Monday, March 21, 2016
EEEW
Yuk. I hate that it's been this long since I've pondered life long enough to put my thoughts on this blog. But it's true. Drat. So I will let my rediscovery tonight of friend and fellow blogger's posts inspire me. BUT NOT TONIGHT! (not to be too Augustinian or anything.) I just wanted anyone peering into this little window to know I am still here.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Happy Anniversary?
Last month, I had an anniversary of sorts. I joined the
ranks of the admitted at Providence Hospital in Everett on Tuesday, June 1,
2010. On the morning of June 2, just as I stabbed a fork into my deeply desired
hospital pancakes, my neurologist walked in to give me a definite diagnosis of
Relapsing-Remitting Multiple Sclerosis. Breakfast was over.
Although I just had my 2nd “anniversary” last
month, I approximate that I’ve had this degenerative disease for at least 18
years. It stayed mostly hidden until manifesting unmistakably when my 5th child,
Rose, was 6 months old. I used to separate my life into two sections: before
kids, after kids. Now I can’t help but separate my life into two new sections: before
MS, after MS.
I’ve compiled information, some from various websites and
some from memory, into a “report” so that my loved ones can learn about the
disease that guides most of my activities. I truly hope everyone I intend this
for will read it, and perhaps even pass it along to others who may wish to
learn about Multiple Sclerosis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Multiple Sclerosis (MS) is an incurable disease involving
the immune system and the central nervous system. The immune system defends the
body from attack by micro-organisms such as bacteria and viruses. In the case
of MS, the immune system attacks part of the body itself: the nerves. MS occurs when the
protective sheath (myelin) around the nerve fibers in the brain and spinal cord
becomes damaged, causing random patches called plaques or lesions. These
patches distort and interrupt the messages that are sent along these nerves.
‘Sclerosis’ means scar, and the disease is labeled ‘multiple’ because the
damage usually occurs at a number of points. The effects are varied; no two
people with MS will have exactly the same symptoms. MS is not contagious, but
it is progressive and unpredictable. The trigger to the disease has not yet
been discovered, but it is thought that genetic and environmental factors are
involved. Research so far has found that in nearly two-thirds of cases, a
relapse has been preceded by a viral illness. However, many treatments and
medications are available to ease the symptoms and modify the course of the
disease.
An estimated 2,500,000 people around the world have multiple
sclerosis. These people are generally:
*Young adults – symptoms first appear between the ages of 20
and 40 years.
*Female – 70% of people with MS are female.
*Caucasian – 98% of people with MS are Caucasian.
*Living in temperate zones – MS is generally more common
between latitudes 40° and 60° north and south of the equator.
*Have a relative with MS – between 10 and 20% of people with
MS have a relative with the disease, suggesting a genetic link.
More than 50 symptoms are linked to MS, and each person
develops symptoms differently. They are varied and unpredictable. MS can damage
the central nervous system in many different locations, which means no two
people will share exactly the same symptoms or exactly the same intensity of
symptoms. Many of the symptoms mimic problems that occur with other diseases,
and usually come and go. This can create misunderstanding or dubiousness on the
part of people who deal with others who have MS, since a person with MS could
feel “just fine” in the morning and barely be able to function by afternoon, or
vice versa.
Some of the more common MS symptoms include:
*Blurred or double vision (from optical neuritis)
*Numbness or pins and needles in
extremities (“parasthesia”)
*Weakness in the arms or legs
*Loss of balance
*Tendency to drag one foot (“foot drop”)
*Loss of coordination
*Extreme fatigue
*Continence problems
*Hand tremors
*Loss of mobility
*Problems with or changes in memory functioning
*Speech difficulties and slurring
*Spasticity
MS has different forms and progression. Some people with MS
may become seriously disabled. Others may have one or two attacks and then
remain relatively symptom free for the rest of their lives. The frequency and
severity of attacks cannot be predicted.
(I experience varying degrees of parasthesia, weekness in my arms and legs, loss of coordination, fatigue, memory loss, and speech difficulties...so far.)
There are four different classifications of MS:
There are four different classifications of MS:
*Relapsing–Remitting (RRMS) – 85% of people with MS start
with this type of disease course. Acute episodes of neurological symptoms
occur, which last for days, weeks or months before completely or partially
resolving. The intervals between attacks can vary widely but, on average, occur
every one to two years.
*Primary Progressive (PPMS) – affects around 10 % of people
with MS from the onset. These individuals experience no relapses but suffer a
gradual increase of disability, which does NOT recover or reverse.
*Secondary Progressive (SPMS) – occurs in individuals who
started with Relapsing–Remitting MS, but their relapses diminish in frequency
or cease altogether. HOWEVER, disability continues to accumulate. As of several
years ago, about 50% of people who start with Relapsing–Remitting MS develop
Secondary Progressive MS after 15 years. However, with the use of disease
modification drugs, this percentage has dramatically decreased.
*Progressive Relapsing (PRMS) – this occurs in about 5% of
people from the outset, with relapses occurring and disability accumulating
between relapses.
Diagnosis and treatment:
Most of the symptoms of MS can also be caused by other
conditions and do not automatically mean a diagnosis of MS. As yet, there is no
single test to diagnose MS. A number of specialized tests may be
necessary:
*magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) of the brain and spinal
cord, usually with and without an injection of contrast dye
*a neurological exam to observe functioning of the cranial
nerves (these control the senses, as well as how you talk and swallow) in
coordination, strength, reflexes, and sensation
*a visual evoked potential test (VEP), during which electrodes
are attached to the scalp and connected to an electroencephalograph (EEG) to
record brainwaves in response to a series of checkerboard patterns displayed on
a screen
*a spinal tap, during which a needle is inserted into the
spine at a specific spot between the vertebrae to collect cerebrospinal fluid
(CSF). The fluid is sent for evaluation, looking for the presence of
oligoclonal bands (an increased number of certain antibodies) -- an indicator
of increased immune activity in the spinal fluid
*blood tests to rule out other diseases.
(I had all the tests done, and I undergo an MRI each year in
July to check any progression.)
There are two basic rules for diagnosing MS:
*The person must have had at least two relapses (an episode
where symptoms were present). These episodes must have been separated by at
least one month.
*There must be more than one lesion on the brain or spinal
cord.
(I have had three episodes, but my “big one” was the attack
that led to my diagnosis. As of last year, I have 10 lesions in my brain and
one large one on my spinal cord.)
Diagnostic Categories:
*Negative: Negative means negative. You don’t have MS. It is
possible for the doctor to give this diagnosis only when another definite
diagnosis is made that can account for your symptoms.
*Possible: This means that you may have symptoms that look
like MS, but your tests are normal. No other diagnosis which accounts for the
symptoms has been confirmed.
*Probable: Many people fall into this category when they are
first seen by a neurologist. You may have symptoms that look like MS and have
had two separate episodes separated by at least a month, but normal findings on
an MRI. You could also have an MRI that showed only one lesion in your brain or
spine. In this case, your doctor will probably recommend repeating the MRI
after a certain period of time (for instance, 3 months) to see if any other
lesions appear. Depending on how certain your doctor is that you really do have
MS, he may recommend that you consider starting an early therapy.
*Definite: Your case fits the diagnostic criteria above. You
have had at least two attacks, separated in time, plus at least two areas of
demyelination.
(My diagnosis is definite.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A popular saying in the MS community is, “I have MS, but MS
doesn’t have me!” This is a bit too Susie Sunshine for the likes of me, because
you bet I feel like it has me—often. I know what all those people are trying to
say, however: don’t let the MS diagnosis define WHO YOU ARE. That’s a tall
order for some, including me. My symptoms are a burden on my family, harming my
mothering and my marriage. I must fight like crazy to keep it from doing real
damage. If I give in to the moods, pain, discomfort, disabilities, etc., I let
it hurt everyone. So my job is to acknowledge it, communicate what I need, and
not let it take over. Tricky!
Friday, April 6, 2012
Thoughts On The Reunion
I had hoped to write more on the Greene Sibling Reunion last summer, but I got only so far before I just quit. I am now hoping that my siblings who may be reading this blog will reply with their own thoughts. Here are mine.
Clusters of dead aspens reach toward the pure, lustrous azure sky like desperate, dexterous, multi-fingered hands. Live aspens bow to me with each blow of the wind, showing me their joy at my visit.
Mountain bluebirds! Vultures! Aspens! Rocky Mountain Range! Mesas! Red dirt! Where’s my camera...but it can’t capture my excitement at these first experiences.
Stones in colors not found at home blanket random portions of the mountain floor. River rock, they say...which river? I want to go there. Think of the number of stones...
Faces change expressions here, there. So many faces! Split-second switches from puzzled to joyful, peaceful to jestful.
My birthday. My extended family. Pretty baby. Birthday song—for ME! Bounteous, blazing bonfire in the darkest of nights. Folding chairs. Starbucks cards. Laughter. Late.
My MS in Colorado: like a group of animals finding a faulty latch on the gate, running past the sleeping zookeeper—the keeper of their incarceration—relishing every moment of their newfound freedom in the midst of unknown surroundings, knowing the bars will hold them again once morning breaks and the zookeeper corrals them into the cages. I return home. “Naughty little animals…don’t you know you belong here now? In you go…”
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
On Cleaning The Car
"FILTH. UTTER FILTH." Repeating myself with each car door I opened, rags and sprays in hand, I was prepared. It was time to clean the Dufresne limousine, our Honda Odyssey. Not that I was dreading it, mind you. I love the feeling of a clean car. In fact, I prefer to clean it myself. I know where all the cracks and creases are, and I CARE about cleaning them. I remember when it took my mother by surprise when I finally "grew up" and began keeping my surroundings clean. Of course, my surroundings aren't just mine anymore...with seven people living in the house, cleanliness is a luxury. The car, however, is considerably smaller than the house, making it an easy target for my desperate need for order.
First step: take out the contents. This is a harrowing and humbling experience for me, since I am a borderline pack rat (no giggling, please) and I feel "safe" having every item I could possibly use (and some I will realistically never use) at the ready during transit. Unfortunately for the kids, I place several "packs" of these items near their assigned seats in case I am driving and the need arises for a particular item. So I removed all of these things, placing them carefully on a pre-cleaned concrete step next to the parked car. Wow...what a bunch of stuff. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Second step: clean off the car seats. I have a 5-point harness seat still for Rose and a booster seat for Peter. Although the official rule is no eating anything but Cheerios and Puffs in the car, somehow we manage to eat our fair share of on-the-run french fries, candy, toast, milk...snacks. I do appreciate the leather on the seats more than I thought I would when we purchased the van a bit over 2 years ago. (Did I tell all y'all about my experience on HWY 2 when my van died on the way to pick up the big kids from school--and the babies were with me???) Ugh...look at all the CRUD in the cracks. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Third step: dust/wipe dash, doors and controls. Not long after we bought the van, Joe used some weird cleaner on the dash. It took off the finish from about 1/4 of the surface, leaving a dull section that continues to haunt him. "I wrecked the car," he stated flatly to me afterward, making me think that he actually DID wreck it somehow. Nope--he just ruined some of the prettiness. "Better than cat urine," I think I said after I saw it. He was not amused. Now, I just clean the dash instead of attempting to buff it to a shine. In a halfway shiny state, it's a harsh reminder to the poor dude of his failed attempt at buffing it himself. He hasn't cleaned it since. That's OK, because like I said before, I like cleaning it myself. Even if it's not perfect anymore. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Fourth step: wash windows inside, along with the "holders" below them. This is the most entertaining job, since I discover all kinds of "secret" designs and messages on the glass. During rides to school on mornings that produce lots of fog on the windows, Edward, Benen and Peter (individually) compose various statements and drawings for their eyes only, afterward watching as the fog dissipates and leaves the window seemingly untouched. Up close, however, a keen eye can see these clandestine artistic pleasures. And they are pleasurable to see. There are too many receptacles in our van, though. Despite my being a BIG fan of receptacles (ask my sisters), the job of washing all these is tedious and takes dexterity I no longer have in abundance. Plus, it's GROSS. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Fifth step: vacuum. I like this part the best of all. I think my fondness stems from a general enjoyment of cleaning floors. It's the most noticeable, appreciated--and therefore most satisfying--job in the house and pretty much anywhere else. But there are other benefits. I get to see if any particular kid is eating things I don't know about. I can easily blame any kid for his own mess. I find lost earrings, pencils, notes, etc. that have been missing since the last vacuum, making me the hero--sometimes. However, there are occasions when I have come across rotten bits of food (reference to second step) that are in several states of decay/mold. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Sixth step: once-over. This is my last chance to look at everything I just cleaned and decide if it's "good enough" or not. By this time, I'm totally wiped out from stretching and leaning in directions my body isn't used to going. All I want to do is rest. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Seventh step: reload. The last step, this one is the BEST. Restocking the car means I am in command of the items going into it. This gives me tremendous power, which I like. Sounds minor, but for me, it is calming and gives me a secure feeling. Is that bad? Don't think about it. Keep going.
It's 6:00 pm, and it took me 1 1/2 hours to clean the van. DONE. What an accomplishment! What satisfaction! What's for dinner? Uh-oh...
Don't think about it.
First step: take out the contents. This is a harrowing and humbling experience for me, since I am a borderline pack rat (no giggling, please) and I feel "safe" having every item I could possibly use (and some I will realistically never use) at the ready during transit. Unfortunately for the kids, I place several "packs" of these items near their assigned seats in case I am driving and the need arises for a particular item. So I removed all of these things, placing them carefully on a pre-cleaned concrete step next to the parked car. Wow...what a bunch of stuff. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Second step: clean off the car seats. I have a 5-point harness seat still for Rose and a booster seat for Peter. Although the official rule is no eating anything but Cheerios and Puffs in the car, somehow we manage to eat our fair share of on-the-run french fries, candy, toast, milk...snacks. I do appreciate the leather on the seats more than I thought I would when we purchased the van a bit over 2 years ago. (Did I tell all y'all about my experience on HWY 2 when my van died on the way to pick up the big kids from school--and the babies were with me???) Ugh...look at all the CRUD in the cracks. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Third step: dust/wipe dash, doors and controls. Not long after we bought the van, Joe used some weird cleaner on the dash. It took off the finish from about 1/4 of the surface, leaving a dull section that continues to haunt him. "I wrecked the car," he stated flatly to me afterward, making me think that he actually DID wreck it somehow. Nope--he just ruined some of the prettiness. "Better than cat urine," I think I said after I saw it. He was not amused. Now, I just clean the dash instead of attempting to buff it to a shine. In a halfway shiny state, it's a harsh reminder to the poor dude of his failed attempt at buffing it himself. He hasn't cleaned it since. That's OK, because like I said before, I like cleaning it myself. Even if it's not perfect anymore. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Fourth step: wash windows inside, along with the "holders" below them. This is the most entertaining job, since I discover all kinds of "secret" designs and messages on the glass. During rides to school on mornings that produce lots of fog on the windows, Edward, Benen and Peter (individually) compose various statements and drawings for their eyes only, afterward watching as the fog dissipates and leaves the window seemingly untouched. Up close, however, a keen eye can see these clandestine artistic pleasures. And they are pleasurable to see. There are too many receptacles in our van, though. Despite my being a BIG fan of receptacles (ask my sisters), the job of washing all these is tedious and takes dexterity I no longer have in abundance. Plus, it's GROSS. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Fifth step: vacuum. I like this part the best of all. I think my fondness stems from a general enjoyment of cleaning floors. It's the most noticeable, appreciated--and therefore most satisfying--job in the house and pretty much anywhere else. But there are other benefits. I get to see if any particular kid is eating things I don't know about. I can easily blame any kid for his own mess. I find lost earrings, pencils, notes, etc. that have been missing since the last vacuum, making me the hero--sometimes. However, there are occasions when I have come across rotten bits of food (reference to second step) that are in several states of decay/mold. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Sixth step: once-over. This is my last chance to look at everything I just cleaned and decide if it's "good enough" or not. By this time, I'm totally wiped out from stretching and leaning in directions my body isn't used to going. All I want to do is rest. Don't think about it. Keep going.
Seventh step: reload. The last step, this one is the BEST. Restocking the car means I am in command of the items going into it. This gives me tremendous power, which I like. Sounds minor, but for me, it is calming and gives me a secure feeling. Is that bad? Don't think about it. Keep going.
It's 6:00 pm, and it took me 1 1/2 hours to clean the van. DONE. What an accomplishment! What satisfaction! What's for dinner? Uh-oh...
Don't think about it.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
1991
I recently rediscovered a photograph of me and Joe right after his graduation from Gonzaga University. His dad took the picture as we were standing on the sidewalk outside Joe's house that he shared with 3 other great guys. We had just come from the graduation ceremony (loooooong), and Joe is wearing his orange engineering swag around his neck, above the black gown. Magna Cum Laude. Electrical Engineering. Girlfriend attending. Parents proud. Roommates ecstatic. Sun shining. The picture shows two happy young adults, smiling from ear to ear, holding each other side-by-side, fresh and full of promise. Was I really that cute and spry? Hmm. Seems to me I may have been!
I was about to turn 21, and I had no idea where my life was going. I had Joe, but he was leaving in a couple of days to begin working full time at Boeing in Renton (near Seattle) while I kept my job at Nordstrom (in Spokane). My mother had left the house for her first teaching job in central WA the previous January, so I shared the house--and the house payment--with my brother, Michael. Otherwise, I was ALONE.
Strange thing about being alone and an extrovert: it is lonely. I enjoyed having my own "stuff" around me, but I really missed my family and wanted more regular companionship. This was scary, since I resorted to staying out with coworkers into the night to allay my loneliness. I had a great time unwinding with the people I got to know at my job, and I cherish those days and nights. But something nagged at me constantly: who am I? I knew the Catholic girl, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the girlfriend, the employee, the idealist, the sensitive. Who else? Where will she go? What does she want? This was tough. It would get tougher as I searched for the answer.
I was sure as ever that I didn't want to get married "too young", but even surer that I wanted to marry that Joe guy. Although we parted that May with tears and uncertainty of the future, OUR future, I knew the choice was clear: I will marry him. We were bonded. It was a matter of time. I needed that time to figure out what I wanted for myself. Yeah, yeah...kids. That was a no-brainer. But WHAT ELSE? Anything else? I looked around at the people I knew and sought inspiration from their lives. People who married young and yet found the time, amidst baby bottles and dirty diapers, to finish college and get a respectable job. People who waited until college was finished before marrying and having families. People who didn't even have prospects of marriage and carried on with life, making good things happen for themselves. People who may have done any of these things, but were unhappy, because it wasn't the right choice. I had to make the right choice. I did what I knew I could do: keep working and let time unfold its secrets. Sounds like a cop-out, but it actually worked! I really enjoyed my job, Joe and I visited each other at least once a month, I moved into an old apartment near work, and continued building my feeling of independence. By the time Joe and I got the nerve up to GET MARRIED, I felt like a real, live, grown-up woman. My mother used to say, "You're just a late bloomer, honey...and that's ok!" I totally believe it.
All's well that ends well, as Shakespeare's Helena said. She was pretty much right...although perhaps I shouldn't compare my life with hers! But the tenor got the girl, they made 5 great kids, have a big, God-filled house with lots of love and noise, and everybody gets what he needs. The future is wide open.
I was about to turn 21, and I had no idea where my life was going. I had Joe, but he was leaving in a couple of days to begin working full time at Boeing in Renton (near Seattle) while I kept my job at Nordstrom (in Spokane). My mother had left the house for her first teaching job in central WA the previous January, so I shared the house--and the house payment--with my brother, Michael. Otherwise, I was ALONE.
Strange thing about being alone and an extrovert: it is lonely. I enjoyed having my own "stuff" around me, but I really missed my family and wanted more regular companionship. This was scary, since I resorted to staying out with coworkers into the night to allay my loneliness. I had a great time unwinding with the people I got to know at my job, and I cherish those days and nights. But something nagged at me constantly: who am I? I knew the Catholic girl, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the girlfriend, the employee, the idealist, the sensitive. Who else? Where will she go? What does she want? This was tough. It would get tougher as I searched for the answer.
I was sure as ever that I didn't want to get married "too young", but even surer that I wanted to marry that Joe guy. Although we parted that May with tears and uncertainty of the future, OUR future, I knew the choice was clear: I will marry him. We were bonded. It was a matter of time. I needed that time to figure out what I wanted for myself. Yeah, yeah...kids. That was a no-brainer. But WHAT ELSE? Anything else? I looked around at the people I knew and sought inspiration from their lives. People who married young and yet found the time, amidst baby bottles and dirty diapers, to finish college and get a respectable job. People who waited until college was finished before marrying and having families. People who didn't even have prospects of marriage and carried on with life, making good things happen for themselves. People who may have done any of these things, but were unhappy, because it wasn't the right choice. I had to make the right choice. I did what I knew I could do: keep working and let time unfold its secrets. Sounds like a cop-out, but it actually worked! I really enjoyed my job, Joe and I visited each other at least once a month, I moved into an old apartment near work, and continued building my feeling of independence. By the time Joe and I got the nerve up to GET MARRIED, I felt like a real, live, grown-up woman. My mother used to say, "You're just a late bloomer, honey...and that's ok!" I totally believe it.
All's well that ends well, as Shakespeare's Helena said. She was pretty much right...although perhaps I shouldn't compare my life with hers! But the tenor got the girl, they made 5 great kids, have a big, God-filled house with lots of love and noise, and everybody gets what he needs. The future is wide open.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
My Ten Goals
Here's my official update on the ten goals I set last summer:
1) I did have a vegetable garden. I grew bush and pole beans, three different kinds of peas, and cherry tomatoes. It was small but lovely. The weather didn't really get very hot for any length of time, so the tomatoes disappointed me a little bit. This year, I will plant different things!
2) I did NOT learn Yoga. I did bring my MS Yoga book to CO, but time just didn't lend itself to it. I still want to take on that challenge, especially now that summer is approaching once again.
3) I did, indeed, crank up the air conditioning any time I darned well felt like it. There weren't very many super hot days, but anytime I felt uncomfortable I just turned it on. No explanation to anyone. Just turned it on. So there.
4) I did not learn to make Lucy food. Still wanna. I am hoping she will be visiting in about 2 months for a couple of days or so, and I intend to strap her in the kitchen with me for a tutorial. I'll be taking notes--and maybe some video!
5) We all DID pack in the car, the 7 of us, and visit the Spokanites for Benen's birthday in July! We spent a few days with Angela's family (what's left of it!) at Black Lake, which was heavenly. Peter got over his fear of water, Rose verified that she is a daredevil and is NOT afraid of the water, and the other kids had a good time with their cousins. Catherine wants to live there! I can see her living in and amongst the wilderness someday.
6) I did not attend Mass regularly on days other than Sunday. I just......didn't. Yet another thing I'm planning on doing this summer. The big kids are so much more accountable and capable as babysitters, so I have few good excuses.
7) Although I failed at teaching the kids some Latin during the summer, when the chance came for the big kids to take it at school for 11 weeks, I jumped! They didn't learn much, but even the exposure was educational.
8) I DID make weekly dinner menus. Most of the time, we actually used them, too. I made sure to have the kids' lists of dinner they like on the refrigerator, so when there was an awkward day we could shift plans easily. I am still doing it--for the most part!
9) I did not read a novel last summer. I think this disappoints me more than any other unfulfilled goal.
10) I DID train the kids to do more housework. With the start of school, I realized that there is NO WAY we can continue the same level of kid participation in housework. Too much school work. There are no assigned, regular jobs...which is a bad idea. Even the "your job is to take out the garbage EVERY DAY" commands/follow-through is better than nothing. I'll work on that. Hard.
Not TOO bad, right? All ten things I originally chose are things that can be ongoing, and I plan on trying again! How did YOUR summer goals go?
1) I did have a vegetable garden. I grew bush and pole beans, three different kinds of peas, and cherry tomatoes. It was small but lovely. The weather didn't really get very hot for any length of time, so the tomatoes disappointed me a little bit. This year, I will plant different things!
2) I did NOT learn Yoga. I did bring my MS Yoga book to CO, but time just didn't lend itself to it. I still want to take on that challenge, especially now that summer is approaching once again.
3) I did, indeed, crank up the air conditioning any time I darned well felt like it. There weren't very many super hot days, but anytime I felt uncomfortable I just turned it on. No explanation to anyone. Just turned it on. So there.
4) I did not learn to make Lucy food. Still wanna. I am hoping she will be visiting in about 2 months for a couple of days or so, and I intend to strap her in the kitchen with me for a tutorial. I'll be taking notes--and maybe some video!
5) We all DID pack in the car, the 7 of us, and visit the Spokanites for Benen's birthday in July! We spent a few days with Angela's family (what's left of it!) at Black Lake, which was heavenly. Peter got over his fear of water, Rose verified that she is a daredevil and is NOT afraid of the water, and the other kids had a good time with their cousins. Catherine wants to live there! I can see her living in and amongst the wilderness someday.
6) I did not attend Mass regularly on days other than Sunday. I just......didn't. Yet another thing I'm planning on doing this summer. The big kids are so much more accountable and capable as babysitters, so I have few good excuses.
7) Although I failed at teaching the kids some Latin during the summer, when the chance came for the big kids to take it at school for 11 weeks, I jumped! They didn't learn much, but even the exposure was educational.
8) I DID make weekly dinner menus. Most of the time, we actually used them, too. I made sure to have the kids' lists of dinner they like on the refrigerator, so when there was an awkward day we could shift plans easily. I am still doing it--for the most part!
9) I did not read a novel last summer. I think this disappoints me more than any other unfulfilled goal.
10) I DID train the kids to do more housework. With the start of school, I realized that there is NO WAY we can continue the same level of kid participation in housework. Too much school work. There are no assigned, regular jobs...which is a bad idea. Even the "your job is to take out the garbage EVERY DAY" commands/follow-through is better than nothing. I'll work on that. Hard.
Not TOO bad, right? All ten things I originally chose are things that can be ongoing, and I plan on trying again! How did YOUR summer goals go?
Sunday, February 19, 2012
My 41st Birthday
***NOTE***
I began writing this post about a week before my hand injury. I just finished typing the remainder of the story, and I'd like to share it with you now!
My birthday was June 24, which was during the Greene Sibling Reunion at my brother's mountain cabin in CO. Now, the birthday before this one pretty much...umm...well, SUCKED. That's really the only way to describe it. No offense to my husband and kids, of course. They tried hard to create a nice celebration for my 40th birthday. However, on the heals of my big ol' MS attack and diagnosis, the big ol' 4-0 was not exactly something I planned a big party for...so it was just the 7 of us here at home. THIS year, I was spending the day without my little family, but I got to spend it with my HUGE, extended family.
The day began nicely, with most of the reunioners already at the cabin. People greeted me with happy birthday wishes and granted me lots of hugs and smiles. NICE! As the day progressed, I had a sneaking suspicion that "something" had been secretively planned for later. My sister, Monica, created two LOVELY platters of cakes and fruit for everyone's pleasure, topped with a birthday candle (it read, "OLD"). That, in itself, would have been great. But later, when darkness fell and everyone was settling down, the group congregated around the raging firepit. I was the last to arrive, having just checked in with my kids/husband on the phone (ya' had to walk a bit up the road in order to get a cell signal). Within seconds of my sitting down, Angela called me (loudly): "Mara?!" "Yes..." "I have something for you." She held out her hand and gave me a Starbucks card with FORTY-ONE DOLLARS on it! Oh, my goodness. But wait--there's more. She introduced person after person in the same way: "Mara?!" "Yes..." "So-and-so has something for you." I ended up with SEVERAL cards with 41 bucks on each one. HOLY CRAP! I STILL can't believe it. I was shocked, grateful, excited, greedy and giddy all rolled up in one. What a night.
By the way...it took me and the kids (I HAD to share my riches, right???) three short months to use up ALL the cards. It was REALLY fun.
I began writing this post about a week before my hand injury. I just finished typing the remainder of the story, and I'd like to share it with you now!
My birthday was June 24, which was during the Greene Sibling Reunion at my brother's mountain cabin in CO. Now, the birthday before this one pretty much...umm...well, SUCKED. That's really the only way to describe it. No offense to my husband and kids, of course. They tried hard to create a nice celebration for my 40th birthday. However, on the heals of my big ol' MS attack and diagnosis, the big ol' 4-0 was not exactly something I planned a big party for...so it was just the 7 of us here at home. THIS year, I was spending the day without my little family, but I got to spend it with my HUGE, extended family.
The day began nicely, with most of the reunioners already at the cabin. People greeted me with happy birthday wishes and granted me lots of hugs and smiles. NICE! As the day progressed, I had a sneaking suspicion that "something" had been secretively planned for later. My sister, Monica, created two LOVELY platters of cakes and fruit for everyone's pleasure, topped with a birthday candle (it read, "OLD"). That, in itself, would have been great. But later, when darkness fell and everyone was settling down, the group congregated around the raging firepit. I was the last to arrive, having just checked in with my kids/husband on the phone (ya' had to walk a bit up the road in order to get a cell signal). Within seconds of my sitting down, Angela called me (loudly): "Mara?!" "Yes..." "I have something for you." She held out her hand and gave me a Starbucks card with FORTY-ONE DOLLARS on it! Oh, my goodness. But wait--there's more. She introduced person after person in the same way: "Mara?!" "Yes..." "So-and-so has something for you." I ended up with SEVERAL cards with 41 bucks on each one. HOLY CRAP! I STILL can't believe it. I was shocked, grateful, excited, greedy and giddy all rolled up in one. What a night.
By the way...it took me and the kids (I HAD to share my riches, right???) three short months to use up ALL the cards. It was REALLY fun.
Ummm...What Was That Ready-For-Action Part Again?
I use the word "fate" occasionally, not because I believe in it literally, but because sometimes it's the best brief description for something that happens for no apparent reason. Being a believer in the many and active works of the Holy Spirit, I see sorrowful times and tragedy as opportunities to grow in spirituality and faith. Not everyone I know agrees with that philosophy, and there have been moments when I fail to see it myself. I do believe that each occasion of suffering is a necessary part of the journey to Heaven. We feel some of the way Christ felt. We understand others' suffering. We have a chance to be an empathetic comfort when those around us are suffering. Isn't that what we all want: to be understood and comforted in times of trouble?
All I wanted to do that "fateful" afternoon is bake some bread. Dinner was to be skimpy, and I wanted to be sure the kids had enough to eat. I rushed to get ingredients out, then picked up the new Kitchen Aid mixer I had received as a birthday present just weeks before to replace my broken one. It was beautiful...shiny cherry red, gleaming glass bowl...beautiful. (That was a foreshadowing.) As I carried it to the counter from the shelf, the bowl slipped from the base's threads. I hugged it to catch it from falling. It jerked upward against the motor. The bowl broke into two pieces that collapsed into each other. My right hand, which had been holding the bowl on its side, followed the collapse. The broken bowl sliced into my hand, from my index finger straight across to my pinky, right below the joints that connect my fingers to my palm. Immediately, I dropped the whole thing as if it were on fire. Flexing my hand outward, the cut at my index finger looked like a fish gill. Oh, no. Oh, NO. Although there was no bleeding yet, I instinctively grabbed a paper towel, got it wet, and pressed hard on my hand. Realizing it was a bad cut (the worst I had seen on my own body), I got a cloth towel and pressed it over the paper one. I spent a couple of seconds selecting which one--the reddish purple will do, I thought. If the thing bleeds, no one can tell. ALWAYS THINKIN'. My kids were all home, and my niece, Kiera, was at our house (she drives), but I couldn't get a hold of Joe. I imagined he was on his way home (4:30) and his cell phone was turned off for some reason. My next door neighbor drove me to the Urgent Care Clinic about 10 minutes away, and Joe met us there. The triage nurse let me in before the other patients, and that's about when I started freaking out. Pain set in. And fear. Lots of fear. I couldn't curl my finger. WHY? I soon found out why, because when the attending physician dug around in my wound (I had been given painkillers by IV and syringe), he spoke the dreaded words I knew he would: "Yup, you cut both tendons in there. I am trying to grab 'em to get the ends sewn up temporarily, but they are too far down in both directions." The cut severed the two flexor tendons in my right index finger, but missed any others. "You will have to get those fixed in surgery." My fear turned into panic. SURGERY? I had never had surgery in my whole life. Five childbirths, two spinal taps, some MRIs, wisdom teeth removal, and a broken tailbone...but no "real" surgery. Yet, two miserable days later, I went under general anesthesia to get my poor flexor tendons reattached. It was successful. As I left the surgery center that afternoon, I embarked on my long journey of pain, immobility, helplessness, physical therapy, and impatience.
Now, all of you who are reading this might be asking, "Why is she telling us all this?" I am hoping to convey to you something very personal and even devastating in my life. My MS has already shut certain doors for me, but this hand injury locked a few of them. Dexterity, hand/arm coordination, and leg/foot strength are things I lack these days, replaced with parasthesia (pins & needles), neuropathy(numbness), and weakness. Usually I am pretty resolved to accept it, but frustration and disappointment creep in occasionally. It would be nice, for example, to touch my little Rose's face with my fingers and feel her sweet, soft skin the way it really is, or to be able to walk around shopping all afternoon again without a thought of the pain later. These are things I have decided to accept and have given up to Christ...but it doesn't mean I don't miss them from time to time.
I began Occupational Therapy twice a week a mere 7 days after surgery, then went to once a week after a few months. I still go once a week. I am slowly improving my ability to curl my finger, but after 6 1/2 months, I still work hard at it. They all tell me it takes a year or more to "peak". That's August. It's now March. Long, long time. But...every day I try, try, try. My persistance and perseverance is slowly paying off. The payoff is seen in my dexterity, as well as the patience I've taught myself and my kids. I truly believe my suffering is making us ALL better people.
All I wanted to do that "fateful" afternoon is bake some bread. Dinner was to be skimpy, and I wanted to be sure the kids had enough to eat. I rushed to get ingredients out, then picked up the new Kitchen Aid mixer I had received as a birthday present just weeks before to replace my broken one. It was beautiful...shiny cherry red, gleaming glass bowl...beautiful. (That was a foreshadowing.) As I carried it to the counter from the shelf, the bowl slipped from the base's threads. I hugged it to catch it from falling. It jerked upward against the motor. The bowl broke into two pieces that collapsed into each other. My right hand, which had been holding the bowl on its side, followed the collapse. The broken bowl sliced into my hand, from my index finger straight across to my pinky, right below the joints that connect my fingers to my palm. Immediately, I dropped the whole thing as if it were on fire. Flexing my hand outward, the cut at my index finger looked like a fish gill. Oh, no. Oh, NO. Although there was no bleeding yet, I instinctively grabbed a paper towel, got it wet, and pressed hard on my hand. Realizing it was a bad cut (the worst I had seen on my own body), I got a cloth towel and pressed it over the paper one. I spent a couple of seconds selecting which one--the reddish purple will do, I thought. If the thing bleeds, no one can tell. ALWAYS THINKIN'. My kids were all home, and my niece, Kiera, was at our house (she drives), but I couldn't get a hold of Joe. I imagined he was on his way home (4:30) and his cell phone was turned off for some reason. My next door neighbor drove me to the Urgent Care Clinic about 10 minutes away, and Joe met us there. The triage nurse let me in before the other patients, and that's about when I started freaking out. Pain set in. And fear. Lots of fear. I couldn't curl my finger. WHY? I soon found out why, because when the attending physician dug around in my wound (I had been given painkillers by IV and syringe), he spoke the dreaded words I knew he would: "Yup, you cut both tendons in there. I am trying to grab 'em to get the ends sewn up temporarily, but they are too far down in both directions." The cut severed the two flexor tendons in my right index finger, but missed any others. "You will have to get those fixed in surgery." My fear turned into panic. SURGERY? I had never had surgery in my whole life. Five childbirths, two spinal taps, some MRIs, wisdom teeth removal, and a broken tailbone...but no "real" surgery. Yet, two miserable days later, I went under general anesthesia to get my poor flexor tendons reattached. It was successful. As I left the surgery center that afternoon, I embarked on my long journey of pain, immobility, helplessness, physical therapy, and impatience.
Now, all of you who are reading this might be asking, "Why is she telling us all this?" I am hoping to convey to you something very personal and even devastating in my life. My MS has already shut certain doors for me, but this hand injury locked a few of them. Dexterity, hand/arm coordination, and leg/foot strength are things I lack these days, replaced with parasthesia (pins & needles), neuropathy(numbness), and weakness. Usually I am pretty resolved to accept it, but frustration and disappointment creep in occasionally. It would be nice, for example, to touch my little Rose's face with my fingers and feel her sweet, soft skin the way it really is, or to be able to walk around shopping all afternoon again without a thought of the pain later. These are things I have decided to accept and have given up to Christ...but it doesn't mean I don't miss them from time to time.
I began Occupational Therapy twice a week a mere 7 days after surgery, then went to once a week after a few months. I still go once a week. I am slowly improving my ability to curl my finger, but after 6 1/2 months, I still work hard at it. They all tell me it takes a year or more to "peak". That's August. It's now March. Long, long time. But...every day I try, try, try. My persistance and perseverance is slowly paying off. The payoff is seen in my dexterity, as well as the patience I've taught myself and my kids. I truly believe my suffering is making us ALL better people.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
She's Back And Ready For Action!!!
The Greene Sibling Reunion at Greene Mountain View Ranch was AWESOME! Not only did I have a wonderful time, but I dare say everyone who attended had a wonderful time. Some of the attendees I hadn't seen in a very long time, some just a few days before. It was a beautiful, restful, fun, tasty trio of days, bookended by full travel days. I enjoyed the heck out of it. In fact, I have already begun a free-form bit of writing describing the different experiences I went through, both physically and psychologically. All for your amusement, of course! I'll be posting that within the next few days.
My allergies have hit me with a BANG! Edward, too. The very things that make my home's surroundings gorgeous in the summertime are the things that attack my histamine production. LOVE/HATE.
Tomorrow is Independence Day. Jeanette and Adam will be here w/ their respective clans for food, games and---of course---F I R E W O R K S ! ! ! ! ! ! Teresa, Andrew and Rachel can tell stories of their Uncle Joe taking them to "The Rez" for some haggling fun. Each year, I miss my mother sorely on 4th of July. Fireworks were her "thang". In her honor, we always have a grand finale, just like when she was here. I know she is enjoying the most beautiful fireworks EVERY night!!!!
I truly hope everyone has a safe and happy 4th that's a total BLAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My allergies have hit me with a BANG! Edward, too. The very things that make my home's surroundings gorgeous in the summertime are the things that attack my histamine production. LOVE/HATE.
Tomorrow is Independence Day. Jeanette and Adam will be here w/ their respective clans for food, games and---of course---F I R E W O R K S ! ! ! ! ! ! Teresa, Andrew and Rachel can tell stories of their Uncle Joe taking them to "The Rez" for some haggling fun. Each year, I miss my mother sorely on 4th of July. Fireworks were her "thang". In her honor, we always have a grand finale, just like when she was here. I know she is enjoying the most beautiful fireworks EVERY night!!!!
I truly hope everyone has a safe and happy 4th that's a total BLAST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
It's Really Over!
The school year has ended. Hip hip HORRAY!!!!! No more prepackaged food for lunches, no more last-minute uniform cleaning/drying, no more bellowing for "someone" to run out the door and into the car (which is slowly driving away), no more late nights with a term paper...until September, that is!
Here is my announcement: I decided that this summer will be MY summer. Last summer sucked, for lack of a better word. This summer, I have ten goals. I will have a vegetable garden (it's growing as I type!). I will learn yoga (I'm taking my "Yoga for MS" book to the Greene Sibling Reunion this week to learn!). I will crank the air conditioning unit up as far as I want in the living room and hole up in there on a hot day if I feel like it. I will learn how to make "Lucy food" (food my sister, Lucy, makes that is very healthy and filling). I will visit my family in Spokane and make the drive to and fro enjoyable for all seven of us. I will plan to attend mass at least once a week on a weekday, in addition to Sunday. I will teach the three big kids some Latin, relearning along the way. I will plan our nightly dinners a week ahead of time instead of staring blankly at the refrigerator/pantry shelving. I will read an entire novel of classic literature (Angela: which one should I choose???). Lastly, I will train my kids to clean each part of the house, so that when school begins again I don't have to do anything more than point and command.
THERE. It's been immortalized! Ten goals for the next 2 1/2 months. I'll post my progress here for your amusement. Either you'll praise me for my self discipline or reprimand me for my lack of it!
We bought a Dell laptop last week. It's groovy. I'm using it now...with a red wireless mouse. It takes some getting used to, but I know it will help me. I often don't go on the big computer because it is out of visual range of the little kids, it is not portable, it is not comfortable to sit at, etc., etc. This sucker can be moved around! LOVE it. Really. It is actually more for Edward and Catherine next year than for me, but I think I can worm my way into possessing it this summer.
I would love to read what my (few) readers are planning to accomplish this summer. Won't you comment?
Here is my announcement: I decided that this summer will be MY summer. Last summer sucked, for lack of a better word. This summer, I have ten goals. I will have a vegetable garden (it's growing as I type!). I will learn yoga (I'm taking my "Yoga for MS" book to the Greene Sibling Reunion this week to learn!). I will crank the air conditioning unit up as far as I want in the living room and hole up in there on a hot day if I feel like it. I will learn how to make "Lucy food" (food my sister, Lucy, makes that is very healthy and filling). I will visit my family in Spokane and make the drive to and fro enjoyable for all seven of us. I will plan to attend mass at least once a week on a weekday, in addition to Sunday. I will teach the three big kids some Latin, relearning along the way. I will plan our nightly dinners a week ahead of time instead of staring blankly at the refrigerator/pantry shelving. I will read an entire novel of classic literature (Angela: which one should I choose???). Lastly, I will train my kids to clean each part of the house, so that when school begins again I don't have to do anything more than point and command.
THERE. It's been immortalized! Ten goals for the next 2 1/2 months. I'll post my progress here for your amusement. Either you'll praise me for my self discipline or reprimand me for my lack of it!
We bought a Dell laptop last week. It's groovy. I'm using it now...with a red wireless mouse. It takes some getting used to, but I know it will help me. I often don't go on the big computer because it is out of visual range of the little kids, it is not portable, it is not comfortable to sit at, etc., etc. This sucker can be moved around! LOVE it. Really. It is actually more for Edward and Catherine next year than for me, but I think I can worm my way into possessing it this summer.
I would love to read what my (few) readers are planning to accomplish this summer. Won't you comment?
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Here Comes The Sun
"What is that big, bright globe in the sky???" My sister is funny. That's her joke about life in the Pacific Northwest...and it's SO TRUE. When it's sunny, WOW! It's a to-die-for beautiful brightness. It makes the chartreuse foliage outside gleam, and our home's interior becomes illuminated with cheer. HOWEVER, now that my MS has decided after 15 years of secrecy to rear its ugly head (and it is SOOOOOO ugly), the sun has taken on a different role in my life: antagonist. When it's hot, I'm practically an invalid. A sufficient description of how it feels is my energy is liquid and the heat drains it like a thirsty wick. How's that? Never fear, folks. That's why God allowed man to invent a wonderful piece of machinery called the air conditioner. I doubt there is anything more luxurious and life-saving to me than that machine. I have one biggie for the living room and one midget for my bedroom. Joe has to learn to go to sleep in a cold summer bedroom, but he gladly sacrifices! Ah, frigidity.....temperature, that is.....
Now, the sun also brings with it the joys of summer...swimming pools for the kids, vegetables in the garden, flowers all around, and a general sense of well-being. Plus, NO SCHOOL--YAY!!! I don't know if the kids or I am happier about that part.
So, while all y'all are praising the sun and living it up outdoors this summer, remember me. I'm the one who's watching from the sidelines, happy to be a part of the fun in her own way.
Now, the sun also brings with it the joys of summer...swimming pools for the kids, vegetables in the garden, flowers all around, and a general sense of well-being. Plus, NO SCHOOL--YAY!!! I don't know if the kids or I am happier about that part.
So, while all y'all are praising the sun and living it up outdoors this summer, remember me. I'm the one who's watching from the sidelines, happy to be a part of the fun in her own way.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Sarcasm and Hyperbole
"Sometimes I feel like I've been tied to the whippin' post..."
I've always loved this quote from the classic rock & roll song by the Allman Brothers. Since last summer, the summer of my discontent (another quasi-literary reference...sorry), this quote has had quite a new meaning for me. Certainly, I don't liken myself to Job, whose entire existence worsened to a low point most of us could never imagine, but there are days I succumb to self-pity so intense that I feel like I've been tied to the whipping post. STOP, I tell myself after a while. JUST.....STOP. I get a surge of energy (that I attribute to the Holy Spirit coming through for me AGAIN) and I make it over the hump once more.
It's very difficult to describe to people the uncontrollable parts of my MS...sudden and lasting fatigue, daily gradual loss of leg control, constant stinging and lack of coordination in my hands and fingers, forgetfulness, confusion...things easily dismissed by those who aren't around me constantly as "typical" of a mother of five or of a 40+ year old. If you "get it", you can't dismiss it. It's very real. If it isn't rearing its INCREDIBLY UGLY head, it's lurking nearby, ready to POUNCE and ruin my otherwise lovely day. Days or weeks can go by during which I accomplish only the absolute bare minimum of duties, leaving undone anything irrelevant to things immediate. Regret...shame...anger...it's all there!
This brings me to my title: Sarcasm and Hyperbole. I recently described myself to my sister, Jeanette, as thin-skinned and sensitive. My feelings are hurt easily. I am really trying hard to work on "toughening myself up", but it's a life-long characteristic so it's hard to do. I'm easily teased, since my reactions are genuine and strong. Those that like to tease me know this. While clever, they sting. I have conveyed this to many of my friends and family--the teasers. If they choose to ignore it, I can't stop them. Perhaps, however, I can use the power of this blog to reiterate my plea: don't assume I can take it...'cuz often times, I can't.
I'll make a good attempt not to overpower my few readers with Multiple Sclerosis related or "poor me" subjects here. Give me time, though. And keep coming back!
I will end with an example. No names.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
an email sent to me recently, titled, "Jeopardy":
3
.
2
.
8
.
13+ ...
_______________________________________________
"Yes, Alex. What are interval days between posts on Mara's blog."
I've always loved this quote from the classic rock & roll song by the Allman Brothers. Since last summer, the summer of my discontent (another quasi-literary reference...sorry), this quote has had quite a new meaning for me. Certainly, I don't liken myself to Job, whose entire existence worsened to a low point most of us could never imagine, but there are days I succumb to self-pity so intense that I feel like I've been tied to the whipping post. STOP, I tell myself after a while. JUST.....STOP. I get a surge of energy (that I attribute to the Holy Spirit coming through for me AGAIN) and I make it over the hump once more.
It's very difficult to describe to people the uncontrollable parts of my MS...sudden and lasting fatigue, daily gradual loss of leg control, constant stinging and lack of coordination in my hands and fingers, forgetfulness, confusion...things easily dismissed by those who aren't around me constantly as "typical" of a mother of five or of a 40+ year old. If you "get it", you can't dismiss it. It's very real. If it isn't rearing its INCREDIBLY UGLY head, it's lurking nearby, ready to POUNCE and ruin my otherwise lovely day. Days or weeks can go by during which I accomplish only the absolute bare minimum of duties, leaving undone anything irrelevant to things immediate. Regret...shame...anger...it's all there!
This brings me to my title: Sarcasm and Hyperbole. I recently described myself to my sister, Jeanette, as thin-skinned and sensitive. My feelings are hurt easily. I am really trying hard to work on "toughening myself up", but it's a life-long characteristic so it's hard to do. I'm easily teased, since my reactions are genuine and strong. Those that like to tease me know this. While clever, they sting. I have conveyed this to many of my friends and family--the teasers. If they choose to ignore it, I can't stop them. Perhaps, however, I can use the power of this blog to reiterate my plea: don't assume I can take it...'cuz often times, I can't.
I'll make a good attempt not to overpower my few readers with Multiple Sclerosis related or "poor me" subjects here. Give me time, though. And keep coming back!
I will end with an example. No names.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
an email sent to me recently, titled, "Jeopardy":
3
.
2
.
8
.
13+ ...
_______________________________________________
"Yes, Alex. What are interval days between posts on Mara's blog."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Guilt
Ok, everyone: this post is part expression, part invitation. I am always aware of my guilty conscience; that is, what makes my conscience feel guilty. I was cleaning the kitchen the other night and my thoughts roamed to all the little things I feel guilty about. Shall I list? I think I shall. Then I want to see everyone else's list.
1. Peanut butter jars. We go through peanut butter pretty quickly, and I think it a giant chore to clean out the plastic jars for recycling. We have a septic tank, so I'm hesitant to wash anything with that much oil. Now, I suppose I could wipe it out with a paper towel and get all the bits out before soaping it up, but wouldn't that defeat the purpose of recycling it? I'm pretty big on recycling. I drive my husband crazy with, "Hey--why the heck did you just put that in the garbage???" But I sneak the peanut butter jars.
2. Dust. It's not as bad around here as in Spokane, where I lived from 7 to 23 years of age, but I let it go. I mean, I REALLY let it go. I think my kids don't even truly know that we're supposed to dust frequently to keep things cleared off...how would they?
3. Crying child. This one has to stay secret from my husband. Sometimes, when I'm particularly tired, I will pretend I am sleeping when awakened by a crying child from a far bedroom. Not EVERY time, but sometimes...and I wait until he wakes up and let him go take care of it. I know some of you will be saying, "But, MARA...there's NOTHING wrong with that!" Still...a source of guilt.
4. Returning phone calls. I'm horrible. HORRIBLE. Those of you who know what I'm talking about, I'M SO SORRY.
5. Yelling. I was just telling Edward that I never yelled until we moved into this house (in 2003, when C/E/B were 4/3/1 yrs. old). Suddenly, we went from a split-level house in which the kids weren't allowed to play alone downstairs to a one-story, sprawling, curvy house in which sound can disappear. I found myself yelling so they could hear me, then yelling to give commands, then just yelling. It's a habit I hate. It's a habit I'm passing on. It's a habit I need to halt in its tracks.
These are merely 5 little sources of guilt. There are so many more...but I really would like to hear from all of you! Even if it's just 1.
1. Peanut butter jars. We go through peanut butter pretty quickly, and I think it a giant chore to clean out the plastic jars for recycling. We have a septic tank, so I'm hesitant to wash anything with that much oil. Now, I suppose I could wipe it out with a paper towel and get all the bits out before soaping it up, but wouldn't that defeat the purpose of recycling it? I'm pretty big on recycling. I drive my husband crazy with, "Hey--why the heck did you just put that in the garbage???" But I sneak the peanut butter jars.
2. Dust. It's not as bad around here as in Spokane, where I lived from 7 to 23 years of age, but I let it go. I mean, I REALLY let it go. I think my kids don't even truly know that we're supposed to dust frequently to keep things cleared off...how would they?
3. Crying child. This one has to stay secret from my husband. Sometimes, when I'm particularly tired, I will pretend I am sleeping when awakened by a crying child from a far bedroom. Not EVERY time, but sometimes...and I wait until he wakes up and let him go take care of it. I know some of you will be saying, "But, MARA...there's NOTHING wrong with that!" Still...a source of guilt.
4. Returning phone calls. I'm horrible. HORRIBLE. Those of you who know what I'm talking about, I'M SO SORRY.
5. Yelling. I was just telling Edward that I never yelled until we moved into this house (in 2003, when C/E/B were 4/3/1 yrs. old). Suddenly, we went from a split-level house in which the kids weren't allowed to play alone downstairs to a one-story, sprawling, curvy house in which sound can disappear. I found myself yelling so they could hear me, then yelling to give commands, then just yelling. It's a habit I hate. It's a habit I'm passing on. It's a habit I need to halt in its tracks.
These are merely 5 little sources of guilt. There are so many more...but I really would like to hear from all of you! Even if it's just 1.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Is It Possible To Love Laundry?
If you know me at all, you know that laundry is the bane of my existence. It consumes my free time (what's THAT?), takes up a huge amount of space in my home, adds to the ever-present septic concerns, and is the source of many arguments with and among my kids. WHY? Why can't we all wear the same clothes all week long like they did in the old days? OK, I know why. I am just venting. This is the main reason I fantasize about having a live-in maid. Cooking and cleaning has value, too, but laundry...I just don't want to think about it.
What if I could find some way to love it? What if, like St. Therese, I could remember to offer this minor misery to Jesus every day? This blog is, after all, about the mundane, right? And my resolution is to embrace it, right? EMBRACE, not merely ACCEPT. <sigh>...I suppose this means, then, that I have to love laundry. As I carry an armload to the washing machine, I will endeavor to imagine I am actually embracing it. I will think of it as a helpless child who needs me to get it clean. Too crazy? Perhaps, but weren't all the sacrificing saints a bit loony? My plan could work. And I think Therese would approve.
What if I could find some way to love it? What if, like St. Therese, I could remember to offer this minor misery to Jesus every day? This blog is, after all, about the mundane, right? And my resolution is to embrace it, right? EMBRACE, not merely ACCEPT. <sigh>...I suppose this means, then, that I have to love laundry. As I carry an armload to the washing machine, I will endeavor to imagine I am actually embracing it. I will think of it as a helpless child who needs me to get it clean. Too crazy? Perhaps, but weren't all the sacrificing saints a bit loony? My plan could work. And I think Therese would approve.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Hope Does Not Disappoint Us
St. Paul, my favorite spiritual writer of all time, reminds me not to give up. He encourages me to persevere. He inspires me to build my character. He promises that with hope, God's love will pour into my heart through the Holy Spirit. What a guy! He's like a best friend I only hear from through written correspondence. All week, I've been reading a quote from one of his letters to the Romans: "Hope does not disappoint us"...it's on the reader board next to my parish office. I've really needed its message.
Today was a hard day. My body didn't work right. I wanted to persevere physically but couldn't. "My character doesn't need any more work," I used to tell my mother when I was having a hard time in my youth (replying to her statement, "It'll build your character.") I laid on the couch tonight for an hour, hoping to revive myself enough to drag my body to the dinner table. (It worked, by the way.) My beautiful big sister, Lucy, made a healthy, tasty feast for my entire family. There it was, piping hot on the table. An enormous amount of love went into creating that for us.
I've always liked the word persevere. It conjures up comforting, strengthening feelings inside me. (Joe just said he doesn't like it--he only sees the root word, severe.) Character is relative, isn't it? We "build" it, but to whose satisfaction? Who measures this? Hope is a word used in so many contexts, and I wonder sometimes if it's used properly by some people. Now, love...LOVE...ah, that word is the best word. Love is the reason we change poopy diapers. Love is the reason we stay up late talking to nervous spouses about the stressful events at work. Love is the reason we keep our mouths shut when our little kids relay absolutely ridiculous and pointless stories of their school day. Love is the reason we stand over the stove cooking dinner for "ungrateful children" at the end of a long, hard day when we don't think we can stand up one more minute...but we do. Love is MY reason for just about everything I do in my life. And God's love for ME is the one, true thing that calms me down when I feel like I just can't take it anymore.
So St. Paul reminds me of that love. THANK GOODNESS, because my pitiful cobweb of a mind forgets from time to time. As Lucy always says, "It's all about the love..."
Today was a hard day. My body didn't work right. I wanted to persevere physically but couldn't. "My character doesn't need any more work," I used to tell my mother when I was having a hard time in my youth (replying to her statement, "It'll build your character.") I laid on the couch tonight for an hour, hoping to revive myself enough to drag my body to the dinner table. (It worked, by the way.) My beautiful big sister, Lucy, made a healthy, tasty feast for my entire family. There it was, piping hot on the table. An enormous amount of love went into creating that for us.
I've always liked the word persevere. It conjures up comforting, strengthening feelings inside me. (Joe just said he doesn't like it--he only sees the root word, severe.) Character is relative, isn't it? We "build" it, but to whose satisfaction? Who measures this? Hope is a word used in so many contexts, and I wonder sometimes if it's used properly by some people. Now, love...LOVE...ah, that word is the best word. Love is the reason we change poopy diapers. Love is the reason we stay up late talking to nervous spouses about the stressful events at work. Love is the reason we keep our mouths shut when our little kids relay absolutely ridiculous and pointless stories of their school day. Love is the reason we stand over the stove cooking dinner for "ungrateful children" at the end of a long, hard day when we don't think we can stand up one more minute...but we do. Love is MY reason for just about everything I do in my life. And God's love for ME is the one, true thing that calms me down when I feel like I just can't take it anymore.
So St. Paul reminds me of that love. THANK GOODNESS, because my pitiful cobweb of a mind forgets from time to time. As Lucy always says, "It's all about the love..."
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Getting Started Is The Hardest Part
Isn't this statement true in nearly every sense? I have been itching to begin a blog for quite some time, but I suppose the itch wasn't irritating enough. Now: I SCRATCH! My curiosity brims as I ponder whether or not anyone will actually view this blog. Therefore, I implore anyone who happens upon this to comment. Any comment will do! I pledge to write interesting, intellectually useful posts...at least, I will write what I BELIEVE to be interesting and intellectually useful.
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