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Showing posts from November, 2014

Possessed

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I don't want my kids to get anything for Christmas. No, this isn't the Bah Humbug of blog posts. Let me clarify: I don't want my kids to get any things for Christmas. As their rooms can attest, they have too much stuff. Too much to keep track of. Too much to take proper care of. They simply don't need more stuff.

Now, I'm sure they'd tell you otherwise. Normally I don't particularly care about the amount of stuff they collect, unless I'm tripping over it or it is otherwise causing a hazard. The thing is, some of their stuff has infiltrated the rest of my house. Haley, the baker and soapmaker has supplies in the pantry, kitchen and dining room. There are Magic the Gathering and Pokemon cards everywhere. Legos keep somehow getting loose. I won't even describe to you the jars of internal organs or eyeballs, and all the skulls and bones laying about. 
I've had enough.
It's not the amount of stuff that my kids possess. It's the number of things …

On The Verge

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I've spent most of the past six months on the verge of tears nearly twenty-four hours a day. From sheer joy to intense pain, life lately has been tear-inducing.

Have you ever had a moment when you're going about your day and all of a sudden you're just overwhelmed with ... with...with something you just can't put your finger on. You just want to cry and you don't know why. That's been me a lot lately. 

I was ticking things off my to do list: call so and so, organize this, put away that, update this event on facebook, and BAM tears. They stopped me in my tracks. They came after posting an event page for our church's Tuesday Night Sunday School in a facebook group and being met with two simple words "sounds amazing!" in response. It IS amazing. It's beyond amazing. It's family. It's love. It's doing and giving and believing and learning. It's people getting together and sharing something too deep and meaningful for words, even thou…

Dearest Body

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I am writing to you to request that you please stop trying to compete with people more than twice my age.

It would be wonderful if you could get your act together enough for me to go back to walking unassisted, although I do have to say that my canes, crutches, and wheelchair are now fairly stylish thanks to special-ordered canes and decorative duct tape for the rest. But that's beside the point - walking is good. Really. At least some of the time. And not the shuffle around in a Tim Conway Old Man-esque manner. (OK, that reference just made me feel old!)

A medical professional's suggestion of a walker is a little over the top, isn't it? Chasing five or six or a dozen children while shuffling behind a walker would be a sight, I suppose, but not one I'd like to inflict on myself or others.  Especially since I'm imagining that happening with me in a housecoat for some odd reason. I'd much rather be a cane or crutch-waving curmudgeon.

Also, if you could fix my "…

Breathe Deeply and Pray

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Sleep circles, taunting my pain-wracked body. All I can do is breathe deeply and pray.

My strong fragile child battles migraine and mood. His mood encourages my anxiety, which is already having a field day due to precarious health and unanswered questions. I breath deeply, coaxing gentle words to the tip of my tongue. I pray for relief for us both.
Reflecting on the day so far, it can't possibly be just past noon. Enough has transpired in one morning to fill the entire day. Words buzz around in my brain as it attempts to get a firm grasp on any of them. An appointment with my rheumatologist produced unexpected news: stopping Remicade, referral to a neurologist, the need for a series of MRIs, possibilities including nerve damage and multiple sclerosis thrown about. Unanswered questions continue to pester me as I breathe deeply to calm my nerves and pray in an attempt to hand my troubles over to God.

Soul soothed after a phone call from a friend, surprise catches me once again. Part on…