Just so you know, he's even kinder than he looks.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Smells and Solidarity
In July, my parents were visiting my dad's parents, so that my parents were only a little over an hour away.
It was glorious.
Impromptu visits--four or five of them--gave me a little taste of what I've always wanted: my parents living in close proximity to our family. It was great to have them in our house, eating dinner with us, playing with our children and talking to us late at night.
But my dad did something on one of those visits, something so selfless, that I will never forget.
And it has to do with a toilet.
If you have been reading my blog for a year or so, and if you ever read my Facebook statuses, then it will be common knowledge to you that I have serious issues with the way two little boys (i.e., mine) use (abuse) bathrooms. Particularly mine.
There was this persistent smell. Like someone had peed on a piece of cardboard and then hid the piece in the wall. I'm sorry to describe something so gross, but I'd like you to understand the extent and grossness of The Smell. My parents knew that it bothered me. They heard my same refrain every time they visited: "So I've cleaned the boys' bathroom top-to-bottom, thoroughly and with powerful cleaners, and it still stinks...I'm sorry. Feel free to use the master bathroom."
Well, this last visit, my dad was on a mission. He wanted to help us with anything that needed helping-with. Shampoo the carpets? Done. Buy some food? Done. Carry something heavy to the garage? Done and done. Whatever it was, he did it. So on this night, I was reading to Jaxon and Reed as they fell asleep. And looking down the hallway, I realize that my dad is on his hands and knees, scrubbing around the toilet in the boys' bathroom. I walk in, almost panicked, and say, "Oh Dad, you don't have to do that! It's SO GROSS!" Everything short of "Please for the love of everything fragrant STOP!"
But he looked up, a huge smile on his face and said, "Hey, we're all in this together. I'm happy to do it." I asked softly, "Because you can't stand using that bathroom?" And he answered, "Not at all. Are you forgetting that your mother and I raised seven children?" And I understood that he wasn't doing this to make me feel bad--or even because he was just sick of it--he was doing it because he wanted to help me find a solution to a really annoying issue. He simply wanted to make my life a little easier.
I said sheepishly, "I'll let you, then, I guess...." And he thanked me. So what did I do? I tried not to cry. I know it might sound silly, but it struck me so. I understood that he really DOES have my back. He really does want to make things easier and he really does KNOW how hard the daily stuff of life can be.
"Dad, this is the equivalent of you washing my feet."
"I'm happy to do it."
Not only did my dad find the source of The Smell (people, unscrew your toilet lid from the bowl and look under those hinges....and I won't be offended if you DON'T thank me....), he removed the top shelf of the dishwasher so that we could wash the offending object (okay, I guess I'll just SAY OUT LOUD that we PUT THE TOILET SEAT IN THE DISHWASHER....) completely sparkling clean.
It's hard for me to ASK for help with some of the really gross aspects of my life, but I know I often need the help, and my dad's show of solidarity convinced me that the old proverb rings true--and might I add a twist? It takes a village to raise a child (and to make a little boys' bathroom smell good) .
It was glorious.
Impromptu visits--four or five of them--gave me a little taste of what I've always wanted: my parents living in close proximity to our family. It was great to have them in our house, eating dinner with us, playing with our children and talking to us late at night.
But my dad did something on one of those visits, something so selfless, that I will never forget.
And it has to do with a toilet.
If you have been reading my blog for a year or so, and if you ever read my Facebook statuses, then it will be common knowledge to you that I have serious issues with the way two little boys (i.e., mine) use (abuse) bathrooms. Particularly mine.
There was this persistent smell. Like someone had peed on a piece of cardboard and then hid the piece in the wall. I'm sorry to describe something so gross, but I'd like you to understand the extent and grossness of The Smell. My parents knew that it bothered me. They heard my same refrain every time they visited: "So I've cleaned the boys' bathroom top-to-bottom, thoroughly and with powerful cleaners, and it still stinks...I'm sorry. Feel free to use the master bathroom."
Well, this last visit, my dad was on a mission. He wanted to help us with anything that needed helping-with. Shampoo the carpets? Done. Buy some food? Done. Carry something heavy to the garage? Done and done. Whatever it was, he did it. So on this night, I was reading to Jaxon and Reed as they fell asleep. And looking down the hallway, I realize that my dad is on his hands and knees, scrubbing around the toilet in the boys' bathroom. I walk in, almost panicked, and say, "Oh Dad, you don't have to do that! It's SO GROSS!" Everything short of "Please for the love of everything fragrant STOP!"
But he looked up, a huge smile on his face and said, "Hey, we're all in this together. I'm happy to do it." I asked softly, "Because you can't stand using that bathroom?" And he answered, "Not at all. Are you forgetting that your mother and I raised seven children?" And I understood that he wasn't doing this to make me feel bad--or even because he was just sick of it--he was doing it because he wanted to help me find a solution to a really annoying issue. He simply wanted to make my life a little easier.
I said sheepishly, "I'll let you, then, I guess...." And he thanked me. So what did I do? I tried not to cry. I know it might sound silly, but it struck me so. I understood that he really DOES have my back. He really does want to make things easier and he really does KNOW how hard the daily stuff of life can be.
"Dad, this is the equivalent of you washing my feet."
"I'm happy to do it."
Not only did my dad find the source of The Smell (people, unscrew your toilet lid from the bowl and look under those hinges....and I won't be offended if you DON'T thank me....), he removed the top shelf of the dishwasher so that we could wash the offending object (okay, I guess I'll just SAY OUT LOUD that we PUT THE TOILET SEAT IN THE DISHWASHER....) completely sparkling clean.
It's hard for me to ASK for help with some of the really gross aspects of my life, but I know I often need the help, and my dad's show of solidarity convinced me that the old proverb rings true--and might I add a twist? It takes a village to raise a child (and to make a little boys' bathroom smell good) .
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Of Angels and Accomplishment: The Marathon Post
October 2nd, Friday night, I was pretty wired. I worked very hard to calm myself (oxymoron) and kept telling myself, "This will be worth it....this will be worth it...." I kept quietly chanting to myself, "To see if I can....to say I did." Refreshing my motivation and reminding myself that I was prepared as possible.
I didn't expect to get much sleep, especially because I was looking forward to my sister's arrival, but I surprised myself by sleeping from 11:30p.m. to ONE MINUTE (!) before my alarm was supposed to go off--4:19a.m. I woke up with that horrible squirmy feeling in my stomach, but also felt a little thrill of excitement as I put on my running clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and took deep breaths.
Phill just kept smiling at me, totally happy and calm--as he always does in situations where he knows I will end up happy, no matter how nervous I begin. :) In the car I ate a banana, some Myoplex (BLEH....), and a lot of Gatorade. There was so many cars on the road, which I found somewhat comforting--so many people doing the same thing that morning.
When Phill dropped me off at the park (where all the buses waited for us to board and be driven to the start line), and I stepped out into the October morning, I was immediately shivering from cold and nerves. I needed safety pins to pin my bib number onto my shirt (accidentally threw away the ones provided), and felt much more worried about it than I needed to be. Somehow (it was no coincidence), I bumped into another lady who also needed to find some safety pins, and we stuck together in our mini-predicament. She told me that this was her second marathon, that she had two kids, and that she would be happy to stick by me 'til the start.
Dear Ellie,
You were an angel. I'm glad I didn't slow you down, and I'm so glad you were there that morning. Because of your calming presence, I was able to relax my shivering-nervous muscles and thrill at the start of the race. A thousand times: thank you.
At the start line were bonfires, which was heavenly--it was 39 degrees. The cold penetrated my thin shirt and my anticipation made me shiver uncontrollably until I finally found a good spot next to one of the fires. People of all shapes and sorts sat around, lit up beautifully by the glow of the flames. People talked and laughed, ate, slept, stretched, listened to music. There was a general spirit of friendship and helpfulness. In spite of my little anxieties, I felt very safe and sure.
The start of the race was a sea of moving people, as far as my eyes could see. The air seemed electric--my limbs were frozen by cold, but I was on fire; I had finally started! Finally, finally, finally! was all I could think.
That first mile flew by....it was unreal how fast it went. And the next, and the next, and really, the first 6 miles were surreal. I was thankful that my legs didn't un-freeze until mile 9, when there happened to be an aid station being manned by several people in my ward. (The great Eagle project of one of the young men we love.) I almost cried with joy and said, "People I know!" Note: You readers will be proud to hear that I drank two cups of water or one cup water/one cup Gatorade at every aid station. I was masterfully hydrated.
I have to say that the volunteers are so wonderful. They make the experience even more enjoyable (yes, running 26.2 miles is enjoyable....on many levels....) and they were nothing short of encouraging and kind.
As I ran, the pesky flu (or whatever it is) that had plagued me the two weeks before showed no mercy. I coughed and coughed for the first 20 miles, until I really didn't have enough breath to cough anymore. You can imagine that my lower abs were quite sore.
For three miles--mile 11 to mile 14, I'd guess--I talked to an old man who said this was his twelfth marathon. He said he didn't start 'til his late forties, and that when he first started, it was with a pair of deck shoes. "Then I bought some new shoes and thought, 'This is like running on a cloud!' If I could do a marathon in deck shoes, I can do lots more in these shoes!"
Dear Mike,
You were personable and funny and sweet and strengthening. I liked your stories. You amaze me.
At mile 17, my enthusiasm began to be a little slow in coming. I could feel that my body was tired, and I felt a little overwhelmed at the prospect of 9 more miles. But I was still excited, still happy, and still very much mentally in the game. My right calf was cramping a bit, and the balls of my feet were sore, but I knew I could keep going for quite some time, provided I distracted myself well enough.
Distraction arrived in the form of Cathy from Payson, a mother of seven and grandmother to (?), who was doing this marathon for the third time. She was walking, she was tired, and she looked somewhat despondent. I decided to talk to her because she looked like she needed some company as badly as I did.
We talked for five miles. 17 to 22. She told me about her struggles with a couple of her children, and her pride in the good choices that they were now making. She shared events from her life that closed the gap in our ages. We quickly bonded over those long five miles, and we kept each other going.
Dear Cathy, You are a wonderful woman. I am so happy to have made your acquaintance, especially in the setting of the St. George Marathon. You distracted me and made it easier for me to keep going. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Arrive mile 22. We were just about to town, and I parted ways with Cathy to use up a little of the second wind I had. (Second wind....more like fifth, really.) At about mile 23, I was overcome by the enormity of what I was doing, what I had left to do, and by the pain. I simply sobbed while I ran. (It sounded really hilarious....a little like a barking seal, but a barking seal that's sort of under some anesthesia.) Every part of my legs, arms, abs, and upper back was sore, cramping, or burning. My lower lip began to tremble, a funny little thing that seems to happen to me after mile 17 or so.
Enter Melanie.
"Hi, sweetie! What's your name?"
"Rachel."
"Okay. Rachel, we can do this. I know you're tired. But we can do this, okay?"
"Yes."
"We're going to do this!"
"Yes!"
"Water?"
"YES..."
And she hands me a fresh bottle of water from her husband's water belt--he was walking alongside her, simply there to help her. It was her third marathon. Her dad biked next to us, relaxed and chatty, a cheerful distraction. Two very tired girls ran alongside us, and soon she recruited their motivation, too.
"What's your name, honey? We'll get through this."
Melanie, you were yet another earthly angel on that run. You make me want to run it again, just so that I can help people who are doing it for the first time. Thank you. Thank you.
She asked me questions, questions that helped her get a sense of what would motivate me most, and questions that took my mind off my pain. I told her that my husband was in the Army, waiting in uniform with other uniformed Army men at the finish line, and that I was very ready for him to catch me. Quietly I realized that for the last half of the marathon, I really had been running to Phill.
Melanie's father listened to us with a quiet smile, and then rode off slowly towards the finish line, which by this time was about 2 miles away.
Then, at mile 25, my weary eyes caught sight of her old dad on his bike, riding towards me, with a uniformed man jogging behind. A uniformed man with his arms in the air and a gigantic grin on his face.
I fell to pieces. I sobbed "Phill! Oh my goodness!" over and over, and he was quickly at my side, saying, "You're almost there, sweetheart! Only a little more! You're doing so great. I'm so proud of you." And I continued to cry the weirdest-sounding cry of my life. (I recall crying, "But it's so uuuggglllyyy...."--I was referring to most everything in general; my form, my crying, the way my body felt.) I tried to walk instead of run--thinking that a rest was good--but my legs just gave out beneath me. Lucky Phill was there to catch me and tell me that I needed to keep running, or my legs would cramp--because they were so used to this motion. He whispered sweet nothings to me all the way to the last turn, then did something that I will never forget and for which I will never stop feeling utmost love and gratitude.
"Okay, love. I'm going to go wait at the finish line. You've got this."
And he sprinted to the finish line to let me, his wife, finish the marathon with every bit of personal victory intact. No one next to me, holding my hand or pulling me along. Just me, just my finish.
Phill....I love you. Deeply.
I was surprised that there were still people there to cheer, besides my sister, brother-in-law, nieces, and kindred spirit Jenn--but there were enough people that the cheering filled my ears and seemed to elevate me to another plane altogether. I was floating....floating and sobbing and smiling and laughing. Phill stood with his arms open wide and I jumped (well, at that point it was a pretty weak jump...) into his arms and finally, finally let my muscles stop moving. (Oddly hard to do.)
My clock time said 7:06:00. My official (chip) time was 6:58:21. I have felt somewhat sheepish and self-critical for the last several days over how long it took me to finish--but I'm telling you....I feel very proud of myself now (finally, almost a week later)!
I ran for almost seven hours! I finished! I did exactly what I set out to do! I trained for months, waking up early, which we know is something I hate and always struggle with....I worked my training around schedules: my own, my children, Phill's. I have come to the realization that the marathon was really the reward for what was as big an accomplishment--the preparation.
I keep whispering to myself the words that were on my medal, reminding myself that I have the strength to do something difficult, complete with preparation and follow-through.
Finisher. I am a Finisher.
To see if I can--I can--to say I did--I did.
photo-credit: Eric Hanson
post-script:
Eric, thank you for coming! Thank you for supporting me, and thank you for making it easy for Abby to help me out. Thank you for taking the photos. I am so happy to have a record of this great event! Also, thank you for walking me to the bathroom six times on Saturday when my legs were like lead.
Abby, thank you for coming. Thank you for listening to me talk down my nerves on the phone several times before the actual marathon. Thank you for driving in the night with your husband and babies to simply be with my family. Thank you for the meals you made, the pampering you gave me, and the love and attention you showed my babies. Jenn, thank you for coming. Thank you for taking care of my babies while I ran. Thank you for crying when I was done and had no tears left myself. Thank you for helping me get comfortable afterwards. Thank you for keeping my sister, brother-in-law, and husband company and entertaining my children and nieces for seven hours Saturday morning.
To my other family, friends, blog-readers: Thank you for every supportive comment, every kind gesture, every prayer, every thought sent my way. I am forever grateful for your support and encouragement. You make it fun. You lift me up.
I didn't expect to get much sleep, especially because I was looking forward to my sister's arrival, but I surprised myself by sleeping from 11:30p.m. to ONE MINUTE (!) before my alarm was supposed to go off--4:19a.m. I woke up with that horrible squirmy feeling in my stomach, but also felt a little thrill of excitement as I put on my running clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and took deep breaths.
Phill just kept smiling at me, totally happy and calm--as he always does in situations where he knows I will end up happy, no matter how nervous I begin. :) In the car I ate a banana, some Myoplex (BLEH....), and a lot of Gatorade. There was so many cars on the road, which I found somewhat comforting--so many people doing the same thing that morning.
When Phill dropped me off at the park (where all the buses waited for us to board and be driven to the start line), and I stepped out into the October morning, I was immediately shivering from cold and nerves. I needed safety pins to pin my bib number onto my shirt (accidentally threw away the ones provided), and felt much more worried about it than I needed to be. Somehow (it was no coincidence), I bumped into another lady who also needed to find some safety pins, and we stuck together in our mini-predicament. She told me that this was her second marathon, that she had two kids, and that she would be happy to stick by me 'til the start.
Dear Ellie,
You were an angel. I'm glad I didn't slow you down, and I'm so glad you were there that morning. Because of your calming presence, I was able to relax my shivering-nervous muscles and thrill at the start of the race. A thousand times: thank you.
At the start line were bonfires, which was heavenly--it was 39 degrees. The cold penetrated my thin shirt and my anticipation made me shiver uncontrollably until I finally found a good spot next to one of the fires. People of all shapes and sorts sat around, lit up beautifully by the glow of the flames. People talked and laughed, ate, slept, stretched, listened to music. There was a general spirit of friendship and helpfulness. In spite of my little anxieties, I felt very safe and sure.
The start of the race was a sea of moving people, as far as my eyes could see. The air seemed electric--my limbs were frozen by cold, but I was on fire; I had finally started! Finally, finally, finally! was all I could think.
That first mile flew by....it was unreal how fast it went. And the next, and the next, and really, the first 6 miles were surreal. I was thankful that my legs didn't un-freeze until mile 9, when there happened to be an aid station being manned by several people in my ward. (The great Eagle project of one of the young men we love.) I almost cried with joy and said, "People I know!" Note: You readers will be proud to hear that I drank two cups of water or one cup water/one cup Gatorade at every aid station. I was masterfully hydrated.
I have to say that the volunteers are so wonderful. They make the experience even more enjoyable (yes, running 26.2 miles is enjoyable....on many levels....) and they were nothing short of encouraging and kind.
As I ran, the pesky flu (or whatever it is) that had plagued me the two weeks before showed no mercy. I coughed and coughed for the first 20 miles, until I really didn't have enough breath to cough anymore. You can imagine that my lower abs were quite sore.
For three miles--mile 11 to mile 14, I'd guess--I talked to an old man who said this was his twelfth marathon. He said he didn't start 'til his late forties, and that when he first started, it was with a pair of deck shoes. "Then I bought some new shoes and thought, 'This is like running on a cloud!' If I could do a marathon in deck shoes, I can do lots more in these shoes!"
Dear Mike,
You were personable and funny and sweet and strengthening. I liked your stories. You amaze me.
At mile 17, my enthusiasm began to be a little slow in coming. I could feel that my body was tired, and I felt a little overwhelmed at the prospect of 9 more miles. But I was still excited, still happy, and still very much mentally in the game. My right calf was cramping a bit, and the balls of my feet were sore, but I knew I could keep going for quite some time, provided I distracted myself well enough.
Distraction arrived in the form of Cathy from Payson, a mother of seven and grandmother to (?), who was doing this marathon for the third time. She was walking, she was tired, and she looked somewhat despondent. I decided to talk to her because she looked like she needed some company as badly as I did.
We talked for five miles. 17 to 22. She told me about her struggles with a couple of her children, and her pride in the good choices that they were now making. She shared events from her life that closed the gap in our ages. We quickly bonded over those long five miles, and we kept each other going.
Dear Cathy, You are a wonderful woman. I am so happy to have made your acquaintance, especially in the setting of the St. George Marathon. You distracted me and made it easier for me to keep going. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Arrive mile 22. We were just about to town, and I parted ways with Cathy to use up a little of the second wind I had. (Second wind....more like fifth, really.) At about mile 23, I was overcome by the enormity of what I was doing, what I had left to do, and by the pain. I simply sobbed while I ran. (It sounded really hilarious....a little like a barking seal, but a barking seal that's sort of under some anesthesia.) Every part of my legs, arms, abs, and upper back was sore, cramping, or burning. My lower lip began to tremble, a funny little thing that seems to happen to me after mile 17 or so.
Enter Melanie.
"Hi, sweetie! What's your name?"
"Rachel."
"Okay. Rachel, we can do this. I know you're tired. But we can do this, okay?"
"Yes."
"We're going to do this!"
"Yes!"
"Water?"
"YES..."
And she hands me a fresh bottle of water from her husband's water belt--he was walking alongside her, simply there to help her. It was her third marathon. Her dad biked next to us, relaxed and chatty, a cheerful distraction. Two very tired girls ran alongside us, and soon she recruited their motivation, too.
"What's your name, honey? We'll get through this."
Melanie, you were yet another earthly angel on that run. You make me want to run it again, just so that I can help people who are doing it for the first time. Thank you. Thank you.
She asked me questions, questions that helped her get a sense of what would motivate me most, and questions that took my mind off my pain. I told her that my husband was in the Army, waiting in uniform with other uniformed Army men at the finish line, and that I was very ready for him to catch me. Quietly I realized that for the last half of the marathon, I really had been running to Phill.
Melanie's father listened to us with a quiet smile, and then rode off slowly towards the finish line, which by this time was about 2 miles away.
Then, at mile 25, my weary eyes caught sight of her old dad on his bike, riding towards me, with a uniformed man jogging behind. A uniformed man with his arms in the air and a gigantic grin on his face.
I fell to pieces. I sobbed "Phill! Oh my goodness!" over and over, and he was quickly at my side, saying, "You're almost there, sweetheart! Only a little more! You're doing so great. I'm so proud of you." And I continued to cry the weirdest-sounding cry of my life. (I recall crying, "But it's so uuuggglllyyy...."--I was referring to most everything in general; my form, my crying, the way my body felt.) I tried to walk instead of run--thinking that a rest was good--but my legs just gave out beneath me. Lucky Phill was there to catch me and tell me that I needed to keep running, or my legs would cramp--because they were so used to this motion. He whispered sweet nothings to me all the way to the last turn, then did something that I will never forget and for which I will never stop feeling utmost love and gratitude.
"Okay, love. I'm going to go wait at the finish line. You've got this."
And he sprinted to the finish line to let me, his wife, finish the marathon with every bit of personal victory intact. No one next to me, holding my hand or pulling me along. Just me, just my finish.
Phill....I love you. Deeply.
I was surprised that there were still people there to cheer, besides my sister, brother-in-law, nieces, and kindred spirit Jenn--but there were enough people that the cheering filled my ears and seemed to elevate me to another plane altogether. I was floating....floating and sobbing and smiling and laughing. Phill stood with his arms open wide and I jumped (well, at that point it was a pretty weak jump...) into his arms and finally, finally let my muscles stop moving. (Oddly hard to do.)
My clock time said 7:06:00. My official (chip) time was 6:58:21. I have felt somewhat sheepish and self-critical for the last several days over how long it took me to finish--but I'm telling you....I feel very proud of myself now (finally, almost a week later)!
I ran for almost seven hours! I finished! I did exactly what I set out to do! I trained for months, waking up early, which we know is something I hate and always struggle with....I worked my training around schedules: my own, my children, Phill's. I have come to the realization that the marathon was really the reward for what was as big an accomplishment--the preparation.
I keep whispering to myself the words that were on my medal, reminding myself that I have the strength to do something difficult, complete with preparation and follow-through.
Finisher. I am a Finisher.
To see if I can--I can--to say I did--I did.
photo-credit: Eric Hanson
post-script:
Eric, thank you for coming! Thank you for supporting me, and thank you for making it easy for Abby to help me out. Thank you for taking the photos. I am so happy to have a record of this great event! Also, thank you for walking me to the bathroom six times on Saturday when my legs were like lead.
Abby, thank you for coming. Thank you for listening to me talk down my nerves on the phone several times before the actual marathon. Thank you for driving in the night with your husband and babies to simply be with my family. Thank you for the meals you made, the pampering you gave me, and the love and attention you showed my babies. Jenn, thank you for coming. Thank you for taking care of my babies while I ran. Thank you for crying when I was done and had no tears left myself. Thank you for helping me get comfortable afterwards. Thank you for keeping my sister, brother-in-law, and husband company and entertaining my children and nieces for seven hours Saturday morning.
To my other family, friends, blog-readers: Thank you for every supportive comment, every kind gesture, every prayer, every thought sent my way. I am forever grateful for your support and encouragement. You make it fun. You lift me up.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Romantic Gestures: I Am an Unconventional Girl
Are you ready for something ridiculous? I woke up at 4:00a.m. to make my 7:00a.m. flight on Tuesday last. I got to the Vegas airport at 6:00a.m. sharp (Vegas time) and got to the ticket counter at 6:10.
Guess what?
That was too late.
"Oh, this is the Vegas airport, honey. We like you to be 90 minutes early."
WHAT?! OH....so I should have woken up at 3:00a.m.? My bad. (I'm sorry; some of the bitterness hasn't receded yet.)
I had a meltdown. It was ugly. Having gulped down some caffeine that early morning to be energetic for the drive, I was....energetic. I was jittery, jumpy, emotional, stomach-cramped and frighteningly alert. I simply sobbed and shakingly wiped my tears as they fell.
The next flight they could get me was five hours later. Five hours.....which meant that I would arrive in Jacksonville at 10:30p.m. Abby is in Tallahassee, and that's a 3-hour drive....are you doing the math? Right. Thankfully, Abby and Eric put me in a hotel--a really nice hotel--for that night.
So--moving on. After a lone night's rest (severely underrated), I returned to the airport to greet Abby and her four beauties. It was exciting and exhausting. We got home to St.George at 2:00a.m. on Thursday early morning/Wednesday late night.
The next day was spent recovering; Abby somehow let me have a 3-hour nap to combat the migraine that was the result of my 2:30a.m.-7a.m. sleep. I had planned to do a short run that night (Thursday), but was convinced by Phill and Abby to rest some more. I rested that day, and I rested on Friday, at least as much as you can with seven children (under 8) in the house!
The only thing I forgot to do was drink water. That's all.
So Saturday morning I was actually excited for my 10-mile run! I had been flying/resting for a week, and I was ready to run. Never mind the fact that I had a wedding to shoot at 9:00 that morning; I was sure I would be done with enough time left to get ready and get out the door.
My run was glorious. I had put out water stops, but only felt the need to drink about one-third of each bottle I had set out. (And here we can see the delirium starting...) I felt sleepy, but able. I finished with only 15 minutes to spare before I had to get in the car and go to the wedding. Abby (who is an angel in human form) made me breakfast so that I came home, bolted down a bowl of oatmeal, two poached eggs, and 2 chocolate milks (wait, no water? that's right....no water). Then I jumped in the shower (pretty literally), got dressed, and went out the door.
The wedding was beautiful; only 3 hours of shooting, actually. The groom begged me to eat, which I did....somewhat meager portions, and (you guessed it) no water.
I came home and threw myself into being present with the kids. I felt some guilt for not being there from 6-12, and wanted to let Abby rest if she wanted. How I forget to re-hydrate, I just don't know.
At around 11:30, I was ready to go to sleep. I laid down and noted that I was awfully tired. Phill said something, and I looked up at him. There were blue flashing lights in my eyes--sort of like when you look at a light directly, and then look away.
"What's wrong?" Phill said, with far more anxiety than I had ever heard in his voice.
Then the picture in my eyes was jumping. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." I said.
I thought to myself, "Maybe if I change position, this will go away." I rolled over, and--
that is the limit of my memory. Phill says that immediately every muscle in my body locked up, my jaw opened as wide as possible, and I began to shake. He yelled for Abby to call 911, and moved me so that I would not choke on my vomit. (I know, I know, gross.)
When I came to, there were several people in my room asking me questions I couldn't answer, such as, "What did you do today? Where are you? What is your last name?" Apparently, I asked Phill what color he was "White, sweetheart.", and asked several times what was going on, without retaining the answer. I do remember once asking, "What happened?" And Phill leaning over me with a shaky smile and wet eyes, saying, "You had two seizures, sweetheart." I don't remember being moved from my bed, but I do remember how it felt being moved from the house to the outside--the air inside was a little too cool, and artificial; the air outside was balmy and close. I don't remember the majority of the ride to the hospital, but I do remember the paramedic next to me on the way--he looked like Santa Clause, and he was very soothing. I remember two priesthood holders in the doorway of my hospital room, the scent of one of the paramedic's perfume, and Phill's hand on my arm. I don't remember my body taking two bags of saline (that's 3 liters, folks) in less than an hour, coming home at 4a.m., or anything until later the evening of Sunday. (I was given anti-anxiety medication; apparently that's how they treat seizures....I slept and slept and slept. )
I do remember the feel of Phill's basketball shorts under my hands as I lay in the hospital. I sleep in undergarments; Phill had hastily dressed me before the emergency people had arrived.
I am still sheepish, but recovered completely. I am still a bit traumatized by the fact that I forgot so completely to pay attention to basic self-care that my body had to give me an unforgettable reminder. I am a little afraid of myself; carefully keeping count of how much water I am getting, how much I am eating, how much I am sleeping. Last night I went to bed at 9:30. The few nights before that, it was 10:00. Considering that my "normal" bedtime is 12, and that my sister is visiting, this is rather unusual. I still feel shaky remembering all of this, but I also know that things could have been much, much worse. I have also had the great blessing of having dinner brought to me by ward members Sunday night, Monday night, Tuesday night, and Wednesday night.
Are you wondering, yet, where this gargantuan story is leading? There is an end in sight.
Today, Phill called me around lunchtime.
"I bought you something."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Something that will make you feel less nervous on your runs."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
He came home with a Camelbak. It holds 2.5 liters. Which means that I will be hydrated while I run, and I will not have to set out waters the night before.....and I will not be seized by dehydration.
"Phill, this is one of the most romantic things you have ever done for me."
"Really?"
"Yes. Right up there with the time you bought me a terabyte for my photos. And the Carbonite gift, too."
"Really?"
"Really."
You may think my love language is Receiving Gifts. But I beg to differ, and actually, I would suggest a new love language--Back-up. Whether it is back-up for my photos or for my health, or back-up in the form of making sure I am modest among strangers, this is the most far-reaching and effective way that Phill shows me how much he loves me. That is the romance I like.
Guess what?
That was too late.
"Oh, this is the Vegas airport, honey. We like you to be 90 minutes early."
WHAT?! OH....so I should have woken up at 3:00a.m.? My bad. (I'm sorry; some of the bitterness hasn't receded yet.)
I had a meltdown. It was ugly. Having gulped down some caffeine that early morning to be energetic for the drive, I was....energetic. I was jittery, jumpy, emotional, stomach-cramped and frighteningly alert. I simply sobbed and shakingly wiped my tears as they fell.
The next flight they could get me was five hours later. Five hours.....which meant that I would arrive in Jacksonville at 10:30p.m. Abby is in Tallahassee, and that's a 3-hour drive....are you doing the math? Right. Thankfully, Abby and Eric put me in a hotel--a really nice hotel--for that night.
So--moving on. After a lone night's rest (severely underrated), I returned to the airport to greet Abby and her four beauties. It was exciting and exhausting. We got home to St.George at 2:00a.m. on Thursday early morning/Wednesday late night.
The next day was spent recovering; Abby somehow let me have a 3-hour nap to combat the migraine that was the result of my 2:30a.m.-7a.m. sleep. I had planned to do a short run that night (Thursday), but was convinced by Phill and Abby to rest some more. I rested that day, and I rested on Friday, at least as much as you can with seven children (under 8) in the house!
The only thing I forgot to do was drink water. That's all.
So Saturday morning I was actually excited for my 10-mile run! I had been flying/resting for a week, and I was ready to run. Never mind the fact that I had a wedding to shoot at 9:00 that morning; I was sure I would be done with enough time left to get ready and get out the door.
My run was glorious. I had put out water stops, but only felt the need to drink about one-third of each bottle I had set out. (And here we can see the delirium starting...) I felt sleepy, but able. I finished with only 15 minutes to spare before I had to get in the car and go to the wedding. Abby (who is an angel in human form) made me breakfast so that I came home, bolted down a bowl of oatmeal, two poached eggs, and 2 chocolate milks (wait, no water? that's right....no water). Then I jumped in the shower (pretty literally), got dressed, and went out the door.
The wedding was beautiful; only 3 hours of shooting, actually. The groom begged me to eat, which I did....somewhat meager portions, and (you guessed it) no water.
I came home and threw myself into being present with the kids. I felt some guilt for not being there from 6-12, and wanted to let Abby rest if she wanted. How I forget to re-hydrate, I just don't know.
At around 11:30, I was ready to go to sleep. I laid down and noted that I was awfully tired. Phill said something, and I looked up at him. There were blue flashing lights in my eyes--sort of like when you look at a light directly, and then look away.
"What's wrong?" Phill said, with far more anxiety than I had ever heard in his voice.
Then the picture in my eyes was jumping. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." I said.
I thought to myself, "Maybe if I change position, this will go away." I rolled over, and--
that is the limit of my memory. Phill says that immediately every muscle in my body locked up, my jaw opened as wide as possible, and I began to shake. He yelled for Abby to call 911, and moved me so that I would not choke on my vomit. (I know, I know, gross.)
When I came to, there were several people in my room asking me questions I couldn't answer, such as, "What did you do today? Where are you? What is your last name?" Apparently, I asked Phill what color he was "White, sweetheart.", and asked several times what was going on, without retaining the answer. I do remember once asking, "What happened?" And Phill leaning over me with a shaky smile and wet eyes, saying, "You had two seizures, sweetheart." I don't remember being moved from my bed, but I do remember how it felt being moved from the house to the outside--the air inside was a little too cool, and artificial; the air outside was balmy and close. I don't remember the majority of the ride to the hospital, but I do remember the paramedic next to me on the way--he looked like Santa Clause, and he was very soothing. I remember two priesthood holders in the doorway of my hospital room, the scent of one of the paramedic's perfume, and Phill's hand on my arm. I don't remember my body taking two bags of saline (that's 3 liters, folks) in less than an hour, coming home at 4a.m., or anything until later the evening of Sunday. (I was given anti-anxiety medication; apparently that's how they treat seizures....I slept and slept and slept. )
I do remember the feel of Phill's basketball shorts under my hands as I lay in the hospital. I sleep in undergarments; Phill had hastily dressed me before the emergency people had arrived.
I am still sheepish, but recovered completely. I am still a bit traumatized by the fact that I forgot so completely to pay attention to basic self-care that my body had to give me an unforgettable reminder. I am a little afraid of myself; carefully keeping count of how much water I am getting, how much I am eating, how much I am sleeping. Last night I went to bed at 9:30. The few nights before that, it was 10:00. Considering that my "normal" bedtime is 12, and that my sister is visiting, this is rather unusual. I still feel shaky remembering all of this, but I also know that things could have been much, much worse. I have also had the great blessing of having dinner brought to me by ward members Sunday night, Monday night, Tuesday night, and Wednesday night.
Are you wondering, yet, where this gargantuan story is leading? There is an end in sight.
Today, Phill called me around lunchtime.
"I bought you something."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Something that will make you feel less nervous on your runs."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
He came home with a Camelbak. It holds 2.5 liters. Which means that I will be hydrated while I run, and I will not have to set out waters the night before.....and I will not be seized by dehydration.
"Phill, this is one of the most romantic things you have ever done for me."
"Really?"
"Yes. Right up there with the time you bought me a terabyte for my photos. And the Carbonite gift, too."
"Really?"
"Really."
You may think my love language is Receiving Gifts. But I beg to differ, and actually, I would suggest a new love language--Back-up. Whether it is back-up for my photos or for my health, or back-up in the form of making sure I am modest among strangers, this is the most far-reaching and effective way that Phill shows me how much he loves me. That is the romance I like.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
You must love me....(again, name that musical)
Aside from the happiness of having Phill home again, he brought back some things from Germany that made me make a face akin to this:
I think he might love me.....look at this loot!
My love language is chocolate.
And there were even several Kinder Eggs for the kids. Of all the things I miss about Germany, chocolate and certain foods (Raja Imbiss is calling my name; those gyros and fries cannot be outdone or replicated....) tend to make me feel most nostalgic. I'm horribly jealous that Phill got to explore Heidelberg without me, amongst other places.
I'm thinking a second honeymoon there would be nice. Epic. Incredible. The adventure of a lifetime.
*sigh*.....oh, man. I'm so glad he's home. Now I don't have to fight back waves of emerald-green jealousy. :)
I think he might love me.....look at this loot!
My love language is chocolate.
And there were even several Kinder Eggs for the kids. Of all the things I miss about Germany, chocolate and certain foods (Raja Imbiss is calling my name; those gyros and fries cannot be outdone or replicated....) tend to make me feel most nostalgic. I'm horribly jealous that Phill got to explore Heidelberg without me, amongst other places.
I'm thinking a second honeymoon there would be nice. Epic. Incredible. The adventure of a lifetime.
*sigh*.....oh, man. I'm so glad he's home. Now I don't have to fight back waves of emerald-green jealousy. :)
Friday, April 24, 2009
Ducky Date
Of all the many talents Phill has, have I ever told you that he has a talent for photography?
Yeah. He's good.
Really good.
Good enough that I'm often jealous, in a fiery happy sort of way. And tonight, he really pulled out all the stops.
Tonight we went on a date and found this secret spot in St.George, a very un-St.George-like spot. A body of water and ducks. And ducklings. They made me squeal and say things in a strangely high-pitched voice.
Oh, heaven help me, those fuzzy little ducklings....
We followed them around, trying with the zoom lens to get close-up pictures--without getting close-up. We must have seemed like paparazzo, because we quite literally ruffled some feathers.
Their parents were very clear in letting us know how displeased they were by our proximity.
They gave us the evil eye.
It's pretty unnerving to get the evil eye from a duck. Especially when they give you the evil eye and come towards you at the same time, making scary duck sounds. Phill was brave. After the ducks came very quickly towards us, spreading their wings and hoarsely quacking and looking at us sideways, I very quickly walked further away saying something like "oh-man-oh-man-oh-man-oh-NO-oh-PHILL-oh-man-oh-man....." Needless to say, I was put in my place. But Phill got closer and took the wind right out of this duck's feathers. We'll call him Merv. I just think he has a Merv face. Look at his mean Merv-y face....
The mother was such a good mama duck. Look at her protective stance. She looks so intensely uncomfortable, I felt a little bad, actually. How dare I invade her personal space? "How dare you invade our personal space?"
They needed to confer about what to do. "Merv, I just can't do this anymore."
"You do something about this, or I am moving across the pond without a backward glance. I'm serious, Merv."
She meant business.
So they moved the ducklings. First the ducklings went away from us, followed by the mama, followed by Merv and....who's the other guy? The brother-in-law? It was a strategized move.
Meanwhile, I'm a chicken. While Phill captured awesome humdingers like the ones above, I took placid photos like these.
Look at them! Three little ducklings.
They craned their necks to watch their mama swim.
And she was sure to stand between them and any danger....i.e., we human paparazzi. I just couldn't come between her and her babies.
Then we drove around and found high points from which to take photos.
And rode off into the sunset.
Best date ever.
Yeah. He's good.
Really good.
Good enough that I'm often jealous, in a fiery happy sort of way. And tonight, he really pulled out all the stops.
Tonight we went on a date and found this secret spot in St.George, a very un-St.George-like spot. A body of water and ducks. And ducklings. They made me squeal and say things in a strangely high-pitched voice.
Oh, heaven help me, those fuzzy little ducklings....
We followed them around, trying with the zoom lens to get close-up pictures--without getting close-up. We must have seemed like paparazzo, because we quite literally ruffled some feathers.
Their parents were very clear in letting us know how displeased they were by our proximity.
They gave us the evil eye.
It's pretty unnerving to get the evil eye from a duck. Especially when they give you the evil eye and come towards you at the same time, making scary duck sounds. Phill was brave. After the ducks came very quickly towards us, spreading their wings and hoarsely quacking and looking at us sideways, I very quickly walked further away saying something like "oh-man-oh-man-oh-man-oh-NO-oh-PHILL-oh-man-oh-man....." Needless to say, I was put in my place. But Phill got closer and took the wind right out of this duck's feathers. We'll call him Merv. I just think he has a Merv face. Look at his mean Merv-y face....
The mother was such a good mama duck. Look at her protective stance. She looks so intensely uncomfortable, I felt a little bad, actually. How dare I invade her personal space? "How dare you invade our personal space?"
They needed to confer about what to do. "Merv, I just can't do this anymore."
"You do something about this, or I am moving across the pond without a backward glance. I'm serious, Merv."
She meant business.
So they moved the ducklings. First the ducklings went away from us, followed by the mama, followed by Merv and....who's the other guy? The brother-in-law? It was a strategized move.
Meanwhile, I'm a chicken. While Phill captured awesome humdingers like the ones above, I took placid photos like these.
Look at them! Three little ducklings.
They craned their necks to watch their mama swim.
And she was sure to stand between them and any danger....i.e., we human paparazzi. I just couldn't come between her and her babies.
Then we drove around and found high points from which to take photos.
And rode off into the sunset.
Best date ever.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
"As you wish......"
(A Valentine's Ode to Phill)
When Phill and I first started dating, we watched The Princess Bride about six times before we did anything terribly original for a date. That was fine with us!
But Phill is quite brilliant and creative--and romantic--when it comes to dates. And surprises. And I happen to love surprises, and I love the anticipation that goes along with a good secret gift. So Phill is good about driving me crazy with wondering before he finally presents the gift--which is always something well-thought-out and personal.
Our first official date, my 18th birthday, was definitely memorable. In the military, you are given orders (kind of an itinerary) for various training exercises or classes or moving or deploying. So he gave my dad orders for our date--complete with these phrases: "Please DO NOT let the innocent child-like charms of Rachel get these plans from you, as it might compromise the rest of the agents I have in the field. Just tell her to be ready to go by 4:00p.m., nothing further...Feel free to tell Rachel that you know the exact plans of today, then tell her nothing, as to frustrate her. (She says you're good at frustrating her, so do your best.) "
Are you smiling as hugely as I am? Well, listen to the actual Agenda: "The date will start at 4:00p.m. when I come to get Rachel. Then rules and guidelines from parents will be received. Next, 4:30, we will depart to our destination (Forsyth Park, Savannah, or alternate location stated by parents). Depending on destination, arrive at 5:45; have a little picnic dinner prepared by Phill DeVault. Not responsible for sickness from food. Also some attempted serenading (stressing attempting). Picnic will last one hour. 7:00p.m. After picnic we will walk along River Street and look at shops and take goofy pictures that will be laughed at, at a later date. This may take up to 2 and 1/2 hours, or not--maybe 45 minutes, who knows? The rest of the remaining time will be spent trying to remember where we parked, and getting home by 11:00p.m. or earlier."
I do have a picture that you can laugh at, but my scanner is being stubborn at the moment.
Anyway....my point is that I love the way Phill treats me. Most of all, I love the way he treats me each day, not just the surprises and dates here and there.
Living with Phill is romance in itself. There is romance to being taken care of, romance in a man who will do dishes and change diapers and cook dinner and tell me to sleep some more when a child wakes in the middle of the night. I think it's romantic that I can tell Phill anything, share anything with him, and expect to be valued and loved in return--every time. There is romance in laughter, romance in respect, and romance in safety.
As you wish, Phill.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Overflowing
I have so so SO much running through my mind right now, I don't know where to start. My grandma died on the 18th, just three days after 58 years of marriage to my grandpa. I am happy that she will feel no more pain; I am resting in the knowledge that she is at peace. I'm grieving, but gently. I'm sad and I miss her, but I have faith and hope that I will see her again. The thing that is hardest for me is thinking of her children and her husband--my grandpa, my aunts and my uncle, my mother--who are left to mourn. Of course I mourn, but I know that my mother's mourning, and the mourning of grandma's other children and husband, is so deep.
I'm still trying to process all that happened last week. Amongst any sadness, there was peace, and there were little reunions happening throughout. (Just the way my grandma would like it, I think. All of us together for Christmas!) I have been thoroughly and tenderly blessed to have seen all my sisters and my brother--my brother I saw four and a half years ago! While in the midst of something that can seem insurmountable, I have been lifted up and nurtured. Phill demonstrated throughout the last week how selfless he is, how protective and how helpful he is. I am blazingly proud to call him my husband. (Seven years yesterday!)
I am grateful, so grateful, to have felt personally the love of a Savior who sees fit to meet my needs through those around me. To Phill, I don't know how to thank you enough for the man you are. To Cara and Jenn, who sent me a sweet and hilarious video to make me laugh away the heaviness. To you blogging friends of mine who frequently email or comment to give support or encouragement, I hope you know how much that means to me. To my neighbors and dear friends Sarah and Merilee, you are angels in human disguise. To my sweet sisters, my tender & wise parents, my gentle cheerful brother--I am honored to be yours. My heart is full to overflowing.
I'm still trying to process all that happened last week. Amongst any sadness, there was peace, and there were little reunions happening throughout. (Just the way my grandma would like it, I think. All of us together for Christmas!) I have been thoroughly and tenderly blessed to have seen all my sisters and my brother--my brother I saw four and a half years ago! While in the midst of something that can seem insurmountable, I have been lifted up and nurtured. Phill demonstrated throughout the last week how selfless he is, how protective and how helpful he is. I am blazingly proud to call him my husband. (Seven years yesterday!)
I am grateful, so grateful, to have felt personally the love of a Savior who sees fit to meet my needs through those around me. To Phill, I don't know how to thank you enough for the man you are. To Cara and Jenn, who sent me a sweet and hilarious video to make me laugh away the heaviness. To you blogging friends of mine who frequently email or comment to give support or encouragement, I hope you know how much that means to me. To my neighbors and dear friends Sarah and Merilee, you are angels in human disguise. To my sweet sisters, my tender & wise parents, my gentle cheerful brother--I am honored to be yours. My heart is full to overflowing.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
What A Mighty Good Man
Today I find myself even more grateful for and in love with Phill. I'm grateful he's home, but today I'm just especially grateful that he's him. :)
At night after the babies are in bed, he sits down on the couch, pats the cushion next to him and says, "Come vedge. [Logical spelling borrowed from Q]" So we sit and watch TV or stare at each other and eat cookies and call to the children (one more time) "Go to sleep!" and talk about whatever is lately on our radar. And if I'm cold he lets me put my freezing cold toes in his big always-warm hands, or if my hands are cold I'm always allowed to tuck them into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
Last night, before we were vedging, before the babies were in bed pretending to be asleep, he made cookies with the boys.
This morning as I got ready for my run I gasped dramatically and said, "I forgot to charge my iPod!" So I took Phill's, which isn't really the best for running (because his has the touch-screen and it's bigger). I wasn't too disappointed, and my run was fine, but not stellar. I came inside (from the wonderfully bracing cold) and Phill had to leave for work. I sat down at the computer and noticed that he had plugged my iPod in. Something small--but it made me glow with happiness.
And later on this morning, he left work for a while to come home and go with all of us to the book fair at Reed's school. After which we played all together at Reed's park before school started, sending Savvy down the slide with Reed so that her hair stood straight up from all the static and Reed could barely breathe for all the laughing. Phill was in uniform and a little boy said, "Are you a soldier? I saw another soldier once. But he was here after school." :)
That's all. I'm just happy. Those four little things are making my eyes sparkle today. Oh, I love my Phill.
At night after the babies are in bed, he sits down on the couch, pats the cushion next to him and says, "Come vedge. [Logical spelling borrowed from Q]" So we sit and watch TV or stare at each other and eat cookies and call to the children (one more time) "Go to sleep!" and talk about whatever is lately on our radar. And if I'm cold he lets me put my freezing cold toes in his big always-warm hands, or if my hands are cold I'm always allowed to tuck them into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
Last night, before we were vedging, before the babies were in bed pretending to be asleep, he made cookies with the boys.
This morning as I got ready for my run I gasped dramatically and said, "I forgot to charge my iPod!" So I took Phill's, which isn't really the best for running (because his has the touch-screen and it's bigger). I wasn't too disappointed, and my run was fine, but not stellar. I came inside (from the wonderfully bracing cold) and Phill had to leave for work. I sat down at the computer and noticed that he had plugged my iPod in. Something small--but it made me glow with happiness.
And later on this morning, he left work for a while to come home and go with all of us to the book fair at Reed's school. After which we played all together at Reed's park before school started, sending Savvy down the slide with Reed so that her hair stood straight up from all the static and Reed could barely breathe for all the laughing. Phill was in uniform and a little boy said, "Are you a soldier? I saw another soldier once. But he was here after school." :)
That's all. I'm just happy. Those four little things are making my eyes sparkle today. Oh, I love my Phill.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
home
After dinner he danced around the kitchen with Savvy in her darling polka-dotted sleeper, and sang to her and smiled so big that his crow's feet were highly visible--like I like them to be. (I told him I missed his crow's feet.) When Savvy saw Phill walk through the door, she went immediately to his arms, inspected his face with her hands on his cheeks, a concerned expression on her face, before giving a tiny smile and resting her head on his shoulder.The boys ran to hug him when they saw him, Reed bonding himself with Phill's right leg until he had to walk (eventually).
I went completely jelly-legs the minute he walked in and didn't answer my phone for a long, long time. (Sorry, Abby. I told you I'd be MIA today.)
Right now we are in the living room with the lights off so that the boys can play with their hand-held LED lights Phill bought them, and Savvy is drinking her bottle and holding her ear (sleepy posture), laying on the floor with her head right next to Phill's and her legs draped over his shoulder.
Only three weeks, but it seemed like so much longer!
Home, home, home.
(And then, with her last ounce of strength, she crawled into bed and slept for five days.)
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
New things
In three hours, nine months of pregnancy closed with the whirlwind birth of Savanna. And thus begins my six days of new, changed things:
My not pregnant body: even if a little battered, 90% more comfortable than the pregnant body.
My sleep: though broken up into little increments, still deeper and more satisfying than ten hours straight of pregnant sleep.
My little boys: completely fascinated and taken in by their little sister. Tender and curious, protective and sweet. Adapting faster to this change than I ever dreamed.
My relationship with Phill: it has taken on a whole new dimension. Sounds very cliche, I'm sure, but I'm not sure how to describe it. We're happier. We're better friends. We're even more united in purpose.
Me: I was worried that once I had my third child, somehow other parts of my personality would become obscured by all the mothering. I wondered if I would still see myself as all that I am--wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, woman. To my surprise and joy, I am finding that I feel more woman than I have ever felt, more multi-faceted and more capable, even more beautiful (besides physically). I'm more determined to do my best.
Phill: he is even more tender. I have always been proud of who he is, but I'm even more so now. I see new aspects of his personality coming through, which is exciting! We've impressed each other with how we've handled this shift in our home life. We talk to each other even more. We are both finding more strength and more of a desire to parent our children as well as we can.
So here it is: I am so happy. I wake in the night to hold my little wonder and revel in her smallness and softness. Our boys can't resist her, touching her hair, laughing softly at her tiny proportions, soothing her when she cries. Even when I'm nervous and tired and trying to overcome, I am still so happy. I'm in love with my little family. This isn't some just-given-birth "high" talking. I already said I have my moments. Everyone does. But those are moments, and they are nothing compared to this new, changed, eternal part of our lives.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Matters of the Heart
Last night I was unable to sleep from 2-4, due to some crazy heartburn that wouldn't go away unless I sat up. I even drove to a gas station and got Tums, four of which I swallowed quickly. But they didn't do much. So I fell asleep in a semi-reclining (and only semi-comfortable) position. Phill gave me a most wonderful Mother's Day gift, though, in keeping the boys entertained this morning while I slept deeply until 11. Nevertheless, I was still feeling quite frustrated by being pregnant, and prone to complaining.
Then I checked my email. Less than three months ago, one of my cousins died in a motorcycle crash, leaving behind his wife and seven children. Well, yesterday morning, one of his sons died of a brain aneurysm. So his wife has lost her husband and one son in less than three months.
I need to say that I am grateful for my husband and my children, including the one in utero, and I am grateful for the ability to carry a child, even when the pregnancy can prompt one to complain....I'm blessed, and I have very little that justifies complaint. I don't want to take things for granted when they should be seen as blessings--pregnancy, loved ones, whatever it may be....I'm sure that because I'm human, I'll be back to my old complaining self in no time. But I'll be very much remiss if I don't make a note of how grateful I am to have what I have.
Then I checked my email. Less than three months ago, one of my cousins died in a motorcycle crash, leaving behind his wife and seven children. Well, yesterday morning, one of his sons died of a brain aneurysm. So his wife has lost her husband and one son in less than three months.
I need to say that I am grateful for my husband and my children, including the one in utero, and I am grateful for the ability to carry a child, even when the pregnancy can prompt one to complain....I'm blessed, and I have very little that justifies complaint. I don't want to take things for granted when they should be seen as blessings--pregnancy, loved ones, whatever it may be....I'm sure that because I'm human, I'll be back to my old complaining self in no time. But I'll be very much remiss if I don't make a note of how grateful I am to have what I have.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
I am immeasurably blessed to have Phill for my husband. I just deleted a huge post that listed individually several things he has done for me lately that have sent me over the moon, but decided that I would just hold those things close and post this instead, saying just what I need to say: That I'm so grateful to have been paired with him (by God, by circumstances, by our own volition, by fate). He treats me in a way that is rare and sweet, and I just felt the need to say how thankful I am to have him.
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