I Want To Get Off This Roller Coaster

I am struggling with this one.

In fact, I have started this post 7 different times only to reread my words, take a deep breath and hit delete.  If I were writing this old school with actual pen and paper, I would probably have a mountain of wadded up notebook paper at my feet and ink stains on my fingertips. 

But I don't.

Instead, I have a blinking cursor daring me to write the hard things.  The important things.  The things that I can not say. . .

I have been on a roller coaster this past week.  Summer arrived, as it always does, with a feeling of freedom and promise and sweet expectations.  The kids and I had made our summer wish list, and we had visited the pool for a last day of school picnic.  I was relaxing into my summer mode when my mom's phone call arrived.

"Dad is going in for another heart catherization."

My mood plummeted.

Her voice was low, but even, which I found odd.  I know that she was staying calm for my dad and probably for me too, but every word she spoke was like a click of a roller coaster inching its way to its peak. 

"Again?" I questioned quietly.  "What happened?"

She replied, "He is having chest pains, " and then she paused for what seemed like a week, " . . . just like last time."

And then silence.

What else was there to say, after all?  We had ridden this ride before 3 years ago.  And after that terrifying experience, there were promises made to eat better, to make smarter choices, and to exercise. 

Promises that have not been kept.

And here is the rub . . . dad's heart procedure went fantastically.  He is at home recovering, and I am thrilled that he is feeling better, that he is OK, and that we all get to have him around.  So, why do I still feel like I am on the roller coaster?  Why do I keep anticipating that next bottom-falling-out feeling?  That next drop?

It is an interesting problem.  Loving someone so much that you can not imagine your life without him, but also recognizing that life without him is a very real possibility if things do not change.  Loving someone so much that you would do anything for him, but being unable to make him do any one thing that will keep him alive.

It is frustrating as hell.

And truthfully, it makes me so angry that I want to scream and throw things and bury my head under a pillow just like my 3 year old does when things get a bit too scary. 

But I don't.

Instead, I call and talk to Dad and listen to him joke about his "6 pack" of stents.  I know he is joking because that is just his way, but I don't find it the least bit funny. And when I try to broach the subject and get serious, Dad changes the topic to our family's summer plans.  I want to parent him and lecture him and give him a laundry list of what to do and what not to do.

But I don't.

Instead, I love him  . . . and hope that that will be enough.

**********Linking to this week's Things I Can't Say ****************************

Relatively Speaking

As I was straightening up the bathroom, I overheard Ethan and hubs wrestling with each other in the bedroom.  Hubs grunted and groaned as Ethan's pointy elbows made contact with his nether regions, and Ethan, of course, laughed with delight.

But suddenly, I heard Ethan yell out, "Grandpa! Grandpa!  Grandpa!"

Hubs, I'm sure, was as puzzled as I was, because I heard him ask Ethan, "Why are you calling me Grandpa?  Am I really that old?"

The wrestling stopped when Ethan answered matter of factly, "Dad, you said to yell 'Grandpa' when I have had enough wrestling, or I'm in pain."

Through his laughter (and mine), hubs replied, " No Ethan.  I said to yell, 'Uncle!' "

"Uncle?  But why would you yell uncle?"  Ethan questioned.


And, after thinking about it a bit, I think that I am with Ethan.  Why not Grandpa?  Or Aunt?  Or Second cousin once removed?

After all, it's all relative. (Ha!  I couldn't resist!)

A Father's Ingenuity

When it comes to some things, mothers are just better than fathers.   

Mothers excel at things like finding lost shoes, knowing when a cup of hot cocoa will make things all better, and determining when a kiddie is somewhat less than truthful in his or her explanations.  For some reason, when I became a mother, I developed an all-knowing and all-seeing third eye that helps me find that lost shoe under the sofa.  It helps me see my kiddie's broken heart, even when my kiddie is doing his best to hide  it.  My third eye is also somewhat like a lie detector.  Just the smallest flinch or blink, lets me know that I have someone in my grasp whose pants by all rights should be on fire.

But when it comes to sheer resourcefulness, I think that my hubby has me beat.  

Just today, while I was out at the grocery store, Ethan injured himself. His sister's Wii game remote somehow collided with his face.   His face sported a nice bruise.  He was upset, and even though he did not need one, he wanted a band-aid, because, as you well know, band aids  make things all better!

Hubby quickly discovered that we had no band-aids.  But, being a dad, he had ingenuity on his side.

That is why when I came home from shopping, Ethan sported black electrical tape on his left cheek.

Problem solved!

I love that man!

Anniversaries and Decisions

Today is my parents' 38th wedding anniversary.

Pretty cool, huh?

It is also my dad's 61st birthday.  I always knew that my mom was smart, but, getting married on your husband's birthday is truly genius.  He has never had an excuse to forget his anniversary!

Anyway, in a world where the easier decision is sometimes to choose divorce or separation, my parents have stuck by each other through some pretty hairy stages of life.  Their faith in each other and their faith in God have always been a shining example to me.  I have witnessed that times  in my life will be hard, but I have also witnessed the beauty and grace of sharing those burdens with the one that you love, the one that holds your heart.  

I believe that great love stories, like my parents' love story, are gifts. 

And for those gifts, I am eternally grateful.

So, Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!  You two are truly my role models.  Your love for each other is inspiring.  

In honor of your day, here is a repost that I think that your love obviously inspired.

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The Decision

When my dad toasted hubby and me at our rehearsal dinner, he pointedly looked at each of us and said, "Love is a decision that you make each and every day."  At the time, I was so engrossed in the moment and celebrating with my family and friends that I did not really comprehend what he was saying, but nine years later, I am beginning to grasp its meaning.

To fully love another human being, you have to recognize that love is not just a feeling, it is achoice that you need to actively make. Each. And. Every. Day.  Falling in love . . . getting that butterflies in your belly feeling, that feeling that you get when you are a little kid and you are swinging just a little bit too high on the swing set, that feeling that you get when you are just about to dive off the high diving board at the pool, that feeling . . . is the easy part. 

It is the staying in love that is the hard part.

You see, once life takes over, the ability to choose to love takes over too.  And, choosing to love your honey when every fiber in your being just wants to scream, beat your fists into a pillow, and just let honey have it, is so much more difficult than just allowing the hate and anger to consume you.

So, when hubby decided to scrape the snow and ice off of my window one morning before work and used our metal shovel to get the job done, I had to almost bite my knuckle raw in order to not kill him for putting 4 foot long scratches across my windshield with the shovel.  When I found out that we would have to replace the windshield, I had to switch knuckles and keep on gnawing in order to maintain control.    I had to actively remember that hubby was just trying to be nice when he scraped my windshield down. I had to choose to love hubby even when every little nerve in my body was so mad that I could strangle him.  There was no rosy, pretty pink love feeling at that moment.  Instead, there was a bold and cold decision that I knew that I had to make, even though I didn't feel like making it.  

And when I recently messed up our bank account, hubby had every right to be downright ticked at me.  I had screwed up and screwed up royally, and it was going to cost us extra money that we did not have.  But instead of taking it out on me, hubby immediately recognized how terrible I felt, swallowed his angry feelings, and gave me a much needed hug.  He chose to love me even when I felt completely unlovable.  He made a decision to love me. A decision that, at the time, was not easy.

Hubby and I have to make these decisions daily.  Whether it is his clothes on the floor or my penchant for leaving egg shells in the sink, if we let the little things bother us day to day, if we accused and used each other to get our petty anger out, then we would be chipping away at our own foundation as a couple and we would be in no shape to handle the big things when they inevitably creep up.

And they always do creep up.

By choosing to love each other, hubby and I are constantly reinforcing our foundation.  With every choice, our wall gets a little thicker, and with every decision, we are just a bit more solid.  Together.  That's not to say that we don't have our cracks, either.  We do.  But because our focus is to be proactive in our foundation and in our relationship, we can weather the cracks.  We can repair them. And we are that much stronger for it.

So, when we have to face a new life or an unexpected death, when we have to face financial adversity or a tragic loss,  or when we have to face a success or a defeat, hubby and I are ready.  

We have nine years of decisions to prove it.

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So, to my marriage role models,  I thank you.  I appreciate the role you played in my own strong marriage and in my love story.  I wish you a Happy Anniversary.

I love you!

 And Dad . . .  get a babysitter for Mom Mom and take mom out.  You both deserve it!

For those of you that are of the praying sort . . .

Please send some angels by way of my mom and dad.  They are having some medical issues and could use some extra love.

Thanks.

Annie

Daddy and his girl . . .

oooh! My heart was just aching with love when I snapped this photo.

Is there anything more beautiful than a daddy and his girl?

Hmmm.

I didn't think so!

****This is a part of the Inspired Room's Beautiful Life Friday. Link on over to see some more everyday beauty in life!

Burying the Dead

Last week, during one of our daily errand runs, the kiddies brought up the subject of our dear, departed Sammy the Cat.

"Mom?"  Ab asked. "Just where is he?"

"Well, you know he is in heaven.  Being fat and lazy and happy, and probably eating tuna fish." I was pleased with the pleasant picture that I had created.

Ab wasn't satisfied, however.  "I know he's in heaven mom.  But, where is his body?" 

"Oh!"  I replied.  Naturally, as an almost eight year old, she would understand the difference between a soul and a body, but I hadn't given a thought to discussing it with her.  "Well, we had Sammy buried in a pet cemetery out in the country."

Noticeably relieved, Ab replied, "Oh!  Good.  I just didn't want him to be in our backyard."

I was quiet.  I got it.  There is just a certain ick factor to knowing that your pet is buried near your playhouse, and that is why hubby and I opted for the pet cemetery.

We cruised along a bit until Ethan piped up from the back seat.

"Mom.  I am going to bury Pap Pap," he declared.

Still thinking about the Sammy conversation, Abbie and I both exclaimed, "What?!"

I was a little softer.  "E?  What are you talking about burying Pap Pap?

Ab got right to the point.  "E!  He isn't dead!  Why would you bury him?"

Completely unruffled Ethan replied, "I know he didn't die.  I want to bury him when we go to the beach next week!"

So, while Ab and I were reflecting on Sammy, E was thinking of digging in the sand, and apparently, burying my father, who he knew would be game for the adventure.

After sighs of relief and a few giggles at our silliness, I said to E, "Yes Ethan.  You can probably bury Pap Pap at the beach next week."

It was quiet once again until Ethan broke the silence with the question, "Can I bury his head too?"

Boys.

I still can't explain them.

To My Hubby

Happy Father's Day to my Hubby!

The man that can laugh in the face of out to dinner chaos . . .

Who can juggle a sleeping infant and 2 rowdy kiddies . . .

The man who can sleep like a baby when he sleeps with his babies . . .

The man that melts my heart with his love for his kids . . .

Happy Father's Day, honey!  You deserve a day at the course.  Go enjoy!

With much love,

Annie

My Daddy

Thanks Dad for all of the lessons that you have taught me.  I love you deeply.

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is a man of few words.

One time, while my father was at work, my mother decided to knock down the wall between the living room and family room in our house.  When my mom greeted him in the driveway after work, his face showed that he knew that something was definitely up.  But when he entered the foyer and viewed the cement sub-floor where the the wall once was, he just shook his head, turned to my mom, and said, "Well, you finally did it!"

That's it!  No yelling, no screaming, just . . . well . . . an explanation.

Time and again it was like that with my dad.

When I would bring home a new boyfriend to meet my parents, my dad would pull a stone face.  He rightly earned a  notorious reputation among the teenage boys in my class.  One time I overheard a friend say to one of my prospective suitors, "He doesn't talk.  It's eerie.  He just stares."  I can't remember if I actually made it to a date with that scared, scared boy.  I don't think so though.   I thought that my dad was just being difficult on purpose to intimidate those boys, and it drove me crazy that I was the one with the scary dad.

Later, at twenty-two when I faced my first real life changing moment, I felt so very alone.  But when my dad took me in his arms, his quiet demeanor wasn't so annoying anymore.  My perspective had vastly changed from my teenage self,  and I realized that my dad's quietness was a source of his strength and at that point in my life,  a source of my strength too.  I appreciated that he didn't require me to hash out details of my situation or relive ugly moments.  He just sat with me and let me be.  It reminded me of how when I was a little girl and my mom had to work evenings to help support the family, my dad would tuck in my sister and me. And, very often, sis and I were able to twist his arm and convince him to let us lay with him until we fell asleep.  Just his quiet presence made me feel safe and I would quickly relent to my sleep.  And, as a new adult with some serious adult problems, I felt that same calm resolution from my dad.  He was my comfort, and my protector in one.

Later, after I had my babies,  I loved when my dad would visit.  He would take my colicky babies and walk and walk and walk.  Never tiring or complaining.  Just quietly bouncing those cranky babies until they gave up and realized that their Pap Pap was ever vigilant, ever watchful, and quietly loving them to a sound sleep.  As the kiddies grew, I would watch my dad tickle the kiddies with his moustache or watch the  them play babies with him on the living room floor.  Dad always, always participated and was eager to be in on the action, even if he didn't volunteer much conversation.  The kiddies recognized that although he may not have said much, he was always listening and attentive.  He believed in their fairies and bogeymen and he was silently respectful of their ideas.  And, in kid world, that was and is really all that counts. They loved that Pap Pap played with them, and they saved special kisses and hugs to plant all over him to show their appreciation. 

Dad always basks in that kind of love.

And, although I am probably a bit too big to climb up in his lap anymore, I know too that my dad will always be my best listener and teacher.  

And the lesson that I have learned?

To listen with my heart, of course.