Drama, drama, drama

Oh, the joy of Frappaccino. Oh, how I need it. Oh, what a week.

I think I'm done with drama for now, thankyouverymuch. I've had my fill. I'm all for dramalessness.

Tuesday: Meghan is at church camp, so the boys and I are doing our thing and trotting along oh-so-merrily. I take them with me to the gym on Tuesday morning, then we come home, fix lunch, and I head for the showers. The boys are contentedly eating and playing together. When I step out of the shower, I notice the creepy silence - never a good sign when two little boys are temporarily unsupervised.

I walk out in my bathrobe, turban towel around my wet head, and find Griffin in the office playing on the computer. No Nathan.

Call for Nathan upstairs. No answer.

"I saw him by the front door."

Front door has been unlocked. I step outside, scan up and down the street. There is not a soul in sight.

I run back inside, throw on some clothes and a pair of flip flops, then go back outside. I'm calling for him, I'm looking around - still no sign of him.

Silence.

Now I'm starting to panic.

My neighbor's garage door is open. Trying to think like a four year old boy, I guess that maybe he went over there to play. I ring her doorbell, ask if she has seen him - no, but she'll send her daughter on her bike to help us look, and she'll check their backyard - there is a pool in their backyard. My mind can't go there.

Griffin and I run back into our house, look under all the beds, still calling for him. Still no answer. I grab my car keys, and we start driving around the neighborhood. No sign of him.

God, where is he? Where did he go?

The fact that I have just started reading The Shack does not escape me. I have procrastinated starting this book because I feared my runaway imagination and the inevitable nightmares that would come from reading about a child abduction and murder.

I also think about the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. I think the analogy breaks down in my panic. God knows where my son is, and I do not.

We drive up and down the street, then drive around the block. How far could a four year old go in just a few minutes?

As I turn the corner back to our house, I see my neighbor and her daughter on their bikes...and Nathan. Sweaty, barefoot - but safe.

I want to hug him. And kill him.

Turns out that he and Griffin were having some kind of conversation over lunch about Griffin going to another country. Later when Griffin was playing on the computer, Nathan couldn't find him and decided to go looking for him.

Nathan got a huge, very stern talking-to that day about going outside without a grown-up, about how much I love him and want to keep him safe, about bad people who want to hurt little boys and take them away from their families. He spent most of the afternoon in his room. Aaargh.

It took me a good 24 hours to come down from those 15 minutes of horror. Just in time for the next drama.

Thursday morning: Meghan is back from camp, Nathan is wearing a shock collar (not really), and life is returning to normal. Laundry, chores, cleaning up around the house. I go to the gym again that morning, come home and take a shower, get all cute and pretty-fied. I step out into the family room with all my cuteness...and the carpet is soaking, sopping, drenching wet.

I really need to stop taking showers in the middle of the day.

Meghan had put a load of towels into the washing machine, just as I had asked her to do, and when she changed the water level knob, it didn't click over all the way. So the washer didn't know what to do - medium load? large load? - so it just kept filling up with water. And filling. And filling.

All the way across the family room. All the way into my bedroom.

Water, water everywhere...

I'm standing in our laundry room in at least an inch of water - and I'm panicking. I don't know what to do!! Besides turning off the washing machine, what do I do? I'm completely overwhelmed. So I grab a broom and try to sweep the water out the back door.

Ummmm, no.

Shop vac. We have a shop vac. Get the shop vac. Suck up the water.

It's not working. It's full. Probably from the previous washing machine mishap. Dump the old, nasty water down the driveway, resume water sucking duty.

Within five minutes, I am dripping with sweat. Not so cute anymore.

I call Michael. "You have to come home RIGHT NOW!"

In typical, calm, let's-not-panic, Michael-style, "Okaaaay...I'm still seeing patients right now..."

Well, that doesn't help.

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!?!?

I suck up all the water I can while the kids are fruitlessly attempting to soak up the water with towels and washcloths, then squeezing out the water in the laundry room..."that's not helping me!"...take the towels outside...

Pulling up the carpet...moving books off of bookshelves so we can move the bookshelves and pull up the carpet...moving the dresser in my room...pulling up carpet behind the dresser...

I look up to the ceiling and yell out loud, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

I realize that I cannot do this. Michael is not coming home. I cannot move an 800 lb. entertainment cabinet and pull up the rest of the carpet. There is more water than I can deal with on my own, and it is slowly creeping through the padding to reach even further corners of our home.

I cannot do this.

Suddenly, I remember. 24-hour emergency water removal service. The same company that has cleaned our carpets and dealt with the previous mess. They can do this.

I make a frantic phone call, then take a deep breath and relax. I have done everything I can do. Now I just have to wait for the superheroes to arrive and take over...

So yes, I have had a heaping portion of drama this week. I know better than to say anything about not having any more drama for a while because as soon as the words are out of my mouth, another dose of drama will pop out and shout, "Surprise!"

(Actually, I hear it giggling from behind the closet door. We'll get the final bill for the carpet tomorrow. Our superhero promised to try and keep the price under our deductible. Our $2500 deductible.)

I know there are lessons here. I know there are metaphors and analogies. I know God is present. I know that in the scheme of eternity and world suffering, this is an insignificant blip. (A very dramatic, expensive blip.) I am thankful for my son's safety. I am thankful that my entire home was not flooded and destroyed by a hurricane. It was just a little water. A lot of water. No, a little water.

It will all be fine. I will be fine. It's all in the scheme of this crazy life.

It's all to be continued...

Most dramatically, I'm sure.

RESToration

I'm not sure exactly how it happens, but even after a vacation, I am still exhausted. Maybe it was the 12 hour drive back home. Maybe it was all the unpacking and the laundry. Maybe it's my low blood pressure. Maybe it's laying out in the sun all day yesterday at my parents' pool. Maybe I'm dehydrated (which is Michael's answer to every malady).

Nevertheless, I'm pooped. I need rest.

I remember when Meghan was a baby - that girl hated to sleep. Nighttime wasn't too bad, but naps were - well, a nightmare. She would either fall right asleep and wake up exactly 45 minutes later, or she would lay in her crib and babble and cry and squirm until I gave in and picked her up.

I remember many mornings struggling to keep my eyes open, watching the clock and counting the minutes until I could put her down for her morning nap so I could crawl back into bed. I would finally get her settled down, fall into my own bed - and I kid you not - the second my head hit the pillow, she would start crying. I would look up at the ceiling and think, "Are you kidding me?!?" Oh, how I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted her to sleep. I was so tired.

When she grew into the toddler stage, naps were even harder. I think she stopped napping before she was two years old - and that is WAY too early - but the girl had better things to do. I mandated scheduled "rest time" during those years - more for my sake than hers - but she very rarely went to sleep. By dinnertime, she was a bear. Or asleep.

And ten years later, she still has better things to do than sleep. Her mind is like the Energizer Bunny, and if she isn't awake reading or knitting (her new favorite pastime), she is lying in bed thinking of all the things that can't wait to be thought.

When she was a baby, I longed to reason with her. "You would be so much happier if you would just close your eyes and sleep! Your body and your mind need the rest. Why do you fight it?"

One day, God whispered, Are you listening to yourself? Don't you think the same applies to you? You need to rest.

I think I require more sleep than the average human - or maybe I just really love my bed - but that's not what convicted me. My heart/soul/spirit needs rest just as much as my weary ol' body. My inner self cries out for communion with the Creator, to be reminded of who I am and Who He is. That kind of rest restores me and renews me and prepares me for what I will face in the hours ahead of me.

I haven't done a very good job of that lately. Between all the raft lounging and clothes washing and holiday celebrating, I haven't carved out that time for spirit resting. Just like Meghan and her (non)naps, this kind of rest is something I know I need, something I know would make me so much happier, something I shouldn't fight - but somehow the day slips by without it. And without the rest that my soul requires, my burdens seem heavier and my patience grows shorter. I fall asleep in the middle of my spaghetti dinner, and I miss out on the hidden opportunities to grow and live and serve. I miss out on who I am meant to be.

But, as Scarlett says, tomorrow is another day.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. Psalm 62:5

Trips and Vacations

There are trips, and there are vacations.

A trip involves going, doing, seeing, experiencing. Disney World. Washington, D.C. Go, go, go! See, see, see! Run, run, run!

A trip requires an extra week to recover from all the fun.

In contrast, a vacation involves relaxation. Sleeping. Reading. Resting. Winding down from the craziness of everyday life.

While both have merit, I prefer the latter.

We spent last week on vacation. I looooove vacation. We rented a house in The Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee, with our very dear friends. We’ve been Going On Vacation with them for the last three years, and somehow every year is better than the last. This year, the house sat on 125 acres of land filled with woods, a creek, a pond, fireflies, stars, trails, putt-putt, hammocks – not to mention the wraparound screened-in porch and rocking chairs. It almost seemed too good to be true – but it was true. Every inch of it.

I’m still surprised at myself for being so surprised at God’s willingness to bless us so abundantly. Surprised at His knowing exactly what we need, and then actually providing it.

It was the epitome of relaxation. And considering the last few months, it was precisely what we needed.

A typical day involved sleeping late, eating a quiet breakfast on the porch while the kids either played inside or watched a movie, then packing up a lunch and heading down to the pond.


One morning we took a hike...

It was stinkin' hot...


We took two trips into Nashville – just so we had a little trip in our vacation. We ate lunch on a showboat…
Took a backstage tour of the Grand Ole Opry…
(because really, you can’t visit Nashville without seeing the Opry)

Visited the Adventure Science Center…
Met up with some old friends for dinner…

Most of all, we enjoyed being together. Sometimes we laughed until our stomachs hurt and tears squirted out of our eyes. Other times we sat silently and listened to the frogs and the birds as we looked out over miles of trees and water. In raucous laughter or comfortable silence, we relished the short time we had together.

It was the perfect mix – trip and vacation, laughter and silence - and it ended way too soon.

On Friday morning before we left, we had a visitor.
This dog just showed up at the house about the same time that the guys came to mow the grass, so we assumed that he belonged to them – but when the mowers left, the dog stayed. The kids quickly “adopted” him and named him Bubba (this is, after all, Tennessee!). Bubba followed the kids around, swam with them, sat next to them all day. We kept telling them not to feed Bubba, hoping that he would get hungry and go home.

On Saturday morning at precisely 7:00 a.m., Bubba howled and barked outside our door. I hated that dog.

We packed up the cars to go home, hoping that Bubba had a home and would at last go back there.

Meghan left a note for the people who would come to clean the home after we left and before the next family came in, asking them to call us if they found her charm bracelet…which is another story. She added a P.S.:

“Don’t feed the dog (Bubba).”

When we got back home twelve hours later, there was a message from the homeowner:

“Jennifer, this is Jerry. I just talked to the cleaning people, and they said there is a dog outside the house, and there was a note saying not to feed the dog. So we’re a little confused…did you leave your dog at the house?”

Oh, jeez. How embarrassing. He thought we were dog-abandoners?!? I called Jerry the next morning and reassured him that no, this was definitely not our dog.

And on Monday, back in the depressing post-vacation reality of our lives, we were unpacking and putting away and cleaning up, when Griffin yelled, “I think I found Meghan’s bracelet!”

Meghan’s bracelet is not just a little trinket. It holds high sentimental value. Gretchen and I started these bracelets for Meghan and Alex a few years ago, and every time we celebrate a birthday or holiday or vacation, we buy them matching charms for their bracelets. I picture them wearing them on their graduation days and wedding days and as old women sitting together on a screened-in porch In The Middle of Nowhere. These are pretty special bracelets. And Meghan’s was no where to be found.

But there it was, stuck under the banister at the bottom of the stairs. I have no idea how it got there. She wore it to Nashville on Tuesday, took it off before bed, and it disappeared. We searched through everything and everywhere at the house looking for it. Behind furniture, under the beds, in the beds, in the dirty clothes, in the clean clothes - Michael even took off the drain pipe under the sink. No bracelet. And here it was, on the floor of our entry way, stuck under the banister. Somehow, it attached itself to something we own and found its way home.

(Hopefully Bubba did the same.)

And, I swear to you, not five minutes after the joyous celebration of finding that which was lost, I asked her, “Meghan, where is your bracelet?”

She had no idea.

It didn’t take long to find it, but I wanted to drop-kick her all the way back to Tennessee. I couldn’t because I was laughing too hard, and she was laughing, and I tried really hard to summon up my mean, fussy voice and order her to keep the bracelet in one of two places: her arm or her jewelry box.

Crazy girl.

So now we’re back to swim team practice and soccer practice and piano lessons and gymnastics. Back to fenced backyards and laundry. Back to phone calls and paying bills. Back to missing our closest friends.

We’re already planning for next year.

As if things could really get worse

I do love summertime sleeping in. It’s a beautiful thing. Thankfully my children love sleeping almost as much as I do, so there’s some gooood sleeping going on at my house.

Except this morning. For some unknown reason, Nathan decided to arise at the wee hour of 6:45 a.m. Even on a school day, that is way too early for me. He said something about wanting some breakfast, to which I groggily replied that it was too early.

“But the sun is up. It’s day.”

“It’s too early in the day. Go back to bed.”

He left the room, and I rolled over, knowing that there was no way I would be able to go back to sleep. I kept one sleepy ear open to the sounds of restricted cabinets being opened and loud crashes, ready to jump up at the first sound of mischief. Or at least ready to yell really loudly.

Next thing I know, I hear Griffin laughing hysterically. I roll out of bed and walk into the kitchen, and I see my precious son, butt-naked, and covered in…ummmm…fecal material.

What in the world?!?

This is not how I need this day to begin.

While I’m yelling at him to get his naked hiney in the shower, I notice a drip. A very wet drip. Coming down from the ceiling and soaking the carpet. The carpet we just paid an obscene amount of money to be dried and disinfected after the last soaking. Michael is already pulling up the carpet and mopping up the mess, so I grab a mop and join him.

“What time is your first case?” I ask, because he told me before we went to bed last night that he had eight surgeries this morning.

“Noon.” OK – that’s odd. Usually when he has eight surgical cases, they start at the crack of dawn. Guess I won’t be seeing him ‘til bedtime tonight. So we keep mopping and cleaning up the very wet carpet. Wonder how much this will cost us?

Once the water is up, we have to start painting in order to cover up the drip. I’m thinking, Oh, crap. Now we’re going to have to paint the entire room.

But, for the record, I NEVER said what next? out loud.

“Mom. Mom. Mama? Mom!”

Huh?

“Look what I did!”

I open my eyes and peek out from under my eye mask and see Griffin, my 7 year old tenderheart, and this:


The note said, “I am thankful for all you do for me, and I wanted you to feel like me, so I made you breakfast all by myself!”

Now that is a much better start to the day.

Survivor Saturdays - Moving

Yes, I know it's only Friday. I had tried to "schedule" the post, and it kept wanting to post N-O-W, so I gave up. Impatient little thang. And besides, no one else but me is checking blogs on a Friday night. Though it's awfully quiet at my house. Boys are at a baseball game. Meg is sleeping over with The Giggle Gang. Just me. By myself. Kinda like it. And there is a pan of brownies in the kitchen with my name on it. I'm thinking this could be a glorious evening.

What? Oh, yes. The post. Here it is : Lives of Doctor Wives - Moving

We were a little bit lucky and only had to move three times, but as I say in the post, each time was really hard. I wouldn't do a thing differently, though. Everything always turned out better than I could have ever imagined.

So even if you are not married to one of those crazy doctor people, there are lots of nuggets o'wisdom in this post for anyone who has to relocate. It's an excruciating process, but I've learned that God always goes before us to "prepare a table." Did you know that in Psalm 23 ("the Lord is my Shepherd...") the original language alludes to a loving shepherd going into the pasture before the sheep enter to make sure that there are no poisonous plants or dangerous predators? The Shepherd literally prepares the land for His sheep - just like God goes before us and prepares the land where we will live.

(Check out this book and this link for more insight. It really is amazing.)

That's all. My brownies are calling. Good night.

Keep quiet!

Did I really open my mouth and say out loud, “What next?”

No. Surely I wouldn’t be so…careless. Stupid. Reckless.

Because when you say something like that out loud, you are inviting inevitable disaster.

You can think it all you want. But you keep it in your head. You never say it out loud.

When Michael is on-call and the phone hasn’t rung, we never ever say, “Wow! Call is pretty quiet!” – because as soon as those words are out into the open air, the phone will ring with a really messy, long, complicated surgical case.

You never say it out loud. I know that. I know that!

So why in the world would I say it out loud?!?

Hence, head lice.

Head lice.

Not that we’ve actually found any of the little suckers on any of our heads, but the very real possibility looms over us.

Not quite sure how we got here. It seems to be one thing after the other. But it hasn’t always been this way.

The kids celebrated their last day of school this week, which was so fun and bittersweet and exciting and sad. They both had such a fantastic year, amazing teachers, wonderful friends. We could not have asked for anything better. In their own unique ways, Meghan and Griffin could be considered “special needs” kids, and at any other school, I would have to fight and protest and conference endlessly to make sure that they get the education that they both need. Not the case here. Every teacher and staff member and administrator has bent over backwards to advocate for my kids and challenge them to fulfill the amazing potential that they both have within them. I have no doubt they are going to do incredible things, thanks in part to the teachers who recognize their uniqueness and cheer them on. These same teachers keep telling me, “I’m just doing my job,” but I’ve read enough to know that each one is going way, way beyond her job description.

After a really rough transition into pre-adolescence last year, Meghan settled into a group of friends this year who love her and accept her and know how to giggle their heads off with her. They call themselves “The Giggle Gang,” and I adore each one of them. All five of them, Meghan included, are smart and sweet and simply Good Girls.

It was a fantastic year.

So – despite all the craziness around our house for the past two months – we had a lot to celebrate. The Giggle Gang (minus one) descended upon our home for a night of girlish fun and frivolity. They played and laughed and danced around until the wee hours, then after a few hours of sleep, they played and laughed and danced around some more.

And Dry Wall Guy came at 8 a.m. following all the late-night frivolity to fix the big hole in our ceiling. On the first day of summer vacation. But it’s fixed. Thank you, Dry Wall Guy.

After everyone had gone home (hopefully for a nap), we were settling down and cleaning up when the phone rang. It was one of the Giggle Gang moms.

Head lice.

What next? I really said it. Out loud. I can’t believe I said it out loud. You never say it out loud.

I searched through my kids’ heads and found nothing but a little dandruff. Thank you, Jesus.

Nevertheless, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening washing sheets and slipcovers and throwing everything else in the dryer for a little heat shock therapy to whatever little visitors might be lurking.

All the while thinking, You have GOT to be kidding me.

It was a loooong day.

Oh, and I haven’t mentioned the Great Wood Floor Debacle that added itself to my list of debacles.

Apparently, OrangeGlo wood floor cleaner is disastrous for wood floors and leaves a milky white film that can only be removed with Windex and paper towels and four long hours of intense scrubbing.

Yeah. I found that out a little too late.

My arms and shoulders and back are killing me.

It’s my fault. I said it out loud.

It’s almost funny. Almost.

I’m planning to keep my evil thoughts to myself for a while. Not opening my mouth. Not saying anything out loud.

I wonder if OrangeGlo will kill head lice?

It's all (good) stuff.

So I'm just wondering What the heck did we do wrong?!? Since Easter, Michael wrecked his car, our washing machine flooded our living room, we had to pay out the wha-zoo for carpet repair, then we had to pay for a washing machine repairman to tell us there is absolutely nothing wrong with the washing machine (resulting in a pile of towels on the floor every time I do a load of laundry...just in case), then Michael falls through the ceiling, and that repairman is coming at 8:00 a.m. on the first non-school morning of the summer, and then our fence fell over.

Oh, and all that business about Saturday - well, we thought for a while that the city wasn't going to approve our plans for developing our land, which put us in a big ol' pickle, the very least of our problems being the inability to build a house.

Then I realize last night that we haven't paid the balance on our vacation rental home, which was due about - oh, a month ago - so I went to bed thinking that our grand vacation plans were totally shot andwewon'tgetourdepositbackandwherewillwegoforvacation
andhowcanweeverplansomethingonsuchshortnoticeand willeveryoneforgivemeforbeingsostupidandnotwritingdown
thedatewhenthebalancewasdueandIthinkI'mgoingtojumpoffacliff
ifwedon'tgettogoonvacation.

It wasn't a good night's sleep.

(Rest assured, I talked to the homeowner tonight, and he was very, very nice and understanding and merciful, and all the vacation plans are still on.)

But going back to my original point. What next?

It's a scary thought.

I voiced my fear to Michael last night, and Great King of Perspective that he is, he reminded me that it could indeed be much worse. And all of these insignificant problems (though they sure don't seem insignificant at the time) are just things. Unimportant stuff.

The land debacle is on its way to being resolved. (still no guarantee, but we're hopeful) The fence was repaired by our neighbor's son-in-law, so we didn't even have to hire a contractor. The other stuff - well, it's just that. Stuff. It doesn't really matter.

Some good friends of ours are having some very serious marital problems. Other friends of ours have very sick kids with illnesses that won't ever go away. Those are serious issues. Those are things worthy of worry.

Our stuff? Inconvenient. A bit of a headache. A little expensive.

But really not a big deal.

Maybe this is God's way of reminding us that all of the "things" in life don't really matter. Maybe He is telling us that we need to get a little perspective. We have it pretty good.

And just when I think I'm ready to pull out all my hair (gray ones first), I look up from the computer and see this:



I haven't laughed so hard in a really, really long time.

It's all good.