Accidentally by Design

I have to take off at least a few pounds or shop for a swimsuit.  What would you do?

I am HUNGRY.  Which is fine because there is no food in the house.  Except I have children.  Who can still wear last years suit.  Unless they starve.

My son has a cough.  Someone in my house has had a cough almost constantly since February, and it IS allergy season, but no one else has played on a sports team with a kid who, allegedly, has poison ivy and a secondary infection.  WHO ALSO HAS A COUGH.

I have three two pair of pants that fit.  One of them is worn at every edge.  The zipper will not stay up on the other.  Incidentally, they are mom jeans. Because.  I AM A MOM.

I need to pay bills.

I need to shop for food.

I need a shower.

I need to shop for a swimsuit for my husband who needs a new one not because he gained weight, but because we the rest of us voted and it’s unanimous.  We refuse to be seen with him in what he now owns.  Both of those items will probably come as a great comfort to the homeless guy who rifles through our cans on Thursday nights.

Did I mention I want to move?  I have had enough of living with a neighbor in my shirt pocket.  I’ve had enough of not having a closet for my own clothes and having mine hang on a rack next to the dryer.  Population density…. apparently just not my thing.  You know when they say a city has 300 people per square acre or something like that?  If I had to live like that, the stat would be 299.  I would die by my own hand.  Let me out.

Now I know there is a reason things got disorganized.  I want to get at it.  But if I focus on what needs to be done there, the hellions (tongue firmly planted in cheek. No one here has the organization and diligence to earn the title.)  are off smearing around the kitchen and walking past dog messes.  If I sit down to the desk, who in the name of all that’s right, will vacuum, cook and clean.

Right.  You’d think so, but, no.  They don’t have to.

They know their task list.  They are nearly 16.  When I was their age, I had a full time job.  SCHOOL.  When I had my birthday, I got a part-time job.  I also was the only person who vacuumed, dusted and cleaned kitchens and bathrooms. I did the lion’s share of the laundry and ironing.  That started when I was 12.

I was afraid of my mom.

Yesterday, I lost my @#$%.  LOST IT.

That is why I have locked myself in my room.

I have more to do than I physically or cognitively can without doing the picking up, the loading and unloading of the dishwasher.  But we don’t even live like humans.  There is no incentive or disincentive that motivates.

I will not dishonor us all by another such scene, but I will not drain myself of all resources doing what they reasonably can and ought.  And I categorically will not repeat myself.  I am not being around them because the first, “Can we…?” might just send me.

No.  Until you realize that this isn’t THE LOVE BOAT and I’m not Julie McCoy, there will be no further treats.

I’d like to think this is part of the process of adjusting to the new normal and having no support system to speak of.  After all, when the crisis is over, I better just pick up and go on as before.

Other times, it seems I’ve made my bed.  Placed the pea under the high tech mattress myself.  What about it?

I’m going to lie down.

Thank you for attending my pity party.  Feel free to peel yourself a carrot and draw yourself a cup of water.  The squirrels will direct you to the parking area at the rear.

In January, I prayed for a miracle.

I got a diagnosis.

Though it brought a little encouragement that there was a reason for all this, not a miracle.  Doctors diagnose things.

I discovered a person I wanted to become friends with.

Not a miracle.  It’s a small world, after all.  Turns out, she’s practically famous.

Since that time, I’ve had 4 days of pain-free, energy, and focus. Two in February.  Two in March.

Not a miracle.   Little chemical accidents in the chaos.

On Friday last, the on-call doc stepped me back off the meds and I became suicidal.  He didn’t warn me of potential side effects, because he didn’t think it was necessary.

But he did remind me that the Bible tells us:

^“37 They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were tempted, they were put to death with the sword; they went about in sheepskins, in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated ³⁸ (men of whom the world was not worthy), wandering in deserts and mountains and caves and holes in the ground.³⁹ And all these, having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised,”

So.

I didn’t commit suicide.

Miracle.

I can get back to making a half-assed life for my family.

The doctor was right.  God is still trustworthy even if nothing ever changes; even if I’ve tasted ‘regular’ and know exactly what I and my family don’t get to have.

This post is brought to you by the doctor’s office and the pharmaceutical manufacturer.  And their insurance company, CYA.

Scandalous and Captivating

Wild and Supernatural

Flag Flying

Tender Crying

Hungry

Thirsty

Restless

Radiant and Hypnotic

In the holiest season of the mythical era, it was decreed that for a time and times of secret purpose and duration…

She would be completely blind and need to be led.

Refusing guidance, she would travel alone and ever closer to the edge.

Hearing not the sounds of danger or the fading lilt of love and fellowship.

Remember and Understand the mother lore!

Do not go over the edge.

But if it is decreed.

Bring back for me a tiny piece of the girl warrior I was.

Before I disbelieved.

Scandalous and Captivating.

Beautiful,

Terrifying,

Blind.

I know I write this same thought every couple of months or so, but here it is again.

Surrender.

Open your hand and let go of what you are holding onto.

The only acceptable outcome.

The excuses of the past.

The flower of youth.

The control of your child (and hence the responsibility for their behavior).

The pain of past hurts.

The guilt of past mistakes, sins, rebellion…call it what you want to call it.  We all have times when we deliberately, knowingly hurt another person and called it, “Right for me.”

When Moses dropped his staff in the wilderness, it was dropping the last of what he was hoping in.  He’d given up everything.  It was all he had left as he tended sheep on the backside of the wilderness.  He’d been willing to give up a royal upbringing and political position, for identification with his heritage as one of God’s chosen people.  This, too, he rejected when he murdered someone and had to flee as neither heritage nor upbringing could protect him from the consequences of his choice.

Hence, the backside of the wilderness and his only gear being a stick.

The rod represented life to him.  It was a tool as well as a weapon.  He depended on it and never laid it down.

He had nothing else.  Nothing left.  He didn’t plan it that way.  But that was when he ran into God.  Who said:

“Put down your rod.”

Things didn’t get better when he put it down.  They got worse.

God said, “Okay, pick the snake up by the tail.”

Um… That’s not what we do.

It became a rod again.  No longer a venomous threat to his life.  Having been released to God, known for its identity in Him, it could then be fully restored to utility again.

But really first it had to be dropped. Released. Surrendered.  He had to be willing to stand in the empty wilderness with nothing.

Open handed surrender is a fairly objectionable concept to me.  Not because I don’t need it, but because I seem always to be fishing for another thing to hold onto.  Which always ends up becoming a snake sooner or later.

It’s not the identity of the thing I hold… it’s the act of opening my hand that God is looking for.

Permission to replace my crutch with a scepter.