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Archive for January, 2008

Belly at 18 weeks

Belly – 18 weeks, 1 day.  I feel huge already!  (This was one of the “skinnier” looking pics, btw).  More pics posted at http://www.pregnancythenbaby@blogspot.com.

My Cravings

Cravings.  I forgot the whole grain bread and cheese and crackers.  Fruit and veggies never tasted so good!

Wicked

hubby and I at Wicked.  See the stage behind us?   The dragon’s head is right above Scott’s.  It’s eyes lit up and the head moved back and forth.  No wonder why the tickets cost so much!

My little blessings…

My Kids

I couldn’t fit them all in one shot, so here’s one more…

My Kids2

And to think after this next one we’ll officially have outgrown our minivan!  (That really is a scary thought!)

Scrap page

Challenge.  I really need to set up my scrapbooking space so I can do more pages!

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7:30 a.m.  Hit snooze.  Thought:  Why did we stay up so late?

7:40 a.m.  Snooze again.  Thought:  And we didn’t even get to have sex!

7:50 a.m.  Get up!  Thought:  Whew!  I gotta stop watching Prison Break!

It really was an intense dream for only 10 minutes of sleep.  I was escaping with Michael Scofield and his brother, Lincoln.  And I had evidence I needed to hide – Green marbles.  Green marbles?  And if you thought that was crazy, you should have seen the gun I had to load right before I hopped on my motorcycle.   The bullets had some sort of fuses on them.  Like I said, a crazy dream in 10 minute’s time.

Finally, I head downstairs.  “Mom?” 

“Don’t talk to me.”  I warn.

Did I mention I’m not a morning person?  I poured myself a cup of hot coffee and tried to hide.  That didn’t work out so well.  The kids, very easily found me.  You would think that after going through this every morning, the kids would figure out that mommy needs about 10 minutes of quiet to get herself together.  Or maybe they have figured it out and just like to see how many crazy faces I can make in the morning. 

8:30 I start the car so it can warm up before I load the kids into it. 

Ten minutes later Patrick comes in telling me Joshua’s bus already came.  “I saw the number on his bus.”

“Patrick, there is NO WAY you could see the bus number all the way down there!” 

“No, Mom!  He drove down our street!”

I look outside and sure enough, the bus is parked three houses down, yellow lights flashing.  I grab Joshua and without taking the time to get my coat on (but I did grab my coffee cup), we walk as fast as we can to the bus.  Oh the bitter-cold wind January brings to Ohio!  Why this morning?  Yesterday was so mild compared to the chill piercing through me this morning!  Maybe I should have left the coffee cup and grabbed the coat.  Priorities, Melissa!  Where is your brain?  Oh yeah.  It’s hanging out with my not-so-hot cup of coffee I never got to finish.

I get Joshua to the bus, watch him board and stand there for a minute.  Is the bus driver going to leave now?  Joshua was the last one in the neighborhood to board, afterall.  No.  He was so early, he decided to park in our neighborhood for a while. 

So I try to get Joshua’s attention so I could wave goodbye.  He was too preoccupied with the friends sitting next to him.  Oh well.  It is too cold to wait!  I turn and take my first step towards home.   WHAP!  Ouch!  What the heck?  I look up to find a 2×4 sticking  straight up out of the ground, apparently now, laughing in my face.  See folks, that is the problem with living in a neighborhood that is still being developed.  You never know what might pop up out of the ground, just waiting to smack you when you aren’t paying attention. 

Ouch that hurt.  But my pride was probably hurt a little more than my head.  The other mom sitting in her van no doubt saw everything.  And the bus driver?  At least he pretended to be reading the newspaper.  He probably laughed after I stumbled around the board sticking out of the ground and started my way home. 

But the best part?  My now cold coffee was all over my shirt and pants.  The board managed to not only knock me in the head, but also threw my coffee all over me.  *Sigh*  *Sigh*  Sigh*  “I hate you, you stupid board sticking out of the ground!  I hope you become a piece of firewood!”

Okay, so with all this craziness brought on first thing this morning (and I didn’t mention all the stunts my kids tried to pull while getting ready for school), I’m thinking today is going to be a really good day.  Why do I think that?  Because I already got all the ridiculousness checked off my list!  So that means it has to be a really good day…

Right?

Update: At the end of the day, I was able to say my theory was correct.  I had a good day…except for the knot and bruise on the side of my head…as long as I don’t touch it, I’m not reminded of how I got my butt kicked by a tree.

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I really haven’t verbalized my ONE New Year’s resolution because really, it was between me and God…that and I was too afraid to say it out loud.

One night earlier this month I prayed to God and told Him that I was going to try to trust Him more – that I was going to try so hard to stop putting the sins of my earthly father on Him, making Him out to be the same Dad I grew up with.  Honestly, I tend to think that God is going to make bad things happen to me, that He is going to take away the good things I’ve been given, and He is going to replace them with heartache and sadness.  I just have not been able to comprehend in my warped little mind how to believe that He really truly loves me.

But deep down inside, I know that it’s all wrong, so I said that prayer.  This was my only New Year’s resolution – a prayer to God.  Simply put, I said I was going to trust Him more, completely, with every aspect of my life…but I knew it was going to take some time…and I’m trying.

But since then, God really hasn’t let me forget about my prayer.  Little circumstances seem to remind me that I need to remember who He is, and who He isn’t.  There is so much about Him I don’t understand.  And my trust in Him still isn’t where it should be. 

Ironically, in the Bible study I mentioned before,  The Patriarchs, by Beth Moore, she’s already pointed toward trusting the God of Abraham.  Listening to this woman talk, and digging into the study and getting the point she is trying to make, well…

It’s like somebody has pressed their hands on my back and then shoved me forward, never removing their hands, but continuing to move.  And it doesn’t matter how much I resist, I’m being plummetted forward against my will.

Way.  too.  fast.

I just want to slow down a little, take things at my own pace, because really, this is hard.  It’s hard for me to trust a God I simply do not understand with my life, and with the lives of those I love most.  In fact, during one of the devotions in the study last week, Beth Moore asks us to think of two difficult questions.   I couldn’t even write down the one question that came to mind.  It just hurt too much.

Yesterday was a bit rough.  I was just so emotional.  I haven’t been sleeping well anyway, but add that to the stress of trying to get kids ready and then.  *sigh*  And then Patrick telling me about his stupid dream.   It was just too much.  We were on our way to drop the kids off at a friend’s house so that Scott and I could go see Wicked when Patrick told me he had a dream the baby was born. 

“Really?”  I smiled.  How sweet. 

“Yeah, but there was something wrong with the baby .  You told us that it was a little bit mentally handicapped.” 

Did NOT need to hear that.  I lost it.  I chewed him out.  “Why would you tell me that?”  I yelled.

“He’s ELEVEN.”  Scott said.

It’s no coincidence that this happened during this time in our lives.  Scott is a bit more stressed with…well…with things that I’ll share later.  And I’ve had this fear that I’ve tried so hard to keep silent, that something is wrong with this baby.  So when Patrick brought up his dream, I freaked out on him.  He basically verbalized my fear, and I had to acknowledge that once again, I did not trust God. 

I was scared out of my mind, and I fell.  I screwed up.  I hurt, and I got hurt back.

I spent most of the day crying.  At least it seemed that way.  I held back the tears during Wicked, although a time or two I had to fight back hard to keep the tears from falling, and by that evening, I was just an emotional wreck.  I didn’t feel like Scott responded to my emotional outbursts the way I needed him to, and that just made it that much harder to get over it.  Sometimes I feel like he’s talking to me like I’m one of the guys, or one of his soldiers who just screwed up.  So we both wind up getting angry with each other.

Really, I just needed a night to be weak.  I feel like I’ve had to be strong all my life.  I’ve had to be strong for my sisters, my mom, my dad…and then getting married to an Army officer with a 4 year old son, there was no time for weakness.  I’ve never – NEVER felt like I could just fall to the ground in weakness while someone else picked me up.  Last night, I gave up.  I just couldn’t be that strong person anymore, and in the end, I told my husband so.  “I’m not like you.  I’m not a man, I’m not this strong warrior who stands up to fight every battle.  I’m a WOMAN.  I am going to have moments of weakness and I need you to fight for me when I am weak.  I need to be able to be weak for a moment, and to just be held and protected through it.” 

It’s true.  I am a woman.  Most of the time, I am strong, but sometimes I want to be rescued. I want to be the girl who’s father raced to the basketball court and scooped his daughter up in his arms when she got hurt.  I want to be that important – that I am noticed when I am hurting or scared.  I want to know I’m not going through it alone.  When I am weak, I want to be covered with the strength I don’t have, with grace and compassion.  And there will be days I will just want to be held, to lovingly be told truth, because I know there are times I need to hear it, so that I can rise up and be strong again. 

So last night Scott FINALLY got it, after a few harsh words, me resenting him for it, and then making myself completely vulnerable to him.  Sometimes I get so angry at Scott’s stepmom.  She tried so hard to screw him up the best she could.  Sometimes I feel like I’m torn down before he understands that I need to be built up (or picked up) – I tear myself down enough on my own.  especially when it comes to my failures as a mother!)  I really don’t need any help in that department!

But it’s a growing process, and I’m blessed to have a husband who tries and reaches out even after growing up in the kind of home he grew up in – one without compassion or love or understanding.  Honestly, I’m still amazed at what he’s overcome, that he is the kind of man he is.  He could have used his past as an excuse and made poor decisions for the rest of his life, but he fought against the odds and the lies and the hate, and he’s overcome.

So, my husband is the warrior, who is trying his best to understand and be there for me, his bride – a woman, who sometimes just needs to be carried in a moment of weakness.  And last night I had a very tearful talk with my Heavenly Father.  I asked Him to hold me too.  I’m still not quite there…not quite trusting Him.  But I’m trying, and I’m being pushed (even against my will).  So I know I’ll get there, one day.

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Restless Dreams

I didn’t sleep well last night.  Maybe all the dreams of feeling out of control had something to do with it.  Like the car accident Scott, Madison, and I were in (in my last dream of the night).  Scott was driving a convertable and hit a lady in another convertable…Wait.  Everybody was driving convertables!  Weird.  Anyway, this lady (with her teenage daughter) climbed out of her car so that she could cuss Scott out and threaten to sue him for hitting her.  (Maybe I’ve been watching too much American Idol too?) 

Anyway, there were so many crazy things going on in my dream, constantly reminding me that I’m not in control.  I had to laugh when I woke up.  I guess it’s easier to laugh about this stuff when you actually choose to remain in peace because you know God is in control of everything. 

I shared my “Pimping Out” dream with a couple friends tonight and they both told me that I dream a lot.  I don’t know that I really dream any more than the average person, I just happen to remember the dreams, especially when I’m pregnant.  Maybe because they’re such crazy dreams! 

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New Developments

But isn’t that how it works?  Something is always coming up in our little world.  I have to wait to see what comes of it all before I really blog about it, but sheesh!  Just when I start to get comfortable…

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what a mom’s gotta do.

It’s been such a battle, trying to get Patrick to get ready for bed on time.  He RARELY, and I mean rarely gets ready by his bedtime.  In fact, lately, things have only gotten worse.  He took 2 hours to get ready for school yesterday morning, and still didn’t get everything done on his morning check list.  (Hey, at least he didn’t miss his bus, right?)  That was the last straw.  I grounded him for the remainder of the day and had him write an essay explaining why he was fighting this rule so hard (as well as what good things would come out of his obedience).  I told him his groundation would be extended until the report was written and we discussed it.

He managed to get ready for school in a timely manner this morning, but maybe that was because of the two hour school delay. 

Tonight, he displayed the same “I don’t wanna do it” expression on his face when I told that his bed time was still the same time as it always is (he asked!)  And I found him standing there aimlessly, like he always does when he really isn’t motivated to get ready on time. 

“Patrick, you and Joshua need to go take a shower.”  I ordered.  And he was off, but I know the drill.  He would dilly dally around in front of the bathroom mirror, or in the shower and still be late.

But sometimes a moment presents itself that a mom just can’t ignore.  And tonight when Dwight stopped to tell me he was heading to another bathroom, I gave him an opportunity any brother would love to accept. 

“Hey Dwight.  Why don’t you go ahead and go on upstairs.”  I winked.

“uhhhh, but, Mom,” He blushed, “I have to sit down.”  He gave me the look.  You know, as in to say, “you know what I have to do, right?”

“I know.”  I smiled.  “You don’t have to go up there, but if you want to gross your brothers out, you go on ahead.” 

If you have a boy, odds are you know that 9 times out of 10 they will take any opportunity to gross out their siblings.  So Dwight raced up the stairs and 2 minutes later, I giggled as I heard Joshua scream, “Oh, gross!  Ohhhhhhhh, groooooooooooooss!” 

Wouldn’t you know it?  Their shower only lasted about 6 minutes, Momma was happy and Dwight was thanked for his contribution to the family.  I love it when opportunities like this work out!

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I don’t know what is!  (This post is not suitable for kids!)

But let me start by saying that I joined a Women’s Bible study by Beth Moore called The Patriarchs and it is completely messing with my mind.  We are only on week 2 but it is amazing!  However, as we are digging deeper into the the lives of these Biblical heroes, I’m finding that it can be very easy to get emotionally involved and maybe…just maybe, I’m letting some of the failures of these people get to me a little too much?

See, we got to the part where Abraham deceived Pharoah by telling him that his wife was his sister so that he would not have to worry about his own life.  He was willing to allow his own wife to be taken in by the Pharoah, (and we both know what the Pharoah’s intentions were), and he put the love of his life in a very vulnerable situation.  What really got me to thinking about this whole situation was the question Beth Moore asks after Pharoah returned Sarah back to Abraham.  He sent them out of Egypt after scolding Abraham for lying to him.  And then Beth asks, “How do you think the first conversation went between Sarah and Abraham after they walked out of Egypt?”

Hmmmmm…I can tell you how my conversation would have went with my husband…  Some of the older (and perhaps wiser) women in the group said they would have been silent until they could have gathered their thoughts together.  Not me.  All that time in Pharoah’s palace?  Yeah, my thoughts would have been neatly filed into what I was going to say to my husband, in order of importance.  1.  What the hell is the matter with you?  2. Man up!  3.  Is this what I’m worth to you?  4. Do you realize what you put me through?    

While the Bible doesn’t make it clear whether or not Pharoah actually touched her, some scholars believe it was possible.  But to make things worse, Abraham does it AGAIN in Chapter 20 of Genesis!  He lies to another king and tells him Sarah is his sister!  (Okay, technically, she was his half-sister, but he intentionally didn’t mention that she was also his wife, and in my opinion, he used a half-truth to tell a lie).

So something tells me that I let myself get a little too emotionally involved in this story…maybe because last night I had a dream that my husband…

pimped me out.  (Enter Jerry Springer)

First, it happened to my friend.  I witnessed her collapse into a sleep-like state, and then she was carried away by several men.  (By the way, this friend only had one eye in the middle of her face and was awaiting major reconstructive surgery so that she could have two.  Weird!).  A day or two later, the men brought her back, and she was left in a humiliated state. 

Then my husband did it to me.  He somehow made me fall asleep, (perhaps with the date rape drug?) and then handed me off to two men with the agreement that they would bring me back within 2 hours.  The pulled my limp body into their car and drove off. 

The next scene in my dream begins when the men drop me back off to my husband and I wake up.  I couldn’t remember my time with these two men, but I knew exactly what happened.  I was so angry,  SO angry at my husband. 

“How could you do such a thing?!?!” I asked. 

“What?  It’s not like you remember.  What’s the big deal?” 

“Are you kidding me?!!!!!!!” 

“Well…are you sore?  Do you even feel like you’ve had sex?”  He asked.

“That’s not the point!” I screamed.  “They could have diseases.  You let them have sex with me, and they could have passed on diseases…and I’m pregnant!” 

The conversation went on, but I was getting no where with him.  I later realized that I totally messed up and took a shower, possibly erasing all evidence, and debated whether or not to even report my situation to the police.  I felt so alone.

I woke up from that dream so angry.  Why couldn’t I get through to him?  What happened to the sanctity of our marriage?  Is this what I was worth to him?  Why didn’t he protect me?  Why didn’t he understand why I was so upset?

That’s when I had to remind myself that it was all just a dream.  A big fat pregnancy dream!  My husband isn’t perfect, but he’s certainly nothing like the man in my dream, and I can’t see him lying about who I am in order to save his butt. 

But yeah.  I really really think that if I were Sarai (Sarah), I probably would have been a little mad.

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