Rain on my soul

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Posted on October 5, 2009

Writing is often my healthy outlet for expressing my feelings. Tears stream from my face as I sit in the Critical Care Waiting Area at the hospital. My mom is having heart catherization in a matter of moments and for some reason, I am a wreck.

I feel like I’m going to lose it. My brain seems to be detached from the rest of my body. In the last four weeks, I have been to three different hospitals for three different people, one of them being myself. I drove to the hospital and missed the turn. When I came to the familiar intersection, I had to call my husband to ask him which way to turn.

I got into the parking lot and don’t ask me how, but I found myself driving against the arrows. When I finally pulled into a parking spot, I was completely confused. I tried to walk down a flight of stairs but they were blocked. It was as if the hospital had moved from the time I had entered the parking lot!

I walked into the hospital and began looking for my stepfather. The ladies at the front desk asked me if I was having any flu symptoms. I told them no and asked them if they are now having to inquire everyone about this. I didn’t ask this in a sassy way but perhaps, I sounded a little frazzled. It was interesting that they said no so I’m wondering if I was acting so weird they thought something must be wrong with me!

Praise the Lord a kindly volunteer escorted me to the Heart Catherization Area. I shutter to think of where I would be if he hadn’t shown me where to go.

Then I saw my mom and I don’t know why but I struggled to keep it together. The nurses were going to show her a video about the procedure and I knew I couldn’t handle it. So here I sit by myself, watching Judge Mathis, writing to you, whoever you are.

It is a rainy day. My dad died 25 years ago on October 8th. Maybe that’s the reason I am having a rough time…

One of those days

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Posted on October 3, 2009

I called my sister Denise last week and the sounds of one of my adorable nephews made our conversation brief. Two year old Josiah was wailing, the agony so loud you would have thought his arm was being amputated without anesthesia.

“Wow,” I thought to myself as I hung up the phone. “Am I glad those days are over!” A twinge of pity and relief waft over me as I went along my merry way.

No sooner had I taken that trip down Memory Lane when I found myself metaphorically speaking, driving down that

once familiar road. Only I wasn’t with a toddler but with my orange haired, freckle-faced nearly 13 year old OS. At the end of the day, as I tucked Isaac into bed, I was glad the day was over. Tears streamed down my face as I prayed over my boy. I was as weary as I was when he was a feisty toddler.

I’m not complaining, it’s just I guess I was a little surprised to have one of “those” days. I can never give up on raising my OS, even on days when I feel like a failure. I must be resolute in all things. Despite the drama of the day, I was grateful because I recognized that we still have more work to do in the lives of our OS. Soon I will be the mama of three teenage sons. The job of mother gets easier on some level but more difficult on others.

I don’t really consider myself a very strong person, physically or mentally but this I know with all my heart. I will never give up on this job. On the days where there is boy drama (and there is boy drama) or bad grades or poor choices, I know where my strength comes from.

Psalm 28:7

The LORD is my strength and my shield;
my heart trusts in him, and I am helped.
My heart leaps for joy
and I will give thanks to him in song.

When your son is a Soldier…

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Posted on September 24, 2009

I like being a mama. Of all the titles I have acquired in my life, the title of mother is among my most treasured. Any derivation of mother, be it madre (what my oldest OS calls me), mama (what my middle OS calls me) or mommy (what my orange haired, freckle-face OS used to call me) those names are like a song to my ears.

I am the mama of a soccer player/ basketball player (Ike) and the mama of a thespian/10th senator in student government (Aaron) and the mama of a West Point cadet and Soldier (Nate).

And with each acquisition of a new title, I am attuned to things which pertain to that OS. Especially the latter. As soon as my OS was accepted into West Point, my ears were keen to anything relating to West Point, the Army and New York. I admit I hardly gave a passing thought to those things previously. Those days are gone. I listen to news about the Army, Iraq, the Middle East and I have read two books about Afghanistan.

Yesterday as I was driving to a speaking engagement to MOPS (Mothers of Pre–Schoolers), I heard some worrisome news about New York City. If I were a doberman, my pointy ears would have perked up. New York City. Terrorists. Bombs in backpacks. Those words get my attention. The city is on a heightened state of alert. Thus so am I. I try to remain calm and not let fear overtake me.

Last night Nate and I had a conversation I’m sure we’re bound to have many times in the future. Knowing that he has some important plans in New York City this weekend, I did what any good mama of a Soldier would do. I suggested he cancel his plans and opt for a safer time on post. I also stated that not only did I think he should stay on post but his grandma concurred..

His reply, “Are you serious?” I think a part of him wanted to laugh at our outrageous request.

I had readied a response. “Nate, look, this is my job. I’m supposed to tell you that I’m concerned about you. I’m supposed to ask you to be safe. I already knew your answer before I asked my question but I just had to ask. I say my things and you say yours, that’s how it works.”

You can’t tell a Soldier not to go somewhere and expect him to listen to you because it might be dangerous but hey, it can’t hurt to try, right? RIGHT???

I have asked moms I know to pray for safety in NYC especially on Saturday. Not just for my OS but for everyone in that city. All I know is that I will be happy when I hear my OS’s voice on Saturday evening. May it be so, O Lord.

PIcture Day problems

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Posted on September 20, 2009

Ok, admit it. We all have had some bad experiences with Picture Day at school. Because I am so honest and brave, I will now share with you perhaps one of the ugliest pictures taken of a 10th grade student at Naperville North High School. Who is this hideous creature??? Moi, thank you very much.

My little brother had a very funny school picture taken which still brings me chuckles. Since he’s a lot bigger than I am, I will only tell you about it and not risk my life by posting the picture although I’m sure he doesn’t read my blog. I will simply tell you that I dubbed him Triangle Head because his bangs were combed into a serious Isosceles triangle.

And my oldest OS has a silly elementary school picture but it doesn’t rival to the school picture we got this week.

Whether it’s genetics, puberty or just bad luck (if I believed in luck), I don’t know but it appears that something went terribly awry with Aaron’s 10th grade picture too.

Brace yourself, friends. It’s not pretty…(He is pretty but the picture is not!)

When my middle OS set down the envelope containing his school pictures, I opened it excitedly. He’s a good looking kid, nothing to worry about right???

WRONG!

I looked at the face in the photo and the child in front of me, I was incredulous. “For Pete’s sake, Aaron, what did you do? This is a horrible picture!” Aaron completely agreed and feigned innocence. It’s almost like the photographer wanted to get the most unattractive angle of my OS possible. I mean, really! His head looks misshapen, the smile is forced, his eyes look strangely placed, this is not my child!

We have returned the pictures but I admit I almost wanted to buy them because they were so bad and surely would be good for laughs for years to come.

I’d love to hear that my family isn’t the only one with quite a collection of bad Picture Day pictures!

Sometimes being normal is a good thing

September 3rd was a very good day!

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Posted on September 8, 2009

All week long I have been anticipating writing a post about going to the hospital. I awoke Thursday morning excited to think that I was going to the hospital. I knew something good was going to happen on September 3, 2009. Normally I don’t look forward to going to the hospital but on September 3, 2009, I wasn’t going to see just a regular, ordinary person…

Oh no, my friends. You see on September 3, 2009 I was going to meet my niece for the very first time. I babysat my two nephews while their mama, (my sister) went into labor. We played, I wiped a butt, fed them lunch, read stories, watched train videos on YouTube and had a very silly time. It doesn’t get better than that! Here is video proof that we had fun in case there was any ever doubt! (I’m trying to load this onto my post, I apologize in advance if you don’t see it!)

The Hubs came with me so as soon as my brother-in-law called, I could hustle on over to the hospital. And at 2:22 pm, my darling niece, Rachel Shiloh entered our world. I was honored to meet her before she was even an hour old. I never cried at the birth of my own OS (of course I was overjoyed!) but when I saw this little bundle of girl, tears filled my eyes. Rachel is probably my only niece that will know me well because she lives nearby. It will be wonderful to see her grow and develop into her own little person. I am now AuntDeeeees to Rachel Shiloh, praise the Lord!

So that was suppose to be my blog post – as my nephew Josiah would say, “the-end!” Happy, happy, joy, joy, right???

But then my intended blog post became altered. That’s because on September 7, 2009, I returned back to the same hospital. This time it wasn’t to see my niece, it was to visit my mom. She has pneumonia and had a slight heart attack on Sunday. My mom was going to help my sister and in the wee hours of the night, she became disoriented and shaky. She was admitted to the hospital and there she remains until things get better.

It’s times like these that I am ever thankful for my faith. I am not leaning on my own understanding (Proverbs 3:5) and I’m trying not to borrow trouble (Matthew 6:34). If I get too caught up on all the “what if’s” I will be miserable (Philippians 4:6).

All I know is that today I got to see my mom and although she is sick, she is a blessing and still laughs at my jokes. And before I saw my mom, I went to my sister’s and got to hold Rachel and rub her little back. She was sleeping so soundly, her pink lips making a sucking motion and her tiny legs tucked snugly almost as if she was still in the womb. One of her arms rested on my side and yes, I melted.

This week I hope to be going to New York to see my oldest OS, my baby!. May it be so dear Lord!

Having babies, real and otherwise

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Posted on August 25, 2009

Last night I had a weird dream. I dreamt I was pregnant. Before you read any further, I am NOT pregnant in real life. Throughout my life I have had recurrent dream themes.

Dream themes in my life if anyone cares

1. Shapes – these dreams were mostly as a child and the gi-normous shapes moved like meteorites by my face and often nearly killed me

2. France – I lived in France for a year and am a French major. I will speak French in my dreams and remember words I thought I had long since forgotten.

3. Natural disasters- I will spare you the horrifying details

4. Spontaneously losing my teeth – for no apparent reason, my teeth literally fall out of my head. Not a good dream since I have a thing about dentists!

5. Giving birth, being pregnant – I have had many dream babies.

But what made last night’s dream especially interesting was how vivid it was and the timing. I share this with you because it is still so real in my mind. I need to share.

In my dream, I was asleep. I awaken in my dream (does this make sense??) next to my husband much like I do every morning. But in my dream, I am pregnant and our still unborn child is gently kicking me from inside the womb. I nudge the Hubs out of his sleep and put his hand on my roundish belly so he can feel our little person kicking me. Who is this little person? In my dream, in my roundish belly is a girl. And somehow, since it’s a dream, I can see her, almost like there’s a transparent window. Who does she look like? She looks like my orange-haired, freckle face OS. I love her. I awaken this time in real life and I have to pause for a moment to take in the depth of that dream. I awaken the Hubs who detaches himself from his C-PAP machine and he chuckles when I tell him about our little dream baby.

Why did I dream this? I have at least two theories.

1. My sister is soon to give birth. After having two simply delicious sons, Denise and her Hubs will welcome a daughter. With each passing day, I know that a little girl will join our family and PINK shall rule the land. I currently call my yet to be born niece “Miss Thang” but soon, she will have a new name. Maybe that’s the reason for this dream. I’m going to be an aunt again SOON.

2. Or maybe it’s this other reason. Last night I became a Teen Community Bible Study Leader. As of yesterday, I will lead (I’m pictured here with my co-leader) and disciple nearly dozen sixth and seventh grade girls!!! Girls with sparkles and pretty colors. Girls with beautiful hair the shades and hues we adult women pay top dollar to replicate. These girls are just beginning the complicated journey into womanhood. They are girls trying to flesh out their faith in Jesus and make it something authentic not just a thing their parents made them believe. And if they’re like most females, they are probably full of drama, potential and personality plus some genuine problems and struggles.

I have never nor I will ever give birth to a daughter in my real life. At times I have wondered why the Lord never allowed that to happen. I don’t question His will and I am perfectly, absolutely content to be the mama of three fantastic OS. I’ve never had to share the “joys” of menstruation and for that I give eternal thanks. Being the mama of sons has many benefits!

But I am beginning a new journey which will include girls that I will surely grow to love and cherish. I have included pictures of me here when I was in sixth and seventh grade. Maybe parts of that dream are actually becoming a reality?

Thinking pink, I am…

Wow, that was bad, really bad

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Posted on August 21, 2009

I made a really bad side dish yesterday. A dish so mind-blowingly bad, it rivals the escarole soup my mother made decades ago which was beyond vile! Yes, it’s true!

I was looking forward to using my farmer’s market produce and impressing my family with another culinary wonder. Alas, I was not successful. I’m still trying to figure out what went so terribly wrong.

Maybe it was that the recipe called for rice vinegar but I used the apple cider vinegar instead? Or maybe it was because the recipe called for ONE cup of vinegar and one scant teaspoon of sugar? Hmmm, I’m still trying to figure it out.

After chilling the salad for an hour, I took it out and stirred it with a spoon. I noticed that some of the dressing got on my fingers and it stung. Why, why, why?

But when I sat down at the dinner table and tried the salad, I discovered the answer… the salad was ridiculously sour! I thought maybe someone in my family likes the salad so I didn’t say anything and monitored everyone’s reaction. I asked the Hubs what he thought. I held back the laughter and wow, was I surprised when he said it was good. Did he really think it was good? Was he just trying to be a nice husband? Or was he simply trying to stay out of trouble???

I’m not sure the Hubs even tried the salad. Aaron did though. How did I know? Well, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head, that’s how! He thought if he had another bite, his tongue might fall off! We then determined that the salad was inedible. It was, in modern day terms, an epic fail.

Here is a dramatic re-enactment of Aaron’s facial expression after trying the tomato and cucumber salad.

My tomato and cucumber salad now tops the list of WWSD – world’s worst side dish. Have you ever made something so hideously horrible it lives on in infamy? Let me know, I need a good laugh!

Chicken broth for the soul

Julie and Julia, Cindy and Bea

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Posted on August 17, 2009

My mom, sister and I honored the memory of Grandma Varnado on her birthday by seeing Julie and Julia. What a delightful movie that I connected with on so many levels.

During my junior year in college, I lived in France and developed a fondness for French cooking. The French know their cuisine and I lived in Caen, Normandy with a family that took food seriously. In the summer I worked as a waitress in Monte Carlo and during my 10 months in France, I gained 20 pounds. Aside from the blood sausage (a dark red combination of stuff in a casing) tripe (cow intestines which reminded me of a gi–normous white spider web) and kidneys (which were bathing in this thick, creamy, whitish brown sauce which still produces the

heebie–jeebies every time I think about it!,) I tried nearly everything on my plate. Watching Julie and Julia brought me back to that pivotal moment in my life.

But Grandma Varnado was not a French cook. She didn’t whip up fancy aspics or complicated terrines

but whatever she made was splendid. If Grandma were visiting my mom, I would ask for her to make me potato dumplings and she never turned me down. A simple mixture of flour, salt, pepper and potatoes – talk about a cheap meal, yet every time I had a bowl of potato dumplings in front of me, all was right with the world. Just thinking of it makes me long for a steaming, hot bowl of it right now!

Like Julia Child, Grandma had skilled hands when it came to the kitchen. I’ve come to admire women who seem so at home in the kitchen. I feel pretty confident with my cooking abilities but what made Grandma a hero to me was how adept she was at using what she had already in the cupboards and fridge to create a masterful dish. She made cucumbers drenched in vinegar and onions perfectly seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika. And she made cucumbers with sour cream and dill and I would always get in trouble for sneaking several before dinner. Her cheese ball is legendary in my large extended family. Food was one of Grandma’s ways of expressing her love.

When Grandma was raising her family, there was no such thing as fast food. On the rare occasion the family would go on a road trip, Grandma Varnado would make a big plate of fried chicken. She would then place it securely on her lap while the car tooled along until such time that my grandpa would pull over on the side of the road to feed her brood.