Jan 27, 2014

We often say that Gabe reminds us of the younger brother on Christmas Story.  The one that is always whining and particularly difficult at mealtime.
It is getting better with age but he still tends to go straight to whining before even thinking about what it is that is upsetting him and dinner can still be the most painful time of the day.

So what happens when a slightly crazy mother has a bad day and then encounters ridiculous whining at dinner?
Ah the perfect storm.

Today I woke up dizzy.  Really weird, spinning room dizzy.  Just to clarify, no I don't think I'm pregnant and I can also assure you I was not drunk or hung over.  The dizzy made me feel nauseous and the nauseous made me want to find my sweats and run for the covers.  As the day went on I felt better but in general this girl needed a cup of tea and early bed time.

Matt agreed to take the boys to see the reptile man tonight at Gabe's school.  Which equals my worse nightmare:  After school events and snakes.  No thanks.
So I was whipping together a fancy meal of GMO Free hot dogs and mac-n-cheese so they could be on their way when Gabe asked for a pickle.  I told him he could have one with dinner. I decided to fancy up my meal of hot dogs and mac-n-cheese with a pickle spear on each plate.  I was plopping the food down at the table when suddenly that storm started to pick up.

Gabe starts whining, like crazy high pitched baby whining about his pickle.  The very pickle he asked for.  I calmly asked "what is your problem?" He whined back "I don't like spicy pickles".  And I respond "they are not spicy".

Here is where things got foggy.
I don't know exactly what he was saying but is was mumble, high pitched, crazy whining and so I marched (you know I did too....think wedding day stomp up the aisle) on in to the dining room and snatched up those darn pickle spears and ate them.

Just.  Like.  That.

I told you it was the perfect storm.
Let me just take care of those pesky pickles for you and have a little appetizer on my way back in to the kitchen.

I returned from the kitchen with the jar of pickles, Kosher Dill, and the condiments for the dogs.
The look on Gabe's face said it all  "oops".
Yep.  Oops.
He asked for a pickle.  I took it out of the jar, cut it up so that it would be more manageable to eat, and placed them on his plate.
They didn't look like the pickles in the jar, but rather than trusting me, trusting that I knew what his heart desired, he instantly started throwing a fit.

All along the very thing he wanted, and asked for, was right in front of his face.

I thought this story would be about how I'm the crazy mom that snatched up the kid's pickles and ate them because he whined about them, but I think it is really about life and how we see it sometimes.

The very thing we want may be right in front of us, on our plate, but because it looks a little different than we thought it would, we reject it, whine about it and wish for something else.

Thank the Lord he doesn't snatch up our pickles when we reject them.  He probably just rearranges them so we can see "oh four pickle spears make a whole doggone pickle".

Jan 26, 2014

It's been a long long time

I'd have to look at my blog log, but I'm pretty sure this has to be one of the longest blog absences in the history of this blog.  So here goes...

A few weeks ago a 5th grade student asked me a very deep question:
"Mrs. H...did you want your hair to look like that?"
"Um yes...I think"

Yep.  That stung a little.

And then a few days later a little kindergartener (whom I can't stand) looked me square in the eyes and said
"your hair looks rough"
I responded "your pants are unzipped"
She walked away embarrassed about her pants situation and I felt a little better.
I have since been to the salon.  We'll see if it worked.

So my grandfather died in November.  I was okay with him dying: he was old, infirm, in pain, and had been waiting to die for as long as I can remember.  But I struggled then and I struggle now with the way that he died.  I've talked out his manner of death with a trusted medical professional, family, and friends, and although I have had the opportunity to hear many different perspectives and gain some great insight, I still struggle.  Would I change anything about his last weeks on earth?  I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing I probably would not.

The reality is, getting old and becoming less and less able to take care of your own basic needs is unpleasant, untidy, and there is really no great plan for that deterioration.  I know that regardless of the way he spent his last days on earth, he is quite content now.  Happy to be out of his earthly prison of a body and spending his eternity in freedom.

So there's that.  And I suppose that now is the time to let it go.

Matt and I are semi-committed to a small group at church.  It is a loosely joined group for the purpose of a 6-week all church study.  The people are ok, there are only two other couples and the rest of the people are divorced women, but the study is most definitely my least favorite, most hated and despised study I have ever done.
It is very self-discovery, self-helpish and I really wish the church had chosen any other study to do.  But here we are discovering about ourselves and ticking off the days until it is over.  I'm definitely learning more from the wisdom of the people in our group than the attempted wisdom in the book.

What I've learned so far in a nutshell: I tend to hold people to the standard of the way I would do something assuming that it is the right way, my blaring negative personality trait in Gabriel's eyes is occasionally telling him "pray with yourself tonight" and it turns out I'm not so great at forgiving.  It is only week 4.  I'm sure there is more to come.