I recently had an experience that both baffled and infuriated me.
Last Friday was International Museum Day, and the Joslyn Art Museum was offering free admission in honor of the holiday. I've always been keen to check the museum out and decided, hey, no better reason to finally go than having to pay nothing to get in, right? I loaded August into the car and away we went.
Naturally, the museum was busy that day, but it just added to the air of culture permeating from the building. I was glad to be among the ranks of people who can find entertainment outside of the movie theater or shopping mall. I could almost taste the refined culture blowing on the breeze.
Strapped in his stroller, August was being a good little guy. He occasionally 'spoke' to a passerby or garbled some unintelligible toddler speak to the subjects in the larger paintings, but, really, he was causing no problems. I appreciated his jovial attitude greatly, considering there was basically nothing at the art museum to captivate him. We rolled from room to room, taking in the sights. I was especially drawn to a sculpture by Degas (La Petite Danseuse de Quatorze Ans, if you're interested. I've always loved the ballet, and I've always loved sculptures. When the two meet? BAM. Delightful goodness. Moving on.) and was studying it when August began to babble a bit loudly. I admit his volume was above that of a normal conversational level; after all, he's only one. What do you expect? However, he wasn't shrieking at a decibel that would frighten dogs, nor was he even loud enough to bother 99% of our fellow museum guests, who smiled kindly at him and gave me a conspiratorial chuckle, as if to say, 'Kids! Gotta love 'em!' One, erm, lady did not interpret a toddler's actions in the same manner as her peers, though. She angrily brushed past and let out a gem I never saw coming:
'GEEZ, don't bring your freaking kid to the museum, selfish bitch.'
A few emotions passed through my brain at the time. One caused my fists to clench tightly around the stroller handles, almost as if I would effortlessly swing the toddler-containing contraption through the air, shattering glass and splintering frames before ultimately smashing the woman in the face. Another stripped me of all power of intelligence and left me with a feeling of knowing nothing, like that episode of 'Spongebob Squarepants' where Spongebob's MindBob's throw out all of his mental files... Only I didn't know fine dining and breathing. I knew NOTHING. A final emotion reminded me of what my tattoo humbles me with every day: 'Child of God'. Yeah, pretty sure it's not in the best interest of 'love thy neighbor' to resort to a verbal altercation in the middle of an impressive display of paint and metals. With that last emotion blazing in my mind, I said nothing and left the room.
I said nothing then, and if I saw that woman now, I'd likely be silent still, but the issue remains: How are the children of August's generation supposed to grow to be well-rounded, educated individuals if they are barred from experiencing any sort of culture on the grounds they may cause a minor, nearly unnoticeable distraction to even one person? I want August to visit many museums, educational centers, and the like. I want him to be well-informed of this world's history and achievements in the arts, science, mechanics, et cetera, and I want him to visit them before society tells him the only way to have fun is to sit in front of a PlayStation for hours a day or to be out rioting in the streets, shooting heroin and ferreting hookers to hotel rooms. Yes, that's a stretch, I know, but it seems so much more possible these days to be an empty shell of a human that can't tell you whether the capital of Panama is Panama City or Santiago de Veraguas than to be an enriched, intelligent young person that can discuss the merits of Delacroix and Monet. I want August to be the latter, or at least have the option of being the latter. Those who take offense to every move a child makes or a sound they utter essentially kill our children's chances of phrenic success.
I take a stand against the limitations the public may put on my son. I will continue to bring him to institutions that may be considered 'out of his league', as well as the local children's museum. August already knows there is a bigger world beyond our home and yard and he rejoices in it. He finds interest every place we go, whether that be the supermarket or the home of Greek pottery and Egyptian canopic jars. Unless his behavior crosses an acceptable line, he will be privy to these places, whether others like it or not. Their poor opinions will not now, nor, I pray, will they ever, define who August is.
And, c'mon... It's not like he was tearing apart the paintings of Titian and Pollock and stuffing the shredded remains into his mouth while looking at those around him with a diabolical, maniacal gleam in his eyes. It's not as if he was dismantling seventeenth-century furnishings and setting the pieces on fire while dancing around the flames.
Geez, don't act like my freaking kid is destroying the works of centuries, selfish... witch.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
He Goes By 'Teddy': A Character Sketch
From the outside looking in, you may think our family is comprised of three people. A dad, a mom, and a toddler. You may even throw the cat in the mix and consider us a unit of four.
Close, but no cigar.
There is a fifth entity in our midst who has the power to reduce us all to quivering pots of nerves and tears. It can force us to cater to its games and whims, and we, sadly, have no choice but to obey.
His name is Teddy.
Teddy is, next to August, the most important... being... in our household. He is undoubtedly and without debate August's best and most trusted friend, bewitching him early on. No other toy or stuffed animal can compare to Teddy in August's young devotion. If Teddy ain't happy, August ain't happy. If August ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. He has his good points and his not-so-good points, but don't we all? Let's dig deeper into the bear that is Teddy.
Teddy is hugely loyal. He is very much a one-boy bear. When August carts Teddy around, Teddy couldn't be in a better mood. He smiles brighter, his satin shines with an unearthly gleam, and his fabric feels like the feather on an angel's wing. If anyone else chooses to hold and hug Teddy, the disapproval is palpable. I picked up Teddy once to give him a squeeze and he let out a bitter sigh. Seriously. Try it. Grab hold of him and try to ignore the feelings of inferiority and distaste Teddy levels at you. When I look in his eyes, I know I am not worthy.
Teddy is, at best, absentminded. He constantly finds himself lost or misplaced, but doesn't care a whit. He's very successful with the laid-back attitude (Unless, of course, someone other than August is holding him.) and will patiently wait to be found in the refrigerator, the shower, the zoo's lost and found... You name a place and Teddy has probably found his way there at one point or another to lazily hang out while the rest of us are tearing out our hair and feverishly searching for him. In fact, I think he enjoys it. What an attention whore. I will admit, though, that being the one to finally discover the elusive Teddy is a magnificent and lovely victory, akin to hearing you've been drafted to the Green Bay Packers as starting quarterback or winning your senior class president election. Not that I'd know. Maybe I'm way off base there, but maybe I'm not. We'll call over Aaron Rodgers and see how he feels when he's the one to stumble across Teddy under the lid of the piano. Better than winning the Super Bowl, I'd bet.
Teddy is incredibly quiet, which is both a blessing and a curse. I mean, the last thing I want to hear is Teddy screeching and warbling some songs in the middle of the night or trying to discuss the economy with me. Teddy's no fool. He knows small talk is overrated and often unnecessary. I appreciate his silence. At the same time, however, when he does speak his mind, it's only to August, which can be a huge bummer when you question him on where August is hiding all the sippy cups. I even threatened not to wash him once in a greedy attempt to obtain that knowledge, but no go. All I received was a cold stare that said, 'I'm just a bear, what do I know? Besides, you signed up for week-old milk curdling in cups under tables and carpets when you became a mom.' I've learned my lesson. I don't question Teddy any longer.
There is no denying Teddy is adorable. His smile can turn your bones to liquid, and the way he holds onto his blankie (body?) makes you want to puke rainbows. He has the added bonus of patiently being around prior to August's birth AND sticking with him through his NICU stay, so you have no choice but to overlook anything bad Teddy can or will do in complete and utter gratitude of the friendship he forged before his buddy was even in the world. Touché, Teddy... touché.
I tried to put Teddy in his place and show him he was expendable by purchasing a couple of backup Teddies, Teddy Two and Teddy the Third, Esq. Original Teddy only laughed in their faces and shook his head in amusement, while TT and TtT shrank back in terror on their shelf. They don't even try to get out lest the be on the receiving end of a shank for trying to weasel in on August's affections. I wouldn't put it past Teddy to 'take care of them' if he could, which is precisely why they are high and out of reach in the closet. They can only dream of a day when Teddy's head falls off or he is too raggedy and dusty to fulfill his duties.
Well, there you have it. That's Teddy in an all-too-comprehensive nutshell. He's a faithful, belligerent, charming, cheeky, lackadaisical mixture of cotton fluff, satin and bear... and we couldn't live without him.
He's made sure of it.
Close, but no cigar.
There is a fifth entity in our midst who has the power to reduce us all to quivering pots of nerves and tears. It can force us to cater to its games and whims, and we, sadly, have no choice but to obey.
His name is Teddy.
Teddy is, next to August, the most important... being... in our household. He is undoubtedly and without debate August's best and most trusted friend, bewitching him early on. No other toy or stuffed animal can compare to Teddy in August's young devotion. If Teddy ain't happy, August ain't happy. If August ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. He has his good points and his not-so-good points, but don't we all? Let's dig deeper into the bear that is Teddy.
Teddy is hugely loyal. He is very much a one-boy bear. When August carts Teddy around, Teddy couldn't be in a better mood. He smiles brighter, his satin shines with an unearthly gleam, and his fabric feels like the feather on an angel's wing. If anyone else chooses to hold and hug Teddy, the disapproval is palpable. I picked up Teddy once to give him a squeeze and he let out a bitter sigh. Seriously. Try it. Grab hold of him and try to ignore the feelings of inferiority and distaste Teddy levels at you. When I look in his eyes, I know I am not worthy.
Teddy is, at best, absentminded. He constantly finds himself lost or misplaced, but doesn't care a whit. He's very successful with the laid-back attitude (Unless, of course, someone other than August is holding him.) and will patiently wait to be found in the refrigerator, the shower, the zoo's lost and found... You name a place and Teddy has probably found his way there at one point or another to lazily hang out while the rest of us are tearing out our hair and feverishly searching for him. In fact, I think he enjoys it. What an attention whore. I will admit, though, that being the one to finally discover the elusive Teddy is a magnificent and lovely victory, akin to hearing you've been drafted to the Green Bay Packers as starting quarterback or winning your senior class president election. Not that I'd know. Maybe I'm way off base there, but maybe I'm not. We'll call over Aaron Rodgers and see how he feels when he's the one to stumble across Teddy under the lid of the piano. Better than winning the Super Bowl, I'd bet.
Teddy is incredibly quiet, which is both a blessing and a curse. I mean, the last thing I want to hear is Teddy screeching and warbling some songs in the middle of the night or trying to discuss the economy with me. Teddy's no fool. He knows small talk is overrated and often unnecessary. I appreciate his silence. At the same time, however, when he does speak his mind, it's only to August, which can be a huge bummer when you question him on where August is hiding all the sippy cups. I even threatened not to wash him once in a greedy attempt to obtain that knowledge, but no go. All I received was a cold stare that said, 'I'm just a bear, what do I know? Besides, you signed up for week-old milk curdling in cups under tables and carpets when you became a mom.' I've learned my lesson. I don't question Teddy any longer.
There is no denying Teddy is adorable. His smile can turn your bones to liquid, and the way he holds onto his blankie (body?) makes you want to puke rainbows. He has the added bonus of patiently being around prior to August's birth AND sticking with him through his NICU stay, so you have no choice but to overlook anything bad Teddy can or will do in complete and utter gratitude of the friendship he forged before his buddy was even in the world. Touché, Teddy... touché.
I tried to put Teddy in his place and show him he was expendable by purchasing a couple of backup Teddies, Teddy Two and Teddy the Third, Esq. Original Teddy only laughed in their faces and shook his head in amusement, while TT and TtT shrank back in terror on their shelf. They don't even try to get out lest the be on the receiving end of a shank for trying to weasel in on August's affections. I wouldn't put it past Teddy to 'take care of them' if he could, which is precisely why they are high and out of reach in the closet. They can only dream of a day when Teddy's head falls off or he is too raggedy and dusty to fulfill his duties.
Well, there you have it. That's Teddy in an all-too-comprehensive nutshell. He's a faithful, belligerent, charming, cheeky, lackadaisical mixture of cotton fluff, satin and bear... and we couldn't live without him.
He's made sure of it.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
In The Blink Of An Eye.
This is the story of a normal everyday moment turning into a tragedy. This is the story that shows just how quickly life can change. But mostly, this is the story of how God holds us close in the midst of an impossible situation.
August and I were driving to a local Walgreens in hopes of finding the movie 'Courageous' available in their RedBox. We had dropped Robert off at Buffalo Wild Wings to order us supper, a special treat seeing as how we had not eaten out for months. One moment, we were happily bobbing along to the music coming through the speakers. One moment, all was well. One moment, however, soon became a nightmare.
We were sitting at a stoplight, the first car in the right thru lane. For an instant, I glanced at the car that pulled up next to me, never imagining that I would be seeing the driver in a horrifying way only seconds later. I turned my face to watch the cars coming from the other direction take advantage of their left turn light. A quick glance into the backseat showed August dancing in his carseat to the music on the stereo. I smiled, then looked back towards the cars still making their left turns, anxious for the light to change and us to be on our way.
Then, the world stopped.
I watched, terrified, as a pickup truck came barreling through the intersection directly toward our car. I was frozen. All I could do was stare at those headlights fast approaching. I don't remember much about that moment. I don't remember if I was preparing for the inevitable collision or completely free of thought. All I remember is those headlights flying at us.
Suddenly, the truck veered slightly to its right. I watched, terrified, as it smashed head-on into the car next to us. I saw the driver of the car slam into their vehicle's dashboard. I felt the vibrations of the impact. I heard the sound of the crash ring through my ears. I watched as the car flew back into the stopped traffic behind us, saw the truck not slow down at all. I heard more sounds of metal meeting metal, saw the taillights of the pickup speeding down the road.
I reached for my cell phone and, hands shaking, dialed 911. I wouldn't recall so at that moment, but later on Robert would remind me how I had asked him for my cell phone, which had been in his coat pocket, when we dropped him off, saying with a smirk, 'You never know when I'll need to call 911.' I flustered my way through the conversation with the dispatcher, pleading for help, being told to stay where I was and wait for the police. When the call ended, I dropped the phone and felt lost. What to do? Get out and check on those in the crushed vehicles? I couldn't leave behind August, who at this point was crying. I settled on pulling around to the other side of the median. I flipped on the hazards, parked behind a vehicle of a woman desperately trying to assist the injured and jumped out of the car.
Two teenage girls quickly pulled up behind me, the front driver's side of their vehicle crumpled from an impact of the accident. They ran to me and I remember hugging them and distinctly telling them, 'Be thankful to God your car was the only casualty of this accident.' We stayed together until the fire trucks arrived and the fire fighters separated us. I stood in the windy, below-freezing temperatures and simply stared at the wreckage surrounding me. One car sat demolished in the middle of the road, smoke rising from its hood. A man stumbled out, holding his face. I could see blood as he was ushered into the car of the woman parked in front of me, where he stayed until the ambulances came and the EMTs took him. It was about this time the lady from that vehicle and the two teenagers came to my car and told me the fate of the vehicle the truck had first rammed into. The impact had sent it across the median, through two lanes on the other side of the road and over the hill into a ditch. We would watch as the fire and rescue responders took the jaws of life over the side of the incline and would hear the whirring and crunching as they freed that driver from the twisted remains of the vehicle. We watched as they rushed the victim up the hill on a stretcher and into an ambulance. Once again, we were separated, this time to give statements.
I sat in the car and tried to calm August, who was wailing throughout the entire ordeal. A firefighter came over and asked to examine him. He walked away and soon returned with a teddy bear, telling me it was for August. I handed it back to him and he watched as he stopped crying and smiled at his new friend. I will be forever thankful to that man, though I don't know his name, for comforting a badly scared and shaken little boy in the middle of a terrible scene. He had so many other things to do, yet he made time to bolster the spirits of my son. I pray God blesses him greatly for his kindness.
Eventually, a police officer came over and spoke with me. As I was right next to the first car hit and in the front of the other traffic, not to mention the first 911 call, I was considered the primary witness to the accident. I struggled to pull up every detail I could, but mostly I struggled with emotions.
What would happen to the victims? Would they make it? Was the driver of the pickup drunk? My biggest emotion, though, was this: It was almost us.
It was almost August and I who were involved in the head-on collision. It could have been us flying across the road and over a hill. It could have been us lying in ambulances, fate uncertain. Even writing this now, hours later, I still find myself with tears in my eyes and unsteady hands. I'm not concerned about what could have happened to me, but if August would have been hurt or worse, I don't know what I would have done.
But that truck swerved slightly at the last possible moment and avoided us. Some may say it was luck. Some may say he was trying to right himself. Some may even say it was only coincidence. I say it was God.
God sent His angels to protect us tonight. I KNOW angels surrounded our car and turned that truck away. God delivered us from harm and I cannot go on from this day without telling any and all who will listen what He will do for those who love Him. That truck was inches from hitting us. Inches. Inches are nothing to God and His angels, though. Inches didn't stop Him from saving us. Inches didn't make Him go, 'Meh, nothing I can do now.' Inches gave Him the opportunity to show me just how mighty He is. Yes, others were hurt instead, and I can't answer to why God did not spare them from the accident, but I know He spared us. I tremble to think of what could have been. I rejoice in knowing what came to pass for August and I.
God is here. God is now. God is not Someone to worry about when you when you're older and facing the end of your life. God is Someone to follow, to believe, to love NOW. I've held on to faith in Him since I was ten, and if saving my little son was the best thing on this Earth to come out of that faith, I'm thankful beyond words. He didn't have to turn that truck, but He did. We could have gone Home to Heaven today, but we didn't. We live to see another day, a day that will not pass without me thanking the Lord for His miracles, His mercies and, greatest of all, His love.
It has recently been reported that the driver of the pickup suffered from a medical condition, which in turn caused the accident somehow. He ended up plowing into a building and was also taken to the hospital. At least four people are hospitalized right now due to the events of this evening. I don't know what their conditions, prognosis or outlooks are. I don't know their names, their ages, their hobbies, their beliefs, but I do know that I am connected to them through this unimaginable incident we all dealt with together tonight. They will suffer physical scars and long roads to recovery. I will struggle with grief for what they have experienced, but I refuse to grapple with fear. For August and I, God made a terrifying situation into an opportunity for testimony, and I will not allow Satan to blind me from God's tender mercies by making me a coward where driving, roads and vehicles are concerned. I will get back behind that wheel, August will get back in that carseat, and we will drive on knowing God is riding along with us every inch of the way.
Life can change in the blink of an eye. Don't wait for instances of terror to appreciate the family and friends in your life, and certainly don't wait for tragedy to turn you to God. He's waiting right now, arms wide open. The best part? He already loves you. What better testimony is there than that?
August and I were driving to a local Walgreens in hopes of finding the movie 'Courageous' available in their RedBox. We had dropped Robert off at Buffalo Wild Wings to order us supper, a special treat seeing as how we had not eaten out for months. One moment, we were happily bobbing along to the music coming through the speakers. One moment, all was well. One moment, however, soon became a nightmare.
We were sitting at a stoplight, the first car in the right thru lane. For an instant, I glanced at the car that pulled up next to me, never imagining that I would be seeing the driver in a horrifying way only seconds later. I turned my face to watch the cars coming from the other direction take advantage of their left turn light. A quick glance into the backseat showed August dancing in his carseat to the music on the stereo. I smiled, then looked back towards the cars still making their left turns, anxious for the light to change and us to be on our way.
Then, the world stopped.
I watched, terrified, as a pickup truck came barreling through the intersection directly toward our car. I was frozen. All I could do was stare at those headlights fast approaching. I don't remember much about that moment. I don't remember if I was preparing for the inevitable collision or completely free of thought. All I remember is those headlights flying at us.
Suddenly, the truck veered slightly to its right. I watched, terrified, as it smashed head-on into the car next to us. I saw the driver of the car slam into their vehicle's dashboard. I felt the vibrations of the impact. I heard the sound of the crash ring through my ears. I watched as the car flew back into the stopped traffic behind us, saw the truck not slow down at all. I heard more sounds of metal meeting metal, saw the taillights of the pickup speeding down the road.
I reached for my cell phone and, hands shaking, dialed 911. I wouldn't recall so at that moment, but later on Robert would remind me how I had asked him for my cell phone, which had been in his coat pocket, when we dropped him off, saying with a smirk, 'You never know when I'll need to call 911.' I flustered my way through the conversation with the dispatcher, pleading for help, being told to stay where I was and wait for the police. When the call ended, I dropped the phone and felt lost. What to do? Get out and check on those in the crushed vehicles? I couldn't leave behind August, who at this point was crying. I settled on pulling around to the other side of the median. I flipped on the hazards, parked behind a vehicle of a woman desperately trying to assist the injured and jumped out of the car.
Two teenage girls quickly pulled up behind me, the front driver's side of their vehicle crumpled from an impact of the accident. They ran to me and I remember hugging them and distinctly telling them, 'Be thankful to God your car was the only casualty of this accident.' We stayed together until the fire trucks arrived and the fire fighters separated us. I stood in the windy, below-freezing temperatures and simply stared at the wreckage surrounding me. One car sat demolished in the middle of the road, smoke rising from its hood. A man stumbled out, holding his face. I could see blood as he was ushered into the car of the woman parked in front of me, where he stayed until the ambulances came and the EMTs took him. It was about this time the lady from that vehicle and the two teenagers came to my car and told me the fate of the vehicle the truck had first rammed into. The impact had sent it across the median, through two lanes on the other side of the road and over the hill into a ditch. We would watch as the fire and rescue responders took the jaws of life over the side of the incline and would hear the whirring and crunching as they freed that driver from the twisted remains of the vehicle. We watched as they rushed the victim up the hill on a stretcher and into an ambulance. Once again, we were separated, this time to give statements.
I sat in the car and tried to calm August, who was wailing throughout the entire ordeal. A firefighter came over and asked to examine him. He walked away and soon returned with a teddy bear, telling me it was for August. I handed it back to him and he watched as he stopped crying and smiled at his new friend. I will be forever thankful to that man, though I don't know his name, for comforting a badly scared and shaken little boy in the middle of a terrible scene. He had so many other things to do, yet he made time to bolster the spirits of my son. I pray God blesses him greatly for his kindness.
Eventually, a police officer came over and spoke with me. As I was right next to the first car hit and in the front of the other traffic, not to mention the first 911 call, I was considered the primary witness to the accident. I struggled to pull up every detail I could, but mostly I struggled with emotions.
What would happen to the victims? Would they make it? Was the driver of the pickup drunk? My biggest emotion, though, was this: It was almost us.
It was almost August and I who were involved in the head-on collision. It could have been us flying across the road and over a hill. It could have been us lying in ambulances, fate uncertain. Even writing this now, hours later, I still find myself with tears in my eyes and unsteady hands. I'm not concerned about what could have happened to me, but if August would have been hurt or worse, I don't know what I would have done.
But that truck swerved slightly at the last possible moment and avoided us. Some may say it was luck. Some may say he was trying to right himself. Some may even say it was only coincidence. I say it was God.
God sent His angels to protect us tonight. I KNOW angels surrounded our car and turned that truck away. God delivered us from harm and I cannot go on from this day without telling any and all who will listen what He will do for those who love Him. That truck was inches from hitting us. Inches. Inches are nothing to God and His angels, though. Inches didn't stop Him from saving us. Inches didn't make Him go, 'Meh, nothing I can do now.' Inches gave Him the opportunity to show me just how mighty He is. Yes, others were hurt instead, and I can't answer to why God did not spare them from the accident, but I know He spared us. I tremble to think of what could have been. I rejoice in knowing what came to pass for August and I.
God is here. God is now. God is not Someone to worry about when you when you're older and facing the end of your life. God is Someone to follow, to believe, to love NOW. I've held on to faith in Him since I was ten, and if saving my little son was the best thing on this Earth to come out of that faith, I'm thankful beyond words. He didn't have to turn that truck, but He did. We could have gone Home to Heaven today, but we didn't. We live to see another day, a day that will not pass without me thanking the Lord for His miracles, His mercies and, greatest of all, His love.
It has recently been reported that the driver of the pickup suffered from a medical condition, which in turn caused the accident somehow. He ended up plowing into a building and was also taken to the hospital. At least four people are hospitalized right now due to the events of this evening. I don't know what their conditions, prognosis or outlooks are. I don't know their names, their ages, their hobbies, their beliefs, but I do know that I am connected to them through this unimaginable incident we all dealt with together tonight. They will suffer physical scars and long roads to recovery. I will struggle with grief for what they have experienced, but I refuse to grapple with fear. For August and I, God made a terrifying situation into an opportunity for testimony, and I will not allow Satan to blind me from God's tender mercies by making me a coward where driving, roads and vehicles are concerned. I will get back behind that wheel, August will get back in that carseat, and we will drive on knowing God is riding along with us every inch of the way.
Life can change in the blink of an eye. Don't wait for instances of terror to appreciate the family and friends in your life, and certainly don't wait for tragedy to turn you to God. He's waiting right now, arms wide open. The best part? He already loves you. What better testimony is there than that?
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
A Time To Be Thankful.
Recently, I've been following the painful, but incredibly inspiring, story of Tripp Roth, a toddler living with epidermolysis bullosa. EB is a condition wherein the skin is incredibly fragile, resulting in blisters and sores gained by even the slightest touch. Doctors didn't expect Tripp to survive his first year, but he made it two years and eight months.
Another child's journey I cared greatly about was Evan Sharp, an eleven-year-old here in Omaha who was diagnosed with Glioblastoma (brain tumor) in 2010. He never wavered, never faltered, never complained. No matter how bad things got (and let me tell you, he had a really brutal final year, not just with health but with personal issues), he constantly turned to God and told anyone who would listen that this was God's plan for him and he was okay with that.
Evan went Home on December twenty-first, and Tripp followed on January fourteenth. To their last breaths, they were strong, happy guys, images I'm sure their families are hugely fortunate to hold on to. For myself and many others following their fights, news of Evan and Tripp's passing, though expected, were still tragic and tough to deal with.
Being a mother (and especially being a mother who had a difficult pregnancy, a rocky birth experience and ultimately a baby struggling in the NICU), it's so hard to hear of another mother losing their little one. I often ask God, 'Why? Why babies? Why little children? Why not murderers, pedophiles? Why?' I know the answer will not come to me in this life. I know, like Evan knew, that everything happens according to God's Will, and, like Evan, I'm learning more and more to say, 'Your Will be done, Lord.' and believe, whole-heartedly, His Will is perfect and whole. I know every baby, every child who is formed, yet doesn't live to be born or doesn't live to grow up, had a purpose they fulfilled before going Home to God's arms. There is a rhyme and a reason to all things, good and bad. I know this, and I hold it close to my heart when terrible things happen.
Evan and Tripp remind me to hug my son whenever I can, no matter how hard he struggles to free himself from my embrace. They remind me to be grateful for every single moment, even when August is lying on the ground throwing a temper tantrum. They remind me to be slow to anger with my little man, because you never know when everything can change in an instant. They remind me to be full to bursting with love, because love is the greatest thing worth living for. Mostly, though, they remind me to hold fast to God and always be thankful for any and everything He allows me to go through, because every day, every minute is a blessing, a lesson and a chance to make memories that last when nothing else does.
Another child's journey I cared greatly about was Evan Sharp, an eleven-year-old here in Omaha who was diagnosed with Glioblastoma (brain tumor) in 2010. He never wavered, never faltered, never complained. No matter how bad things got (and let me tell you, he had a really brutal final year, not just with health but with personal issues), he constantly turned to God and told anyone who would listen that this was God's plan for him and he was okay with that.
Evan went Home on December twenty-first, and Tripp followed on January fourteenth. To their last breaths, they were strong, happy guys, images I'm sure their families are hugely fortunate to hold on to. For myself and many others following their fights, news of Evan and Tripp's passing, though expected, were still tragic and tough to deal with.
Being a mother (and especially being a mother who had a difficult pregnancy, a rocky birth experience and ultimately a baby struggling in the NICU), it's so hard to hear of another mother losing their little one. I often ask God, 'Why? Why babies? Why little children? Why not murderers, pedophiles? Why?' I know the answer will not come to me in this life. I know, like Evan knew, that everything happens according to God's Will, and, like Evan, I'm learning more and more to say, 'Your Will be done, Lord.' and believe, whole-heartedly, His Will is perfect and whole. I know every baby, every child who is formed, yet doesn't live to be born or doesn't live to grow up, had a purpose they fulfilled before going Home to God's arms. There is a rhyme and a reason to all things, good and bad. I know this, and I hold it close to my heart when terrible things happen.
Evan and Tripp remind me to hug my son whenever I can, no matter how hard he struggles to free himself from my embrace. They remind me to be grateful for every single moment, even when August is lying on the ground throwing a temper tantrum. They remind me to be slow to anger with my little man, because you never know when everything can change in an instant. They remind me to be full to bursting with love, because love is the greatest thing worth living for. Mostly, though, they remind me to hold fast to God and always be thankful for any and everything He allows me to go through, because every day, every minute is a blessing, a lesson and a chance to make memories that last when nothing else does.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Twelve Days of Terror: Study of a Gift-Giving Nightmare.
It's that time of year again! Time for shining lights, cheerful spirits and non-stop holiday tunes!
Ah, but are all of those Christmas songs so carefree and delightful? Not at all. In fact, one of the songs we will all hear one hundred times before the season is out is really a vicious, horrifying nightmare at its finest.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'.
Sweet and romantic? The ultimate portrayal of showering your true love with beautiful and wondrous gifts? Oh, no. Let's change that to the ultimate manifestation of hate and cruelty!
Does anyone realize the sheer magnitude of items you'd have all together if someone really despised you enough to give you all the 'gifts' in that song? Let me break it down for you:
- 12 patridges, 12 pear trees
- 22 turtle doves
- 30 French hens
- 36 calling birds
- 40 golden rings
- 42 geese a layin'
- 42 swans a swimmin'
- 40 maids a milkin', 40 cows to go along with them
- 36 ladies dancing
- 30 lords a leapin'
- 22 pipers piping
- 12 drummers drumming
416. FOUR HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN THINGS YOU ARE NOT AT ALL PREPARED OR WILLING TO WORK WITH. Are you serious? This is totally a doom thrown on you by your greatest enemy. Or a creepy-as-crud stalker. Either way, no good. And it just gets worse.
Eggs. Let's start with eggs. Those partridges? Yeah, they're gonna lay about 360 eggs per year. They have an average lifespan of six years. That's 2,160 eggs between them all. What, may I ask, are you really going to do with partridge eggs? Here's a suggestion: Butcher those freaking partridges and cook 'em. You'll get more use out of them that way. Moving on to French hens. They lay one egg per day. They live for eight years-ish. Sucks for you, because that sticks you with... wait for it... 87,600 eggs. Holy. Cow. You can sell those for maybe $1.50 a dozen. That gives you a tidy profit of $10,950... or so you think. Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not even close to finished. We've still got geese. Geese who are specifically laying. Geese who live for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. That sticks you with another 84,000 eggs. Good news is, you can get a buck a pop for those eggs, grossing you $84,000. Nice, huh? Nope. You have no idea what's coming. Let's tackle the swans. They lay five eggs per year. Not terrible. Problem is, they live for half a century, giving you approximately 10,500 eggs. However, doesn't look good on the selling front, unless they're fertilized. Of course, anyone who hates you enough to dump forty-two swans on you won't be nice enough to give you any males.
How about all those cows? Cows produce about eight gallons of milk per day. Get ready for 116,800 gallons in their four years before you send them off to slaughter. Don't get too crazy about selling that milk, either, unless you dish out the moolah to make a dairy. Cost on that, you ask? Over half a million bucks. You've only got $94,950 from your eggs. And that milk is only going to give you a profit of about $30,000 a year. Plus, you have to breed those good ol' cows to keep up their milk production. Also, if you want to have those maids milking the cows to stick around, plan on a salary of $175 a week for each of them. Over the four years of those cows lives, you'll be shelling out $1,456,000 to pay those maids. Ouch. Don't forget cows eat about thirty pounds of hay per day and hay is at a cool sixty dollars a bale. I'm not even going to get into the costs on that one because I'd make you shed tears of pain and terror.
140 people are going to be added to your family via this nightmarish gift giving, too. If it costs even $15,000 to support them each per year and you support them for, say, forty years, $84 million will be how much you pay to support some dudes leaping around, some women who can't stop shimmying and a bunch of musicians who are constantly piping and drumming. Not to mention you'd have to add a significant addition to your home, so there goes even more cash. I've pretty much decided it wouldn't last forty years, though. Anyone would flip after a few months of those pipers and drummers and leapers, so you'd probably end up murdering them and facing 140 charges of first-degree homicide, earning you an expedited trip to execution. Yay!
Oops, I forgot about those calling birds, aka blackbirds. I figure you can just set them free and not be worried by them. This brings us to our final gift: golden rings. Forty golden rings, to be exact. Let's hope each one is about four grams, totaling up to seven ounces of gold between those forty rings. Ka-ching! You're the proud recipient of $12,563.60! Whoo!
Hey, twelve drummers drumming, can I get a drum roll please? You, horrified recipient of this disaster of a Christmas present, will only have to pay $84,008,486.40 to maintain these things! But, hey, you can be happy your evil enemy of a giver spent quite a bit of cash on your pain, yeah? Enjoy.
Ah, but are all of those Christmas songs so carefree and delightful? Not at all. In fact, one of the songs we will all hear one hundred times before the season is out is really a vicious, horrifying nightmare at its finest.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'.
Sweet and romantic? The ultimate portrayal of showering your true love with beautiful and wondrous gifts? Oh, no. Let's change that to the ultimate manifestation of hate and cruelty!
Does anyone realize the sheer magnitude of items you'd have all together if someone really despised you enough to give you all the 'gifts' in that song? Let me break it down for you:
- 12 patridges, 12 pear trees
- 22 turtle doves
- 30 French hens
- 36 calling birds
- 40 golden rings
- 42 geese a layin'
- 42 swans a swimmin'
- 40 maids a milkin', 40 cows to go along with them
- 36 ladies dancing
- 30 lords a leapin'
- 22 pipers piping
- 12 drummers drumming
416. FOUR HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN THINGS YOU ARE NOT AT ALL PREPARED OR WILLING TO WORK WITH. Are you serious? This is totally a doom thrown on you by your greatest enemy. Or a creepy-as-crud stalker. Either way, no good. And it just gets worse.
Eggs. Let's start with eggs. Those partridges? Yeah, they're gonna lay about 360 eggs per year. They have an average lifespan of six years. That's 2,160 eggs between them all. What, may I ask, are you really going to do with partridge eggs? Here's a suggestion: Butcher those freaking partridges and cook 'em. You'll get more use out of them that way. Moving on to French hens. They lay one egg per day. They live for eight years-ish. Sucks for you, because that sticks you with... wait for it... 87,600 eggs. Holy. Cow. You can sell those for maybe $1.50 a dozen. That gives you a tidy profit of $10,950... or so you think. Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not even close to finished. We've still got geese. Geese who are specifically laying. Geese who live for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS. That sticks you with another 84,000 eggs. Good news is, you can get a buck a pop for those eggs, grossing you $84,000. Nice, huh? Nope. You have no idea what's coming. Let's tackle the swans. They lay five eggs per year. Not terrible. Problem is, they live for half a century, giving you approximately 10,500 eggs. However, doesn't look good on the selling front, unless they're fertilized. Of course, anyone who hates you enough to dump forty-two swans on you won't be nice enough to give you any males.
How about all those cows? Cows produce about eight gallons of milk per day. Get ready for 116,800 gallons in their four years before you send them off to slaughter. Don't get too crazy about selling that milk, either, unless you dish out the moolah to make a dairy. Cost on that, you ask? Over half a million bucks. You've only got $94,950 from your eggs. And that milk is only going to give you a profit of about $30,000 a year. Plus, you have to breed those good ol' cows to keep up their milk production. Also, if you want to have those maids milking the cows to stick around, plan on a salary of $175 a week for each of them. Over the four years of those cows lives, you'll be shelling out $1,456,000 to pay those maids. Ouch. Don't forget cows eat about thirty pounds of hay per day and hay is at a cool sixty dollars a bale. I'm not even going to get into the costs on that one because I'd make you shed tears of pain and terror.
140 people are going to be added to your family via this nightmarish gift giving, too. If it costs even $15,000 to support them each per year and you support them for, say, forty years, $84 million will be how much you pay to support some dudes leaping around, some women who can't stop shimmying and a bunch of musicians who are constantly piping and drumming. Not to mention you'd have to add a significant addition to your home, so there goes even more cash. I've pretty much decided it wouldn't last forty years, though. Anyone would flip after a few months of those pipers and drummers and leapers, so you'd probably end up murdering them and facing 140 charges of first-degree homicide, earning you an expedited trip to execution. Yay!
Oops, I forgot about those calling birds, aka blackbirds. I figure you can just set them free and not be worried by them. This brings us to our final gift: golden rings. Forty golden rings, to be exact. Let's hope each one is about four grams, totaling up to seven ounces of gold between those forty rings. Ka-ching! You're the proud recipient of $12,563.60! Whoo!
Hey, twelve drummers drumming, can I get a drum roll please? You, horrified recipient of this disaster of a Christmas present, will only have to pay $84,008,486.40 to maintain these things! But, hey, you can be happy your evil enemy of a giver spent quite a bit of cash on your pain, yeah? Enjoy.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Lesson Learned.
Sometimes, I don't understand people. I don't understand how you can demand respect but not give it. I don't understand how you can forcefully argue you should be treated as an adult when you're acting like a child. I don't understand how you can expect someone to listen to your ideas and opinions when you won't give them the common courtesy by doing the same.
Okay, so I usually don't understand people.
It takes a lot sometimes to be the bigger person and take the higher road. It's not worth it to waste your breath and defend yourself when people are cemented in their false opinions about who you are or what you've done. People can call you a coward or accuse you of taking the easy way out, but that's not true. I think it is a thousand times harder to keep your mouth shut and just walk away from a situation that is spiraling out of control. From time to time, the only way to win is to lose.
Really, it is the same with my faith. The only way to 'win' everlasting life is to 'lose' who I am as a flesh and blood human. I have to give up selfishness, pride, hate, greed and impatience. 'I wish you could see me now. I wish I could show you how I'm not who I was.' It has been a long, hard road and will continue to be until the day I take my last breath, but it is completely worth it.
There are greater things in store for me, whether in this life or the next, so why should I let the negative opinions and words of those who ultimately don't matter bog me down? I have my treasure stored up in Heaven, and a family and group of true friends, near and far, who are worth their weight in gold.
Sometimes, life gives us hard lessons, but the learning is a victory for sure.
Okay, so I usually don't understand people.
It takes a lot sometimes to be the bigger person and take the higher road. It's not worth it to waste your breath and defend yourself when people are cemented in their false opinions about who you are or what you've done. People can call you a coward or accuse you of taking the easy way out, but that's not true. I think it is a thousand times harder to keep your mouth shut and just walk away from a situation that is spiraling out of control. From time to time, the only way to win is to lose.
Really, it is the same with my faith. The only way to 'win' everlasting life is to 'lose' who I am as a flesh and blood human. I have to give up selfishness, pride, hate, greed and impatience. 'I wish you could see me now. I wish I could show you how I'm not who I was.' It has been a long, hard road and will continue to be until the day I take my last breath, but it is completely worth it.
There are greater things in store for me, whether in this life or the next, so why should I let the negative opinions and words of those who ultimately don't matter bog me down? I have my treasure stored up in Heaven, and a family and group of true friends, near and far, who are worth their weight in gold.
Sometimes, life gives us hard lessons, but the learning is a victory for sure.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Never Forget.
'I will praise the LORD , who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. I have set the LORD always before me. Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.' - Psalm 16:7 & 8
'I call on You, O God, for You will answer me; give ear to me and hear my prayer.' -Psalm 17:6
'Cast your cares on the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall.' -Psalm 55:22
'Look to the LORD and His strength; seek His face always.' -Psalm 105: 4
'What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?' -Romans 8:31
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.' -2 Corinthians 12:9 & 10
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