little swimmer

You have been my constant companion these five months. I imagine you, as unimaginable as you are, as my friend, my entertainment, my pet, my daughter. At this moment I am completely unprepared to welcome you into the world, as I’m sure I’ll still be in another four months, for my world is a place where you’ve never been, and probably won’t like too much.  But I’m determined to make it as good a place as possible for you, my little swimmer, but that is only possible through the grace of God.

Through His grace I have been given you, to hold, protect, nurture and grow, at least until you’re taken from me.  You are a true gift, and I am undeserving.  Should you decide to bless us with your presence earlier than your peers, I will be eternally grateful for the short time I’ve been given with you, and I will, as I already do, lift you up to Him who can hold you best, Him who’s been holding you this entire time.  

My prayer is to feel you grow, to watch my stomach move with your movements, to imagine your calisthenics and gymnastics as you figure out how to control your tiny limbs.  I pray that when you take your first breath, it will be with lungs developed as a witness to the power of your Creator.  I pray that every ounce of water, every morsel of food I’ve ever taken will have gone directly to nourish you and prepare you for your grand entrance.  And I pray that your grand entrance will not be for quite some time.

You, my little swimmer, are a joy to me already.  I can only hope and pray that when you arrive, I will be able to teach you to love the One who has known you the longest, and to understand that it is only through His grace and mercy that either you or I are here, and that we have a hope that is beyond anything we can possibly imagine.  You, in your tiny state, have already been blessed by forgiveness, should you choose to accept it.  For now, I will accept that gift on your behalf. 

Keep growing, little one.  Keep doing your somersaults and soccer practice. The best place for you right now is the place in which you are resting. So stay put.  I’ll do my part if you do yours, and in a few months we’ll meet face to face. Until then, know that I love you.

Dash 8

A few days ago I turned on the news as I ate my breakfast, and the first thing I heard was that a Dash 8 had gone down in New York and everyone on board was killed.  Then, “More on this terrible accident, after these messages.”

My stomach instantly revolted against the cereal flakes I was swallowing.  “Did she just say a Dash 8?” I thought. I knew she had. The plane I had never heard of until two years ago was now on the news. And everyone on board was killed.  Too impatient to wait through the commercials about vitamins and ads for the Wall Street Journal, I immediately went online and looked up the story at msnbc.com.

I couldn’t find what I was looking for, but logic started working… “OK, I thought, I’m two hours behind them. I would’ve gotten a phone call by now. Right? I would’ve gotten a phone call by now.” I heard the news come back on, so I moved back into the living room.   I stood there, holding my uneaten cereal, and listened to the blonde news anchor describing the events that had taken place in Buffalo earlier that morning.  And then I saw it; the headline written below the video footage said the word I’d been looking for: “Continental Flight Crashed Into Home.”  Continental. Continental. Continental.  I heard her talk about the 50 people who had been killed, the two pilots and three attendants, and I let out the sob I had been controlling for the last 4 minutes. Contintental.

It wasn’t US Airways.  It wasn’t my brother. It was 50 other poor souls, but it wasn’t Andrew.  It took all of 4 minutes for my heart to stop, my stomach to turn, my hands to start shaking, and my eyes to cry a few tears of relief as I reassured myself that it wasn’t my brother.  Boy, what a way to wake up.

celebrex

I’ve been given “something stronger” by my new doctor, but so far I haven’t noticed a stitch of difference in my pain. I have, however, been having trouble falling asleep.  Prior to coming to the computer tonight, I had been lying in bed for an hour, my mind racing with completely random things.  I find that the longer I lie in bed, the more superficial my thoughts become, so please take all of this in mind as you continue reading; I am putting a general disclaimer on this post due to the combination lack of sleep and new painkillers.  I even have to warn you of potential typos, heaven forbid.

That being said, I’d like to take you on a tour of where my thoughts have rambled in the past hour.  Tomorrow morning I am getting my blood drawn and having some x-rays done, so naturally this is what I was first thinking of.  Thus started my train of random thought: 

“What time do I need to wake up? Maybe I should wear a sundress that has no metal in it so I don’t have to get undressed. Nah, that’s just being lazy – how hard is it to get undressed?  Get over it. I wonder if I’ll have time to stop at a starbucks on my way to work.  Will I be late for work? Maybe. I guess it’s ok, I think I can get everything done even if I’m a little late.  I can always stay late, too, because we aren’t hosting Bible study, so I don’t have to vacuum. Maybe I should get the tests done on Friday morning, since I have it off anyway.  Nah, why ruin a day off by going to the doctors? And I’m getting my hair done on Friday, which I don’t want to miss.  I can’t believe it’s been over 2 months since I’ve gotten it cut. But I really need it cut, especially before I go home on Thursday.  I need to find a new pair of jeans; maybe I can find one Friday after my haircut. Then I can wear them in Boston, because lord knows I can’t wear my sundresses there – friggin cold weather.  gee, should I bring a jacket?”

And so on. It came to a point where I literally laughed out loud when I realized how worthless my thoughts had become. I feel that I could’ve been in some sort of drug-induced-Clueless-haze.  I never have to worry about waking AJ up, though.  I could do a dance on the bed and then go out for a drink at the local mexican joint and he would sleep right through it.

Anyway, all that to say when I’d had enough of my shallow and irrelevant thoughts and got up and went online, I realized I hadn’t written in a while. Now I’m realizing I just wrote about nothing. But hey, it’s my blog, right? Right.

lullaby

Every night, about 3 minutes after AJ and I turn off the lights to go to sleep, Orrie jumps onto the bed.  Normally fairly stealth, his entrance onto the bed is anything but.  In fact, I would compare it to Kramer’s famous entrances on Seinfeld.  Quiet, quiet, quiet, then whumppppthudoosh!There really should be some sort of big-voiced announcer to say “And heeeerre’s Orrie! Back into the arena of Sue and AJ’s bed!” 

After his rather awkward entrance, this adorbale cat then proceeds to walk to the head of the bed, usually accompanied by one or two very demanding meows (in case we didn’t hear him jump up).  There have been many times when I will open my eyes to find his black and white face about two inches away from mine, staring intently at me, his raspy purr serenading me like a well-loved lullaby, waiting for me to pet him.  He meows again, right into my face, as if he can’t believe I had the nerve to fall asleep so quickly, and I’d better get my pet on if I know what’s good for me.

So I always oblige; he and I have an agreement from way back when he was a kitten that if he ever jumps up to see me, I will always reward him with some love.  So I smooth his fur, and rub his belly, and play with his tail.  When I get tired, I put my arm down.  But he’s not satisfied, no, he always buries his face into my hand, or arm, or hip, or whatever is closest to him, demanding again that I give him attention one last time. 

He then proceeds to find a place to rest, usually in the curve of my knees, and continues to purr, singing to me his contentment and giving his last effort to keep me awake.

pop goes your spine

I had never been to a chiropractor until last week, when I visited one in attempt to determine what is causing my hip/pelvic pain.  I’ll be honest – I am what you might call a major skeptic.  My experience with chiropractors has been limited to what I’ve heard from other people, usually sounding something like this: “Oh my gosh, it’s great.  Any time my back is hurting I go in, get an adjustment, and I leave feeling really good.”  When asked what an “adjustment” is, I get the following reply: “Well, it’s basically, like, you lie on a table and he cracks your back.” And you wonder why I’m a skeptic.

I hate cracking anything.  I’ve never cracked my knuckles, in fact my brother used to crack my knuckles as a form of true brotherly annoyance.  I’ve never been one of those people who ask someone to “walk on my back, will you?  I just need it popped.”  To be honest, it grosses me out.

So then why would I go to a chiropractor, you ask? My answer is simple: I’m hurting, and my primary care physician either a, doesn’t believe me or b, doesn’t know why and has given up.  So I’ve taken it upon myself to start eliminating possibilities, starting with a possible pinched nerve in my spine.  Ultrasounds, physical exams, CT scans and diet control have all led to zero explanations, so I’m trying alternative methods.

Overall my experience with chiropracty (I’ve been “adjusted” twice) has been fine.  I haven’t felt any significant pain through the exercise, but I have not walked away from the office “as if I was floating on air”, as my friend described her own experience.  In fact both times I left with a headache, which is not really incentive to keep going back.  I had x-rays taken to determine the extent of my scoliosis, or, as I like to say, “’s’ is for Sue”.  Given my curvature, I should look more crooked than I do, hooray! I guess.  Unfortunately, my pain has not lessened, which is frustrating.  At the same time, though, I don’t think I could afford many treatments, as each session is over $75, and with the frequency being 2-3 times a week, it is just plain old too expensive.

As to what I’ll do next, I’m really not sure.  I have yet to have x-rays done of my actual pelvic bones, and I haven’t had anyone rule out theories such as arthritis or bursitis.  All I know is that I’m getting tired of it, and my body is tired of it, too.

domesticity

I’m going to be domestic today.  It’s 9:30 and I’ve already done one load of laundry and washed the dishes.  The question is, what else should I do?  There are never ending piles of things to be done, not to mention the fun ‘projects’ I’d like to accomplish.  Should I wash our couch slipcovers, an all day task?  Should I forget the slipcovers and organize our desk?  Should I forget the desk and start sewing the fabric I bought for the living room?  Should I do a deep clean of all the floor trim and corners? I wonder if it’s possible to have your house truly clean.  I mean every nook and cranny dust bunny free and rid of cat fur.

I don’t really think it’s possible unless you hire a cleaning crew, which I am not about to do.  I can do it, right? Right.  Yeah, right.  Well, I guess I’ll start by paying the bills.  Or cleaning our closet.  Or washing the windows.

freedom

My world has been swirling around me lately.  I’ve been encountering questions and thoughts, and realizations have been coming at me like an Amtrak engine.  I’ve had the opportunities to hear stories, stories that send chills down my spine just to think of them.  But in a good way.  The chills are from grasping a fuller understanding at the greatness of God, from acknowledging that He is more vast, more powerful, and more in control than I can ever comprehend.  It gives me an overwhelming sense of peace and joy, to an extent I’ve never felt before. 

I have reached a place where I want to sing to the mountains that Christ is my King, my Savior, and that the freedom He gives me can be matched by no one and nothing on this earth.  It’s a freedom that gives me a sense of clarity about everything around me; a sense of true discernment and an ultimate desire to love anyone I encounter, because they are a child of God.  I know that my worldly ambitions and nature will at times distract me from this freedom, but that is what’s so perfect about freedom in Christ – it is forgiving, even for someone as unworthy as me.

The fact that we have the freedom in this country to post about issues like this also overwhelms me.  I thank God that I’ve been placed in the United States, where I can worship publicly, and there are no governmental repercussions for it.  Having been to countries where you work because you’ve been told to, you practice a religion because it is the state religion, and you are forced to give everything you make to the government, it makes me very frustrated to hear people complaining about our freedom, and encouraging our government to take away the freedom of the individual citizen and business.   I’ve seen what this does to a nation, to a people.  I’ve felt the bondage and seen the oppression, and I would never wish that on my country.

How blessed I am to have so much freedom in my life, and while the freedom of our country and rights may be at stake, I’m grateful to know that my freedom in Christ is eternal.

i’m losing my tan

How can that be, you ask?  I live in the hottest state in the country, where we have 360 days of sunshine a year.  And I’m losing my tan.  Well, don’t judge me yet, my sun-deprived friends of the Northeast;don’t judge me.  The thing is, there’s no water here.  There’s the occasional inground pool, but by this time of year it is just a puddle of tepid water, hovering near boiling point and full of who-knows-what kind of fungi and algae.  Our rivers are bone dry; the closest “lake” is almost 2 hours from here and even then you can’t swim in it.

So.  That is why I’m losing my tan.  Who wants to sit out and tan when there is no place to go swimming and cool off?  Given the strength of the sun, it would probably only take 15 minutes of “sitting out” a day to build up a lovely, toasty color, but it’s still 95+ degrees, so it really is quite miserable.

It’s amazing how addicted we can become to air conditioning.

rolling along

There was an almost full bottle of Poland Springs water on my car floor this morning.  I took a left turn, the bottle rolled right.  I took a right turn, the bottle rolled left and hit the console with a thud. I took another left, the bottle rolled right.  It continued as such, and I got frustrated when I had to make 3 consecutive left turns.  The bottle doesn’t roll when you make 3 consecutive left turns.  Not to make a political analogy or anything.

When I got back into my car after work, the heat hit me like a wool blanket.  I’ve felt thick air before; growing up in New England, the summer days of hot, hazy sun and 90 percent humidity made you feel that if you jumped off a roof, the air would catch you.   The desert air is different.  This air smothers you, forces you to slow down, commands you to consider the heat.  Your skin starts to prickle and tingle, and when you breathe your chest feels like a balloon.  “How hot is it?” I wondered. “It must be 101 at least.  Or 102.”

Then my AC kicked in and I again entered the easy, artificially comfortable world.

babe, i’m gonna leave you

I ain’t jokin’ woman…  One of my favorite songs.  I don’t know how Zeppelin managed to create this masterpiece out of such simple lyrics; perhaps because it’s caught in a moment, or perhaps it’s because they rocked harder than any other band. 

I never knew I liked Zeppelin; in fact, during my teen years I had a strong distaste for anything labeled ‘classic rock.’ I blame it on ignorance.  I distinctly recall driving with a friend in college and him playing a tape of the stuff, forcing me to listen to it, turning the bass up just slightly, and coercing me to hear the genius riffs.  “Listen to it,” he said, ”Listen to it and you’ll like it.”  Like my father told me about eating spinach.

But my friend was right; my father wasn’t.  I owe a lot to that friend.  So Jake Morley, if you’re out there, thank you.