Lessons in Confidence

My babies are giving me lessons in confidence.  Let me explain.

I love watching my children play at the park.  I am continuously amazed at the way Christina makes friends.  You have long hair?  I have long hair!  You’re six?  I’m 6 ½!  Your knees are skinned?  Mine, too!  Let’s be best friends until it’s time to go!  I’ll race you down the slide, across the monkey bars, to the teeter-totter!  And laughter and merriment ensue, interrupted only to offer me staccato comments on their play, as though I’m not sitting on the bench watching her enjoy herself.  Mom!  My friend over there, he’s really fast and he likes running with me.  Christina runs off to chase her new friend.  Mom!  That girl over there has long hair like me.  Christina runs over to said girl, they hold hands while running to the slides.  Mom!  I found a girl.  She’s in first grade like me.  She has a little sister, too, only she’s three and Hope is four!  Christina gives me big hugs and kisses my cheek, then runs off to join her friend again.

Watching Hope feels more akin to my childhood social memories.  She enjoys playing with her sister, and plays with whatever other children Christina is playing with, but breaks away after a while to walk around and explore on her own.  Hope swings by herself, finds a pile of rocks to reorganize, feels the rough bark on a tree, swings a stick around to fend off some monster.  I take the stick away before she can whack someone.  She finds an older girl with a fistful of lilacs and asks to smell the tiny white flowers.  The girl gives her a group of them, Hope runs over to me and squeals over the flowers’ delicate beauty.  Insists I put them in my bag so she can have them forever.  Hope sees a woman with a toddler; wanders over to them and engages the mom in conversation.  I like your baby’s dress and her shoes.  The mom smiles and says thank you.  I like the look of your baby’s face.  The mom laughs.  Hope has a unique way of phrasing things sometimes.  Hope tries to play with the little girl; the little girl grabs fistfuls of sand and – before the other mom or I can prevent what’s about to happen – dumps it on Hope’s head.  The mom apologizes repeatedly, and I brush the sand away from Hope’s scalp as best I can.  The mom reprimands the toddler, the toddler cries, Hope looks confused – why did that baby dump sand on me?  Why is she crying?  The mom tries to get her little girl to apologize to Hope; the little girl refuses.  Hope tries to hug the little girl; the little girl screams louder.  Mom scoops up her child, apologizes to me again, and says she has to go.  Hope tells her Bye.  I like the look of your necklace and runs off to find Christina again.  They play some more, but Hope’s soon by herself again, walking slowly around, picking fistfuls of dandelions, singing made up songs.

Hope’s dance is different from Christina’s – Hope engages with adults, peers, and babies – though for Hope, anyone younger than three years old is a baby.  Christina focuses on who she considers her peers: six- and seven-year-olds.  Christina’s not mean or rude to children who don’t fit her preferred group, but she’s not excited about them, either.  She doesn’t squeal tidbits of information about the five-year-olds at the park.  Hope rarely interrupts her activities to seek my approval.  When she’s done picking flowers or sorting rocks or slaying imagined monsters, she’ll report to me.  She’ll share her adventures, but not interrupt them; she’s already confident in her four-and-a-half-year-old independence.  Christina's forging confidence; she flits back and forth between her newly-made friends and her mommy.  She’s flirting with independence the best way an almost-seven year old can, I reckon.  Putting her tender little self out there, sharing little pieces of her heart with her peers and trusting that they will find some common ground together.  And when – hooray, success! ­– common ground is indeed found, she runs back to me for confirmation, to hear that’s wonderful and I’m happy for you or I’m glad you’re having so much fun.

And it is wonderful and I am truly so happy for her, that she feels confident enough in herself to do those things that I struggle with today, have struggled with my entire life: giving another person an honest look at who I am, what I value, where my life experiences have taken me.  

Grandma

I can see her now, in the kitchen.  A pair of blue slacks like the sky on a clear day.  A flowery blouse – no sleeves – with a collar.  The only woman I can think of who wasn’t afraid to show her arms in her older years.  She was always proud of her petite frame.  We could have shared clothes in my teenage years, had our styles aligned.

I must’ve been about five that morning, maybe six.  No doubt still in my pjs, home-cut mullet still rumpled and ratty with sleep.  Morning breath probably thick in my speech – we never brought toothbrush & toothpaste with us.  Why would we?  We didn’t use them at home. 

Grandma never seemed to care, though.  I close my eyes and see her smiling at that ratty little girl, a big hug as she wished me good morning.  She was making pancakes.  She made the best pancakes – light and fluffy, wonderfully golden brown.  As many as we could stand to eat.  With warm syrups and bacon and hot cocoa, too.

The best part of pancakes with Grandma wasn’t the smell – melted butter and hot coffee, a freshly baked cake to devour after our evening dinner.  It wasn’t the pastoral setting – high on a hill, miles of pasture around us, not another house in sight.  It never occurred to me then that someone must’ve come out to tend those fields.  Grandpa never did.  I wonder about that now, decades later.

No, the best part of pancakes at Grandma’s was that Grandma could make pancakes in just about any shape you could ask for.  Stars, crescent moons.  My brothers teased her, asking for basketballs or watermelons – obviously she could do those.  My request was always the same, and she must’ve known what I’d ask for as sure as she knew the sun would shine down its golden warmth or that Grandpa would catch the most fish that afternoon.

Still, after a tight, morning-breath-drenched, I-love-you-this-much hug, she asked me, “What shape pancake do you want this morning?”

And her eyes twinkled with delight as mine surely must have, too, when I answered, “A bunny rabbit!”  I’ve tried, in my adulthood, to make bunny rabbit pancakes and they inevitably bear better resemblance to watermelons and amoebas.  I did, however, surprise my girls with heart-shaped pancakes for Valentine’s Day.  And I enjoyed, as Grandma must’ve, the amazed look on their faces, disbelief in their voices, “How did you do that?  How did you make these?”  Christina was convinced someone had taught me.  And as she and her sister devoured their holiday treats, I drifted back to that kitchen, the dining room with shag carpeting, and I saw a lovely lady in pants blue like a robin’s egg, a flowered sleeveless blouse, hot pink lipstick her only makeup.  Hair freshly curled in tight, short curls.  Soft eyes smiling over a coffee cup while her granddaughter devoured bunny rabbit pancakes and cocoa.  In that moment, watching my girls live out a moment of my history, I was intensely thankful that not all of my early childhood memories are sad ones.

I can't sleep tonight, so I thought I'd revisit my blog.  I started a post back in March-ish but never finished it.  I'll include it with this one.  It'd be great to say I haven't blogged recently because things are terrific, but really they're not.  Family life is the same; holidays and birthdays are bittersweet and painful.  On a positive note, I've started a new treatment for RA.  My pain levels and swelling are significantly decreased.  The doctors I visit are encouraged.  I still have stiffness, limited motion, fatigue, and moderate pain levels, but it's much more manageable now.  I've even been able to start a garden.  So far we have tomatoes, anaheim peppers, cucumbers, green beans, strawberries, basil, thyme, and rosemary.  I've planted dill but haven't seen it pop up yet.  When the weather begins to cool again, we'll add lettuce and spinach somewhere.  Gardening has been surprisingly fun so far.

I've been trying really hard this year to not be negative, focus on the positive, and try laughing at everything, thinking that this would help me to not feel "blue" as often.  After almost three months (6 1/2 months, now) of trying, it seems that rather than helping, I'm just suppressing stuff.  So, I'm ending my blog silence and posting some recently-spewed poetry.  Rough-draft stuff, but I'm hoping that posting it at least gets it off my mind and maybe I'll have a day or two of "happy" next week.

Be sad, cry with me, commiserate, encourage, whatnot.


"Weary"

I'm so tired of not making waves;
Tired of praying for strength to be a good little girl,
Tired of trying to always behave, get good grades.
Tired of asking God to stop his hands,
Asking God to make the games stop.
They're not fun.  Not for me.  They never were.
Tired of restraining my voice - tired of denying it.
I have a voice!
And if it makes you uncomfortable to know,
Uncomfortable that I still see his marks on me
And still hear the sick twist of his tainted tongue asking for a favor -
If it makes you uncomfortable, makes your life awkward
If you don't know what to say to that little girl crying for relief
The little girl who doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what she did wrong;
If you've no better excuse than "I didn't know what to say
And I don't know how to help"
Don't go about your imaginary Brady Bunch life pretending all's in perfect Harmony.
Just sit and cry with me.


"Pill-swallowing"

I don't want to be that weak, scared little girl silently screaming for someone to stop her pain,
tired of praying that "God-give-me-strength" prayer.
Too exhausted to cry, afterwards, once he's had his fun;
longing for numbness.

"Hold my Hand"

If you want to preach forgiveness and understanding,
Want to tell me you sympathize and you know what I need to do
Let's take a walk down my memory lane.
Come whisper my nightly prayer, 'God I'm so sorry.  I know it's wrong; help me say No".
Hold my hand while he removes my clothes and shows me that thing.
Snuggle me in a blanket when he's finished; pray with me "God why didn't you give the strength I needed?"

Visit church camp and cry until you're sick because the counselors don't know what to do, either.
Hold my hand during every gyno visit when I can't stop crying and all I see is him and his flashlight and I'm that scared, naked little girl all over again.
Scream for me when I don't have any will left to fight and I just want to end it all.
Wail for the innocence he stripped away and tossed aside, a pile of so much refuse.

Smile when you see him so no one knows your shame.
Return his hug; no one will suspect your secret.

If you want to preach to me to move on and just let it go,
At least first listen to where I've been.

Inconsistent

I'm as good at frequent blogging as I am at frequent journaling.  Or frequent window-washing.  Bah.  I've really been trying to stay positive about life in general, not just about family stuff, but it's difficult with financial stresses and all, too.  I'm still not in the Christmas mood, which is unusual for me.  I usually can hardly wait for Christmas beginning with the day after Thanksgiving, but I'm a bit of a scrooge this year.  A few weeks ago on our way to church, I turned the radio off because I was just not ready to hear Christmas music.  Not yet.  I think it was the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  Christina loves listening to the Christmas music, though, and trying to sing along.  So we listen to it at home.  And in the car.  And it's usually playing in the different grocery stores we frequent.  I think the only place I have been able to escape the reminders of Christmas - Christmas music, decorations, lights, etc - is at Paul's grandma's house.  This has changed, because she now has her tree, decorations, and lights up.  No Christmas music yet.
I'm hoping that something changes soon.  We are trying to sell a car, which would help with some financial issues, and would also allow us to give a different caliber of Christmas gift this year.  Not "better," I guess, because any gift given from the heart is a good gift, but *different* gifts.  For most of the years we've been married, Paul & I have given hand-made cookies/candies/breads for Christmas gifts.  I can only think of one year when we bought gifts instead of making them.  It just sounds more fun right now to go to a store and pick out individual gifts for individual people.
Maybe it sounds more fun right now because my body has been aching for the last few weeks or so.  A dr appt earlier this month affirmed that the RA meds are not working as effectively as they were when I first began swallowing them.  So now I have more pills to swallow, and hopefully that will kick everything into high gear.  If it doesn't, then the dr suggests biologics, which doesn't sound very fun or economical.  Paul says if that's what it takes to fix me, though, then that's what we should do.  I don't like being a physical or financial burden, though.  And I know I'm not really a burden and no one sees me as a burden, but when I can't do EVERYTHING for myself, I start seeing myself as needy, pathetic, and incapable.  Harsh, eh?
And I've been really bummed lately that it's not safe to have another baby for a while.  If increasing my existing meds and adding a new med is all it takes to beat the RA into submission - I mean remission - I'll still have to be on the meds until Sept 2012, at least, and then we have to wait for at least 3 months before planning another baby.  I did the math the other night - another sleepless, restless night.  Christina would be 5 and Hope would be 3 at the YOUNGEST before we could hold another little bundle in our arms.  And that's assuming that these meds work, I *only* have to be on them until Sept (this was the dr's original guess, before the medicine started not treating me as effectively), and we conceive right away.  Gah.  It's just another thing I try not to think about, but when my mind can't shut down at night, I just can't help but remember.  The positive aspect of this, though, is that Hope would likely be potty-trained and Christina would be more independent - able to entertain herself by reading, writing, coloring, etc.  Maybe it's a blessing that we have to wait for a while?
On the positive side, I have been having fun making apple rings lately.  Christina absolutely loves them, and Paul & I enjoy them quite a bit too.  So far I've been drying them plain - no cinnamon or nutmeg or anything like that.  We've used Gala, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, and Fuji apples so far.  Maybe Honeycrisp, too.  Paul's grandma picked them up from the orchard for us.  We have discovered that Christina prefers them thicker and chewier, while Paul really enjoys them thin and crunchy.  I like them both ways.  Quite convenient, 'cause then I have access to more deliciousness! :)  I tried giving Hope a few tiny pieces, but she choked/gagged on them, so I think we'll have to wait until she gets molars.
I also dehydrated some venison and made venison jerky.  I think it's quite tasty.  Paul likes the taste but thought it was a bit dry.  I'm planning to make some beef jerky soon, too.  I may sprinkle some cinnamon on some apple rings and give that a try this week, for a little variety.  Later today I will bake my first whole turkey ever!  That should be exciting.  I'm planning to carve the breast off after baking and slice for sandwiches.  I'm hoping we'll have lots to freeze for sandwiches in January and February, too.  We all like turkey sandwiches pretty well, and I've got lots and lots of homemade pickles to enjoy with them.  Turkey sandwiches will be a nice change from peanut butter & jelly/honey and "cheese-cheese" sandwiches.  The dark meat we will eat with traditional "Thanksgiving" foods.  I am looking forward to the following dinner tomorrow night: turkey, squash, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn, and apple rings.  I may even go crazy and bake Paul an apple pie.  Shh.  Don't tell him.  Just in case it doesn't happen.  Yes, we will have lots of food to eat; if anyone wants to come over, let me know. :)
Oh!  Also last week I tried making elderberry jelly, but it hasn't set up yet.  Did I just try one batch to see if it worked?  Oh, no.  No, not me.  I made 5 batches and yep!  None of it has set.  So I'll be re-doing it later this week or early next week.  It's mostly fun, though.  Only about 10% frustrating.  All-in-all I've really enjoyed home-preserving this year.  It's been wonderful to see my pantry and freezers fill up with food.  And a special blessing to know that if worse came to worse, we may grow weary of eating the same food over and over again, but we would definitely not be hungry for a long time.
My post began crabby and depressing, but has ended a bit more positively.  I think I've vented most of my frustrations now, so I'll head back to bed soon and see if I can sleep.

Picking again

It's just one of those nights cause it's just been one of those weeks.  And now I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep because I reached for the caffeine pick-me-up too late in the day so I'm all jittery.  Today - well, yesterday, really - was my dad's birthday.  It's been almost 2 years now since I've seen him.  Sometimes I wish dates didn't stick with me so well; I doubt I'll ever forget the date I last saw all of my family.  But on the positive side of the whole 'numbers-sticking-with-me' thing, I remember positive dates, too, such as Paul's & my first date 10 years ago.  The anniversary was Wednesday.

So, anyway, I find myself awake at an unfortunate hour, rehashing, rereading messages, reliving pain, and unable to stop the whirlwind exploding in my mind.  I'm hoping that writing this all out will help the voices to die down.  I'm feeling hurt, as I'm sure everyone in this situation feels.  I guess my pain only seems more real, more tangible, more immense because I, obviously, experience it first-hand, instead of trying to empathize with the other parties involved.

I was looking forward to the holidays coming up; not Halloween so much.  I don't really care for Halloween, but I do enjoy Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years.  Over the last few weeks I had been feeling really positive - generally speaking - about life.  We've paid off some debt, I've been canning Grandma King's garden abundance, Paul just killed a deer a few days ago, Christina is printing T, H, and I, Hope is starting to talk a bit more, and trying to take a few steps here and there.  We have much to be thankful for this year.  And it hit me tonight that I'll likely not see my family again this year.  And that makes me sad.  I guess by now it's a mutual decision.  I'm fairly certain my parents won't be changing their stance on things, and I'm not changing mine, so we're at a bit of a standstill.  It is what it is, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.

We have church in the morning, thank goodness.  Church usually helps me gain perspective again and realize that I really am blessed, even when I'm feeling surrounded by darkness.  Here's hoping a happy attitude returns with the morning light.

Sheesh.  I haven't blogged since the end of July?  Yowza.  I'd like to say it's because everything is finally resolved, I have reconnected with my family, the pain has melted away, and all is right with the world.  However, I'm embracing truth, and the truth is that life is not always so easy.  Life is messy, and though there is forgiveness, there also exists fallout.  Fallout for right actions and fallout for wrong actions.  Karma.  Consequences.  Whatever you want to term it, that's what I'd say I'm living right now.  I think about this often, forgiveness and consequences and fallout and aftermath.  Think about insanity and indecisiveness, pain and confusion.  Feeling lost.

Thankfully most nights I can cast away these thoughts and just be lost in God's comfort and promises.  Tonight, however, is one where I simply cannot get my mind to switch off.  No matter how hard I try (and that is probably the problem - that I am *trying*) I simply cannot call off thoughts awhile.  Cannot give comfort rootroom.  Bleh.  I keep replaying conversations, situations, scenarios.  Keep imagining responses to possible confrontations that will likely not happen within the next year.  I suppose in a way it's funny, but I'm not seeing the humor at the moment.

On a positive note, I have started some Rx treatment for the RA that was a pain in just about every joint of my body.  AND the Rx seem to be working.  I can fit into my wedding rings again; I hadn't been able to wear them since around Christmastime last year because they would cut off the circulation in my finger, causing it to go numb.  So, I am very happy to be able to don the oftentimes only jewelry items I wear.  However, taking the Rx means that I had to wean Hope, which was so much more painful - emotionally AND physically - than I remembered it being when I weaned Christina.  I guess I blocked that pain just as effectively as I blocked labor pains.  And I think weaning Christina was probably less emotionally difficult because it was a much more gradual process, instead of cold-turkey.  I imagine it was physically less painful because I simply transitioned from breastfeeding to being pregnant, so everything was tender, anyway.  And now that my body has almost gotten the point that it does not need to produce milk anymore, I am left with two very empty-looking breasts.  I never thought I would be one to lament breast size, but this has really been difficult for me.  I told Paul the other day that I looked like a steamroller had run over me.  He responded by reminding me of the Ron White joke about the old biker chick.  NOT helpful, though he was just trying to make me laugh, I know.  I'm not even sure why I'm blabbering along about this, other than a blatant attempt to get someone to say, "it's okay, Chrystal.  Size doesn't matter.  Be happy that you nursed your babies" and all that.  And I am very happy that I nursed my babies; I knew going into this that my body would change and things would shift around, blah, blah, blah.  It's just not very comforting to tell myself "I told you this would happen, why are you all upset about it now?"  Paul reminds me that the RA has been pretty hard on my body, too, and I've dropped A LOT of weight, so my body fat percentage is probably all out of whack and as I continue to get healthier, I'll probably put the weight on and feel better about myself.  Maybe he is right, and maybe I just need to go invest in some nice padded push-up bras.

That was all probably an over-share.

Another positive note is that I've been canning again this year.  I started canning during the fall of '07, I believe it was.  And I canned at least a little - salsa, tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, pickles - every year since then, except I didn't can AT ALL last year.  I was simply exhausted carrying Hope around in my tummy 24/7, and chasing Christina around during the waking hours.  But Kellie, my wonderful MIL canned quite a few jars of tomatoes and tomato juice for us, which was so thoughtful and helped stretch the food budget a bit this past year.  So far this year my canning activity has included the following: tomatoes, grape jelly that probably will need to be reprocessed as it still has not jelled, apple halves and slices, applesauce (which tastes SO much better than the store-bought stuff, even if running it through the food mill did wreak havoc on my shoulder - I DO NOT like peels in my applesauce), apricot sauce, and juice base (I canned the liquid that I boiled the apples and apricots in - Paul's aunt says it makes an excellent foundation for party punch, so I figured it's better than letting it go to waste).  Tomorrow we will tackle tomato soup as well as another batch or two of tomatoes.  Later this week we will probably tackle peaches, too.  Next year I may grow a little garden of my own - probably a few tomato plants, fresh herbs, and maybe green beans - so I'm not just limited to relative's garden surpluses.

Anyhow, if anyone out in blogger-land was wondering where I've been, for a while the RA was too severe and typing on the computer for any length of time was quite painful, so I neglected my poor, lonely blog.  Within the last few weeks I've been feeling much better and have been much busier than previously simply because I am feeling SO MUCH BETTER, so again my blog went neglected.  Tonight's insomnia was too insistent for me to lie in bed hopelessly awake, so I decided to search for coupon deals on the interwebs and post an update .  Happy October, everyone. :)

Giving Up

I just realized I need to give up something.  I pick at things.  Peeling paint.  Scabs.  My scalp when I'm nervous or stressed.  Actually, Paul has pointed this out several times, especially picking at myself when I'm nervous/stressed.  However, I just realized I also tend to pick at my emotions.  I re-live unpleasant conversations/situations and the way I felt about them.  Not just once or twice.  Repeatedly for years after.

If anyone else has noticed a struggle with similar issues, how have you dealt with it?  What has helped or is helping you?