "I would never date her."
Our relationship was, in a sense, the beginning of my understanding how most teenagers and young adults think. My vocabulary was modified, not so much adding words as changing the way that I said things. While I was aware that certain things could be twisted to resemble sexual innuendo, I had absolutely no idea that 85% of the things that I said were a that's-what-she-said joke to the rest of society. I read some of my blog entries and cringe at how my verbiage must have been perceived.
My husband is a technology lover. Me? Not so much. I appreciate some things. Cell phones are awesome. The DVR is pretty cool. Netflix is the best! But there are a lot of ways that I just feel like technology makes things unnecessarily complicated, and I just have a hard time with them. This blog, for instance, has been (and will continue to be) completely changed to keep up with the times. All my husband's doing, of course, because I have a hard time working the thing.
While there are many, many quirky things about me, the last thing that I will say here is that I love to talk. I have a certain Anne of Green Gables quality. I have had many a conversation after which I think, Would it have killed me to shut up? I tend to ramble and come to a verbal conclusion the long way. For this, I apologize.
You will get to know me better in my (hopefully) upcoming posts. But until then...
Thursday, July 27, 2006
My Beautiful Feet!
This is so gross! Haha! I had to post about it though.
Okay, people who have been close to me lately have known that I've been having a little... foot problem. The bottoms of my feet were peeling off. Hard core. So gross! No, it is not athlete's foot. I've had athlete's foot, and I know it when I see it. And this was not it.
See, I went on this backpacking trip at camp, and my shoes were... not good. I had blisters before we even left. Anyway, I think I got blisters underneath the callouses that were already on my feet. Yeah, so they all started peeling off! It didn't really hurt, but it looked pretty nasty. It totally grossed everyone out who saw them. Myself included. That's pretty much all I have to say about the joys of yucky-peely-feet. (Chris, "Skin flaps..." Eeeeewww!) By the way, this is not what my feet normally look like. I don't have beautiful feet, but that is just a special kind of gross.
I am posting a photo of the flaky goodness. (Hmmm... sounds like a breakfast cereal. Oh. gross. Why did I just say that???) Anyway, Hope you enjoy!
Peeling away...
Anna
Main Entry: skin
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: covering
Synonyms: bark, carapace, case, casing, coating, crust, cutis, derma, dermis, epidermis, fell, film, fur, hide, hull, husk, integument, jacket, membrane, muktuk, outside, parchment, peel, pelt, rind, sheath, sheathing, shell, shuck, slough, surface, tegument, vellum
Main Entry: peel
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: strip
Synonyms: decorticate, delaminate, desquamate, excorticate, exfoliate, flake, flay, pare, pull off, scale, shave, skin, strip, tear off, uncover
Well. That was fun! Thesaurus.com. Gotta love it!
Monday, June 19, 2006
What to do, what to do!
So those of you that know me (which is probably anyone who would be reading this...) know that I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Well, actually I know what I want to be, I just don't know what I want to go to school for. I want to be a good wife and a good mom. Unfortunately, this is not a recognized profession. You can't get a degree in being a housewife. Also, you have to have a husband, so... I'm kind of up a creek.
So school is kind of a rough topic of conversation for me, but here goes.
For as long as I have been alive, I have wanted to stay in Texas. I loved it when I lived there, I missed it when I was gone, I love going back to visit. Texas is my state. People ask where I'm from and I tell them Texas. The fact that I live in New Mexico is a pesky little detail that I try to avoid. I am from Texas, I just live in New Mexico. My heart will forever lie with Texas.
For as long as I have been considering going to school, I've concluded that I would go in Texas. Naturally. Of course. Why anywhere else?
When a few weeks ago I had the thought, "What if I'm not supposed to go to school in Texas," I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. Not go to school in Texas? Huh? Why not? Where will I go? That's absurd! There it is again... "What if I'm not supposed to go to school in Texas?" It kept on popping up in my head, but now it was God saying, "And if I don't want you to go to Texas, what will you do?" Truthfully, I didn't know what to tell Him. I wish I could've just said, "Cool, God. Somewhere else! That sounds awesome!" But instead I found myself saying, "Not Texas, God? But that's where I'm from! That's where my family is! That's the only place I've really been! I've traveled through other states, but Texas is the only one I'm familiar with. I can't go somewhere else! I'm afraid." I tried to talk myself out of it. Maybe I'm just thinking I'm hearing God. Maybe it's just... something else. But I would hear it. Actually, it was more like feeling it. "Go..." I can't. It's too big. Too scarey. No friends, no family... I'm afraid.
Then He told me, "Read Joshua." Joshua? A book about spying out lands, conquering, pillaging, plundering... Why Joshua? What does that have to do with anything? Whatever. I opened the book up, and there it was. "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." It's hard to argue with that. "Have I not commanded you?"
So here I am, looking at schools outside of Texas. The problem is that I'm not sure at all what I'm looking for. Should I look by location? Should I look by cost? Should I look by career? If I'm looking by career should I look by what sounds fun to me? Or by what is more useful in the future? Can God use a degree in art as much as He can use one in communications or business? Is it okay to study something that I don't see quite how God would use? I mean, I know that God can use odd things like theater or illustration, but it seems more likely that He would use something a little bit more... traditional. Like business.
I thought that perhaps I should search for a ministry first, and then perhaps I could find a school that would be in the area. I searched for ministries online today, but I didn't find much that stood out to me.
However it happens, the fact is that I need to leave. Not to leave would be disobedience to God, and I'm writing this now so that all of you know. Maybe posting this will help me. I don't know. I'm terrified of leaving, but I shouldn't be. Remember Anna, "Be strong and courageous... I will never leave you, nor forsake you..." Don't forget!
Wow. It just hit me how bored you must be reading this. I mean, while this is pretty much what has been consuming my thoughts lately, I can't think of how it could be interesting to you. So sorry about that! I won't bore you any longer, but please do be praying for me!
Still confused,
Anna
So school is kind of a rough topic of conversation for me, but here goes.
For as long as I have been alive, I have wanted to stay in Texas. I loved it when I lived there, I missed it when I was gone, I love going back to visit. Texas is my state. People ask where I'm from and I tell them Texas. The fact that I live in New Mexico is a pesky little detail that I try to avoid. I am from Texas, I just live in New Mexico. My heart will forever lie with Texas.
For as long as I have been considering going to school, I've concluded that I would go in Texas. Naturally. Of course. Why anywhere else?
When a few weeks ago I had the thought, "What if I'm not supposed to go to school in Texas," I was shocked. I didn't know what to think. Not go to school in Texas? Huh? Why not? Where will I go? That's absurd! There it is again... "What if I'm not supposed to go to school in Texas?" It kept on popping up in my head, but now it was God saying, "And if I don't want you to go to Texas, what will you do?" Truthfully, I didn't know what to tell Him. I wish I could've just said, "Cool, God. Somewhere else! That sounds awesome!" But instead I found myself saying, "Not Texas, God? But that's where I'm from! That's where my family is! That's the only place I've really been! I've traveled through other states, but Texas is the only one I'm familiar with. I can't go somewhere else! I'm afraid." I tried to talk myself out of it. Maybe I'm just thinking I'm hearing God. Maybe it's just... something else. But I would hear it. Actually, it was more like feeling it. "Go..." I can't. It's too big. Too scarey. No friends, no family... I'm afraid.
Then He told me, "Read Joshua." Joshua? A book about spying out lands, conquering, pillaging, plundering... Why Joshua? What does that have to do with anything? Whatever. I opened the book up, and there it was. "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." It's hard to argue with that. "Have I not commanded you?"
So here I am, looking at schools outside of Texas. The problem is that I'm not sure at all what I'm looking for. Should I look by location? Should I look by cost? Should I look by career? If I'm looking by career should I look by what sounds fun to me? Or by what is more useful in the future? Can God use a degree in art as much as He can use one in communications or business? Is it okay to study something that I don't see quite how God would use? I mean, I know that God can use odd things like theater or illustration, but it seems more likely that He would use something a little bit more... traditional. Like business.
I thought that perhaps I should search for a ministry first, and then perhaps I could find a school that would be in the area. I searched for ministries online today, but I didn't find much that stood out to me.
However it happens, the fact is that I need to leave. Not to leave would be disobedience to God, and I'm writing this now so that all of you know. Maybe posting this will help me. I don't know. I'm terrified of leaving, but I shouldn't be. Remember Anna, "Be strong and courageous... I will never leave you, nor forsake you..." Don't forget!
Wow. It just hit me how bored you must be reading this. I mean, while this is pretty much what has been consuming my thoughts lately, I can't think of how it could be interesting to you. So sorry about that! I won't bore you any longer, but please do be praying for me!
Still confused,
Anna
Friday, May 26, 2006
Later in Europe...
Okay... Sorry I haven't posted this sooner. I've had it written out for a little while, I just haven't posted it. I'm not going to promise that I'll post again. I'm really not dependable! Anyway, I'll post what I had written down already. Enjoy!
The next few days were not quite so eventful as the first. We were staying in an American lodge, so it made things a little bit less interesting, but a lot less complicated and confusing.
We went skiing for about 2 days. It was a lot different from skiing around here. It wasn't that the slopes were particularly difficult, but around here you learn to ski on ice. I had no idea what to do in that powder stuff. I hadn't learned how to balance on my skis to keep my tips above the powder. After about the fourth wipe out I was thinking, "Get me out of this stuff! Let's find some ice!" The upside to wiping out in powder is that it doesn't hurt very much. Embarrassing, but painful to my dignity alone.
Learning the lifts was a challenge. Instead of having a chair that is attatched to a cable, they have these bars that are shaped like an upside-down T. You grab the bar and place it under your... er.. bum, and then you let it pull you up the slope. DO NOT SIT DOWN ON IT! I learned this on my way up the bunny slope. Unfortunately, Josh and I were going up together, so yeah. We beefed it. Big time. I just knew that all those little German kids who have been skiing since they were 9 months old were going to point and laugh. I don't know if they did. I avoided all eye contact.
After our second day of skiing we packed up our stuff, checked out of the lodge and hopped a train, Italy bound. I must add that I was beginning to feel really bad. I felt similar to an old, wilty, slimy piece of lettuce, only my throat hurt and my lungs were really tight.
We rode the train straight through Austria. Neither of us really had much desire to stop there, so we didn't. This was the glory of taking a self-guided tour.
Once we had crossed the Italian border, the police hopped on the train. Those guys were really scary. I'm not sure if they were trying to look really intimidating, but they did. They were just fine with my passport, but they weren't sure what to do with Josh's military ID. Now, Josh and I were a little freaked out, because we had heard rumors before we left that the Italians can be a little... difficult. Some people said you couldn't get in the country with a military ID, some said you could get in but you couldn't get out. Since we were a little disturbed about this we asked the lady who sold us the Eurail passes. She had done some research and told us that we should be good to go with the military ID. Here with the Gestapo... I mean the Italian police, we weren't so sure. They looked at it, grunted, then asked Josh if he had a passport. Josh replied that this was a military ID and is acceptable as a passport. They asked what his occupation was, so he told them he was in the U.S. Army.
"But what is your job now?"
"That is my job. My profession is being a soldier in the U.S. military."
They said a few things to each other in whispered tones, looked at us through squinted eyes, wrote something on their clipboard and then told us we were okay. This was met by a flood of relief on our parts.
This relief was, however, short lived. Not 5 minutes later a train attendant came through the cars. After about the third language he said in English,
"Tickets please."
Josh found the Eurail passes and handed them to him.
"Where are your global passes?"
Josh looked at me, I looked at him...
"Global passes?"
"Yes. You must have a global pass to be on this train."
"I don't understand. The person who sold us these tickets told us that we could ride any train with this."
"Yes, but you must have a global pass."
"Why?"
"You must have the Eurail pass, and you must have a global pass to ride this train."
After a lot of confusion we figured out that in order to ride a train legally across a border, you had to have a global pass. The guy told us they cost about 5 Euro. Then he looked around, looked over his shoulder and told us, (this is paraphrase)
"You know what? I'm going to let you skate. You're cool with me, but I get off the train at Bolzano. There is going to be a different attendant checking passes, so he might get you. The worst that can happen is that he'll make you buy them and then charge you a fee."
Okay. That's cool. Well, when they new guy hopped on the train he came through, checking everyone's tickets. When he came to us and asked to see our tickets, Josh looked at me and then started digging in his pockets to find the Eurail passes. We were kind of sweating bullets. After a couple of seconds the guy said,
"Wait a minute... how long have you been on this train?"
"Since Germany," we replied.
"Oh. Never mind then."
Whew! And so God spared us from the fee.
The next few days were not quite so eventful as the first. We were staying in an American lodge, so it made things a little bit less interesting, but a lot less complicated and confusing.
We went skiing for about 2 days. It was a lot different from skiing around here. It wasn't that the slopes were particularly difficult, but around here you learn to ski on ice. I had no idea what to do in that powder stuff. I hadn't learned how to balance on my skis to keep my tips above the powder. After about the fourth wipe out I was thinking, "Get me out of this stuff! Let's find some ice!" The upside to wiping out in powder is that it doesn't hurt very much. Embarrassing, but painful to my dignity alone.
Learning the lifts was a challenge. Instead of having a chair that is attatched to a cable, they have these bars that are shaped like an upside-down T. You grab the bar and place it under your... er.. bum, and then you let it pull you up the slope. DO NOT SIT DOWN ON IT! I learned this on my way up the bunny slope. Unfortunately, Josh and I were going up together, so yeah. We beefed it. Big time. I just knew that all those little German kids who have been skiing since they were 9 months old were going to point and laugh. I don't know if they did. I avoided all eye contact.
After our second day of skiing we packed up our stuff, checked out of the lodge and hopped a train, Italy bound. I must add that I was beginning to feel really bad. I felt similar to an old, wilty, slimy piece of lettuce, only my throat hurt and my lungs were really tight.
We rode the train straight through Austria. Neither of us really had much desire to stop there, so we didn't. This was the glory of taking a self-guided tour.
Once we had crossed the Italian border, the police hopped on the train. Those guys were really scary. I'm not sure if they were trying to look really intimidating, but they did. They were just fine with my passport, but they weren't sure what to do with Josh's military ID. Now, Josh and I were a little freaked out, because we had heard rumors before we left that the Italians can be a little... difficult. Some people said you couldn't get in the country with a military ID, some said you could get in but you couldn't get out. Since we were a little disturbed about this we asked the lady who sold us the Eurail passes. She had done some research and told us that we should be good to go with the military ID. Here with the Gestapo... I mean the Italian police, we weren't so sure. They looked at it, grunted, then asked Josh if he had a passport. Josh replied that this was a military ID and is acceptable as a passport. They asked what his occupation was, so he told them he was in the U.S. Army.
"But what is your job now?"
"That is my job. My profession is being a soldier in the U.S. military."
They said a few things to each other in whispered tones, looked at us through squinted eyes, wrote something on their clipboard and then told us we were okay. This was met by a flood of relief on our parts.
This relief was, however, short lived. Not 5 minutes later a train attendant came through the cars. After about the third language he said in English,
"Tickets please."
Josh found the Eurail passes and handed them to him.
"Where are your global passes?"
Josh looked at me, I looked at him...
"Global passes?"
"Yes. You must have a global pass to be on this train."
"I don't understand. The person who sold us these tickets told us that we could ride any train with this."
"Yes, but you must have a global pass."
"Why?"
"You must have the Eurail pass, and you must have a global pass to ride this train."
After a lot of confusion we figured out that in order to ride a train legally across a border, you had to have a global pass. The guy told us they cost about 5 Euro. Then he looked around, looked over his shoulder and told us, (this is paraphrase)
"You know what? I'm going to let you skate. You're cool with me, but I get off the train at Bolzano. There is going to be a different attendant checking passes, so he might get you. The worst that can happen is that he'll make you buy them and then charge you a fee."
Okay. That's cool. Well, when they new guy hopped on the train he came through, checking everyone's tickets. When he came to us and asked to see our tickets, Josh looked at me and then started digging in his pockets to find the Eurail passes. We were kind of sweating bullets. After a couple of seconds the guy said,
"Wait a minute... how long have you been on this train?"
"Since Germany," we replied.
"Oh. Never mind then."
Whew! And so God spared us from the fee.
Monday, May 01, 2006
My First Day in Germany
I recently returned from a 2 week vacation to Europe, which was awesome! I promised to post some stories from my trip, so I think I'll basically just start at the beginning and tell ya what stands out.
The thing that stands out in my mind most of all are the people that God sent to make sure were safely on the right path. Or train.
Okay, first of all, getting to know the train system is difficult. It probably wouldn't be quite so difficult if I had been around trains more often, but come on! I was born in Texas! We don't use a train system there. Because Texas is awesome. And waaaay too big. Anyway, we had no clue what we were doing.
We decided to do what all ignorant tourists should do and headed to information. Behind the information desk was a young man. He was about 23 or so, (the work force over there seems a lot younger. I don't know if it's true, but it definitely seems that way,) and had blue eyes and blonde hair. He was wearing a faux-hawk, an earring and a very bored expression.
Josh asked the guy if he spoke English, to which he replied that he did. Josh told him that we needed to get to Garmisch, so he printed a piece of paper, handed it to us and waved us away. Okay... The piece of paper was a train schedule, so that was cool, but we didn't know where to get tickets.
Josh decided to hail a person about our age since most of them speak English. He found a guy and asked if he could help us. The guy took the paper, looked at it and said, "Hmmm..." and started walking toward a gate. He found the gate, looked at the paper, shook his head, walked to another gate, shook his head, walked back to the first gate... After a little bit of fiddling with a machine and a lot of head shaking he pointed us back to information. We told him thank you for trying and got back in line.
At this point I must add that in front of us this time there was a man with... um... a rather large hole in the seat of his trousers. It was kind of hard not to laugh. Surely he knew it was there... It was quite cold and drafty. Why didn't he go home and change? Or buy a different pair of pants? I'm not sure.
Anyway, back in line we were kind of hoping for a different information guy this time. No such luck. We came back up to the counter and he rolled his eyes. We told him that we didn't quite understand and tried to explain exactly what we needed. He sighed, took the train schedule, scribbled a 9 in a blank spot and handed it back to us. Yeah. Thanks, guy.
We went back out to look for the gate that we needed. While we were searching we overheard some people speaking good English. Josh went up to a lady and asked her if she could help us. She was so helpful! First, she took us to information again and explained in German that we were trying to get Eurail passes. The apathetic young man looked at us like we were stupid and told us to go to a different place.
The lady took us to the new place, where there was a lady who spoke pretty good English as well. After making sure that we were in good hands she went her own way. The lady that she left us with was extremely helpful and resourceful. She answered all our questions and told us a whole bunch of stuff we needed to know. She sold us Eurail passes, (expensive, but invaluable if you don't know what you're doing) gave us a map, gave us a timetable of the European train system and wished us luck. What a nice lady!
After we finally had our tickets we hopped on a train. (I guess that 9 helped after all!) Once we got on the train the attendant came and asked us for our tickets. We showed him our Eurail passes and he took them, nodded his head, smiled and handed them back to us.
We traveled on that train for quite a while before we got to our stop. Every time we would stop the train guy would come through the car, ask the new boarders for their tickets, serve some people some tea, and eye us carefully as we walked by. This unnerved me at first, but I got used to it.
When we got to the stop marked on our train schedule we got off the train. Before the train pulled away the train guy hopped off and called us back. I was thinking, "Uh oh... did we forget something? Were we supposed to do something?" He said, "Are you sure this is your stop?" We showed him our schedule. He looked at it and nodded, made sure we knew exactly where we were going and where the correct platform was, hopped on the train and rode away. Once again God was watching us, using the careful eyes of a kind and helpful train attendant.
The next train that we got on was... not so nice. Actually, it was kind of ghetto. You're not allowed to smoke on trains, but on this train everyone was smoking in the gaps between cars. This is kind of dumb, because all of the smoke comes in the car anyway. I'm sure all of you know my opinion this, but I think that having a "smoking section" is kind of like having a peeing section in a pool. Sounds nasty, but it's true.
So here we are in our smoky, smoky little train when this guy boards. He kind of looked like a homeless guy. He was smoking a hand rolled cigarette and carrying this huge backpack. He was talking to himself. I thought this was kind of weird, but Josh looked at me with this knowing grin and said, "I'd bet he's listening to an MP3." He was right. It was kind of funny because the guy would all the sudden break out in song while dramatically pumping his arm, rocking out on his air guitar.
All of a sudden he notices us staring at him. It wasn't the fact that we were staring that caught his attention because everyone was doing that. It was Josh's fatigues. The guy had apparently been in the German military and recognized Josh's duffel and jacket as American.
He immediately asked about it and launched his story. And goodness me, this guy was a total nut case! He told Josh that he had been in the special forces for 13 years. Yeah right. He was probably in the service, but 13 years, but SF? Probably not. Josh later said that perhaps the guy had some serious post traumatic stress issues. Maybe that was it. I don't know. Anyway, he was very apologetic that Josh had to be in Iraq. He was convinced that President Bush is evil. He would solemnly shake his head and tell us how sorry he is that we have to put up with the guy. I refrained from telling him that he could keep his apologies and I'll keep President Bush. Thanks very much.
He also had this thing with the word, "Loco." For example:
"Have you ever heard of ______?" (some little German band)
No, we haven't.
"Oh, well, if you like metal you'll love them. They are really great." *starts dramatically playing air guitar again* "Oh, man. It's loco."
He repeated this routine several times.
I'm not sure if it was his really strange behavior or his empty bottle, but something gave me the impression that the strange man on the train was intoxicated.
When we finally arrived at Garmisch, we were still pretty confused. The guys at the USO had given us directions from the train station to Edelwiess, but after one attempt we gave up. The directions were just not clear enough.
We walked over to a group of guys standing around and asked if they spoke English. "Yes, we do." Uh oh... This guys English is a little too good. "Do know where Edelweiss is?" He grinned smugly and said, "It's too far to walk." Oops. Next thing we knew we were in his cab, racing to our destination. Lesson learned. Never ask a cab driver for directions unless you are willing to pay his fee.
The thing that stands out in my mind most of all are the people that God sent to make sure were safely on the right path. Or train.
Okay, first of all, getting to know the train system is difficult. It probably wouldn't be quite so difficult if I had been around trains more often, but come on! I was born in Texas! We don't use a train system there. Because Texas is awesome. And waaaay too big. Anyway, we had no clue what we were doing.
We decided to do what all ignorant tourists should do and headed to information. Behind the information desk was a young man. He was about 23 or so, (the work force over there seems a lot younger. I don't know if it's true, but it definitely seems that way,) and had blue eyes and blonde hair. He was wearing a faux-hawk, an earring and a very bored expression.
Josh asked the guy if he spoke English, to which he replied that he did. Josh told him that we needed to get to Garmisch, so he printed a piece of paper, handed it to us and waved us away. Okay... The piece of paper was a train schedule, so that was cool, but we didn't know where to get tickets.
Josh decided to hail a person about our age since most of them speak English. He found a guy and asked if he could help us. The guy took the paper, looked at it and said, "Hmmm..." and started walking toward a gate. He found the gate, looked at the paper, shook his head, walked to another gate, shook his head, walked back to the first gate... After a little bit of fiddling with a machine and a lot of head shaking he pointed us back to information. We told him thank you for trying and got back in line.
At this point I must add that in front of us this time there was a man with... um... a rather large hole in the seat of his trousers. It was kind of hard not to laugh. Surely he knew it was there... It was quite cold and drafty. Why didn't he go home and change? Or buy a different pair of pants? I'm not sure.
Anyway, back in line we were kind of hoping for a different information guy this time. No such luck. We came back up to the counter and he rolled his eyes. We told him that we didn't quite understand and tried to explain exactly what we needed. He sighed, took the train schedule, scribbled a 9 in a blank spot and handed it back to us. Yeah. Thanks, guy.
We went back out to look for the gate that we needed. While we were searching we overheard some people speaking good English. Josh went up to a lady and asked her if she could help us. She was so helpful! First, she took us to information again and explained in German that we were trying to get Eurail passes. The apathetic young man looked at us like we were stupid and told us to go to a different place.
The lady took us to the new place, where there was a lady who spoke pretty good English as well. After making sure that we were in good hands she went her own way. The lady that she left us with was extremely helpful and resourceful. She answered all our questions and told us a whole bunch of stuff we needed to know. She sold us Eurail passes, (expensive, but invaluable if you don't know what you're doing) gave us a map, gave us a timetable of the European train system and wished us luck. What a nice lady!
After we finally had our tickets we hopped on a train. (I guess that 9 helped after all!) Once we got on the train the attendant came and asked us for our tickets. We showed him our Eurail passes and he took them, nodded his head, smiled and handed them back to us.
We traveled on that train for quite a while before we got to our stop. Every time we would stop the train guy would come through the car, ask the new boarders for their tickets, serve some people some tea, and eye us carefully as we walked by. This unnerved me at first, but I got used to it.
When we got to the stop marked on our train schedule we got off the train. Before the train pulled away the train guy hopped off and called us back. I was thinking, "Uh oh... did we forget something? Were we supposed to do something?" He said, "Are you sure this is your stop?" We showed him our schedule. He looked at it and nodded, made sure we knew exactly where we were going and where the correct platform was, hopped on the train and rode away. Once again God was watching us, using the careful eyes of a kind and helpful train attendant.
The next train that we got on was... not so nice. Actually, it was kind of ghetto. You're not allowed to smoke on trains, but on this train everyone was smoking in the gaps between cars. This is kind of dumb, because all of the smoke comes in the car anyway. I'm sure all of you know my opinion this, but I think that having a "smoking section" is kind of like having a peeing section in a pool. Sounds nasty, but it's true.
So here we are in our smoky, smoky little train when this guy boards. He kind of looked like a homeless guy. He was smoking a hand rolled cigarette and carrying this huge backpack. He was talking to himself. I thought this was kind of weird, but Josh looked at me with this knowing grin and said, "I'd bet he's listening to an MP3." He was right. It was kind of funny because the guy would all the sudden break out in song while dramatically pumping his arm, rocking out on his air guitar.
All of a sudden he notices us staring at him. It wasn't the fact that we were staring that caught his attention because everyone was doing that. It was Josh's fatigues. The guy had apparently been in the German military and recognized Josh's duffel and jacket as American.
He immediately asked about it and launched his story. And goodness me, this guy was a total nut case! He told Josh that he had been in the special forces for 13 years. Yeah right. He was probably in the service, but 13 years, but SF? Probably not. Josh later said that perhaps the guy had some serious post traumatic stress issues. Maybe that was it. I don't know. Anyway, he was very apologetic that Josh had to be in Iraq. He was convinced that President Bush is evil. He would solemnly shake his head and tell us how sorry he is that we have to put up with the guy. I refrained from telling him that he could keep his apologies and I'll keep President Bush. Thanks very much.
He also had this thing with the word, "Loco." For example:
"Have you ever heard of ______?" (some little German band)
No, we haven't.
"Oh, well, if you like metal you'll love them. They are really great." *starts dramatically playing air guitar again* "Oh, man. It's loco."
He repeated this routine several times.
I'm not sure if it was his really strange behavior or his empty bottle, but something gave me the impression that the strange man on the train was intoxicated.
When we finally arrived at Garmisch, we were still pretty confused. The guys at the USO had given us directions from the train station to Edelwiess, but after one attempt we gave up. The directions were just not clear enough.
We walked over to a group of guys standing around and asked if they spoke English. "Yes, we do." Uh oh... This guys English is a little too good. "Do know where Edelweiss is?" He grinned smugly and said, "It's too far to walk." Oops. Next thing we knew we were in his cab, racing to our destination. Lesson learned. Never ask a cab driver for directions unless you are willing to pay his fee.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Free Gift?
Listening to a sermon, I started thinking about God's gift of salvation. The person speaking referred to it as a free gift. That expression really irritated me. I did much thinking, and this is my conclusion
I can honestly say that I have never given or received a free gift. All gifts cost someone something. Every gift requires some form of sacrifice. That's the whole point. You give a gift to someone so that they don't have to pay for it. You give a gift to let people know that you love them so much that you don't want them to pay for it. Even those cheesy gifts you get from department stores cost someone something. And I'm not talking about the free* gifts.
The gift of Salvation is no exception. In fact of all the gifts ever given, it is the most expensive by far. What it cost both the Father and the Son are unthinkable. Of course it cost much physical pain, which is where most of us would draw the line at giving a gift to an ordinary person. It cost the Father turning His back on His beloved Son. It cost the Son watching His Father turn His back, a sight He had never seen. He was separated from the Father for the first time, which caused Him unthinkable anguish.
What is free about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. Perhaps "all expenses paid" is a better way to describe it. It is a gift, yes. It is given to us so that it costs us nothing, but free is something that I can never call it.
I hope I never overlook exactly how much that "free" gift cost.
Anna
I can honestly say that I have never given or received a free gift. All gifts cost someone something. Every gift requires some form of sacrifice. That's the whole point. You give a gift to someone so that they don't have to pay for it. You give a gift to let people know that you love them so much that you don't want them to pay for it. Even those cheesy gifts you get from department stores cost someone something. And I'm not talking about the free* gifts.
The gift of Salvation is no exception. In fact of all the gifts ever given, it is the most expensive by far. What it cost both the Father and the Son are unthinkable. Of course it cost much physical pain, which is where most of us would draw the line at giving a gift to an ordinary person. It cost the Father turning His back on His beloved Son. It cost the Son watching His Father turn His back, a sight He had never seen. He was separated from the Father for the first time, which caused Him unthinkable anguish.
What is free about that? Nothing. Nothing at all. Perhaps "all expenses paid" is a better way to describe it. It is a gift, yes. It is given to us so that it costs us nothing, but free is something that I can never call it.
I hope I never overlook exactly how much that "free" gift cost.
Anna
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Here I am again...
I was recently reprimanded about not updating my blog often enough. Totally true! I apologize for the fifth or sixth time.
Over the last couple of weeks I have thought of many things to blog about, but I can hardly remember any of them now, so I'll just stick to my original idea, a list of things I love about my church.
Anna
Over the last couple of weeks I have thought of many things to blog about, but I can hardly remember any of them now, so I'll just stick to my original idea, a list of things I love about my church.
- Okay, one of my most favorite things about my church is that they don't hesitate to fill up the baptistry and dunk people. At a lot of other churches I've been to, you had to add your name to a list. I understand that water costs money, but come on, Church! If people want to be baptized they want to do it now! Why tell them that they have to wait a month, or until they have enough people to make it worth while. Why run them through like a herd of cattle? These are people. Isn't one person enough? I say it is. Apparently my church agrees, because when people ask to be baptized, they are dunked the next Sunday. Love that!
- Another thing that I love about my church is that if you're willing to serve, they will find an opportunity for you. I've been in situations where churches almost looked at an eagerness to serve as an attempt to run everything. How wrong! If God burdens a person's heart to serve, who are we to tell them they can't?
- Kids, kids, kids! I know I've said this before, but I love the fact that there are kids running out our ears. We are a young and growing church, and I love the fact that there are so many children around all the time. These aren't only children who attend with their parents, these are children who are coming from foster care and stuff. There are 2 reasons that this excites me. First, I think it's absolutely fantastic that they are coming. I'm glad they feel comfortable, and I'm glad that we have an opportunity to minister to them. Second, I think that it adds a whole different dimension to the way we treat church. Children can add so much to things without even knowing it. That's one of the things that I love about teaching Cubbies. Some of the things they say really make you go, "Huh...". It's really incredible.
Anna
Monday, February 06, 2006
Just Stuff
I don't have that much to write about, but it's been a while since I posted.
I recently started a new job. I'm working at Dillard's in the home department, and it is a lot of fun. Training was not fun, but the actual job is. In training I watched 14 videos. It was probably one the most boring 2 days of my life. The thing about videos is that I do better with hands on, not just visual training.
I had a hard time on the floor at first, but after a couple of days I started to get the hang of it. Now all I have to do is learn my department, which could take a while. My goodness! There is so much stuff in it! We have everything from crystal to luggage. We have bath linens, bathroom accessories, baking and cooking pans and utensils, bed linens, kitchen appliances, table linens, dishes and... (drum roll please,) a SINGING EGG! I know you all need one.
This beautiful piece of... um, junk is a wonderful gift for that mother-in-law who has everything (guarantee you she doesn't have one of these!) or simply as a dust catcher on your own coffee table! It is a cute(?) little gold and silver egg that you can wind up to hear one of your favorite songs, complete with a little heart thingy to put a picture of a loved one in. Just wind it up and look at little Suzie while listening to 'You Are My Sunshine'. Come and get yours today all for the tiny price of... Well, actually I don't know how much it is, but it's probably an audacious sum of money for such an ugly little knick knack. The really cheesy thing is that it doesn't even open up by itself. You have to do it yourself.
Okay, so now that I have told you about the singing egg, the most embarrassing thing in my whole department, I will move on to better subjects.
I'm really super excited because I called an acquaintance this week about getting involved in a college study group. I'm pretty stoked. It's been so long since I've actually been involved in a Bible study. I have missed it so much. I miss being able to watch people growing beside me.
The last thing that I have to say is that I was totally grossed out by the Rolling Stones Superbowl halftime show! Who wants to watch an old guy wearing girls clothes jumping around and shaking his butt? And you gotta love those happy arms. Sorry, Mick. Sick.
Anna
I recently started a new job. I'm working at Dillard's in the home department, and it is a lot of fun. Training was not fun, but the actual job is. In training I watched 14 videos. It was probably one the most boring 2 days of my life. The thing about videos is that I do better with hands on, not just visual training.
I had a hard time on the floor at first, but after a couple of days I started to get the hang of it. Now all I have to do is learn my department, which could take a while. My goodness! There is so much stuff in it! We have everything from crystal to luggage. We have bath linens, bathroom accessories, baking and cooking pans and utensils, bed linens, kitchen appliances, table linens, dishes and... (drum roll please,) a SINGING EGG! I know you all need one.
This beautiful piece of... um, junk is a wonderful gift for that mother-in-law who has everything (guarantee you she doesn't have one of these!) or simply as a dust catcher on your own coffee table! It is a cute(?) little gold and silver egg that you can wind up to hear one of your favorite songs, complete with a little heart thingy to put a picture of a loved one in. Just wind it up and look at little Suzie while listening to 'You Are My Sunshine'. Come and get yours today all for the tiny price of... Well, actually I don't know how much it is, but it's probably an audacious sum of money for such an ugly little knick knack. The really cheesy thing is that it doesn't even open up by itself. You have to do it yourself.
Okay, so now that I have told you about the singing egg, the most embarrassing thing in my whole department, I will move on to better subjects.
I'm really super excited because I called an acquaintance this week about getting involved in a college study group. I'm pretty stoked. It's been so long since I've actually been involved in a Bible study. I have missed it so much. I miss being able to watch people growing beside me.
The last thing that I have to say is that I was totally grossed out by the Rolling Stones Superbowl halftime show! Who wants to watch an old guy wearing girls clothes jumping around and shaking his butt? And you gotta love those happy arms. Sorry, Mick. Sick.
Anna
Monday, January 23, 2006
The Prayer
The other day while I was at work this table of 6 came in, and the other servers most graciously decided to give it to me. (Thanks, guys.) Well, it was supposed to be 6, but it ended up being a lot more than that.
It all started out with like, 2 old ladies. I cannot tell you how much I dislike waiting on tables of old ladies. They are very picky, and downright impossible sometimes.
They don't actually look at the menu, they just order whatever the heck they want. "Yes honey, I want 2 pancakes, 1 egg scrambled hard, (and honey, I mean hard,) and 1 piece of bacon. Oh, and make that bacon extra crispy." Okay, well, we don't really have anything with one egg and one piece of bacon. I'll have to put everything under sides, okay? "Okay, honey. That's fine." They all get almost the same thing, and then when you take it to their table they can't remember what they ordered.
Here I come with the hot plates... Okay. Who ordered Harvest Grain and Nut pancakes? "Well, I had some pancakes, sweetie." Were they Harvest Grain and Nut? "Well, I guess. I don't remember. Just set them here." I set them down and she tears into them. Now some lady across the table who was so busy gossiping that she didn't even know I was at the table looks over and says, "Harvest Grain and Nut! Those are mine!" Um, well, your friend here who doesn't know what she ordered has already poured boysenberry syrup all over your pancakes. "Well, go get me some. I don't care if I have to wait 20 minutes. I want my Harvest Grain and Nut pancakes!" Turns out that this lady does care if she had to wait 20 minutes, and the one who ordered her bacon extra crispy is suing IHOP for the cost of her ruined dentures. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration, but it really is difficult!
Anyhow, it started with 2 old ladies and ended up being about 9. Woohoo! They weren't that bad, as far as The Clovis Widows Club type tables are concerned.
I had sort of picked up that these were a bunch of church ladies, and they were having a fabulous time sharing prayer concerns and all the details on their most recent surgeries. Their most recent surgeries, and also the surgeries of their husbands, friends, family members, their roommates in the hospitals, and their pet poodles.
Their food comes out, and I get it all ready to go. This time I was prepared. I had everything written down and pulled it exactly how it would be set on the table, that way we wouldn't have any Harvest Grain and Nut or egg mix ups.
I had put about half of the food down and about 5 plates in my hands when one of the ladies has a very bright idea. "Well now, why don't we say a blessing?" Whoosh! They all join hands and bow their heads. Okay... Here I am holding plates. I thought, surely they'll remember I'm standing here. They'll make it short. My, my. I was so wrong.
"Dear Heavenly Father, I thank you for this wonderful opportunity for all of my friends to come out to breakfast on this beautiful morning. I thank you for the cold weather, and I also thank you for the beautiful sunshine." Cool. Maybe she's almost done. "And Heavenly Father, I thank you for Ruby. We are so glad to have her with us today, and Lord, I also thank you for Alma. I'm so blessed to have her in my circle. You know what a wonderful friend she is, Father." She proceeded to thank God for every person at the table. "And dear Lord, I thank you for Leona. You know that she can't get out much anymore, but I just thank you that she could be with us today. You know what a blessing it is. And Father, I thank you for her daughter, Linda. Thank you so much for her servant heart and for her kindness to her mother, Father..." Then she started going over all of the prayers that the ladies named while they were ordering.
Finally, she started to wind down a little. I thought, Whew! Finally she's going to end it! I almost died laughing when she continued, "And Heavenly Father, my heart is heavy because we didn't reach our Lottie Moon Christmas offering this year. I just pray Father, that you would instill a desire, a generousity in everyones hearts that they will give, and that Jesus, we would be able to reach our goal." On and on! It was the funniest thing!
Anyway, I did eventually survive the table. They were really a sweet bunch of old ladies.
May you always reach your Lottie Moon Christmas Offering goal, and may your Annie Armstrong Easter Offering be successful, also.
Anna
It all started out with like, 2 old ladies. I cannot tell you how much I dislike waiting on tables of old ladies. They are very picky, and downright impossible sometimes.
They don't actually look at the menu, they just order whatever the heck they want. "Yes honey, I want 2 pancakes, 1 egg scrambled hard, (and honey, I mean hard,) and 1 piece of bacon. Oh, and make that bacon extra crispy." Okay, well, we don't really have anything with one egg and one piece of bacon. I'll have to put everything under sides, okay? "Okay, honey. That's fine." They all get almost the same thing, and then when you take it to their table they can't remember what they ordered.
Here I come with the hot plates... Okay. Who ordered Harvest Grain and Nut pancakes? "Well, I had some pancakes, sweetie." Were they Harvest Grain and Nut? "Well, I guess. I don't remember. Just set them here." I set them down and she tears into them. Now some lady across the table who was so busy gossiping that she didn't even know I was at the table looks over and says, "Harvest Grain and Nut! Those are mine!" Um, well, your friend here who doesn't know what she ordered has already poured boysenberry syrup all over your pancakes. "Well, go get me some. I don't care if I have to wait 20 minutes. I want my Harvest Grain and Nut pancakes!" Turns out that this lady does care if she had to wait 20 minutes, and the one who ordered her bacon extra crispy is suing IHOP for the cost of her ruined dentures. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration, but it really is difficult!
Anyhow, it started with 2 old ladies and ended up being about 9. Woohoo! They weren't that bad, as far as The Clovis Widows Club type tables are concerned.
I had sort of picked up that these were a bunch of church ladies, and they were having a fabulous time sharing prayer concerns and all the details on their most recent surgeries. Their most recent surgeries, and also the surgeries of their husbands, friends, family members, their roommates in the hospitals, and their pet poodles.
Their food comes out, and I get it all ready to go. This time I was prepared. I had everything written down and pulled it exactly how it would be set on the table, that way we wouldn't have any Harvest Grain and Nut or egg mix ups.
I had put about half of the food down and about 5 plates in my hands when one of the ladies has a very bright idea. "Well now, why don't we say a blessing?" Whoosh! They all join hands and bow their heads. Okay... Here I am holding plates. I thought, surely they'll remember I'm standing here. They'll make it short. My, my. I was so wrong.
"Dear Heavenly Father, I thank you for this wonderful opportunity for all of my friends to come out to breakfast on this beautiful morning. I thank you for the cold weather, and I also thank you for the beautiful sunshine." Cool. Maybe she's almost done. "And Heavenly Father, I thank you for Ruby. We are so glad to have her with us today, and Lord, I also thank you for Alma. I'm so blessed to have her in my circle. You know what a wonderful friend she is, Father." She proceeded to thank God for every person at the table. "And dear Lord, I thank you for Leona. You know that she can't get out much anymore, but I just thank you that she could be with us today. You know what a blessing it is. And Father, I thank you for her daughter, Linda. Thank you so much for her servant heart and for her kindness to her mother, Father..." Then she started going over all of the prayers that the ladies named while they were ordering.
Finally, she started to wind down a little. I thought, Whew! Finally she's going to end it! I almost died laughing when she continued, "And Heavenly Father, my heart is heavy because we didn't reach our Lottie Moon Christmas offering this year. I just pray Father, that you would instill a desire, a generousity in everyones hearts that they will give, and that Jesus, we would be able to reach our goal." On and on! It was the funniest thing!
Anyway, I did eventually survive the table. They were really a sweet bunch of old ladies.
May you always reach your Lottie Moon Christmas Offering goal, and may your Annie Armstrong Easter Offering be successful, also.
Anna
Friday, October 07, 2005
La La
I screwed up. I really did. I allowed myself to react according to my flesh, and what's worse, I did it in front of non-believers.
When she walked in, everything about her was screaming about her need of love. She was an overweight woman with a head of uncontrolled hair and a tired expression on her face. She was wearing a t-shirt that was hitched up, revealing her midriff and bulging belly. She would get up and walk around for no apparent reason every couple of minutes. It appeared she was trying to be sexy, but not pulling it off too well. As a matter of fact, it had quite the opposite result. Everywhere she went, she was surrounded with snickering and slack-jawed people.
She would call out to you. You would walk over, and she would extend your hand, waiting for you to take it. "Hi. I'm La La. What's your name? Oh, hi!" She would then tell each different person a different story, trying to get people to hang out with her. Mine in particular was an invitation to a bachelorette party at the La Quinta Inn. "That's where everyone is going to be. I'm going there as soon as I'm done here. You should come with me! I'm going to California for 2 weeks to record CD's."
She was so desperate for friendship and compassion, neither of which she found with us. She was always there, hanging around in the background. Every conversation that I would have with another person would be interrupted by her walking up, wanting to join in.
Repulsive? Yes, but not nearly so much so as my behavior in response. I laughed at her. I joined in with the groups of disgusted people, talking behind her back and snickering as she walked by for the umpteenth time. They were snorting, laughing, making fun of either her appearance or her seeming insanity, and I was right there with them. This I recall with flaming cheeks and burning conscience.
I, who claim to be a follower of Christ, was not standing up for her, not even leaving the groups of gossip. I was even joining in their laughter, my own ringing with theirs. What's funnier than a crazy fat girl who thinks she's sexy, right? Wrong. Oh, Anna! How wrong you were!
I had been trying so hard to be a good witness, a good example of the love of God, and I completely shattered it with my own flesh and desire for acceptance. I'm sure that my co-workers were thinking, "So this is the 'love' of God? Just like a Christian. Hypocritical." I am truly the least Christ-like 'Christian' out there.
I failed God, I failed her, I failed my co-workers and I failed myself. I wasn't a child that God could be proud to call His own. No, not proud, but certainly ashamed. I know I'm ashamed of myself.
Today I am going to work with the intention of apologizing to all of my co-workers. I will probably be met with laughter, but it really isn't funny. I have to let them know that what I did was completely unacceptable, and completely opposite everything I've ever stood for or believed. I can't take it back, but I can learn from my mistakes and avoid them in the future. That's all I can hope for.
Thank God for His glorious forgiveness, because I certainly need it often.
With remorse of the greatest sincerity,
Anna
When she walked in, everything about her was screaming about her need of love. She was an overweight woman with a head of uncontrolled hair and a tired expression on her face. She was wearing a t-shirt that was hitched up, revealing her midriff and bulging belly. She would get up and walk around for no apparent reason every couple of minutes. It appeared she was trying to be sexy, but not pulling it off too well. As a matter of fact, it had quite the opposite result. Everywhere she went, she was surrounded with snickering and slack-jawed people.
She would call out to you. You would walk over, and she would extend your hand, waiting for you to take it. "Hi. I'm La La. What's your name? Oh, hi!" She would then tell each different person a different story, trying to get people to hang out with her. Mine in particular was an invitation to a bachelorette party at the La Quinta Inn. "That's where everyone is going to be. I'm going there as soon as I'm done here. You should come with me! I'm going to California for 2 weeks to record CD's."
She was so desperate for friendship and compassion, neither of which she found with us. She was always there, hanging around in the background. Every conversation that I would have with another person would be interrupted by her walking up, wanting to join in.
Repulsive? Yes, but not nearly so much so as my behavior in response. I laughed at her. I joined in with the groups of disgusted people, talking behind her back and snickering as she walked by for the umpteenth time. They were snorting, laughing, making fun of either her appearance or her seeming insanity, and I was right there with them. This I recall with flaming cheeks and burning conscience.
I, who claim to be a follower of Christ, was not standing up for her, not even leaving the groups of gossip. I was even joining in their laughter, my own ringing with theirs. What's funnier than a crazy fat girl who thinks she's sexy, right? Wrong. Oh, Anna! How wrong you were!
I had been trying so hard to be a good witness, a good example of the love of God, and I completely shattered it with my own flesh and desire for acceptance. I'm sure that my co-workers were thinking, "So this is the 'love' of God? Just like a Christian. Hypocritical." I am truly the least Christ-like 'Christian' out there.
I failed God, I failed her, I failed my co-workers and I failed myself. I wasn't a child that God could be proud to call His own. No, not proud, but certainly ashamed. I know I'm ashamed of myself.
Today I am going to work with the intention of apologizing to all of my co-workers. I will probably be met with laughter, but it really isn't funny. I have to let them know that what I did was completely unacceptable, and completely opposite everything I've ever stood for or believed. I can't take it back, but I can learn from my mistakes and avoid them in the future. That's all I can hope for.
Thank God for His glorious forgiveness, because I certainly need it often.
With remorse of the greatest sincerity,
Anna
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