In conjunction with my Getting out of Debt/Remember When Wednesdays posts I'm doing my first EVER giveaway!
Head on over to Being Gently Led for all the details!
Mediterranean Turkey Burgers with Feta Dressing
16 years ago
Showing posts with label remember when wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remember when wednesday. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays : Or ... not.
I wanted to sit down and write an entire post about the next chapter in our getting out of debt saga ... because I'm sure you've been waiting on pins and needles. Right? Right? Hello?
However ...
However ...
We are in the middle of a kitchen remodel. I am so proud of the work Officer Hottie is doing - he has made me a new laundry room (er...closet), a pantry, installed new countertops and removed a wall to name a few things. In six weeks. He's amazing. And completely stressed.
Considering his truck literally caught on fire when he left work on Sunday ...
"Honey, I'm stopping by Lowe's on my way home to pick up the rest of the stuff we need!"
(Five minutes later)
"Honey, I need you to come pick me up because my truck is on fire. The FD is putting it out right now."
... I'm cutting him some slack. The man is allowed to be stressed.
So, between the car and the kitchen I haven't found time to sit down and write about our debt story. But I will. Because even if no one reads it, it is good for me to remember where we've come from, especially now that we are back down to one car and the prospect of spending another summer without a way to get the kids to the park and play dates is a little discouraging. It's time to buck up and practice what we preach...save save save!!
See how stressed these poor children are? See?
Seriously though, thank God for carboard boxes. Can I get an amen?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays: The Debt Story Pt 2
(To read Part One of the Debt Story go HERE.)
"I don't get it!" I exclaimed with frustration.
"What's wrong?" Officer Hottie asked as he sat down next to me on the bed.
"I can't seem to get this budget form to work for us. When I fill in all the blanks we come up short. Really short. It's just that we can't be that far off - there has to be something wrong with my math. There is just no way that we are coming up so negative every month."
"You're probably just missing something."
I sighed. "I don't think so. After our mortgage, car payment, credit card payment, car insurance, phone bill and utilities we hardly have anything left for groceries or gas, let alone tithing, gifts, oil changes or anything else."
"Don't worry so much," he tried to reassure me. "I'm sure Dawn will have some insight."
I sincerely hoped he was right. We were almost at the 30 day mark, and Dawn, the financial class instructor, had promised if we kept track of our expenses for 30 days she would sit down with us and come up with a working spending plan. The class had been good for me, although most of the information I already knew, I'd just never put it into practice.
Dawn had said to get $1000 put into an emergency savings account. I wondered where we'd come up with $1000 when we could barely come up with the $245 to make our credit card payment. She said never refinance your mortgage and tie up your credit cards and car payments into the mortgage payment; that within one year the credit card bill would be back up to where it had been. I wondered if she'd looked at our last refi. We'd rolled a $15,000 car loan and an $11,000 credit card into our mortgage...and 10 months later we had a new car with a new payment and our credit card balance was at the $11,000 mark again. Yikes. She said to pay cash for everything. I wondered how in the world it was possible. Never use a credit card?
The next week Officer Hottie and I headed over to our church to meet with Dawn. We were excited to finally get a plan for our money. I was hopeful that she would be able to find a way for us to not only make our payments, but maybe even have a little extra.
I handed over all our bills, our list of expenses we'd kept track of and our pile of one-time expenses (like our dentist bill we hadn't paid yet), smiled and asked her to work her magic. Dawn was so gracious; I'd liked her the minute I met her. She had worked her way out of a mountain of debt so I felt comfortable letting her look at our situation. She seemed to have it all together and I admired that about her. Her husband had been injured and unable to work so she bore the burden of getting the debt worked out on her own. She had inspired and encouraged me and I felt that having her on our side was going to be a huge help.
Quietly Dawn looked over our transactions. She paused when she got to the last one, a charge to the credit card at Claim Jumper the night before. She looked up at us. "This," she said, circling the charge with her finger, "can't happen anymore. You guys are in no position to be going out for dinner right now. You have a very tough road ahead of you."
There it was, plain as day. We were in trouble and she had called us out on it.
I laughed nervously as she looked back at our paperwork and began making columns. At the top of each column she had OH's take home pay. Underneath she began making lists; mortgage payment, food, auto, insurance, etc. She used a pencil and would write numbers under each column, often erasing and rearranging. She paused every so often to ask us questions: "Is this a recurring bill or a one time bill?" "Is it possible to spend less money on gasoline?" "Have you ever considered clipping coupons?" "Is this cable AND internet?" Each question, each erase, left me more and more worried. I wondered if I had been right, if we really were that far behind every month.
Finally, after lots of math, Dawn looked up at us.
"I think this budget can work. But it'll be tough and you have to be committed. You can do it though." She handed us the paper she had put together. Officer Hottie and I leaned in to read it.
The first thing that stuck out to me was tithing. She had left it blank.
"Wait, what about tithing?" I asked. "Where's the money for tithing?"
Dawn looked at me kindly, but somewhat sadly. "If you tithe, which you can do, you won't have money to pay your mortgage, or make your car payment, or feed your children. It's up to you, because you have to follow your convictions, but I'm telling you, if you tithe, you will not be able to make it."
"Can't the money come from anywhere else?" Officer Hottie asked. "I mean, I'm sure we can cut money somewhere."
Line by line Dawn showed us what we were up against.
A mortgage payment that was 51% of OH's take home pay. A car payment. A credit card payment that was almost as much as the car payment. Utilities. $321 a month to spend on groceries, diapers, toilet paper and shampoo. For our family of five. I kept trying to smile but reality was quickly sinking in. We had spent so long over-spending and it had finally caught up and over taken us. When everything was said and done, simply to pay our bills OH was going to have to work a minimum of one hour of overtime every pay period.
"Ok. Ok. Ok." I think I felt that if I kept saying 'ok' than everything really would be ok.
"You have to cancel your gym membership, reduce your cell phone plan, cancel cable, not drive around so much and get that overtime if you guys want to stay afloat. If you want to keep your home and your car," Dawn said matter-of-factly.
"Ok."
She sighed. "Here's what I want you to do. If OH gets more than one hour of overtime, you need to think of something you want to do with that money. What do you guys like to do?"
"Eat," we said at the same time.
She laughed. "Ok. So, if you get more than one hour of OT, you get to go out to dinner. Then anything extra you put towards your savings until you get $1000."
"What about Christmas?" I asked, fearful of the answer.
Before she could respond Officer Hottie spoke. "I work Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving," he reminded me. "We'll use that money for Christmas." I was relieved. I really didn't want our children to pay for our mistakes. "Plus," he added, "I get a CPI raise the first of the year, and my step raise soon after that."
"Excellent!" Dawn replied. "Use your tax refund to finish putting the $1000 you need in savings, put about $500 aside for clothes, because your kids will need new clothing, and then put the rest toward your debt. It will only be tough for a short time."
I felt slightly better, but it was only October and we wouldn't be seeing any raises for three months. On top of that, overtime was never guaranteed.
We packed up our things, left the church and got into our car. The car I had been so proud of, so excited to start driving. I now looked at it as a weight that was sinking our family. I plopped into the passenger seat and began crying. Sobbing. How did we let this happen?
Before we left the church's parking lot, Officer Hottie was on the phone. He canceled our cable, took text messaging, internet and the extra minutes off our phone plan. He canceled the gym membership.
"We can't do this," I said.
Officer Hottie grabbed my hand and gave it a firm squeeze.
"We can do this," he stated. "We can and we will."
"We can and we will," I repeated.
I was so thankful one of us had confidence and I tried to remember that three months really isn't a very long time.
To be continued...
"I don't get it!" I exclaimed with frustration.
"What's wrong?" Officer Hottie asked as he sat down next to me on the bed.
"I can't seem to get this budget form to work for us. When I fill in all the blanks we come up short. Really short. It's just that we can't be that far off - there has to be something wrong with my math. There is just no way that we are coming up so negative every month."
"You're probably just missing something."
I sighed. "I don't think so. After our mortgage, car payment, credit card payment, car insurance, phone bill and utilities we hardly have anything left for groceries or gas, let alone tithing, gifts, oil changes or anything else."
"Don't worry so much," he tried to reassure me. "I'm sure Dawn will have some insight."
I sincerely hoped he was right. We were almost at the 30 day mark, and Dawn, the financial class instructor, had promised if we kept track of our expenses for 30 days she would sit down with us and come up with a working spending plan. The class had been good for me, although most of the information I already knew, I'd just never put it into practice.
Dawn had said to get $1000 put into an emergency savings account. I wondered where we'd come up with $1000 when we could barely come up with the $245 to make our credit card payment. She said never refinance your mortgage and tie up your credit cards and car payments into the mortgage payment; that within one year the credit card bill would be back up to where it had been. I wondered if she'd looked at our last refi. We'd rolled a $15,000 car loan and an $11,000 credit card into our mortgage...and 10 months later we had a new car with a new payment and our credit card balance was at the $11,000 mark again. Yikes. She said to pay cash for everything. I wondered how in the world it was possible. Never use a credit card?
The next week Officer Hottie and I headed over to our church to meet with Dawn. We were excited to finally get a plan for our money. I was hopeful that she would be able to find a way for us to not only make our payments, but maybe even have a little extra.
I handed over all our bills, our list of expenses we'd kept track of and our pile of one-time expenses (like our dentist bill we hadn't paid yet), smiled and asked her to work her magic. Dawn was so gracious; I'd liked her the minute I met her. She had worked her way out of a mountain of debt so I felt comfortable letting her look at our situation. She seemed to have it all together and I admired that about her. Her husband had been injured and unable to work so she bore the burden of getting the debt worked out on her own. She had inspired and encouraged me and I felt that having her on our side was going to be a huge help.
Quietly Dawn looked over our transactions. She paused when she got to the last one, a charge to the credit card at Claim Jumper the night before. She looked up at us. "This," she said, circling the charge with her finger, "can't happen anymore. You guys are in no position to be going out for dinner right now. You have a very tough road ahead of you."
There it was, plain as day. We were in trouble and she had called us out on it.
I laughed nervously as she looked back at our paperwork and began making columns. At the top of each column she had OH's take home pay. Underneath she began making lists; mortgage payment, food, auto, insurance, etc. She used a pencil and would write numbers under each column, often erasing and rearranging. She paused every so often to ask us questions: "Is this a recurring bill or a one time bill?" "Is it possible to spend less money on gasoline?" "Have you ever considered clipping coupons?" "Is this cable AND internet?" Each question, each erase, left me more and more worried. I wondered if I had been right, if we really were that far behind every month.
Finally, after lots of math, Dawn looked up at us.
"I think this budget can work. But it'll be tough and you have to be committed. You can do it though." She handed us the paper she had put together. Officer Hottie and I leaned in to read it.
The first thing that stuck out to me was tithing. She had left it blank.
"Wait, what about tithing?" I asked. "Where's the money for tithing?"
Dawn looked at me kindly, but somewhat sadly. "If you tithe, which you can do, you won't have money to pay your mortgage, or make your car payment, or feed your children. It's up to you, because you have to follow your convictions, but I'm telling you, if you tithe, you will not be able to make it."
"Can't the money come from anywhere else?" Officer Hottie asked. "I mean, I'm sure we can cut money somewhere."
Line by line Dawn showed us what we were up against.
A mortgage payment that was 51% of OH's take home pay. A car payment. A credit card payment that was almost as much as the car payment. Utilities. $321 a month to spend on groceries, diapers, toilet paper and shampoo. For our family of five. I kept trying to smile but reality was quickly sinking in. We had spent so long over-spending and it had finally caught up and over taken us. When everything was said and done, simply to pay our bills OH was going to have to work a minimum of one hour of overtime every pay period.
"Ok. Ok. Ok." I think I felt that if I kept saying 'ok' than everything really would be ok.
"You have to cancel your gym membership, reduce your cell phone plan, cancel cable, not drive around so much and get that overtime if you guys want to stay afloat. If you want to keep your home and your car," Dawn said matter-of-factly.
"Ok."
She sighed. "Here's what I want you to do. If OH gets more than one hour of overtime, you need to think of something you want to do with that money. What do you guys like to do?"
"Eat," we said at the same time.
She laughed. "Ok. So, if you get more than one hour of OT, you get to go out to dinner. Then anything extra you put towards your savings until you get $1000."
"What about Christmas?" I asked, fearful of the answer.
Before she could respond Officer Hottie spoke. "I work Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving," he reminded me. "We'll use that money for Christmas." I was relieved. I really didn't want our children to pay for our mistakes. "Plus," he added, "I get a CPI raise the first of the year, and my step raise soon after that."
"Excellent!" Dawn replied. "Use your tax refund to finish putting the $1000 you need in savings, put about $500 aside for clothes, because your kids will need new clothing, and then put the rest toward your debt. It will only be tough for a short time."
I felt slightly better, but it was only October and we wouldn't be seeing any raises for three months. On top of that, overtime was never guaranteed.
We packed up our things, left the church and got into our car. The car I had been so proud of, so excited to start driving. I now looked at it as a weight that was sinking our family. I plopped into the passenger seat and began crying. Sobbing. How did we let this happen?
Before we left the church's parking lot, Officer Hottie was on the phone. He canceled our cable, took text messaging, internet and the extra minutes off our phone plan. He canceled the gym membership.
"We can't do this," I said.
Officer Hottie grabbed my hand and gave it a firm squeeze.
"We can do this," he stated. "We can and we will."
"We can and we will," I repeated.
I was so thankful one of us had confidence and I tried to remember that three months really isn't a very long time.
To be continued...
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays: The Debt Story Part I
The light at the intersection was red. Thankfully. Laura's words had pierced my soul and I was hoping, praying that she hadn't noticed. When she spoke it was as if God Himself had spoken; I realized He'd been trying to speak to me for a long time, but it was the first time I'd actually listened.
"The light's green," Laura said. It brought me out of my haze and we continued chatting as I tried to ignore the lightning bolt that had just shot through my heart.
Everything was normal when we arrived back at the house. Our husband's were playing in the yard with the kids and we started on dinner.
Later, when Officer Hottie and I had a minute alone, he asked how the trip to Target went.
"Um...Laura said something that really hit me."
"Oh yeah?" he replied. "What was that?"
"Well, you know how she's really into homebirth but she had Kaleb at the hospital? I asked her why and she said their insurance hadn't covered home birth. She said they had a conviction from the Lord to never go into debt, and that the conviction He gave them was stronger than their own personal ideals, so they decided that instead of putting his birth on credit they would go to the hospital."
I could see the twinge across his face as the words "conviction from the Lord" slapped him as hard as they'd slapped me. I could see his shoulders slump a bit as he deflated. Laura and her husband, Julian, came out of our guest bedroom then (which was really just our son's room with an extra mattress thrown in) so I knew the conversation would have to be finished later.
A few days later I waved to Julian and Laura and their kids as they left to go back home and I nearly forgot about how God had spoken through her. When we went to put our son's room back together we found a pile of their clothing and pillows. I laughed as I packed it up to take the the UPS store. Laura said she'd send us money but I laughed her off. "Pshhh. Shut it."
The day after sending the package I sat down to balance our checkbook. After having friends here for a week I was happy to see we had some money left over. Sweet. Maybe we could go out for dinner one more time before payday? I do love to eat out.
The next morning I awoke in a panic. My heart was racing and it was like God was again talking to me..."Did you pay the credit card bill?"
Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. I forgot to pay the bill. I forgot...I forgot...
Officer Hottie was already at work so I ran out to the computer to check our ledger balance...sure enough...I hadn't paid the bill. My heart sank. The minimum payment was $250 and we only had $100 left in our checking account.
Wait? Where did all that extra money go? What happened to all that overtime?
I frantically looked through the list of transactions; they screamed to me as I passed each one.
The Old Spaghetti Factory. You didn't have enough money to eat here!
The Children's Museum. Why would you even go here if you don't have money?
The Woodland Park Zoo. You paid more for GAS than for admission. And the lions were sleeping!
Trader Joe's. Really? REALLY? Chocolate covered ORGANIC pretzels? Really?
I could feel the tears building up as each transaction left me feeling more panicked and angry. How did we do this to ourselves? Where were we going to find the money to pay our bill? We'd never not paid a bill before...the weight of responsibility and failure was heavy on me as I reached for the phone to call Officer Hottie.
Through tears I explained that we'd spent our money and had no way to pay our credit card bill. Or to tithe. All that money that we'd blown through that we were going to give to our church. I felt as if we'd not only let ourselves down and been completely irresponsible but that we were also letting down God; that we had misused His blessings and cheated on Him. OH was calm and practical, promising to call the Credit company and see what we could work out.
"How did we do this? How did we get here? How could we let this happen?"
I thought back to a few months earlier when I'd overpaid our internet bill by $30 and it took our account negative. Why hadn't that forced us to look at our finances? Or two years before when OH started with the police department and his first paycheck was $700; I remembered the terror of the realization that we had no moeny and barring a miracle we wouldn't be able to make our mortgage payment. Why hadn't we allowed that to put a freeze on our spending? I thought about when he transferred to his new city and got a pay raise of over $300 and the first thing we did was buy a new car and get into a car payment. What else could we have used that $300 for? Certainly we had bills we were obligated to; how did we forget that?
My heart was heavy and burdened as I mulled over the mess we had made for ourselves.
Oh God, what are we going to do?
Little voices lifted me from my fog of self-despair. I had to turn on Mom mode and go. Change the diapers, get out the cereal, get them dressed, take a shower, go to the park ... the day moved on, each hour taking us closer to the dreaded payment deadline. I tried not to think about it, to shove it away as had been my practice for years but it was different this time. I knew things had to change, I just didn't know how we could change them, and that frustrated me almost more than not being able to pay our bills did.
The next day I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. A knot. A pit. Butterflies. I'm not sure what to call it. I hated waking up and feeling dread. It was going to be a hard day. I got the kids ready for church and while they were eating sat down at the computer to check my email. Someone had responded to our ad on Craigslist for our bedroom set. The weight, the dread, lifted slightly.
As I packed the kiddos into the car I begged the Lord to have the people buy the set. If we sold it, I knew we could pay our bill - we would make it another month.
I sat through worship and when the pastor got up to give the weekly announcements I was hardly paying attention as I was sitting next to Mom and there's always something important for us to talk about. I heard the pastor saying something about financial classes and immediately grabbed the bulletin from my mom's hands. Sure enough there, was going to be a financial class offered for women. An answer. Hope. Help. The weight lifted a little bit more.
That afternoon a couple came over to look at our bedroom set. Officer Hottie was working and had given me explicit instructions on how to load the gun and answer the door. Having a gun on my person made me more nervous than strangers coming to our house. He's such a cop sometimes. When they arrived I saw they were an elderly couple and quickly tossed the gun on top of our fridge; it was making my pants fall down anyway. They walked into our house, took a quick look at the set, and gave me $350 in cash. I wanted to hug them, to cry, to jump up and down. I wish they knew how they saved me that day. I briefly thought of the $1700 we'd spent on this set that I just HAD to have when we first got married and the measly $350 I now held in my hands but the remorse was temporary as the burden of not being able to pay our bill that month lifted completely.
I carefully tucked the money into my purse to take to the bank the following morning. I was ecstatic that our bill would be paid on time. However, in the back of my mind I was already wondering how we would pay next month's bill and praying that the financial class would hold some answers for us.
To be continued...
"The light's green," Laura said. It brought me out of my haze and we continued chatting as I tried to ignore the lightning bolt that had just shot through my heart.
Everything was normal when we arrived back at the house. Our husband's were playing in the yard with the kids and we started on dinner.
Later, when Officer Hottie and I had a minute alone, he asked how the trip to Target went.
"Um...Laura said something that really hit me."
"Oh yeah?" he replied. "What was that?"
"Well, you know how she's really into homebirth but she had Kaleb at the hospital? I asked her why and she said their insurance hadn't covered home birth. She said they had a conviction from the Lord to never go into debt, and that the conviction He gave them was stronger than their own personal ideals, so they decided that instead of putting his birth on credit they would go to the hospital."
I could see the twinge across his face as the words "conviction from the Lord" slapped him as hard as they'd slapped me. I could see his shoulders slump a bit as he deflated. Laura and her husband, Julian, came out of our guest bedroom then (which was really just our son's room with an extra mattress thrown in) so I knew the conversation would have to be finished later.
A few days later I waved to Julian and Laura and their kids as they left to go back home and I nearly forgot about how God had spoken through her. When we went to put our son's room back together we found a pile of their clothing and pillows. I laughed as I packed it up to take the the UPS store. Laura said she'd send us money but I laughed her off. "Pshhh. Shut it."
The day after sending the package I sat down to balance our checkbook. After having friends here for a week I was happy to see we had some money left over. Sweet. Maybe we could go out for dinner one more time before payday? I do love to eat out.
The next morning I awoke in a panic. My heart was racing and it was like God was again talking to me..."Did you pay the credit card bill?"
Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. I forgot to pay the bill. I forgot...I forgot...
Officer Hottie was already at work so I ran out to the computer to check our ledger balance...sure enough...I hadn't paid the bill. My heart sank. The minimum payment was $250 and we only had $100 left in our checking account.
Wait? Where did all that extra money go? What happened to all that overtime?
I frantically looked through the list of transactions; they screamed to me as I passed each one.
The Old Spaghetti Factory. You didn't have enough money to eat here!
The Children's Museum. Why would you even go here if you don't have money?
The Woodland Park Zoo. You paid more for GAS than for admission. And the lions were sleeping!
Trader Joe's. Really? REALLY? Chocolate covered ORGANIC pretzels? Really?
I could feel the tears building up as each transaction left me feeling more panicked and angry. How did we do this to ourselves? Where were we going to find the money to pay our bill? We'd never not paid a bill before...the weight of responsibility and failure was heavy on me as I reached for the phone to call Officer Hottie.
Through tears I explained that we'd spent our money and had no way to pay our credit card bill. Or to tithe. All that money that we'd blown through that we were going to give to our church. I felt as if we'd not only let ourselves down and been completely irresponsible but that we were also letting down God; that we had misused His blessings and cheated on Him. OH was calm and practical, promising to call the Credit company and see what we could work out.
"How did we do this? How did we get here? How could we let this happen?"
I thought back to a few months earlier when I'd overpaid our internet bill by $30 and it took our account negative. Why hadn't that forced us to look at our finances? Or two years before when OH started with the police department and his first paycheck was $700; I remembered the terror of the realization that we had no moeny and barring a miracle we wouldn't be able to make our mortgage payment. Why hadn't we allowed that to put a freeze on our spending? I thought about when he transferred to his new city and got a pay raise of over $300 and the first thing we did was buy a new car and get into a car payment. What else could we have used that $300 for? Certainly we had bills we were obligated to; how did we forget that?
My heart was heavy and burdened as I mulled over the mess we had made for ourselves.
Oh God, what are we going to do?
Little voices lifted me from my fog of self-despair. I had to turn on Mom mode and go. Change the diapers, get out the cereal, get them dressed, take a shower, go to the park ... the day moved on, each hour taking us closer to the dreaded payment deadline. I tried not to think about it, to shove it away as had been my practice for years but it was different this time. I knew things had to change, I just didn't know how we could change them, and that frustrated me almost more than not being able to pay our bills did.
The next day I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. A knot. A pit. Butterflies. I'm not sure what to call it. I hated waking up and feeling dread. It was going to be a hard day. I got the kids ready for church and while they were eating sat down at the computer to check my email. Someone had responded to our ad on Craigslist for our bedroom set. The weight, the dread, lifted slightly.
As I packed the kiddos into the car I begged the Lord to have the people buy the set. If we sold it, I knew we could pay our bill - we would make it another month.
I sat through worship and when the pastor got up to give the weekly announcements I was hardly paying attention as I was sitting next to Mom and there's always something important for us to talk about. I heard the pastor saying something about financial classes and immediately grabbed the bulletin from my mom's hands. Sure enough there, was going to be a financial class offered for women. An answer. Hope. Help. The weight lifted a little bit more.
That afternoon a couple came over to look at our bedroom set. Officer Hottie was working and had given me explicit instructions on how to load the gun and answer the door. Having a gun on my person made me more nervous than strangers coming to our house. He's such a cop sometimes. When they arrived I saw they were an elderly couple and quickly tossed the gun on top of our fridge; it was making my pants fall down anyway. They walked into our house, took a quick look at the set, and gave me $350 in cash. I wanted to hug them, to cry, to jump up and down. I wish they knew how they saved me that day. I briefly thought of the $1700 we'd spent on this set that I just HAD to have when we first got married and the measly $350 I now held in my hands but the remorse was temporary as the burden of not being able to pay our bill that month lifted completely.
I carefully tucked the money into my purse to take to the bank the following morning. I was ecstatic that our bill would be paid on time. However, in the back of my mind I was already wondering how we would pay next month's bill and praying that the financial class would hold some answers for us.
To be continued...
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays
Growing up, I was bossy. Really really bossy. Even still my brothers and sisters will let me boss them around, it's just that now my husband gets after me when I try to boss too much. But they didn't have my husband's protection when we were growing up and so I bossed and bossed and bossed a little more.
I made my brothers dress up in princess clothes. I made my sisters wash the dishes. I made lists of chores for them to carry out. I even tried to tell my parents what to do. My mom says that one time I came storming into the house and exclaimed, "MOTHER! Do you know how close the children are to the road?"
To which she replied that she was the mother and I could stop worrying.
To which I replied, "Then act like it."
I'm pretty sure I got a swat for that one. Thankfully I don't remember.
My whole point in pointing out how bossy I was, is that I am much less bossy now. Sort of.
There is this really great book I found, quite by accident, that I just had to buy my sisters for their birthday a few years ago.
It's about an older sister who is left in charge when her parent's go out. She bosses her little sisters and tells them to make dinner and not to wake up the baby. And then she falls into a pot and hilarity ensues when her little sisters refused to be bossed anymore.
One of my sisters laughed and laughed and said it was the best book ever that perfectly summed up their childhood with me. (Thank you Rach.)
The other sister blew me off and gave me a smirk and didn't thoroughly appreciate the novelty of the book. (Um...Boo. I'm talking about you.) I'm pretty sure that's because she always wanted to be the boss.
My kids still think I'm bossy. And my husband gets after me for bossing. And recently I had to apologize to my sister-in-law when I realized she asked about what time to be at a party and I laid out step-by-step exactly how they could arrive and be on time. She's gracious and laughed (thanks Tara). I would have told me to shut up.
On this Remember When Wednesday, I would like to remind you to love your older sister, because (as my therapist told me) she's just a little Mom trying to keep you on the straight and narrow.
At least, that's how I remember it.
I made my brothers dress up in princess clothes. I made my sisters wash the dishes. I made lists of chores for them to carry out. I even tried to tell my parents what to do. My mom says that one time I came storming into the house and exclaimed, "MOTHER! Do you know how close the children are to the road?"
To which she replied that she was the mother and I could stop worrying.
To which I replied, "Then act like it."
I'm pretty sure I got a swat for that one. Thankfully I don't remember.
My whole point in pointing out how bossy I was, is that I am much less bossy now. Sort of.
There is this really great book I found, quite by accident, that I just had to buy my sisters for their birthday a few years ago.
It's about an older sister who is left in charge when her parent's go out. She bosses her little sisters and tells them to make dinner and not to wake up the baby. And then she falls into a pot and hilarity ensues when her little sisters refused to be bossed anymore.
One of my sisters laughed and laughed and said it was the best book ever that perfectly summed up their childhood with me. (Thank you Rach.)
The other sister blew me off and gave me a smirk and didn't thoroughly appreciate the novelty of the book. (Um...Boo. I'm talking about you.) I'm pretty sure that's because she always wanted to be the boss.
My kids still think I'm bossy. And my husband gets after me for bossing. And recently I had to apologize to my sister-in-law when I realized she asked about what time to be at a party and I laid out step-by-step exactly how they could arrive and be on time. She's gracious and laughed (thanks Tara). I would have told me to shut up.
On this Remember When Wednesday, I would like to remind you to love your older sister, because (as my therapist told me) she's just a little Mom trying to keep you on the straight and narrow.
At least, that's how I remember it.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays
I just reached 30 followers. On Remember When Wednesday no less. I have a hard time believing that there are 30 people in this world who care to read what I write, but thank you. When I started blogging I got giddy over 3, one of which was my husband who doesn't actually read this blog, so I don't think he really counts. However, as more people have found my blog, made comments and invited me into their (online) lives, I've been very blessed. So thanks for following.
I've been having a bit of writers block the last little bit. I thought having something to focus on to write about, like Remember When Wednesday, would force my creative juices to keep flowing but creativity seems to be a little elusive so I hope you'll bear with me as I struggle through this!
This morning Momma Fargo posted a link to Momma's Pixie Dreams. Their 16 month old daughter was just diagnosed with cancer. That shook me up. I hate cancer; I wish there were a stronger word to describe how much I hate it. Resent, abhor, repulse...none really seem to describe how much I really truly feel about cancer.
When I was 15 my best friend died from cancer. I hated it when they said he had it, I hated it when they said it had returned after they thought it went away, and I really hated it the night he was so doped up on medication he could hardly remember me and the following morning when he died. I hated what it did to his family, I hated how it ripped a hole in the world, I hated how life goes on no matter who dies. I hated drinking guava mango juice because it had been his favorite, I hated not knowing what to say to his parents, I hated feeling empty and helpless. I hated when his family took a long vacation after he passed, I hated that I didn't like his other best friend so I couldn't talk to him, I hated going to the zoo because we'd gone there for his birthday once and the whole place reminded me of him. I hated being a teenager and instead of enjoying being 15 I was dealing with real life, I hated that I was so messed up I had to miss school and go to work with my mom.
15 years later the only thing I don't hate is that his sister is one of my dearest friends and his parents are still a part of my life. I love that they all love my husband. I love that his sister's son is just a few months older than my youngest so we spend a lot of time together. I love that we have each other and we can remember together. I love that our husbands are both police officers so we understand each other on a level we never thought we would. I love that we go to the same church so we can pray together and focus on what is most important. I love that she laughs and has joy and that time, Love and the Lord have erased many of her hurts and her own hate. I love that losing her brother has made her a stronger mother and wife, more fierce than she would have been. I love that she is tender toward those who are going through their own loss and that she remains vulnerable to those around her.
All that hate I dealt with ... and now all this love.
On this Remember When Wednesday I want to remember that love and hope are stronger than hate. That God is stronger than cancer. That there will be a time when all pain will be erased; although the journey and the way it ends may not be the way we want, the result can always be Healing and Hope, especially for these little ones.
I will remember to pray for Momma Pixie's little Monkey and for all those who are struggling.
I hope you will too.
I've been having a bit of writers block the last little bit. I thought having something to focus on to write about, like Remember When Wednesday, would force my creative juices to keep flowing but creativity seems to be a little elusive so I hope you'll bear with me as I struggle through this!
This morning Momma Fargo posted a link to Momma's Pixie Dreams. Their 16 month old daughter was just diagnosed with cancer. That shook me up. I hate cancer; I wish there were a stronger word to describe how much I hate it. Resent, abhor, repulse...none really seem to describe how much I really truly feel about cancer.
When I was 15 my best friend died from cancer. I hated it when they said he had it, I hated it when they said it had returned after they thought it went away, and I really hated it the night he was so doped up on medication he could hardly remember me and the following morning when he died. I hated what it did to his family, I hated how it ripped a hole in the world, I hated how life goes on no matter who dies. I hated drinking guava mango juice because it had been his favorite, I hated not knowing what to say to his parents, I hated feeling empty and helpless. I hated when his family took a long vacation after he passed, I hated that I didn't like his other best friend so I couldn't talk to him, I hated going to the zoo because we'd gone there for his birthday once and the whole place reminded me of him. I hated being a teenager and instead of enjoying being 15 I was dealing with real life, I hated that I was so messed up I had to miss school and go to work with my mom.
15 years later the only thing I don't hate is that his sister is one of my dearest friends and his parents are still a part of my life. I love that they all love my husband. I love that his sister's son is just a few months older than my youngest so we spend a lot of time together. I love that we have each other and we can remember together. I love that our husbands are both police officers so we understand each other on a level we never thought we would. I love that we go to the same church so we can pray together and focus on what is most important. I love that she laughs and has joy and that time, Love and the Lord have erased many of her hurts and her own hate. I love that losing her brother has made her a stronger mother and wife, more fierce than she would have been. I love that she is tender toward those who are going through their own loss and that she remains vulnerable to those around her.
All that hate I dealt with ... and now all this love.
On this Remember When Wednesday I want to remember that love and hope are stronger than hate. That God is stronger than cancer. That there will be a time when all pain will be erased; although the journey and the way it ends may not be the way we want, the result can always be Healing and Hope, especially for these little ones.
I will remember to pray for Momma Pixie's little Monkey and for all those who are struggling.
I hope you will too.
Love this family.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays
(I fully realize it is not Wednesday yet. However, I'm taking a blogging break for a few days to celebrate our son's fifth birthday so I felt the need to write this early.)
7:00 a.m. I looked at the clock. Huh.
I laid there for a second wondering what had woken me up when I felt it. A contraction. A real live oh-right-this-is-what-labor-feels-like contraction.
Dang. I better call Officer Hottie. I'll wait for another just to make sure.
I got up to use the bathroom. Another hit. Time to call the hubby and tell him to come home from work.
"Honey, I'm in labor."
"You sure?"
"Yup. I've only had two contractions, but this is it." I heard him begin to run.
"I've got to get back to the shop then I'll be on my way."
7:08 a.m. Traffic is not going to be fun.
"Mom? I think I'm having this baby. Can you come over and watch L?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Be right over."
L woke up. I got him out of his crib and sat down on the exercise ball as I snuggled him during my next contraction.
Wow. Where is my mom?
As I popped a waffle in the toaster, got a sippy cup full of milk, and put L in the high chair I began to think about what the day would bring. Soon I would be holding another baby. I sat back down on the ball when another contraction began.
This is different than last time. Where is everyone?
When Mom arrived I was mid-contraction. I couldn't talk to her.
"Honey, how long have you been having contractions?"
"What time is it?"
"7:18"
Where is Hottie??
"Um ... for 18 minutes."
She gave me a look - I can't describe it but I think it was a mixture of excitement and total terror. 18 minutes is a fairly short time to be laboring - and to be sure the labor is going somewhere.
Another contraction hit and I rocked back and forth on the ball. I tried having conversation with my mom, telling her where all of L's things were, who he was supposed to stay with, when to bring him to see us. I was pausing every few minutes to rock my hips back and forth on the exercise ball. A wave of relief washed over me as I heard OH pull into the driveway. The moment he walked in I stood up to go. My mom and he got the car loaded up with our overnight bag. I kissed L good-bye.
"We're going to have the baby!" I said. I wondered if he even knew what I was talking about, or how much his little life was going to change.
Why is Hottie talking to my mom so long? SHUT UP!
I started to walk to the car. I had to lean against the house since I couldn't walk through my next contraction. Thoughts of getting to the hospital and only being 3 centimeters dilated were running through my mind.
Like last time. But it feels so different this time.
"I think you should get in the car," I heard my mom say to my husband.
Ya think?
Officer Hottie lifted me into our car and hopped into the driver's seat.
7:45 a.m.
"Did you call the doctor yet?"
"No."
He dialed the phone. I was having another contraction and only heard him say, "Yeah, this is it. We'll see you at the hospital." Followed by, "Honey, traffic is bad."
Of course it is.
"Can you also call Summer? I want to make sure she meets us there." I was determined to have a natural childbirth with my second baby and my friend had offered to be our doula. I knew I was going to need her encouragment if I was going to make it.
But this hurts. More than I remember. I wonder if Summer will be mad if I get drugs. Maybe she won't care.
Contraction after contraction. OH decided SR-9 would be faster than I-5 and I hoped he was right. He was making phone calls while I labored. Melissa first. My cousin and best friend. I wanted her there. He told her he'd call back once we'd checked in. Then his sister-in-law who heard me moaning and started to cry. And finally my sister. He put her off until the end knowing she had made me promise to not go into labor on Wednesday. Any day but Wednesday. She answered the phone with, "You have to be kidding me. If you are in labor I'm going to cry." She started to cry. So did I. She missed L's birth because of work ... and now this one too. I really wanted her there. I cried until the next contraction hit and I had to concentrate.
"We don't have a name if it's a boy," I said when the contraction was over.
Maybe we should have found out what we were having. Maybe we'd have settled on a name by now.
"I know. I still like J."
"Me too. What if it doesn't fit?"
"We'll see when he gets here I guess." Good enough for now.
I turned sideways to see if that would be more comfortable. I gripped the seat and the center console. I leaned forward and lay my head on the dashboard. I considered turning around and hugging the back of my seat. The only thing that seemed to help was making noise.
Why does this hurt so bad?
I glared at the cars around us.
They really should get out of our way. Don't they know what I'm going through? Why did we choose to deliver so far from home? Seriously.
8:05 ... 8:25 ... 8:37 ... 8: 50 ...
"Honey, close your eyes."
My eyes had been shut tight until he said that.
"Why?" I looked around and realized traffic was at a stand still but we were racing along in the carpool lane at 40 miles per hour, passing car after car. Our exit was less than 1/2 mile away.
We're going to miss the exit. WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!
"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!" I screamed as another contraction hit.
"I told you to close your eyes!"
I watched him yank the steering wheel off to the right and somehow, miraculously, we missed every car while crossing four lanes of traffic to make our exit.
I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Thank you Lord. Thank you Lord."
The light at the exit was red. 8:54.
The next two lights were red. The people in the car next to us were laughing.
Stupid idiots. Stupid stupid idiots. They are so stupid. Stup--- it's too hard to hate and have contractions at the same time.
"Honey, just think, you're probably at 5 centimeters by now! Halfway there!"
I hope you're right.
We arrived. They saw OH helping me out of the car and brought a wheelchair.
"Your doctor called and your room is ready."
"Good, because I think this baby might fall out."
"Honey, that's a good sign!"
Stupid nurse. Nothing is good.
They handed me a robe to change into as soon as I was wheeled into my room. I had four contractions while changing. They put a blood pressure cuff on me. I was hot. Really really hot. I took the blood pressure cuff off. And then my robe. I didn't care. I was hot.
"You're at 7."
Further along than I had hoped! That's good! No one is here yet ... where is my mom? Where is Summer? Where is Melissa? Where is our camera?
They put the cuff back on me. I took it off. It went back on. I ripped it off. They demanded I keep it on. I refused.
Officer Hottie was trying to talk me through contractions. I just made noise.
A nurse said, "Stop pushing." When I told her I wasn't she said, "Every time you scream you push. You need to stop screaming." She blew on my face to help me calm down. I think she had just had her coffee and cigarette break. I screamed in her face then told Hottie to go brush his teeth.
"Your dad is here." I was so glad to hear it but I couldn't open my eyes. "Can you at least put a sheet on me?" I managed to squeek out. The nurse took advantage of the moment and put the blood pressure cuff back on.
That nurse should be happy I don't have enough energy to kick her.
I felt someone grab my toe.
"Hi honey." Daddy. I could only moan. "I'm in the hallway," he said. I moaned some more and ripped the sheet and cuff off as soon as my dad cleared the room.
I can't do this. I want an epidural.
"I want an epidural."
"You can do this! You're at a seven, probaby an 8 by now." I said a few things. I screamed a little bit more. Poor OH. "She wants an epidural."
They paged the anesthesiolgist. The nursed checked me again. I saw my savior, the anesthiologist, walk into the room as the nurse said, "You're at a 9." My hope faded as the doctor shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked back out the door. I realized I was getting what I wanted. And it sucked. Yet somehow, amidst the pain I felt excitement and a new determination. I was really going to do this - even if only because I didn't have a choice. I was so exhausted between contractions I almost fell asleep. More and more contractions with hardly a rest in between. Until all of a sudden I felt like I had to use the bathroom. I knew what that meant.
"I think I need to push."
"You can try."
The urge completely took over. Officer Hottie stroked my arm, counting quietly to ten as I pushed. A nurse came over to check. "Where is your doctor?" she asked no one in particular, sounding a little worried. She walked over to the intercom and I heard over the speakers, "We need any OB to room 203. ANY available OB."
Oh boy.
"Can you hold your legs while you're pushing?"
Lady, I can't even open my eyes. If you want my legs somewhere ... "Move them yourself."
Officer Hottie grabbed a leg, kissed me, and glared at the nurse. He's always been on my side. I love that man.
At that moment my doctor walked into the room. He greeted Officer Hottie, he smiled at me, he walked over and said, "How are we do - oh boy! We're having a baby!"
"I told you to hurry," retorted the nurse. She canceled the call for any OB and quickly helped the doctor put his scrubs on. I kept pushing. "Can you stop?" the doctor asked. I responded with another push.
"I'm going to break your water," he said. "The baby is crowning and I don't want it to break while you're pushing."
I don't really care if the water breaks on the you. Just get my baby out.
I felt the warm fluid pooling around my waist and then a feeling like I was going to explode; like I was going to be torn arpart right down the middle, but I couldn't stop pushing.
Then relief as the baby's head came out. And a cry. My baby. Another push and I heard my husband say, "It's a boy!" A boy. I knew it. Even though I didn't know, I knew. I was too exhausted to cry and so relieved he was there.
What just happened? Did that just happen?
"Look at this umbilical cord!" the doctor exclaimed. I opened my eyes to see him holding up the cord and giving me a thumbs up. It's funny the moments of clarity one can have when there is such choas and craziness going on.
I so wish I had a camera. You have got to be kidding me; that is one of the funniest most dorky things I have ever seen. Is he really giving my son's umbilical cord a thumb's up?
It is forever engraved in my mind.
"HE'S ALREADY HERE?" I heard from the hall. Summer. The doula. "I missed it? I had to stop for coffee! I left as soon as you called!"
I heard my dad talking on the phone with my mom. I could tell he was trying to calm her down. She wasn't happy to have missed the birth.
"Why didn't you call me? I was sitting in the parking garage waiting for you to call!" Melissa. She had been there! And still she missed it.
"That was fast!" Over and over I kept hearing how fast everything was; how fast they had driven, how fast they had gotten dressed, how fast, fast, fast. It wasn't registering.
I just wanted to hold my baby. The cigarette nurse refused to let me hold him until she swaddled and weighed him. 8 pounds 12 ounces. She finally gave him to me and I unswaddled him quickly to check his entire body. He was perfect. His cheeks were chubby. He looked just like his brother. And Daddy. He had red hair. The nurses told me I had to try using the bathroom. I reluctanly handed the baby to my husband so I could use the restroom. It had only been twenty minutes since I'd delivered but it felt so good to get up and move. Then I emptied my bladder; fully and completely for the first time in months. The only thing that felt better was not having nearly nine pounds of baby kicking my ribs.
I hobbled back to the bed where my son was once again placed in my arms. Everyone wanted to come in and see the him. My mom and dad, my mother and father-in-law, my brothers, my cousin, my friends. Our oldest son. That felt weird to say. We had an oldest.
"What time was he born?" I heard someone ask. I realized I was dying to know the answer.
"9:22" was the response. Officer Hottie and I looked at each other and began to laugh. Our little rocket. Two hours and twenty-two minutes of labor. Not too shabby. Officer Hottie still says the baby used my ribs as his launching pad.
No wonder it felt so different this time around.
Summer kept calling me a rock star. I didn't feel like one; I tried to get drugs and it was too late. She encouraged me, "No matter! You didn't get the drugs - regardless of the reason you did it! In less than two and a half hours! Rock star!" I still embarrassed me, but if I was being honest I had to admit I felt like a badass. Summer was my only friend who had delivered drug-free at that point in my life.
I want to nurse my baby.
Almost as if on cue our loved ones started to filter out of the room. My mom, mother in law and L stayed behind. L didn't want OH to put him down. He clung to his dad for dear life.
I bet he's starting to get that his life is changing. Does he know how much I still love him? I didn't know I could love two children with such intensity. Does he know that hasn't changed?
I unwrapped my newborn son and put him to my breast. He looked at me with gorgeous dark eyes and began to suckle immediately.
Baby, I love you. I waited for you. I prayed for you. I begged God to give you to me. He made us wait seven months to conceive you and another nine months to hold you. Here you are. Completely worth the wait. Praise the Lord.
My very pregnant cousin, Melissa, asked, "Would you do it again? Should I go for natural?"
Hell no. "It sucks ... but it feels good too. Don't really know how to explain it."
"Do you have a name yet?" our mothers asked.
"No. We're thinking J but aren't totally sure yet."
We decided Officer Hottie should call his cousin to look up the meaning of the name J.
"Let God Be Praised."
J was the perfect name for our new addition. Looking into his face I could feel praises welling up inside of me. Looking at a perfect miracle, touching his tiny fingers, hearing his quiet breathing, watching him nurse, I was overwhelmed with thanks and gratitude to God for giving me such a blessing.
My praises haven't stopped even though he is five now. I love him. I praise God for him. He has changed my life and brought our family so much joy. He was worth every month of heartache trying to conceive and every month of anticipation while he was growing in my womb. He was, and still is, the perfect son for us.
Let God be praised.
7:00 a.m. I looked at the clock. Huh.
I laid there for a second wondering what had woken me up when I felt it. A contraction. A real live oh-right-this-is-what-labor-feels-like contraction.
Dang. I better call Officer Hottie. I'll wait for another just to make sure.
I got up to use the bathroom. Another hit. Time to call the hubby and tell him to come home from work.
"Honey, I'm in labor."
"You sure?"
"Yup. I've only had two contractions, but this is it." I heard him begin to run.
"I've got to get back to the shop then I'll be on my way."
7:08 a.m. Traffic is not going to be fun.
"Mom? I think I'm having this baby. Can you come over and watch L?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Be right over."
L woke up. I got him out of his crib and sat down on the exercise ball as I snuggled him during my next contraction.
Wow. Where is my mom?
As I popped a waffle in the toaster, got a sippy cup full of milk, and put L in the high chair I began to think about what the day would bring. Soon I would be holding another baby. I sat back down on the ball when another contraction began.
This is different than last time. Where is everyone?
When Mom arrived I was mid-contraction. I couldn't talk to her.
"Honey, how long have you been having contractions?"
"What time is it?"
"7:18"
Where is Hottie??
"Um ... for 18 minutes."
She gave me a look - I can't describe it but I think it was a mixture of excitement and total terror. 18 minutes is a fairly short time to be laboring - and to be sure the labor is going somewhere.
Another contraction hit and I rocked back and forth on the ball. I tried having conversation with my mom, telling her where all of L's things were, who he was supposed to stay with, when to bring him to see us. I was pausing every few minutes to rock my hips back and forth on the exercise ball. A wave of relief washed over me as I heard OH pull into the driveway. The moment he walked in I stood up to go. My mom and he got the car loaded up with our overnight bag. I kissed L good-bye.
"We're going to have the baby!" I said. I wondered if he even knew what I was talking about, or how much his little life was going to change.
Why is Hottie talking to my mom so long? SHUT UP!
I started to walk to the car. I had to lean against the house since I couldn't walk through my next contraction. Thoughts of getting to the hospital and only being 3 centimeters dilated were running through my mind.
Like last time. But it feels so different this time.
"I think you should get in the car," I heard my mom say to my husband.
Ya think?
Officer Hottie lifted me into our car and hopped into the driver's seat.
7:45 a.m.
"Did you call the doctor yet?"
"No."
He dialed the phone. I was having another contraction and only heard him say, "Yeah, this is it. We'll see you at the hospital." Followed by, "Honey, traffic is bad."
Of course it is.
"Can you also call Summer? I want to make sure she meets us there." I was determined to have a natural childbirth with my second baby and my friend had offered to be our doula. I knew I was going to need her encouragment if I was going to make it.
But this hurts. More than I remember. I wonder if Summer will be mad if I get drugs. Maybe she won't care.
Contraction after contraction. OH decided SR-9 would be faster than I-5 and I hoped he was right. He was making phone calls while I labored. Melissa first. My cousin and best friend. I wanted her there. He told her he'd call back once we'd checked in. Then his sister-in-law who heard me moaning and started to cry. And finally my sister. He put her off until the end knowing she had made me promise to not go into labor on Wednesday. Any day but Wednesday. She answered the phone with, "You have to be kidding me. If you are in labor I'm going to cry." She started to cry. So did I. She missed L's birth because of work ... and now this one too. I really wanted her there. I cried until the next contraction hit and I had to concentrate.
"We don't have a name if it's a boy," I said when the contraction was over.
Maybe we should have found out what we were having. Maybe we'd have settled on a name by now.
"I know. I still like J."
"Me too. What if it doesn't fit?"
"We'll see when he gets here I guess." Good enough for now.
I turned sideways to see if that would be more comfortable. I gripped the seat and the center console. I leaned forward and lay my head on the dashboard. I considered turning around and hugging the back of my seat. The only thing that seemed to help was making noise.
Why does this hurt so bad?
I glared at the cars around us.
They really should get out of our way. Don't they know what I'm going through? Why did we choose to deliver so far from home? Seriously.
8:05 ... 8:25 ... 8:37 ... 8: 50 ...
"Honey, close your eyes."
My eyes had been shut tight until he said that.
"Why?" I looked around and realized traffic was at a stand still but we were racing along in the carpool lane at 40 miles per hour, passing car after car. Our exit was less than 1/2 mile away.
We're going to miss the exit. WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!
"OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!" I screamed as another contraction hit.
"I told you to close your eyes!"
I watched him yank the steering wheel off to the right and somehow, miraculously, we missed every car while crossing four lanes of traffic to make our exit.
I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Thank you Lord. Thank you Lord."
The light at the exit was red. 8:54.
The next two lights were red. The people in the car next to us were laughing.
Stupid idiots. Stupid stupid idiots. They are so stupid. Stup--- it's too hard to hate and have contractions at the same time.
"Honey, just think, you're probably at 5 centimeters by now! Halfway there!"
I hope you're right.
We arrived. They saw OH helping me out of the car and brought a wheelchair.
"Your doctor called and your room is ready."
"Good, because I think this baby might fall out."
"Honey, that's a good sign!"
Stupid nurse. Nothing is good.
They handed me a robe to change into as soon as I was wheeled into my room. I had four contractions while changing. They put a blood pressure cuff on me. I was hot. Really really hot. I took the blood pressure cuff off. And then my robe. I didn't care. I was hot.
"You're at 7."
Further along than I had hoped! That's good! No one is here yet ... where is my mom? Where is Summer? Where is Melissa? Where is our camera?
They put the cuff back on me. I took it off. It went back on. I ripped it off. They demanded I keep it on. I refused.
Officer Hottie was trying to talk me through contractions. I just made noise.
A nurse said, "Stop pushing." When I told her I wasn't she said, "Every time you scream you push. You need to stop screaming." She blew on my face to help me calm down. I think she had just had her coffee and cigarette break. I screamed in her face then told Hottie to go brush his teeth.
"Your dad is here." I was so glad to hear it but I couldn't open my eyes. "Can you at least put a sheet on me?" I managed to squeek out. The nurse took advantage of the moment and put the blood pressure cuff back on.
That nurse should be happy I don't have enough energy to kick her.
I felt someone grab my toe.
"Hi honey." Daddy. I could only moan. "I'm in the hallway," he said. I moaned some more and ripped the sheet and cuff off as soon as my dad cleared the room.
I can't do this. I want an epidural.
"I want an epidural."
"You can do this! You're at a seven, probaby an 8 by now." I said a few things. I screamed a little bit more. Poor OH. "She wants an epidural."
They paged the anesthesiolgist. The nursed checked me again. I saw my savior, the anesthiologist, walk into the room as the nurse said, "You're at a 9." My hope faded as the doctor shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked back out the door. I realized I was getting what I wanted. And it sucked. Yet somehow, amidst the pain I felt excitement and a new determination. I was really going to do this - even if only because I didn't have a choice. I was so exhausted between contractions I almost fell asleep. More and more contractions with hardly a rest in between. Until all of a sudden I felt like I had to use the bathroom. I knew what that meant.
"I think I need to push."
"You can try."
The urge completely took over. Officer Hottie stroked my arm, counting quietly to ten as I pushed. A nurse came over to check. "Where is your doctor?" she asked no one in particular, sounding a little worried. She walked over to the intercom and I heard over the speakers, "We need any OB to room 203. ANY available OB."
Oh boy.
"Can you hold your legs while you're pushing?"
Lady, I can't even open my eyes. If you want my legs somewhere ... "Move them yourself."
Officer Hottie grabbed a leg, kissed me, and glared at the nurse. He's always been on my side. I love that man.
At that moment my doctor walked into the room. He greeted Officer Hottie, he smiled at me, he walked over and said, "How are we do - oh boy! We're having a baby!"
"I told you to hurry," retorted the nurse. She canceled the call for any OB and quickly helped the doctor put his scrubs on. I kept pushing. "Can you stop?" the doctor asked. I responded with another push.
"I'm going to break your water," he said. "The baby is crowning and I don't want it to break while you're pushing."
I don't really care if the water breaks on the you. Just get my baby out.
I felt the warm fluid pooling around my waist and then a feeling like I was going to explode; like I was going to be torn arpart right down the middle, but I couldn't stop pushing.
Then relief as the baby's head came out. And a cry. My baby. Another push and I heard my husband say, "It's a boy!" A boy. I knew it. Even though I didn't know, I knew. I was too exhausted to cry and so relieved he was there.
What just happened? Did that just happen?
"Look at this umbilical cord!" the doctor exclaimed. I opened my eyes to see him holding up the cord and giving me a thumbs up. It's funny the moments of clarity one can have when there is such choas and craziness going on.
I so wish I had a camera. You have got to be kidding me; that is one of the funniest most dorky things I have ever seen. Is he really giving my son's umbilical cord a thumb's up?
It is forever engraved in my mind.
"HE'S ALREADY HERE?" I heard from the hall. Summer. The doula. "I missed it? I had to stop for coffee! I left as soon as you called!"
I heard my dad talking on the phone with my mom. I could tell he was trying to calm her down. She wasn't happy to have missed the birth.
"Why didn't you call me? I was sitting in the parking garage waiting for you to call!" Melissa. She had been there! And still she missed it.
"That was fast!" Over and over I kept hearing how fast everything was; how fast they had driven, how fast they had gotten dressed, how fast, fast, fast. It wasn't registering.
I just wanted to hold my baby. The cigarette nurse refused to let me hold him until she swaddled and weighed him. 8 pounds 12 ounces. She finally gave him to me and I unswaddled him quickly to check his entire body. He was perfect. His cheeks were chubby. He looked just like his brother. And Daddy. He had red hair. The nurses told me I had to try using the bathroom. I reluctanly handed the baby to my husband so I could use the restroom. It had only been twenty minutes since I'd delivered but it felt so good to get up and move. Then I emptied my bladder; fully and completely for the first time in months. The only thing that felt better was not having nearly nine pounds of baby kicking my ribs.
I hobbled back to the bed where my son was once again placed in my arms. Everyone wanted to come in and see the him. My mom and dad, my mother and father-in-law, my brothers, my cousin, my friends. Our oldest son. That felt weird to say. We had an oldest.
"What time was he born?" I heard someone ask. I realized I was dying to know the answer.
"9:22" was the response. Officer Hottie and I looked at each other and began to laugh. Our little rocket. Two hours and twenty-two minutes of labor. Not too shabby. Officer Hottie still says the baby used my ribs as his launching pad.
No wonder it felt so different this time around.
Summer kept calling me a rock star. I didn't feel like one; I tried to get drugs and it was too late. She encouraged me, "No matter! You didn't get the drugs - regardless of the reason you did it! In less than two and a half hours! Rock star!" I still embarrassed me, but if I was being honest I had to admit I felt like a badass. Summer was my only friend who had delivered drug-free at that point in my life.
I want to nurse my baby.
Almost as if on cue our loved ones started to filter out of the room. My mom, mother in law and L stayed behind. L didn't want OH to put him down. He clung to his dad for dear life.
I bet he's starting to get that his life is changing. Does he know how much I still love him? I didn't know I could love two children with such intensity. Does he know that hasn't changed?
I unwrapped my newborn son and put him to my breast. He looked at me with gorgeous dark eyes and began to suckle immediately.
Baby, I love you. I waited for you. I prayed for you. I begged God to give you to me. He made us wait seven months to conceive you and another nine months to hold you. Here you are. Completely worth the wait. Praise the Lord.
My very pregnant cousin, Melissa, asked, "Would you do it again? Should I go for natural?"
Hell no. "It sucks ... but it feels good too. Don't really know how to explain it."
"Do you have a name yet?" our mothers asked.
"No. We're thinking J but aren't totally sure yet."
We decided Officer Hottie should call his cousin to look up the meaning of the name J.
"Let God Be Praised."
J was the perfect name for our new addition. Looking into his face I could feel praises welling up inside of me. Looking at a perfect miracle, touching his tiny fingers, hearing his quiet breathing, watching him nurse, I was overwhelmed with thanks and gratitude to God for giving me such a blessing.
My praises haven't stopped even though he is five now. I love him. I praise God for him. He has changed my life and brought our family so much joy. He was worth every month of heartache trying to conceive and every month of anticipation while he was growing in my womb. He was, and still is, the perfect son for us.
Let God be praised.
April 20, 2005
8 lb 12 oz; 21.5 in
9:22 a.m.
April 20, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Remember When Wednesdays
Remember when the mullet was the "it" haircut?
Yeah. My family totally embraced that.
If you'd like to share something for Remember When Wednesday make sure and leave a note in comments so I can check it out!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Remember When Wednesday
Figuring out how to make a button is 100% beyond my skill level. I am trying though. If Officer Hottie weren't so irritated with me for having him reinstall Microsoft Money on the computer after I promised I'd try something else, and for spending a little bit too much money, and for letting him believe we had the money to spend, I'd ask for his help. But, for now, I'm ashamed and on my own, which means ... no button. I'm sure I'll get it eventually.
Anyway, that was a way too long way for me to say that I've decided on Remember When Wednesdays. I really have been having a great time writing about stuff from my childhood; my memories of Grandma, Mom, Dad, my brothers and sisters, and even the geese. It just gets me excited and gets my creative juices moving so I'm setting Wednesdays aside as an official day for me to reminisce. It won't all be old memories either; I may not dig very far back. I'm just going to write about whatever suits my fancy that day. It's my blog and I can do what I want. Right??
In third grade we read the book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
I loved that book. It was full of adventure and naughtiness. If you haven't read it, it's about a brother and sister who run away from home (a perfectly functional home if I remember correctly) and go to New York city and live in a museum. They get money out of a fountain and live in the displays and try to find out if a statue the museum purchased is real or a fake. It was thrilling for me. I should read it again.
The part that really stuck out to me was not the fact that they ran away from home, but how they did it. They were super sneaky and that appealed to me so so much. They sat in the back seat of the school bus and when the bus parked in the bus barn, got off and headed out to New York. For days I pondered if I'd be able to do it. Not get off the bus, not get caught ... go live somewhere fancy. I knew there were plenty of fountains out there with enough cash to supply all my needs.
I decided I didn't have enough guts to actually run away from home. My parent's still ate pasta at the time and I wasn't willing to give that up. Still, I liked the idea of running away. So, I wrote my brother, Spud, a sweet little note and left it on his bed. It said something like,
"Dear Spud,
Tomorrow I am running away from home. I will get on the school bus and hide and not get off. Don't tell Mom and Dad. And if I die, tell Kory Hanson how much I liked him."
Or something like that.
Then I snickered and went into my room to listen to Milli Vanilli on the tape player.
And then my dad came in and asked me if I had something to tell him.
"Me?"
"Yes. You."
"Umm..."
"Are you unhappy here? Is everything OK at school? Has someone hurt you?"
"What?"
"Did Kory Hanson hurt your feelings?"
"What?"
"Why are you running away from home?"
"What?"
"G Ann (only giving you first initial and middle name. Sorry. Gotta protect the guilty and all) ... you wrote your brother a note telling him you were running away from home. WHY are you running away from home?"
"That? That's a joke."
"No, it isn't."
"Yeah, it is. I was reading this book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and that's part of the book. I thought it was funny. So I wanted to trick Spud."
Sigh. "That's not a nice trick. Your brother is very worried about you."
"Oh."
I'm pretty sure my parent's thought I needed therapy at that point. I can only imagine the conversation they had while psycho-analyzing the world in bed that night. Crazy daughter and her crazy ideas. That book learnin' ain't no good for her. Or something like that.
Thus ended my escapade as an elementary school escape artist. I don't know if Spud has forgiven me though. Actually, I'm sure if Spud remembered this incident, he would forgive me. He is a man now, after all. With three young boys and one child on the way. He has more important things to remember. Like keeping his own children from escaping his own home. I like to think that I just helped to prepare him for fatherhood. Right?
Anyone else have any running away/escape stories they feel like sharing??
Anyway, that was a way too long way for me to say that I've decided on Remember When Wednesdays. I really have been having a great time writing about stuff from my childhood; my memories of Grandma, Mom, Dad, my brothers and sisters, and even the geese. It just gets me excited and gets my creative juices moving so I'm setting Wednesdays aside as an official day for me to reminisce. It won't all be old memories either; I may not dig very far back. I'm just going to write about whatever suits my fancy that day. It's my blog and I can do what I want. Right??
Dear Spud, remember when I told you I was going to run away? And you snitched. I was lying anyway.
In third grade we read the book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
I loved that book. It was full of adventure and naughtiness. If you haven't read it, it's about a brother and sister who run away from home (a perfectly functional home if I remember correctly) and go to New York city and live in a museum. They get money out of a fountain and live in the displays and try to find out if a statue the museum purchased is real or a fake. It was thrilling for me. I should read it again.
The part that really stuck out to me was not the fact that they ran away from home, but how they did it. They were super sneaky and that appealed to me so so much. They sat in the back seat of the school bus and when the bus parked in the bus barn, got off and headed out to New York. For days I pondered if I'd be able to do it. Not get off the bus, not get caught ... go live somewhere fancy. I knew there were plenty of fountains out there with enough cash to supply all my needs.
I decided I didn't have enough guts to actually run away from home. My parent's still ate pasta at the time and I wasn't willing to give that up. Still, I liked the idea of running away. So, I wrote my brother, Spud, a sweet little note and left it on his bed. It said something like,
"Dear Spud,
Tomorrow I am running away from home. I will get on the school bus and hide and not get off. Don't tell Mom and Dad. And if I die, tell Kory Hanson how much I liked him."
Or something like that.
Then I snickered and went into my room to listen to Milli Vanilli on the tape player.
And then my dad came in and asked me if I had something to tell him.
"Me?"
"Yes. You."
"Umm..."
"Are you unhappy here? Is everything OK at school? Has someone hurt you?"
"What?"
"Did Kory Hanson hurt your feelings?"
"What?"
"Why are you running away from home?"
"What?"
"G Ann (only giving you first initial and middle name. Sorry. Gotta protect the guilty and all) ... you wrote your brother a note telling him you were running away from home. WHY are you running away from home?"
"That? That's a joke."
"No, it isn't."
"Yeah, it is. I was reading this book, The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and that's part of the book. I thought it was funny. So I wanted to trick Spud."
Sigh. "That's not a nice trick. Your brother is very worried about you."
"Oh."
I'm pretty sure my parent's thought I needed therapy at that point. I can only imagine the conversation they had while psycho-analyzing the world in bed that night. Crazy daughter and her crazy ideas. That book learnin' ain't no good for her. Or something like that.
Thus ended my escapade as an elementary school escape artist. I don't know if Spud has forgiven me though. Actually, I'm sure if Spud remembered this incident, he would forgive me. He is a man now, after all. With three young boys and one child on the way. He has more important things to remember. Like keeping his own children from escaping his own home. I like to think that I just helped to prepare him for fatherhood. Right?
Anyone else have any running away/escape stories they feel like sharing??
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