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Showing posts from February, 2015

Still not mother of the year

The past few weeks, my life has been a little busier than normal. I've felt--quite frequently--like I had a lot of balls in the air, and that one of them was bound to drop sooner or later. I have been talking to myself. A lot. I fit in pretty well at the nursing home. It's like when I am trying to remember a phone number, I'll say it over and over again in my mind since I can never find a paper to write it down.

Now, however, I'm saying all these things in my head because I wrote them down somewhere, but I can't find the damn paper so my inner dialogue is like, "Pick up Peyton at 5 or 7, wait what day is it: Monday, okay 5, I think. Lily has gymnastics. Drop off the recycling. Pick up my mom's laundry. Bring her insurance card. Did I bring her clean undershirts and the kind of socks she likes? Did I text Chloe good morning? Did I check on Lori? Did I pack lunches this morning or were the kids buying? Did we study spelling words or did Lily really write &qu…

This mountain that's in front of me...

About 13 years ago, my baby Peyton had to be hospitalized for pneumonia and RSV. Which begs the question: What happened to RSV? You never hear about it anymore. Did they come up with a vaccine? Anyway, I was so afraid. I held him the whole time he was there, only occasionally setting him in that scary cell-like metal crib to go to the bathroom. I held him in the chair all night, waking every two hours as the respiratory therapists misted albuterol into his tiny lungs.

Several years later, I lay next to his hospital bed tossing and turning on an awkward and uncomfortable plastic cot as he tossed and turned in pain awaiting an orthopedic surgeon to re-set his horribly broken and displaced arm.

Those were my two worst hospital memories.

Then, a week ago, after several days in the hospital, I had to take my mom to a nursing home. Although, she is only there for short-term rehab, it's still a nursing home. While it has clean rooms, beautiful surroundings, a state-of-the-art rehab fac…

Is It Tomorrow Yet?

A long time ago, Brad asked why I always went directly to the worst case scenario (If he was 20 minutes late getting home from work without calling, I would immediately begin planning his wake). My answer? Because the worst case scenario had happened, and I didn't want to be caught off guard again.

It reminds me of Connor and Vivi's conversation in The Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood:
Connor: I don't know what the hell she's so afraid of -- it's like she's always waiting for the bottom to drop out.
Vivi: You know why she thinks that, don't ya, honey? Because it did. It always did.

Despite, my validation and excuses for worrying and catastrophic thinking, I read once that worry is an arrogant if by worrying we are exerting control over situations instead of putting our faith in God. My mom is a HUGE worrier, and looking at her life, I understand why. Many times worrying was probably the only way she felt any sense of control over situati…