Humble Pie…

Photo: Pixabay

Yes.  I may tend to give my amazing husband a hard time—but that’s because I just love him EVER SO MUCH.  Or perhaps it’s because soon after he does something “funny” HUMBLE PIE often comes back to bite me in my tush.

Yes.

I did it.

I killed my son’s guinea pig.  Poor Chewie #4.

So, yesterday I wrote the blog post “Why Moms Were Invented,” and then the same night that I wrote that humor piece on how “awesome” we moms are and how we keep the house from BURNING DOWN…it goes and happens.

I leave the rabbit and guinea pigs (in their cages, yes) on the porch.

With the dogs.

No big deal????

No.  A very big deal.

Usually this is how our farm’s worth of animals work at our house.  Dogs in the house, no problem because they are surrounded by me and behave.

Dogs in the house when we are away?  NO WAY!  They break into animal cages and KILL KILL KILL!

Right now, with the sunshine, I have been placing our beloved little critters outside for the day to enjoy the sun.  In fact, our rabbit’s hutch will be arriving soon, so she’ll really get to enjoy a fun spring/summer outside.

But I went and did it.  I closed the door, not realizing that the dogs were outside and unattended.

With their favorite delicacy—guinea pig pie.

Now, you may think that I am being very unfeeling.  Oh, no!  I have all the feels.  IT’S JUST THAT THIS IS CHEWIE #4.

Chewie 1 died of natural causes.  The others—well, let’s say, “Predatory causes” — yikes!

Why don’t you call your rabbit “Cupcake #4” — don’t they eat the rabbit, too?

Well, to be honest, I think that they tried the first time they ate Chewie #2— but the rabbit was unscathed.  I think a couple punches and kicks with the sharp paws and claws taught the doggies to stay away.  So they aren’t even phased by little Cupcake.

The poor guineas, however…

Yes.  Moms keep houses standing—but we also eat LOTS of humble pie.

Like on the days that I kill my miracle son’s beloved Chewie (4).

Adelyne told me to replace Chewie like I once replaced her fish—but I didn’t get around to that before Max noticed his guinea pig’s cage was missing…

Plus, a fish and a guinea pig switch?  Not quite the same, eh?!

All in all, the house is still standing and now I have to find a new critter for the little man.

And, yes, he wanted to see Chewie.  Another slice of pie, please…

I had to show him where I placed his guinea pig.

He thought I would have lovingly buried it, oh my!

Instead I had to show him a plastic bag in the trash. Outside.

I tried to explain it this way, “Remember the foxes that came and ate your buried dog???  Yes, let’s not invite them to come and eat your guinea pig, too, okay?!”

Hence, Chewie remained in his original grave (the plastic coffin).

And “Death” was the topic of conversation of two littles for the rest of the day.

This time, when Max goes for his new pet, it will 100% not be a guinea pig.

I can’t handle Chewie #5.

Nor another slice of humble pie (I do eat a lot of it).

RIP 4.

That’s why Moms were invented…

Disclaimer in case you like my husband better than you like me (smile and wink)… he knows I am writing this.

In fact, on the day that it happened, he was batting 0 all day long but my list of “What to blog” kept getting bigger and longer and funnier.

Hopefully I’ll come back to all of them.  But today I’ll start with this one…

The day started with me on the countdown: 3 more days until Richard leaves me in a little farming village and travels to the States for a month.  THEREFORE, I am going to lie in bed past time for kids to get out of bed…and daddy is going to get ALL 3 kids to school.

Now, to be fair to my husband, he is usually the one to feed, pack their bags, and drive them to school.

Wait?  What do you do?

I don’t know, honestly.

Maybe help choose clothes, comb their hair, and provide kisses???

I definitely get the coffee going.

In any case, it seems when moms are around (even if all we are doing is drinking coffee) the house just seems to be kept from burning down.

We notice things.

So, I roll down the stairs at a very lazy 9am.  Kids in school.  Husband back to work in his office.  And that’s when I smell it.

Plastic.

Burning.

On my kitchen table (that I painted, btw).

Yes.  The decade+2 daughter’s straightening iron was piping hot—burning a hole right through my adorable Easter bunny placemat (See, right there—that’s what I do!  I decorate for the Seasons and make the house feel “happy”.  Phew!).

I grabbed the iron, unplugged it (much too late, unfortunately, to save its life as the plastic had now become one with the iron), stuck it somewhere safe, picked up the placemat, got rid of the burning plastic smell by opening all the windows, made sure the wooden table had not yet become victim to the “iron” and walked past my husband saying, “That’s why moms were invented.”

Do you know what he said?

“I didn’t even know the iron was still on…”

Of course not.

Because, while he may be packing their bags, and second breakfast snacks, and feeding them breakfast and taking them to school, I am drinking my coffee and making sure the house is still standing.

And sending them off with kisses.

The best reason why moms were invented.

Now, back to my coffee…

(smile smile wink wink!)

 

Rainbow Baby?

I will never shy away from sharing of my loss.  And I am not sorry if I cause discomfort.

Miscarriage is a very silent loss.  It is a very wrenching loss.  It is a very soul-crying loss.

Miscarriage takes you from elation to depression sometimes within weeks.

Today I read many articles of women, very prolific writers, phew!  Writers that bore their souls of their miscarriage losses.  From first trimester to 16 weeks.

From listeria infections to sudden delivery.

Women that never shared the loss with their children.  And then some that, for some unknown reason, started the conversation in the car on the way to school.

I am sure many of us (especially if you are around my age) can recall the episode from Friends when Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe are in the bathroom during the reception of Monica and Chandler’s wedding.

And the two girls, Phoebe and Monica, had given Rachel another pregnancy test to take to see if she really was or wasn’t pregnant.

Phoebe read the results, “She (Rachel) was not pregnant.”

Rachel cried.  And said she was happy.  And that it was for the best…

Of course, Phoebe was not telling the truth.  She wanted to see how Rachel really felt.  And, obviously, Rachel felt a great loss once she thought she was not pregnant.

Now, let’s leave fiction and enter reality.

The character of Rachel shared the heart of many.  THAT pregnancy test.  That pee stick.  That unsanitary little thing carries a great weight.

And as soon as we see the sign “Positive” our lives change.

Our beings change.  Our hands fly to our bellies.  We smile secretly to ourselves, appearing looney to the rest of the world watching random woman lady walking around with dreamy smile on her face.

We envision blue.  And then pink.  And then blue.  And then pink.

We have already calculated how far along and potential birth dates before even the first doctor’s appointment.

Names.  I am sure that is the first Google search you did as soon as you got back on your computer, after the due date, before the Chinese gender calendar.

Names.  Beautiful names.  Crazy names.  Trendy names.  Old names.  New names.  World names.  Names and their meanings.  Social Security popularity on names.

And twins?!  I mean, after all, can’t you recall someone, somewhere in your family that had twins?  Therefore, what would the doctor share with you?  It’s TWINS!

Whether you lost your baby 24 hours after your positive pregnancy test or 12 weeks later…In those potentially 24 hours you knew you had your baby growing inside of you, you conquered the internet.   You looked at What to Expect-type websites.  You saw where the baby was and how you would grow, and you secretly tucked your favorite name away, knowing that even if you had to fight for it, that special name would become a part of your baby in some way, sort or form…Soon.  If 9 months is considered soon.

Miscarriage.  It rips the very soul out of you.

And even the most gut-wrenching cries cannot bring back what you want the most.  The realization of your baby.  In your arms.  In the 9th month.  Like it should be.

Miscarriage.  It is a devastating end to what was once a beautiful beginning.

For you.

My husband?  For him it still continues, too.

Two years after our miscarriage, my husband and I were in our car on our way to church.  Church is one hour away.  My husband is the pastor of the church.

We were on our way.  On the highway.  We were driving.

It hit my husband.  The loss.  The great, great, tremendous loss.

And as we were driving in the car at 80mph, he started to cry.  The car started veering.

Sobs.  Gut-wrenching sobs were escaping the soul of his being.  Tears that he had always stifled to be strong for his wife that suffered so much physically with the loss and hemorrhaging and emergency D and C to remove the placenta.

He was so strong for so long.  And then two years later, our son Maxwell nearly died.  And then Maxwell lived.

And then all of it hit Richard.  On the way to church.  In the car.  Traveling 80mph.

And we nearly wrecked the car.  He had to pull over on the abandoned highway.  And I had to sit there.  Stunned.

I sat there as Richard shouted at God.  “Why?”

Why?

I sat there as Richard shared his guilt.  He was in America when our baby’s heart stopped beating.

“Why, God?!”

I sat there as Richard cried.  And cried.  And cried.

I didn’t know what to do.  And that is probably exactly how he felt as I lived through my time of tears. He probably didn’t know what to do.

Miscarriage.  The silent shame?

Never!

Miscarriage.  The silent pain.

The pain of loss.  Such tremendous loss.  For the mom.  For the dad.  For the brothers and sisters.

For those that love you.  For you yourself.

No one knows what to do.

No one.

And that is probably why miscarriage remains such a silent topic.

Because what can you say about a baby that you loved and barely knew?  Except to the very core of your being you did know.  Just as well as you know the other children you have.

I read once that a rainbow baby is a baby that follows the storm of loss.  Just like a beautiful rainbow shines after the rain.

And I loved what I read.

So, today, I am here to say.  Miscarriage.

It is a loss that guts your soul.  And you feel it forever.

But miscarriage also taught me about life.  The beautiful value of how precious and yet fleeting life is.

I had never valued life so much until our baby lost it.

And then we, through the storm, saw our rainbow.

Eventually a double rainbow.

And their names are Maxwell Loren (2 years and a few months old now) and Josephine Diane (9 months old).

Our baby we never got to meet.  Sam.  Simply Sam.

And despite the beauty of our rainbows, there is not a day that goes by that we don’t reflect upon the gorgeous life of our Sam.

For Sam was our storm.  And Sam was our watering.  And Sam was our awakening.

Our awakening to compassion.

To beauty.

And to life.

Sam.  Oh how I miss the baby I barely had.  Then I look at my rainbow babies and I smile.  I smile at them while remembering Sam.  It’s as if there will never be one without the others.

Just like there will never be a rainbow without a storm.

And 3+ years later, I can smile.  Sadly smile.

The ultrasound of my perfect baby alive in my mind.  The heartbeat-strong.  The feeling of life-there.

And yet time has passed and life has changed.  And we have double rainbow blessings…

But today, Dear Sam, I raise my life and voice for you.  And for all women like myself.  And for all men like my husband.  And for all siblings like my Adelyne.

And I say loudly, without shame, you are loved deeply…even if it is only our hearts that get to hold you.

You were our storm.

But everyone knows—water is necessary for life.

And that is what you were.  A life.  A beautiful life.

Thank you, Sam.  Simply Sam.

Now, I am off to kiss my babies.  My rainbows after our storm.  And I am going to inhale deeply their scents.

And maybe even cry a little.

Because the world does spin, but my heart remains the same.

Mother.  To Sam.

No matter, I will go to bed with a smile.  Because my storm was beautiful.  And mine.  And forever I am changed.

So despite death.  I was taught life.

And I am happy about that.

Because life is beautiful.  Just like our storm.

When I don’t sleep with my husband, I get angry. God’s design for intimacy in marriage.

i have an awesome husband.  but we have had many moments in our marriage that i thought were worth quitting over.

and the thing is, when rich and i don’t get those quiet moments in the evenings after the kids go to bed and before the sun (or josephine our 8-month-old) wakes us…if we don’t get those quiet moments together, something happens.

i get angry.

my mind has no filter, so it catapults through the past.  and all of the hurts. and all of the pain.  and all of the frustrations.

my heart says forgive.  my god says forgive.  my mind says, “remember…”

and then i get angry.

i remember so many reasons why he has made me angry over the years.

and i remember all of the pain that we have endured.

and i remember that i was mad.  and i willingly choose to relive them.

THIS is not as god intended.

god is very clear about being still.  he is very clear about knowing that HE is god.  he is very clear about taking time to fast and pray.  he is very clear about resting.

and yet—sometimes in our marriages we forget that our marriages should be a reflection of the love that god has for us in our lives.

one of intimacy.  of knowing him.  of spending time with him.  of grace.  mercy.  acceptance.  forgiveness.

the list goes on.

and yet, in my marriage, we sometimes forget to take those moments to be still.  to spend time together.  to talk.  to touch.  to extend grace.  mercy.  and forgiveness.

did you know that there are days when rich and i fall asleep on the couches downstairs with josephine in her rocking cradle?  and the three of us sleep in the living room.  separately.

it’s not that we didn’t get rest.  we slept.

it’s that rich and i did not get rest together.

we were separate.  we were not together.  we were not in close intimacy where we could extend a hand or the touch of a foot and know that the other was right there.

when rich travels (and he did a lot this past year), the intimacy was kept alive in the desire for him to return home.  in the thoughts of his embrace.  in the excitement that he would soon be near.

but after returning home and settling into the exciting mundane of what it is we call life, we see that exhaustion pulls us apart as easily as thousands of miles or continents.

but it’s worse.  because we are so close.

and so arguing ensues.  and squabbling ensues.  and lack of self control with our words ensues.

and misery ensues.

i told my husband, it’s enough.

i need him every day to sleep with me.

and nearly every day we find the time—that one peaceful moment in time—to read our bibles together.  and pray together.

and we hold our hands.  and we close our eyes.  and we pray.

it’s better than any television show.  it’s better than any facebook post.  it’s better than any youtube sensation.

because it’s intimate.  with my husband.  before our god.  together.

during those times is when my heart is reminded that i can overcome the past and move forward into our beautiful future.

together.  with my beautiful husband by my side.

at the start of this article, did i say quitting?

i meant, our marriage, it’s worth fighting for.

but not as two…as one.

“So they are no longer two, but one.”

Matthew 19:6

 

You know your husband has been away when…

So today I fed my son lunch.  He is the cutest thing.  But he ate his chips (of course) first and his blueberries next.  His strawberries and hot dog remained on his plate.  And then he did what any normal human would do—he asked for more chips (I mean, come on, we all love salty potato chips).

I said, “No.”

And then he started to cry.

Typical response of a toddler who has been told no.  So I was not worried.  Not only was it typical, it showed me that it was time for the little man to head to bed.  Nap time.  Obviously he had good food in front of him:  strawberries and hot dog (okay, the hot dog is questionable), and he didn’t eat.  Therefore, my mommy sense picked up that he was tired.

So I did what I would do any other day…I said, “Okay, Maxie…Nap time!”  He didn’t object.  I prepared his milk (coconut milk—the boy has a dairy allergy) and got him down to change his diaper before his nap.

That’s when the man of the house came along…”You want more chips, Max?  Okay.  Eat a couple hot dog bites and strawberries for daddy and I’ll give you more chips.”  Boy walks dad to the pantry and points to the chips.

Oh no!  Sinking ship—and fast!!!  Where are your water pails???  Because it became a tsunami of tears.

“Chips, Dadda!  Chips!”

“Eat 2 bites of hot dog for Dadda.  You are two.  One.  Two.  Eat two bites.”

“Chiiiiiiipppppppps, Dadda!”

Crocodile tears are now cascading down his cheeks.

“Maxie, do you want chips?  You have to eat your strawberries and two bites of hot dog for Dadda.”

“CHIPS!”  Waterworks galore.

At this point, my husband looks at me, “Should I give him chips?”

“Yes.  Give him chips.”  The toddler has won.

One.  Two.  Chips for the sobbing toddler.  Mommy packed up the hot dog and ate the strawberries herself.

“Moh (for more) chips, Dadda!” As I sweep him out of the bar stool and proceed to change his diaper.

Yes, you know that your husband has been away when you try and stick to the routine you have been doing on your own for the past month and in an instant there is another factor—the Daddy factor.  And all of what you have been doing gets flipped upside down and inside out.  And daddy gets suckered in.

But, you know, in the end, I would rather my son take my husband by the hand and lead him to the pantry and ask for more chips, while leaving a perfectly good uneaten lunch on his plate.

Why?  You may wonder.

Because that means daddy is home to ask.  And there is nothing more grand than that.

Except, perhaps, chips…

 

Plans for Valentine’s Day. Or do you have children?

I’m innocent I tell you.  Innocent!

When we only had one it was still so easy…

No, we didn’t often go out to eat.  First of all, we were in Poland-it is very cold there.  And we had next to no money.  Therefore, we did a lot of “at home” dates.  Which are, by the way, sometimes the most awesome kind you can have.

But once you add a baby to the mix, you have to get more creative.  Like…At home dates AFTER the baby goes to sleep.  And that is exactly what I did.  I planned a special date for my hot husband!

I made sure to have all the proper ingredients for a fabulous evening:

Great dinner made by me (sometimes I can actually cook)!

Candles for lighting and setting the romantic mood.

Soft and romantic music playing in the background.

A washed, fed, and put to bed baby (a must for a romantic stay at home date)…

And then I slipped into something small, black, and pretty.

We sat down to eat our meal, enjoy our conversation, and have a generally relaxed evening when it happened…

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Uh-oh.  Baby’s awake.  Perhaps we can ignore the cry?

Nope.  Impossible.  Because, at this time in our life, the flat we were living in had our daughter’s room literally connected to our kitchen which was connected to our table—and our daughter’s room had no door.  Literally no door.

So we heard it loud and clear again, “WAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Yep.  She got her mightily impressive lungs for screaming from me.

And again, “WAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Begrudgingly we get up (sounds like we are GREAT parents, eh?!) and go get our crying (screaming) daughter out of bed.

“Here, here, Sweet Adelyne,” cuddle, cuddle, cuddle!

That’s when it happens!

BLAH…

All down my something small and black and pretty.

Gag (me this time).

In my mind I had planned the perfect stay at home romantic date.  Instead, however, baby gets cleaned up.  Mommy gets cleaned up.  Food gets covered up.  Mommy goes out into the cold to find medicine for the baby (walking all over the city to look for an open store, of course)…

Candles get blown out.

Music gets turned off.

Daddy rocks baby.

And, eventually, we all fall asleep.

Now, isn’t that romantic?

Hope your planned Valentine’s date stays germ free 😉

Have a great day of love!

xo b