Dr. Russian-love-triangle-why-does-this-movie-go-on-forever?

I have often heard of the movie Dr. Zhivago. I know and have sung the song “Somewhere My Love” before. I’ve never watched the movie….until today, that is.

The toddler was down for a nap and my plans were to do as little as possible in those hours so I perched on my bed with the remote in hand. I came across Dr. Zhivago and decided to watch it. Omar Sharif was a handsome man. The scenery in the movie was gorgeous. The struggle of the revolution and war was compelling. Yet it was all so….long. And melodramatic. But I think that’s typical for many romance movies produced during this time period of the 1960s. And I can’t get past the whole married man with a mistress. I cannot feel sympathetic toward cheating characters. I just can’t.

I’m glad I watched it so now I can at least sound somewhat credible when a reference to this movie pops up in conversation (because a reference to Dr. Zhivago comes up in casual conversation at least twice daily, right?) and I enjoyed seeing the beautiful scenes …. especially when Lara and Yuri run off into no man’s land so he can write his poetry. Who knew the harsh Russian winter could be so beautiful? (Perhaps that’s because it wasn’t really filmed in Russia….but let’s not get hung up on such frivolous details.)

Going to have to add some other classics to my list.

Surprise!!!

It isn’t very often in today’s society that people are often surprised.  With the ubiquity of cameras, cell phones, and social media, little is hidden.  However, today, our entire family was caught off guard and totally surprised in a most wonderful way.

As I’ve mentioned previously, my oldest son has been adopted by the Wake Forest University baseball team through a fantastic program called Team IMPACT.  He is introduced as a member — often times as an assistant coach — of the team.  This has been an amazing experience which I’ve often blogged about here.  It has provided E opportunities that have been amazing.  He loves spending time with the members of the team on and off the field.  E and the coach often text back and forth just to check in.  I cannot say enough positive about this school, its baseball team, and the experience we’ve had with Team IMPACT.

But today may have taken the cake.  Soon after we arrived home from school today a package arrived at our house.  E got it off the porch and saw his name on it with the return address of the college.  It was a large cardboard box, but it was light.  E was so excited wondering what might be in the box.  He called his dad and I into the living room so we could watch him open the box.

Opening the flaps of the box, we saw black.  At first I thought it looked like a book bag, but no…..it was too bulky.  Then, I thought it might be a team bat bag…….no, again, wrong shape.  As E pulled it out of the box, it became apparent that it was a jacket…..a wool jacket…..with leather sleeves.  He put it on and I saw the gold WF letters.  It was a letter jacket for elite athletes at the university.

Here in his hands was a jacket earned by athletes.  E had earned his letter as a member of the college baseball team.  I got out my old high school letter jacket and showed E as his dad and I explained to him the significance of a letter jacket.

With his connective tissue disorder, E will likely never earn a high school or college letter.  This had not occurred to me before.  Such a rite of passage for many young athletes.  I had not once thought about how this would be something he would likely miss out on in future years.  Being a high school letterman may be an exclusive club, but being a college letterman when you’re 13?!  It doesn’t get more exclusive than that!

I have so very much to be thankful for.  Many times we are bombarded by the cruelty, insensitivity, and egotistical tendencies in humans.  However, I am lucky enough to witness everyday kindness, compassion, and generosity.  This was yet another example.

Who You Calling Chicken?

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know my oldest son has some medical challenges (which he handles magnificently, might I add!).  One of these issues is significant food allergies.  We are in the process of working with his doctors at Johns Hopkins and the NIH to help build a tolerance to milk.  We began with giving him foods that had milk baked into it.  After a number of months, we progress to a new stage.  As long as he does well, we continue to progress so that eventually he will be able to ingest milk in any form without a reaction.

Today we took another step by providing him with a dish that has milk as an ingredient that has not been completely baked through — chicken pot pie.  I cannot begin to express how very excited I am about this.  I love chicken pot pie.  It is the ultimate comfort food.  And then moving E to a new stage and closer to the goal of having no reason to fear milk…..yay!!!

I took a can of cream of potato soup and a can of cream of chicken soup and placed in a casserole dish.  I then added a cup of soymilk (the milk in the soups were enough to get us started) and some salt and pepper.  I then added a dash of Old Bay seasoning ….. well, because…..I put Old Bay seasoning on darn near everything.  That stuff’s good.  It’s my culinary homage to all the good that Baltimore and Johns Hopkins does for our family.

Anyway…..I whisked together in the casserole dish.  All the while I was cooking my frozen peas and carrots and corn on the stove top.  Once it was finished, I strained it and added to my soup mixture along with about two cups of chicken more or less.  (Time to come clean……canned chicken is nasty.  However, you can totally fool your family and throw it in this dish since there’s so much other goodness.  Vegetarian?  You can throw in pseudo-chicken and I doubt anyone would know.  Of course, if you want to be a freaking overachiever and show me up…..feel free to boil that bad bird, skin it, chop it up, and throw it in…..but I ain’t got time for that.)  Stir everything up in your casserole dish and put it in the oven at 400 degrees for about 15 minutes.  While that’s in the oven, take canned biscuits (I know…..canned chicken, canned biscuits…..as a Southern woman, I should hang my head in shame) and quarter them.

At the end of that 15 minutes, take your chicken mixture out of the oven.  Place your quartered biscuits on top to form a crust.  Stick it back in the oven for 10-15 minutes or until the top is golden brown.

Here’s what it looks like on the table:  This picture may have been taken after a few servings were eaten because we just couldn’t help ourselves.

E ate a plate full and kept telling me how good it was.  Additionally, he had a scratchy throat, but did not swell to six times his normal size.   And no epipens were injured in the making of this blog post.

The youngest, however, made repulsive facial expressions while I threatened, coerced, and bribed him to eat the vegetables.  All in all, a success.

Ewww

Today’s new thing…..my son came into my bedroom after taking his shower.  He said, “Hey, mom, look.  I’m growing hair in my arm pits.”  And he was.

Totally grossed out.  And feeling old.  Ewww.

No, But I Am Good Looking

So this weekend I was gone, gone, gone.  It was a weekend spent with family.  Both Saturday and Sunday I spent the day with my parents.  On Sunday we attended the baptism of my two young cousins.  Their church was very friendly.  Numerous people greeted us, made sure we had bulletins….even handed us a roll of pennies so we could participate in the penny drive/offering for hunger that was a part of the service.

After the service, we exited the church where the pastor, his wife, and many other members made sure to personally greet us and introduce themselves to us.  My parents are very friendly people.  My dad, especially, can get lost in a conversation with someone — particularly when it comes to cars, Christianity, and healthcare.  He’s really one of the most intelligent people I know so he can hold his own in any conversation at all and with anyone.

My mom had moved on to the car, but my dad was still talking with the pastor and his wife.  I went and stood with him.  He finished his conversation and then we began to walk to the car just as another member of the church — an elderly gentleman — stopped us to introduce himself.  He reached out his hand to me and asked me my name.  Then he reached out his hand to my dad and asked his name.  He told us how glad he was we had visited his church and invited us to return.  Then he looked at my dad and said, “Well, you sure do have a good looking wife,”  and looked at me.

Huh?  What the…?

Am I supposed to take this as a compliment or an insult?  Certainly this is a first.  Yes, my parents were quite young when they had me, but not that young.  And how does one react to that without causing bodily harm to an elderly man?

After I picked my jaw off the floor, I absolutely corrected him.  Meanwhile, my dad was laughing so hard he was hyperventilating.  I informed the man that I was not his wife, but that I was his daughter.  “But,” I told him, “you did get one thing right.  I am good looking.”

If any of you would like to donate to my future plastic surgery, I will happily accept your contributions.

Not the Whole, but a Part

So it’s been a few days since I’ve written, but there haven’t been any dire missing medication, mad at the world, hating Loeys-Dietz Syndrome stories to tell.  Oh, I still hate Loeys-Dietz Syndrome just as much as I did a week ago.  I just have no new stories about said hatred.

But I guess that is good news.  I’m waiting on the doctor to confirm the appointment I’ve made for E to have an echo and check and make sure there are no changes.  Ugh…..I started this blog as a way to redefine life away from doctor appointments, medical tests, and all the like and yet, here we are talking about it.  No matter how hard we try, it feels as though it fights to always find its way front and center of our lives.  And some days it wins.  But, I suppose some days we win.

The reality is this connective tissue disorder is not my husband and my son’s identity.  It is not who they are.  However, it is a part of them….and a part of their identity.  Not the whole, but a part.  In fact, even though I don’t have it and my other son doesn’t have it, it’s still a part of who we are, too.  Does that make any sense at all?  A disorder that I do not even have still makes up a part of me by it’s all consuming nature in our family.

But I’m so glad that we are more than that syndrome.

A Little Music to Lighten the Mood?

I know things were really heavy during my past two posts.  I have got to tackle something a little less exhausting and a little more superficial or I might break in two.  So what did I do?  I decided to enjoy the light sounds of the encouraging message of secret lovers trying to keep the secret.  Yes, much less emotionally brutal.

While on the internet I saw a cover of the currently popular song “Don’t Tell ‘Em.”  I was first introduced to the original by my teenage son.  (I only let him listen to the radio-version.)  You can find it here.

The cover was by Lorde and is an entirely different arrangement with a whole different feel to it.  I love, love, love Lorde’s voice.  It’s rich and deep.  Very unique in today’s radio waves.  But I can’t handle watching her sing.  It’s as if she is in pain…..or having convulsions…..or possessed by a demon.  It’s just bizarre.  And then she makes some odd choices in her appearance like having her nails shaped to be claw-shaped.   I can deal with the strange cosmetic choices, but her body movements are so distracting to me that I have a hard time hearing her.

Here’s the video of Lorde’s cover.

Video may kill the radio star, indeed.

Profanity and Poo

Bit of a social experiment…..my hypothesis based on observations of my blog over the last few weeks is when a title includes the words “profanity” and, even more so, “poo” people read it.  Apparently that is the secret to getting your blog out there into cyberspace and appreciated by millions.

I’m sorry if I may have misled you as my day really didn’t deal with much poo or profanity — aside from potty-training the toddler.  But I did curse.  It’s a bit of a problem for me, honestly.  Heart of a disciple, mouth like a sailor….please don’t quote Bible verses in the comments to me.  I admit I have a problem.  This has been a bad week.  Give me a break.

Another emotional roller coaster of a day that leaves me seriously pissed and hating Loeys-Dietz Syndrome.  But then…..God intervenes.  I apologize if this is just too much God-talk for you, dear reader.  I know it has been my habit to discuss my pinterest fails or recipe attempts and other superficial breaks from reality, but everything is just raw for me right now.  Not really sure of the spiritual journey I’m on, but it’s evident I’m on one.  Jen Hatmaker (who I’m certain needs to be canonized and is my favorite author of the moment) said in her book Interrupted, “God does not change, but He uses change—to change us. He sends us on journeys that bring us to the end of ourselves. We often feel out of control, yet if we embrace His leading, we may find ourselves on the ride of our lives.”  Yep.  What she said.

Not sure if this is a physical change or if it’s just a change in me and my perspective.  But me knowing is really irrelevant at this point.  In fact, I totally digress.  However, suffice to say that such soul searching means there will be a lot of God-talk now and in the future.  And there will be a lot of honesty.  Don’t get me wrong.  There will be hilarious Pinterest fails, also.  But that’s totally cool.  I think God’s good with that — the Biblical name Isaac means laughter, after all.

Anyway….back to my day.  Our church had the most amazing healing service.  There were tears everywhere, but they were healing, comforting, community tears met with the embrace of others.  The pain was so diverse.  It was so thick.  It was suffocating, until it was released.  We prayed and prayed and prayed.  It was amazing…..but I think I’ve already said that.  I wish I could be more specific and clear on what made it amazing, but it was a thing to be experienced not described or explained.  Words fail me.

Two Topics, One Post — and a warning about profanity

Okay, so two things to get off my writer’s chest today.  And we need to get something straight from the get-go.  There will be profanity in this post.  And a lot of writing about God.  Yes, it seems paradoxical, perhaps, to so easily combine the two, but masks are about to come off and things are about to get real.  You may want to be prepared — or at least have the choice to close this out and pretend like you’ve never seen it.

As I’ve shared in my “About Me” page and the title of this blog.  I strive to be a great wife, mom, teacher, friend, daughter, Christian, etc., etc.  (The list can go on and on.)  However, the reality is most days I suck.  I try to juggle too much and I can’t keep it all together.  And when I do manage to juggle well, I do it with a ….. ugh, this is hard to admit … a bit of a martyr complex.  I yell.  I forget.  I lose my temper.  I say “woe is me” (not really…..who really talks that way?) My house is a disaster.  My life is utter chaos 90% of the time.  I’m so not a Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart, Sally Homemaker.

Today’s first topic isn’t really about a first….or a last….or anything that I’m happy about.  However, it is directly related to my failure.  And, forgive me, but it is really personal.  So why share it?  One, because I deal with things through writing.  I process my life, my thoughts, my inner being through words on a page…or screen. And honestly, some things I just can’t talk about.  They are too emotionally charged, but I can write about it.  This is one of those times.  Cannot talk about it.  Will be a puddle of mush if you force me to. So don’t do it.

Secondly, I hope that some mom, wife, dad, husband, son, or daughter out there may read it and totally identify and realize that they are not alone in their screw ups.  Because all day today I’ve felt like the biggest failure in the world.  I’ve felt alone in my fear and failure.

As I’ve written before, my husband and oldest son have a rare medical condition that makes them susceptible to aneurysms and a variety of vascular complications.  Our son has a dilated aortic root at his heart.  It’s at 3.3 cm.  Doctors tell us they do elective open heart surgery at 4.0 cm.  He is on a wonder drug that prevents the dilation from growing. He must take it every day without exception.  Not taking it means the aorta can grow and stretch unpredictably to the point that it can be life threatening.

Nearly every day I ask him before bed, “Did you take your heart pills?”  And every day I hear, “Yeah.”  But I had a bad feeling.  The medication is refilled every three months and I knew it had been a while.  So today I asked him to give me the pill bottle.  I counted every single pill in it. Every. Single. Pill.   As I counted pill after pill, my heart sank.  I felt nauseous.  Tears welled up.  He has not been taking his pills.

This is not a situation where I can simply nag and say, “You were supposed to be responsible enough to take them.”  This isn’t homework for Christ’s sake.  Grounding him seems so stupid…..we’re talking about his life here.  And me.  I should have checked months ago.  I should have given them to him every night.  I shouldn’t have trusted something so important….so lifesaving to a 13 year old.  He is only 13, after all.  And teenagers lie.  All teenagers lie.  I know this.  I’ve taught them for more than a decade.

I had no words.  Just an abyss of fear.  I totally went all psycho, ugly crying mom on him.  I ranted.  I raved.  And then I calmed down…..just a little.  I explained that he wasn’t in trouble.  This wasn’t about being in trouble.  This is about his life.  This is about I cannot breathe when I think about a day without him.  I literally begin to hyperventilate.  And then I hugged him, and hugged him, and hugged him some more.  So much so that I probably left the scent of my runny mascara on him even now 12 hours later.  And then I shot out an email to his doctor.

She explained that we shouldn’t beat ourselves up because many parents have trouble with getting their teens to consistently abide by a medication regiment.  But I do beat myself up….or maybe it’s less beating myself up and more being swallowed whole by fear that sucks the life out of you.

I have prayed for all kinds of things today…..forgiveness because God gave me this incredible human and I failed to stay on his ass and make sure he took that medicine.  Health that God would intervene and protect that little heart and aorta of his.  Grace so that I can forgive myself.  Peace until our next echocardiogram because me being a basket case isn’t really conducive to being a mom, wife, and all the other responsibilities I have.  And while I was at it, I had a few choice words because I am so pissed my son and husband have this disorder.  He created them….every little DNA strand….every genome…..and it would have only taken one little change to keep my baby from having this terrible, awful disorder that requires a 13 year old kid to remember to take life saving medication and ward off open heart surgery.

I’m really glad God is big enough to handle me being pissed and begging for forgiveness and blessings of health on my child all at the same time.  I remember a time when some adults would teach that we shouldn’t question God….that we should just basically blindly smile and nod and say thank you and proclaim how wonderful He is even when terrible, sucky, shitty things happen to you or ones you love.  I am so glad that I know now that my questioning and being angry doesn’t shake the sovereignty of God at all.  Not one little bit.  I’m glad that He will not reign balls of fire down on me or pout simply because I am mad that this has happened to my family.

It’s nice to know that God acts kind of like I did today — minus the screw ups and probably cursing — just hugging my E so tightly that he could barely breathe and telling him how very much I love him.  Telling him I would do anything at all to protect him and keep him from hurting.  Just saying over and over, you’re not in trouble.  I’m not going to punish you.  I love you more than life itself. It sure feels nice despite the day I’ve had to know this is how Christ handles me at this moment.

Okay….that second topic…..I let E back my car out of our driveway.  It’s a good story, but, honestly, my nerves can’t really handle that topic, too.  Seriously, reliving a reminder that my car insurance will likely triple in just a few years is more than my heart can take in one day.  Too much of that and I may need to sneak out some of my husband and son’s heart pills myself.

Visiting Old Friends is Something New

A few weeks ago, a sorority sister of mine got in touch with me via facebook to request some info about my jewelry business.  We had been in contact on facebook here and there, but this request was pleasantly surprising.  She and I had seen each other a handful of times since college, but even that was more than 15 years ago.  Therefore, seeing my sorority sister….someone who nearly two decades ago lived just a few doors down from me…..is still considered something new.

She lives about an hour and a half from me, so I was thrilled to use my jewelry as an excuse to visit.  We sat and caught up on our families, our jobs…..old relationships and friendships.  In her hallway, she had pictures from our sorority days.  It was a blast from the past to see myself all those years ago in her picture.

Like myself, she works in public education so we had much to discuss from recent days.  I met a friend and coworker of hers, as well.  Hello, old friend.  Old friend meet new friend.

It was so much fun talking and catching up for hours….literally hours.  And what a relief to see that neither of us had aged.