No Help, Thanks.

Yesterday was my worst (or best) day in a very long string of bad days. My children tag team all night and it has been getting more and more difficult as the months drag on and the glimmer of hope I once had is fading. I am tired to put it mildly. I proclaim on a daily basis that I can do it no longer. Yesterday, I meant it. I was literally at the end of myself, my mind was racing to find a way out, a way to fix it, a way to change...and I was coming up with nothing.
Having confessed my desperation to my amazing sister-in-law at playgroup (which was quite enjoyable) she concocted a plan to help. It was a plan that involved sacrifice on the part of several people. As she told me her idea I was tempted, as dictated by my deep cultural regulations, to say "No, no. I'll be fine". We both knew, however, that aside from accepting help, I had no hope of making it another minute. I could only nod with both touched and humiliated tears streaming. She arranged for people to come and sleep with my kids so that hubby and I could sleep a whole night through.
I have accepted help in the past, a lovely girl from my Bible study watched my kids for a whole day while I did whatever I needed to do, my in-laws have watched the kids as well; but there was something particular about this time. The level of sacrifice was so great and in my normal state I would never allow people to do something like this. As I thanked them, they all said,"It's no big deal." But it is. It is a big deal to be willing to stay up all night with someone else's children. What they meant was, "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make because I love you." And as much as it hurts my pride to need help in the first place, it feels good to accept help and love in the sacrifice of another. I've allowed them to have a measure of power in my life, and in the end that is what real relationship is all about.
I feel like that night of sleep, given so graciously, is enough to help me carry on a bit longer. I have hope again. And I feel I have learned a huge lesson in what it means to love, help, and be helped. So, help? Yes, thanks.

Beer Lahai Roi

You are the God of Hagar, The God who sees...
Do You see me? As I weep on my knees...
Do You see me? As my fatigue grows fangs
Do You see me? As my list of victims grows

I am beyond myself by miles. Do you see it?
Did You know I can't take another step? But you demand it.
Did You see me stumble? Did You watch me fall?
I know You know it all... Did You know that?

Why do You make us wait? The waiting is killing us.
We wait for a time when things will be better, when night again will be friendly.
We wait for a time when things will change, when You will storm in, sword blazing, and save us.
We wait to sleep.

Oh God. The God who sees. See me.

The Story of my Life

My Brightest Diamond, an album given to me by a friend, is filled with highly personal songs. The singer screams about pain of loss, but also the beauty of it too. It made me wish that I could write an album just simply as an outlet for the things in my life that still haunt me. So, since I am not a song writer, I came up with some titles for an E.P. Of course it is not entire, just a work in progress. (Damn, I really wish I could write music.)


Blackhole of Years- A moody and despairing depiction of my years spent in the utter lost-ness of depression and suicidal tendencies.

True Love (Buttercup's Ballad)- A tender melodic description of my first encounter with real love in my soul mate, Chad.

The Artist's Widow- An angry recounting of my most painful introduction to being married to an artist.

My Beautiful First- An emotional song of the beauty, joys, and fears of the first pregnancy.

F*** U Hirschsprungs- (Not sure how I would get "Hirschsprungs" into a lyric, but with a little dedication, anything can happen) An orchestral raging about my first introduction to Neonatal units, diseases, and the aftermath. My son was born with Hirschsprungs disease, and we still battle many of the effects of it.

The Girl- A fun, and sunny song about how my daughter has stormed my life with her cheery disposition and has forced me to face myself and my view of all things "girl".

Where Does It Stop?

This morning a woman stood up in church and shared her story of losing her little son at 23 weeks gestation. She shared her agonizing and grief, her deep hurts and questions, and also her deep and abiding peace. Later, I spoke with a woman who lost her son in the recent fires. Another friend recently went to her mother's home country to bury her grandfather, and still another is battling an eating disorder. After my conversation with the grieving mother, I spoke with a friend about sex trafficking in Melbourne. I felt crushed. My heart is overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering in the world. I have carried it around all day and, honestly, I am crushed by it. I feel powerless against it all, and I don't want to know any more. I try to avoid the news in order to shield myself from the mighty weight of the world. But I do want to help. I so desperately want to fix everything for everyone. I want to save all the victims, and be understanding to the misunderstood. I want to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. But where does it stop? I am not able to do it all. Even with all the money in the world I can not fix it all. What is my role and responsibility? I crave to be bigger, more powerful, more influential, more energetic, more capable...but I am not. I am only me. So now, I suppose I will just weep. I am not able to do more.

A Moment

This morning, I had a mommy moment. I had packed the kids, a blanket and some breakfast to head out to the park for a brekkie picnic. My son inhaled half a piece of toast and then set about burning it off. He raced around the park with a huge grin on his face. His fuzzy little hair billowed around his head while he was yelling his running commentary about everything he did. All the while his pink face shown with his delight. As he raced, my precious baby girl busied herself investigating rocks and tiny plants. She dragged her little body as fast as she could to get as much rock matter in her mouth before I caught her. As I watched my children enjoying themselves, just reveling in their experiences, my heart surged with love for them. It flowed out my eyes as I gazed at my amazing kids. How is it, that I, of all people, could be abundantly blessed to have under my protection such amazing people? My blessings are too many to number.

Breastfeeding

Although I have already steered one child through baby-hood and should be an old pro, I feel way out of my depth with my second. Unlike her brother, she is a nature baby. She will take no dummy, she was solely breastfed, and came out the right hole. Also, unlike her brother, she struggles to gain weight properly and is very tiny. I was led to believe that breastfed babies are the healthiest, but all I have found is exhaustion on behalf of all of us. It seems that Piper has never really gotten enough and so she doesn't sleep well through the night. Breastfeeding is a beautifully emotional experience, and is intimately connected to my sense of myself. We bonded beautifully thanks to being able to breastfeed. She never really had any latching problems, but I have always struggled to make enough. I assumed that once she was eating solids that all our problems would be fixed, but as I relaxed about it, I made even less. As I have wrestled with whether to bottle feed or breastfeed I have become more and more obsessed and confused and not a little hormonal. I wonder now if the benefits of breastfeeding have actually outweighed the benefits of bottle feeding. Leif was a robust baby, despite his disease, and my little nature baby is still battling to gain weight and develop.
I have felt a little misled and disappointed. Piper at 7 mos is smaller than her 5 month old cousin (who was lucky enough to be breastfed and get sufficient amounts!) I adore her fat counter-part, but it always makes me a little sad. I wish that I could have made her fat too. Now that she is nearly entirely bottle fed, I hope that she can give up her battle to get enough food and just focus on sitting up and crawling!

A Woman's Glory

I have, for a long time, like most girls, struggled with my appearance. I was always too fat and didn't have the defined chin and cheek bones I craved. My true bane, though, has always been my hair. I decided that this year would be the year that I would really tackle my insecurities and do something I have always wanted to do, so on January 1st I shaved my head. This year, I decided, would be the year that my self-loathing would stop. After all, I have had a daughter and it would break my heart to hear her say things about herself that I say about me. I need to show her and my son the way. My hubby also reminds me that it would be good for him too. So, I have set out on my adventure of self-acceptance.

I would love to proclaim that I am well on my way and that I am learning to "inhabit" my body. I would love to say I have found a way to accept my thin and lifeless hair, but indeed I feel as far from these things as ever before. I feel frustrated that I can't accept what God has given me and just say thank you. I wish I could not think about it.

Since having had my daughter I have not lost a single kilo, and will not be able to try until she is fully weaned. On some level I am thankful to have this experience as a larger person. I realize that this is God's gift to me to be less judgmental and to learn to accept this gift of my body, the one that He chose to give me. But at the same time, often I just feel like I am wearing a fat suit. I hate dressing it everyday, I despise buying clothes that fit it, and I hate looking at it in the mirror or pictures. I wonder if this is how all overweight people view themselves. Trapped in a body that does not represent them. Somehow I am determined to find a way to make my fat suit fit me, without waiting to lose the weight.

So, although having no hair has allowed me a slight reprieve from the hair issue (which will be sure to resurface in a few months though I feel fabulous without it now), I can't seem to leave my fat suit behind...and it certainly won't shave off on our budget. I'm not really sure that I want it to. Otherwise how will I ever hold someone's hand as they go through the journey of self-inhabiting?

Christmas.
Ahhh yes. Ho ho ho and so on. I saw a massive blow-up Santa on display at my local Target and it continually was falling over and "attacking" people as they walked past. When it was set right, I noticed a sign that said "Buy me, I'm only 79.99" and I thought, "Now there is the true meaning of Christmas."

I find myself battling more and more with what Christmas is. Let's face it, Christmas is about the presents. It is about getting and giving. We've heard the same 5 Christmas songs done in rock version, and in folk version, and in hip-hop, and alternative, and then back to rock so many times that we don't even hear the words...not that it would mean much to us if we did...(Consider "Silent Night"? Would a 13 year old girl really be delivering a baby silently and calmly? Hard to imagine.)

It's time to face up to the fact that Christmas is more about the $79.99 killer attack Santa than it is about Jesus.

However,
Christmas is one of the only times that we talk about Emmanuel, one of my favourite names for God. It means "God with us". I get a little choked up even now writing about it. I can't help but remember the story of Hagar, who wept as she had been given to her master by her mistress to bear a child. Dutifully she bore a son. She was then cast out in an unloving manner by the pair that had done it. In her agony God came to her. He was her Emmanuel.

So even now as expectations run high for Christmas-you know, the happy family, the good feelings, food, and pressies- while depression is rampant and disappointment is high, Emmanuel is here. He cried, and was overwhelmed. He was disappointed by friends and had nothing. God with us.

But I can't help but feel that this Emmanuel has very little to do with the 79.99 killer attack Santa (just an hilarious side note, it was once pointed out to me that by jumbling the letters of Santa you come up with...well "satan")

Our Emmanuel did not come for us to have presents, but to have life. Sometimes it's easy to get that confused.

Seconds

While I have a few seconds, I'm going to discuss the fate of my second. Sadly, my daughter came second. I wish that both of my children could have been first. I wish both could get me all to themselves, get carried around all the time, have nap time on mommy, and get all my energies. Sadly, the second gets the exhausted, half glazed, yet still loving eye of her parents. She doesn't get picked up the minute she cries, and her nap times must be taken alone. Since her brother can run faster and climb higher he gets more attention than she (for right now) and sadly has to lay on the floor alone while mommy "saves" her brother yet again from some dangerous and/or disastrous situation.

I suppose in some ways, coming second has it's benefits. She has more people to get in her face, and she has a built in play partner. She has an older brother to fight for her and fight with her. She has someone to show her the ropes and, hopefully, a lifetime friend.

So, while her mother may forget her birthday, she has a big brother. And that might just make up for it.

the fashionister

At 2 and a half my son has very definite tastes about what he wears...he even has definite opinions about what I wear. Yesterday he began his day in leiderhausen, then we changed him into his "work" suit, and finished off the day in a T-shirt with shorts. When he's not wandering the streets in a bathrobe with jeans and gumboots, he's donning his batman jammies that are very nearly too small. But his most favoured attire is a Spiderman costume that he received from some friends. He wears this suit until it is so covered in dirt that it is barely recognizable as Spiderman. Not only is his Spiderman suit great looking, it also adorns with him magical powers. He is now able to "shoot" webs from his hands. He has climbed great heights, and not even our 6 ft. fence out back was able to deter him from greeting our neighbours (who, needlessly, to say were quite surprised to see his fuzzy little head peeking over the fence.)
I love it that his hero is a good guy and saves people. I don't know what I'd do if his super hero was Doc Oc...but is it to much ask for a super hero who takes naps, doesn't throw his food on the floor, and doesn't hit his friends on the head?

Babies and death

I have been reminded again about the fragility of life. As more and more friends are losing babies, either by miscarriage or "freak genetic accidents" I find myself filled with the "why God" dilemma. While my son was ill, I took comfort in knowing that God was big and capable. I was able to rest in His love. It didn't mean that seeing my tiny little son sick with tubes everywhere didn't hurt more than childbirth, it just meant that the God of the universe was aching with me. And I rest in knowing that my good friend whose baby died due to a "freak genetic accident" is also not grieving alone. And my many friends who have "miscarried" (such a crappy term for the death of a baby) don't grieve alone either.
But, since the abortion bill legalizing abortion up to 24 weeks for any reason was passed, I am wondering more and more about why God would take the children that are wanted. Why are so many wanted babies dying? Why would He allow/cause this to happen? He is the one solely in control of the lives of these little ones and yet they are perishing and He does nothing...but weep. Forgive me God, but I don't want tears, I want these babies back. It feels so unfair that He has allowed abortions, but has taken the lives of so many babies that are loved by their parents. Children should not die. Caskets should not be made any smaller than 5 feet long, there should not be in existence a Children's Hospital, refuge, or safe-house. Children should be safe and loved, and be able to live from conception. So this is my petition to a God whom I KNOW loves us, Thank you for sharing our grief, but can we have Oliver, Amelie, Peme, Little McNaughton, and Tiny Rushworth back please?

Zoolander In Real Life

I have been thinking a lot about appearance lately. Since having baby 2, I was hoping that since I am breastfeeding that my weight would fall off, as it seems to for everyone whom I chatted with. It has not been with the case for me, though. I am working harder than ever to lose it, and get fit, but find that the weight is stuck. I was never a person to struggle with weight and so I find quite a challenge to dress my new larger body (how do you dress up a fat suit.) I am truly uncomfortable being the weight that I am, not just in moving it around, but in trying to feel like a woman for my husband.

On the same token, I have read a few articles berating people who become parents. The articles bring up, as an irritation, the "daggy" appearance of these parents. I felt this keenly, as I am one of those "daggy" parents. Many days I have to choose between eating breakfast and showering. Since the benefits of breakfast outweigh the benefits of a shower, I am usually fed, but not "done-up". I regularly feel very self-conscious in my greasy pony-tail and chubby belly, and, with a red face, recall the articles I have read, and am aware that I am simply proving their point.

Then it occured to me, that one of the many beautiful things about being a parent, is gaining the understanding that life is so much bigger than the way you look. There really is so much more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking. (I wrote these wise words on my mirror...)

(Hope you enjoyed reading something new Michelle)

Valentine's Day

I don't often brag about my husband. It's not often that positive things escape my lips. But I after spending an afternoon with a friend whose heart is hurting over relationship stuff, and making valentine's day cards with friends, I feel overwhelmed with love for him. I couldn't begin to list off all the things that amaze, astound, and ennoble him, but I can make a pathetic beginning. He is an amazing father. He comes home from work and immediately gets into playing with his son. They have a special "teekle" time, as Leif calls it, and also there is some light wrestling involved. Leif giggles for his father like no one else. Chad loves us both, and we are his first priority. He demonstrates this by asking for my opinion on any extra activities.

Chad is an amazing person. He loves and cares for people. When a dear friend of his was going through a divorce, Chad was hurting to heavily that he was ill for a few days. Chad works as a counselor at his school and frequently carries the weight of the many hurts that he hears about. He doesn't say much about it, but it shows on his face, especially when really selfish parents are involved.

Chad is an incredible husband. He brings me flowers on bad days, and lets me lay around when I don't feel great. He cleans the kitchen better than I can, and always helps me hang the laundry when he's home. He works his rear off so we can have enough money to cover our expenses plus some. More importantly than all that, he's gorgeous.

I love my husband. I could write for pages and never say enough.

Left Behind

It's been a while since I have blogged, I know. It's not been for lack of thoughts or inspiring insight, just simply the lack of time. Even now as I write this, the household tyrant may rise and demand a bloogyia (book) to be read to him...more like help open for him...So quickly on we go.

I traveled to the states recently with Leif while Chad went on a missions trip to Thailand. I had a great time, mostly, and Leif traveled well, mostly. A week before we were to leave the states Leif came down with croup, and so he was rushed off to emergency (with a 100 million dollar bill), since breathing, being a vital function, was becoming increasingly challenging for him. He was given some medicine which helped amazingly, thank God. The rest of the week was spent at home, fun plans canceled. The baby was ill.
Meanwhile Chad and associates were building a facility in northern Thailand at a children's home. They played with kids, built, and overall, just poured their hearts and lives out for these at-risk Akha kids.

Meanwhile, I was still holding a sick baby.

When we all returned home, it was a happy reunion! Leif was happy to see his daddy, and daddy was happy to be seen by us both. We traded presents, and hugs, and stories. As the stories came out, more and more I began to feel left behind. It is a drive of mine to do something big in the world. I want to make a change, and feel like I'm having an impact on my world. The more stories I heard the harder it became. I hadn't been able to go due to the tyrant. And I began more and more to ponder the things I couldn't do due to the tyrant. I began to feel more and more left behind. But less in a best-selling book kind of way, and more of a sad will-I-ever-be-anything kind of a way. I began to realize that I was being left behind in millions of aspects of normal life. Long walks of exercise being infringed by a child who wants to walk and no longer happy in the pram...a house that is maintained in an embarrassing mess due to his need to destroy mum's neat-ing handy work...studies left undone due to a brain that is coming undone...and a sense that more and more I am being expected by society to do more and more since I don't have a real job. Yet here I am, failing and definitely behind.

Days after me personal "Left Behind" saga had begun, I opened up a book, with no intention of really reading it. It just so happened to be a page on young missionary mums and what their job in ministry is. And to my amazement, I read what I already knew and believed in my heart. That missionary mums, along with regular mums, will find that their greatest contribution to the world, while their children are growing, is being an available mum. I realized that holding the little tyrant while he was ill will be looked on with as much favour from my heavenly Father as my husband's efforts in Thailand. I am reprieved.

Heroes

This weekend I was afforded the opportunity to hang out with some of my heroes. Susan Brown, Joy Kilpatrick, Noela Harmer, Jan Steane, and my mother in law Tammy Loftis have long been some of my favourite ladies. They are people that I admire, look up to, and highly esteem. Janet is single mother who has raised 3 amazing kids and works full time. I have though of her often...particularly before Elevator Camp when I felt quite on my own... Joy is very like my mother on many ways (mother happens to be another hero) in her cheeky humour and...well...she's just Joy. What can I say? Noela works quietly on the sidelines, serving faithfully and joyfully. Sue is encouraging and funny. Always has word pictures or images to understand things. My M.I.L. is tender and concerned...I was so lucky to spend time with this bunch. So lucky. I was even able to meet some new heroes I hadn't known before the weekend. Jeanne, the speaker, is intelligent in EVERYTHING and yet still has the capacity to chat and laugh (always a surprise to meet someone so wise who also laughs at silly jokes). It was an amazing time of life-learning. I know I have returned changed. I missed my little man and my big man,though. Upon returning home, I held Leif...boy-stink never smelled so good.

A Week At Camp

I wonder if his parents know before he was born. I wonder if they considered aborting him. They certainly would have been given the option. I'm sure they cried when it became apparent; the tell-tale eyes, the expression...Down-syndrome. Yet there he was, for a whole week of camp, surrounded by 200 other people. Every meal he served, taking the loathsome task of scraping the plates, serving those around him. When the week ended, everyone knew him. He was marked, not by the obvious genetic malformation, but by his servant's heart and the way he worshipped his God. The lives of all who attended the camp will forever be changed by this Christ follower.

When I was pregnant the first thing asked of me was whether I would abort if my child had Downs Syndrome. I said no, but thought about it over and over since...Since meeting this teenage boy, I will wonder no longer. I think his lesson will resound longer than any other teaching at that camp.

The Little Things

In life it is the little things that we do for each other that can make the biggest impact. Someone recently handed me some movie tickets with a little note, and it meant the world to me. I've made an attempt at listing a few little things but I would LOVE to read any ideas anyone else has...

1. Write a note, unexpectedly, letting someone know what they mean to you.
2. Stop by their house with some flowers.
3. Call someone up just to see how they are.
4. Make someone a meal (a personal fave)
5. If someone has a new baby, offer to hang out for an afternoon so mum can sleep.
6. Ask someone out to coffee
7. Mow your neighbours's nature strip.
8. Bring an interesting tea blend to someone to try out.
9. Make up CD especially for them.
10. Bring tubs and give someone a foot bath (it makes it less awkward if you join in too!)
11. Leave someone a comment on their blog.

An Apology

In my last blog I think I may have misrepresented what I've been feeling. I described a dying that I have only really come to realize. I meant death in a death to life kind of way. I think if pieces of me weren't dying or slumbering I couldn't be the mother I strive to be. Selfishness and even some of my more "important" pursuits have had to die in order for the mother-me to live. Now maybe some day I can study nursing and help AIDS orphans in Africa, but until then I am a super-hero mum, saving my child's life from his daily attempts to take it. I am glad to be able to stay home, but some days I get tired...( just a side note, I have a song for every bodily function, can you say the same?) I think that, as believers in Christ, our daily transformation can be tiring. As a mother, that transformation is excelerating. I have that daily battle of the dying me and the new-to-life me...and it wears me out and so I write blogs about it.

By the way, Congratulations Simon and Michelle on your new baby.

Just hangin out at home

I was speaking with someone the other day who asked me what I was up to. She answered for me,"Just hanging out at home?" I was speechless. I guess in some way she was right, in other ways, she was outrageously wrong. My job is a full time mother. No wait, I am working...ummm how many hours are there in a week? Well, I am working all of them. Every second of every hour I am on call. When I'm not on call, I'm on duty. I guess maybe it would be more impressive if I was in an office, or a surgeon. But no, I'm just at home. Just hanging out...(grrrr)

Lately, I've been burned out from working all the time. I'm running on empty...I have realized since my five minutes of aloneness previously described that I have died. I read a blog by a friend on mother's day discussing the life and death that lives side by side in a mother, and somehow it irritated me. I don't like death. I don't want to know that I look like death, or seem in any way dead. Yet in so many ways, I am. I have surrendered so much more than I ever thought I could. My old me is dying slowly and sometimes painfully. The things that used to make me excited don't anymore. I am forgetting what those things were. In some ways, it breaks my heart, and I wonder if I will find that person some day when I'm not on call 24/7. Some days I feel more dead than alive. Growing up my mom always said that raising children is about moments, that you survive moment to moment. I think it is those moments that make me alive...and so I am alive...but also dead.

A Piece of Me

A few days ago, I was alone. it only lasted for about 5 minutes, but I was alone. I stared down at the ocean below at dusk. There was no one around, no baby hanging from my pant leg, no messy house beckoning, no dinner to make, no one around. The kind of mystical aloneness where magic happens. I saw myself, just a glimpse, in a wave which was gone and another wave replaced. It was beautiful.
I was shocked how amazing those 5 minutes were. It made me realize how much has been surrendured in the rearing of a child. In some ways the waves showed me my life of permanent carer for a fit-throwing toddler who's too damn cute to punish. I realized with brutal reality that in order to have 5 minutes of sheer blissful aloneness, I will have to travel 3 hours on a rainy day in a tour bus. 5 minutes in which my pants are not being pulled down by my child, when I don't have to pack a nappy bag to step out of doors, when I don't have to punish a child whom I love so much it hurts, when I feel like a real person...and I can breathe...if only for 5 minutes.