| I originally posted this in December, but since I just re-posted Installment 1, I thought I'd pull this one out again for the flow of the story. My memories of school are not fun memories....though I seemed to like being at school more than being at home. I had a few friends, though I was always an oddball...I dressed differently, and had a lot different expectations of life than did the other kids with whom I went to school. I loved to read, and being at school meant that I got to read a LOT. When I was at home, I had to do chores. When I was at school, I got to read! I also got to do some other fun stuff....softball, roller skating, volleyball, swinging.... BUT, because we were SO different, we got made fun of, a LOT. I never understood how all these people could call themselves good Christians, and treat our whole family so terribly. My mother never had any friends in that church. Whenever she pointed out something that seemed unfair (the pastors' daughters wearing the forbidden makeup, eg.), she was ostracized even more. My brothers got into lots of fights, and I got in trouble at school for defending them. |
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query memories. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query memories. Sort by date Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Reposting Memories, Installment #2
Monday, December 31, 2007
Memories (installment 2)
| See installment 1 here |
My memories of school are not fun memories....though I seemed to like being at school more than being at home. I had a few friends, though I was always an oddball...I dressed differently, and had a lot different expectations of life than did the other kids with whom I went to school.
I loved to read, and being at school meant that I got to read a LOT. When I was at home, I had to do chores. When I was at school, I got to read! I also got to do some other fun stuff....softball, rollerskating, volleyball, swinging....
BUT, because we were SO different, we got made fun of, a LOT. I never understood how all these people could call themselves good Christians, and treat our whole family so terribly. My mother never had any friends in that church. Whenever she pointed out something that seemed unfair (the pastors' daughters wearing the forbidden makeup, eg.), she was ostracized even more. My brothers got into lots of fights, and I got in trouble at school for defending them.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Memories (Installment #30)
A LOT of time has passed since I last wrote up my memories posts, so I thought I needed to add some more. I really am glad I am doing this...especially before I start losing the memories. It really amazes me that my children actually enjoy reading what I have written up so far!
My last post in the series covered Katherine's birth...she is now a brilliant, cute 7-year-old, getting ready to go into 2nd grade. We've covered a lot of ground, emotionally, relationally, and geographically, in the intervening years. Time for me to do some catching-up!!
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A few days after getting home from the hospital we went back into town for Katherine's first doctor's visit, and a subsequent visit to the labs at the hospital where it was determined that she was jaundiced, and were supplied with a "billi-blanket" - a handy wrap for the baby to get much-needed UV rays to assist in the breakdown of dead blood cells. We had dealt with jaundice with previous children, but never to this extent. After a few days of this, and her levels not going down as fast as needed, it was determined that it would be best for her to be in the hospital under super-duper lights, and she and I packed up and went back to the hospital, where we stayed for another four or five days. FINALLY, we were able to go home!
Soon after Katherine was born, our landlady decided to up our rent from the already-steep (for that area) $900/month, and there was no way we were going to be able to pay that, since our housing allowance for the area had only just been raised to a lofty $780/month.
We started looking around for another place, or rather - Jason started looking. I was a bit busy with homeschooling, packing, and a newborn baby. He was able to find a place that was going to be "cozy", but closer in price to our housing allowance, and he arranged for some guys from work to help us move...the first of February we moved into our "house" ...which was actually a mobile home placed on a foundation with a skirt under it. The landlord was the head veterinarian for the state of Montana, and it really seemed like an ideal situation. We were on 2 acres of land, in the middle of a field a few miles outside of Helena, but still in the valley. We had well water, and gas heat - which was HUGE, because it was MUCH cheaper to heat the place than was the last place with its electric baseboard heaters!
This was February, 2004. By August it was determined that there was no way we were going to stay afloat, even with the reduced electricity and rent, without more income. *sigh* I had to go back to work. Katherine was 8 months old when I started working full-time as an overnight cashier at Wal-mart. I was also still homeschooling. Yeah, I don't know how I managed to stay sane doing that, even for a short period, but the following year Frances, Jon, Heather, and Justin started school with everyone else, Frances going into 6th grade, Jon into 3rd, Heather into 2nd, and Justin into kindergarten.
*edited to reflect the correct years they were in school. You'd think I'd remember....
My last post in the series covered Katherine's birth...she is now a brilliant, cute 7-year-old, getting ready to go into 2nd grade. We've covered a lot of ground, emotionally, relationally, and geographically, in the intervening years. Time for me to do some catching-up!!
***************
A few days after getting home from the hospital we went back into town for Katherine's first doctor's visit, and a subsequent visit to the labs at the hospital where it was determined that she was jaundiced, and were supplied with a "billi-blanket" - a handy wrap for the baby to get much-needed UV rays to assist in the breakdown of dead blood cells. We had dealt with jaundice with previous children, but never to this extent. After a few days of this, and her levels not going down as fast as needed, it was determined that it would be best for her to be in the hospital under super-duper lights, and she and I packed up and went back to the hospital, where we stayed for another four or five days. FINALLY, we were able to go home!
Soon after Katherine was born, our landlady decided to up our rent from the already-steep (for that area) $900/month, and there was no way we were going to be able to pay that, since our housing allowance for the area had only just been raised to a lofty $780/month.
 |
| An evening sunset view from our new front porch. |
 |
| SNOW! From our porch. |
This was February, 2004. By August it was determined that there was no way we were going to stay afloat, even with the reduced electricity and rent, without more income. *sigh* I had to go back to work. Katherine was 8 months old when I started working full-time as an overnight cashier at Wal-mart. I was also still homeschooling. Yeah, I don't know how I managed to stay sane doing that, even for a short period, but the following year Frances, Jon, Heather, and Justin started school with everyone else, Frances going into 6th grade, Jon into 3rd, Heather into 2nd, and Justin into kindergarten.
*edited to reflect the correct years they were in school. You'd think I'd remember....
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Memories (installment 10)
My parents were city slickers when they bought the farm where they now live. I was not yet born, and living on a farm was all I knew growing up. The land my parents currently own was originally two farms, with two houses, and their accompanying barns...a total now of 3 barns, 2 houses, a mobile home, and some small outbuildings...chicken houses, well houses, dog houses. There are two different orchards, several different garden areas, and at least 3 wells. The property is just around 300 acres, and currently only has 4 horses, a couple of dogs, a bunch of chickens, and who-knows-how-many deer on it.
Over the years, we had a lot of different animals. I remember Mama giving horseback riding lessons to kids from town, on a few of the somewhere-close-to 10 horses we had. We also boarded an Arabian stallion, which resulted in two beautiful fillies...plus boarding a miniature donkey...dang, he was noisy!!! We had pigs for a while...they were nasty animals...Iunderstand they're better if they are able to be free-ranged, but ours were in a barn. We had rabbits, raised for meat. We had chickens...LOTS and lots of chickens...for eggs, and for meat. Those were in a run, and some were free-range. We had ducks (they didn't last long, because the foxes got them!). We had guinea hens....they didn't last long either...they all went wild on us... We had turkeys...stupid birds, every one of them. We had dogs...German Shepherds, Border Collies, and lots of mutts. We had cats...always lots of cats. We had goats....a LOT of goats...they were fun, and a bit of a pain...the fences wouldn't hold them, so they were always out on the road. We had cattle...beef cattle were Angus, and dairy catttle...all Holsteins. For a lot of years, we hand-milked a cow for our own milk. We never had pets. All of the animals were working animals...they all earned their keep, or they didn't last long. (This is something I think people who do not grow up on farms do not understand...)
I learned to butcher at an early age...some of my earliest memories are of helping my dad butchering his first cow. I also remember butchering goats and chickens. Chickens are the messiest.
We always had a garden...fresh green beans, peas, lettuce, tomatos, plus apples and pears and plums from the orchard, and our own beef that we had butchered and processed ourselves...we ate WELL. I was SHOCKED when I got married, and started shopping, and found out how expensive steaks really were! We also had fresh eggs, and got corn and peaches from neighboring farmers...as well as the dreaded over-stock of zucchini...gotta LOVE zucchini bread....YUM!!
Most of my growing up years, we didn't have central heat or air conditioning. The house my parents live in has two wood burning stoves to heat it, and the only air conditioner is one in the window of the dining room, put there recently to keep the computers from getting too hot in the summer.
In the years after we left the dairy, we had a lot of left-over equipment scattered around...tractors, rakes, post-hole drills, hay forks (for the back of the tractor), trailers. My dad rarely kept a charged battery in the tractors, because we always had a good hill to "jump-start" them on... He also kept the generator, which really came in handy every winter when the ice storms broke off pine branches onto the electric lines!
Many more things come to my mind, but I have work to get done....more next week, I promise!
Over the years, we had a lot of different animals. I remember Mama giving horseback riding lessons to kids from town, on a few of the somewhere-close-to 10 horses we had. We also boarded an Arabian stallion, which resulted in two beautiful fillies...plus boarding a miniature donkey...dang, he was noisy!!! We had pigs for a while...they were nasty animals...Iunderstand they're better if they are able to be free-ranged, but ours were in a barn. We had rabbits, raised for meat. We had chickens...LOTS and lots of chickens...for eggs, and for meat. Those were in a run, and some were free-range. We had ducks (they didn't last long, because the foxes got them!). We had guinea hens....they didn't last long either...they all went wild on us... We had turkeys...stupid birds, every one of them. We had dogs...German Shepherds, Border Collies, and lots of mutts. We had cats...always lots of cats. We had goats....a LOT of goats...they were fun, and a bit of a pain...the fences wouldn't hold them, so they were always out on the road. We had cattle...beef cattle were Angus, and dairy catttle...all Holsteins. For a lot of years, we hand-milked a cow for our own milk. We never had pets. All of the animals were working animals...they all earned their keep, or they didn't last long. (This is something I think people who do not grow up on farms do not understand...)
I learned to butcher at an early age...some of my earliest memories are of helping my dad butchering his first cow. I also remember butchering goats and chickens. Chickens are the messiest.
We always had a garden...fresh green beans, peas, lettuce, tomatos, plus apples and pears and plums from the orchard, and our own beef that we had butchered and processed ourselves...we ate WELL. I was SHOCKED when I got married, and started shopping, and found out how expensive steaks really were! We also had fresh eggs, and got corn and peaches from neighboring farmers...as well as the dreaded over-stock of zucchini...gotta LOVE zucchini bread....YUM!!
Most of my growing up years, we didn't have central heat or air conditioning. The house my parents live in has two wood burning stoves to heat it, and the only air conditioner is one in the window of the dining room, put there recently to keep the computers from getting too hot in the summer.
In the years after we left the dairy, we had a lot of left-over equipment scattered around...tractors, rakes, post-hole drills, hay forks (for the back of the tractor), trailers. My dad rarely kept a charged battery in the tractors, because we always had a good hill to "jump-start" them on... He also kept the generator, which really came in handy every winter when the ice storms broke off pine branches onto the electric lines!
Many more things come to my mind, but I have work to get done....more next week, I promise!
Saturday, May 9, 2015
The Conflict of Mother's Day
Most of the time I HATE Mother's Day.
All of my friends are posting these glowing tributes to their amazing mothers.
I'm jealous.
They change their profiles to pictures of themselves with their mothers, or just pictures of good ol' Mom.
I never...
They speak of Mother's Day plans, and Mother's Day gifts....
I DO love my mother.
I love my mother the way every abused child loves the parent that abused them.
There is conflict.
The sadness overwhelms me.
I always wanted a good relationship with my mom.
At one point I thought I had a good relationship with her.
And then I started learning what healthy, good parent-child relationships looked like.
And all of the years came crashing back around me.
The abuse.
The control.
The manipulation.
The deception.
Because I was the child, and she was the mother, and I didn't know any better...
I thought that was how I was supposed to be parented.
And now I mourn.
I mourn for the relationship I thought I had.
I mourn for the mother she could never be to me.
I mourn for the mother I wish I had.
I mourn for the relationship my children cannot have with her.
I mourn that she is not healthy.
I mourn that her refusal to care for herself means that on her "bad" days she is nice, and on her "good" days, she is the same negative, sad person I remember.
I mourn that I will never have a chance to have a good relationship with my mother.
And yet.
These are things which cannot be spoken.
Obviously, in the eyes and minds of many, I must have done something terribly wrong for our relationship to be so broken.
When I DO say something, no one knows how to respond, so they don't...and conversation continues as if I said nothing.
When I DO say something, I get told I need to reconcile. Which reconciliation requires the participation of two willing parties, who both acknowledge their own part in the problem. And this will never happen.
When I DO say something, I get told to forgive her. I have. 100-thousand times.
So, I get the message that no one wants to hear that a mother could hurt her children. That my words and my memories are wrong, because no one saw the horror of how I lived. That I am not supposed to tell, because to tell is to tear down the image of motherhood...the one she worked so hard to perpetuate, so that no one outside the family knew the truth.
More than 35 years since life descended into a hell no child should ever have to endure, people still cannot fathom why I hate a holiday that stirs up the painful memories.
And yet.
I have 6 amazing children.
And an absolutely wonderful husband.
They love me.
They heap me with praises, and flowers, and jewelry, and so much love.
They love to show me that they care...and they all do a great job of it.
And some of them need the reminder of a set-aside holiday.
So, while some of me is in conflict, some of me also is grateful for the love my husband and children show me on this holiday I hate.
All of my friends are posting these glowing tributes to their amazing mothers.
I'm jealous.
They change their profiles to pictures of themselves with their mothers, or just pictures of good ol' Mom.
I never...
They speak of Mother's Day plans, and Mother's Day gifts....
I DO love my mother.
I love my mother the way every abused child loves the parent that abused them.
There is conflict.
The sadness overwhelms me.
I always wanted a good relationship with my mom.
At one point I thought I had a good relationship with her.
And then I started learning what healthy, good parent-child relationships looked like.
And all of the years came crashing back around me.
The abuse.
The control.
The manipulation.
The deception.
Because I was the child, and she was the mother, and I didn't know any better...
I thought that was how I was supposed to be parented.
And now I mourn.
I mourn for the relationship I thought I had.
I mourn for the mother she could never be to me.
I mourn for the mother I wish I had.
I mourn for the relationship my children cannot have with her.
I mourn that she is not healthy.
I mourn that her refusal to care for herself means that on her "bad" days she is nice, and on her "good" days, she is the same negative, sad person I remember.
I mourn that I will never have a chance to have a good relationship with my mother.
And yet.
These are things which cannot be spoken.
Obviously, in the eyes and minds of many, I must have done something terribly wrong for our relationship to be so broken.
When I DO say something, no one knows how to respond, so they don't...and conversation continues as if I said nothing.
When I DO say something, I get told I need to reconcile. Which reconciliation requires the participation of two willing parties, who both acknowledge their own part in the problem. And this will never happen.
When I DO say something, I get told to forgive her. I have. 100-thousand times.
So, I get the message that no one wants to hear that a mother could hurt her children. That my words and my memories are wrong, because no one saw the horror of how I lived. That I am not supposed to tell, because to tell is to tear down the image of motherhood...the one she worked so hard to perpetuate, so that no one outside the family knew the truth.
More than 35 years since life descended into a hell no child should ever have to endure, people still cannot fathom why I hate a holiday that stirs up the painful memories.
And yet.
I have 6 amazing children.
And an absolutely wonderful husband.
They love me.
They heap me with praises, and flowers, and jewelry, and so much love.
They love to show me that they care...and they all do a great job of it.
And some of them need the reminder of a set-aside holiday.
So, while some of me is in conflict, some of me also is grateful for the love my husband and children show me on this holiday I hate.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Thursday Thirteen #9
 |
2. The parents get to make a lot of new friends, in a lot of different settings. 3. The kids learn responsibility for gloves, cleats, uniforms, caps, balls, bats... 4. The parents learn to juggle....practices on Monday and Wednesday for team #1, practice on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday for team #1, practice on Saturday for team #3, and we don't know yet for team #4...plus the other family activities on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday....and homework.... 5. The two littler girls learn to entertain themselves at games and practices. 6. The parents learn to say "NO" to anything else.... 7. The parents learn budgetting...for buying more gloves, balls, bats, cleats, uniforms... 8. The kids learn to do their homework in an efficient manner, in order to make it to practices on time. 9. The kids all make new friends on their teams. 10. The parents remember how to make quick, filling meals, in order to get kids to practices and games on time. 11. The kids who have played before add to their skills. 12. The kids who have not played before learn a new sport, and learn about taking risks. 13. The whole family gets to learn more about our new town, and makes new friends and more memories. |
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Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Memories (installment 3)
The schools that my brother and I attended were small…both were Mennonite schools, run by the two different Mennonite churches in the area. The first one, we attended until I was in 2nd grade, then our church started its own school, and that was where we attended all the way through high school.
Our teachers in the new school were the pastor of our church, his wife teaching 1st grade, and eventually 2 of their daughters. The curriculum we used was the A.C.E. curriculum, which didn’t require much in the way of teaching…which was good, because the pastor was doing algebra along with us, and was no help in answering questions. Also, my brother and I discovered problems in the science books…things which were also wrong in the answers. But, we eventually graduated…even though a lot of our friends didn’t. The Mennonite community that we grew up in is still a very rural, agricultural community, and post-secondary education is not high on the priority list. So, our graduating class (yes, my little brother and I graduated together!) was 7 people strong…4 of which were graduating a year early.
At some point during that school year, we visited a couple of colleges, trying to figure out where we were going to be going the next year. We visited Toccoa Falls College in Toccoa Falls, GA, and Columbia Bible College in Columbia, SC. My brother really, really wanted to attend Clemson University in Clemson, SC, but our parents were not convinced that was a good idea. September came, and we headed off to school in Columbia, SC.
Until we headed off to school, I didn’t realize how sheltered we were growing up. After all, WE were the ones more sophisticated than all of our friends…we’d graduated from high school, we didn’t wear all home-made clothes, and we were headed to college. In the big city of Columbia, SC, we were little fishies. Somehow, I also went to college thinking that I couldn’t make friends.
Because we were such oddballs in our community, I had almost no close friends growing up. The 2 friends I really had were also from a non-Mennonite background…actually, never even attended the Mennonite church, but rather, went to the Presbyterian Church in town.
College was a blast! I was free of my parents’ strictures, and though we were bound to live by the rules of the school, we had a ton of fun. People to talk to, ping pong, eating what I wanted, READING(!), friends….all these things meant that my first year at college was a real learning experience.
My first roommate was a senior. She was great for me…she kept me grounded…but, we were only roommates for the first quarter of my freshman year. My second roommate was also only for a quarter…after that, she moved off campus, and got married. For my last quarter that year, I was in a room by myself.
Our teachers in the new school were the pastor of our church, his wife teaching 1st grade, and eventually 2 of their daughters. The curriculum we used was the A.C.E. curriculum, which didn’t require much in the way of teaching…which was good, because the pastor was doing algebra along with us, and was no help in answering questions. Also, my brother and I discovered problems in the science books…things which were also wrong in the answers. But, we eventually graduated…even though a lot of our friends didn’t. The Mennonite community that we grew up in is still a very rural, agricultural community, and post-secondary education is not high on the priority list. So, our graduating class (yes, my little brother and I graduated together!) was 7 people strong…4 of which were graduating a year early.
At some point during that school year, we visited a couple of colleges, trying to figure out where we were going to be going the next year. We visited Toccoa Falls College in Toccoa Falls, GA, and Columbia Bible College in Columbia, SC. My brother really, really wanted to attend Clemson University in Clemson, SC, but our parents were not convinced that was a good idea. September came, and we headed off to school in Columbia, SC.
Until we headed off to school, I didn’t realize how sheltered we were growing up. After all, WE were the ones more sophisticated than all of our friends…we’d graduated from high school, we didn’t wear all home-made clothes, and we were headed to college. In the big city of Columbia, SC, we were little fishies. Somehow, I also went to college thinking that I couldn’t make friends.
Because we were such oddballs in our community, I had almost no close friends growing up. The 2 friends I really had were also from a non-Mennonite background…actually, never even attended the Mennonite church, but rather, went to the Presbyterian Church in town.
College was a blast! I was free of my parents’ strictures, and though we were bound to live by the rules of the school, we had a ton of fun. People to talk to, ping pong, eating what I wanted, READING(!), friends….all these things meant that my first year at college was a real learning experience.
My first roommate was a senior. She was great for me…she kept me grounded…but, we were only roommates for the first quarter of my freshman year. My second roommate was also only for a quarter…after that, she moved off campus, and got married. For my last quarter that year, I was in a room by myself.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Computer Gremlins strike again...
...or my lame excuse for why I am not getting around to posting about my trip.
I'm exhausted....I took a 2 hour nap yesterday...I usually don't do that unless I'm pregnant...and NO, I am NOT pregnant, thankyouverymuch.
My internet went out on Sunday night, around midnight, and we were only just able to get it back up and functioning this morning, so I've been playing catch-up with work.
Tomorrow...pictures.
Thursday...more pictures, and things about my trip.
Friday...Memories post, maybe.
It's a plan, sort of. We'll see what happens. I'm bushed...headed to bed.
I'm exhausted....I took a 2 hour nap yesterday...I usually don't do that unless I'm pregnant...and NO, I am NOT pregnant, thankyouverymuch.
My internet went out on Sunday night, around midnight, and we were only just able to get it back up and functioning this morning, so I've been playing catch-up with work.
Tomorrow...pictures.
Thursday...more pictures, and things about my trip.
Friday...Memories post, maybe.
It's a plan, sort of. We'll see what happens. I'm bushed...headed to bed.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Memories (installment 5)
We lived on the dairy farm for 5 years. We had good times and bad times. We learned and grew. Then we moved back to the farm that my parents owned, about 5 miles away from the dairy. That other farm, the one I call "home" is 300 acres of farmland, with 2 houses, numerous barns, a few horses, some chickens, and a bunch of deer. When we moved back, Daddy had to find another job. So, for the first time in a long, long time, he went to work for someone else. For the next few years, Daddy worked as the maintenance man for the Due West Retirement Center, in Due West, SC. My brother and I were in high school, and our little brother was in school.
The next several years were rather un-eventful, in most ways. We didn't move. Financially, things were almost stable. No one in the family got into any major troubles. However, for me personally, this was one of the most painful periods of my life. Looking back, now, I can see that I was going through normal struggles, trying to be myself, figuring out what it meant to be a Christian in a very legalistic environment. I was also beginning my struggles with depression.
I dealt repeatedly with my mom's physical and emotional abuse. My mother had her own demons, and they came back often to haunt me. Deep inside, I wanted to please my parents. On the outside, it looked like I couldn't do anything to please either of them. I was stuck somewhere between my college educated parents, and my friends and church. I was unsure that anyone loved me. I wasn't Mennonite enough for my church or friends, and I was too Mennonite for my parents.
I had a couple of friends who weren't Mennonite, but who attended the Mennonite school with me. I spent a lot of time at their home. One day, I mentioned to one of them that my mother was abusive, and they passed that information on to their mother, who was a friend of my mom's. I know that their mom was trying to protect me, but instead, I ended up suffering from the decision she made to talk to my mom about it.
I threatened to run away several times. The things that came out of my mother's mouth at that time still haunt me. Names that a child should never be called by their parents. Through all of that, God protected me from so many things. I never smoked. Or drank. Or did drugs. Or was involved physically with anyone. It would have been so easy for me to get into any one of those things.
God had someting different in mind for me. For that, I am very grateful.
The next several years were rather un-eventful, in most ways. We didn't move. Financially, things were almost stable. No one in the family got into any major troubles. However, for me personally, this was one of the most painful periods of my life. Looking back, now, I can see that I was going through normal struggles, trying to be myself, figuring out what it meant to be a Christian in a very legalistic environment. I was also beginning my struggles with depression.
I dealt repeatedly with my mom's physical and emotional abuse. My mother had her own demons, and they came back often to haunt me. Deep inside, I wanted to please my parents. On the outside, it looked like I couldn't do anything to please either of them. I was stuck somewhere between my college educated parents, and my friends and church. I was unsure that anyone loved me. I wasn't Mennonite enough for my church or friends, and I was too Mennonite for my parents.
I had a couple of friends who weren't Mennonite, but who attended the Mennonite school with me. I spent a lot of time at their home. One day, I mentioned to one of them that my mother was abusive, and they passed that information on to their mother, who was a friend of my mom's. I know that their mom was trying to protect me, but instead, I ended up suffering from the decision she made to talk to my mom about it.
I threatened to run away several times. The things that came out of my mother's mouth at that time still haunt me. Names that a child should never be called by their parents. Through all of that, God protected me from so many things. I never smoked. Or drank. Or did drugs. Or was involved physically with anyone. It would have been so easy for me to get into any one of those things.
God had someting different in mind for me. For that, I am very grateful.
Monday, October 16, 2017
A Momentous Occasion...
I have a LOT of thoughts today...
How does one celebrate 25 years together?
How do you look back and look forward at the same time?
We were SO young.
You were 19...yes, I robbed the cradle. No, I wouldn't have it any other way.
We were so YOUNG.
The stars in our eyes meant we didn't see the risks everyone else tried to alert us to.
They said we wouldn't last.
Honestly, there were moments I was afraid we wouldn't...
...but, God...
God put us together.
God kept us together.
God provided for us.
God blessed us with an amazing bunch of children.
God taught us, and directed us, and reigned us in.
I think God probably also has looked at us over the years, and shaken His head, and wondered if we'd ever "get it", like many parents do with their hard-headed children.
He has seen us through financial difficulties, and marital strife, and drama, and legal problems, and more moves than I care to count. He has protected us through separations, and accidents, and thousands of miles on questionable roads. He has educated us, sometimes in classrooms, but more often through His Word and the input of wise people He puts in our paths.
On this path, we have loved, and laughed, and cried, and yelled, and had hard times, yes. But we have also had fun, and made amazing memories, and worked together, and grown together, and dreamed together.
25 years is a good start. I look forward to the next 25...I can't wait to see where God takes us and what He has for us!!
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| First picture together |
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| 1992? |
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| October 17, 1992 |
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| October 17, 1992 |
You were 19...yes, I robbed the cradle. No, I wouldn't have it any other way.
We were so YOUNG.
The stars in our eyes meant we didn't see the risks everyone else tried to alert us to.
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| 1996? |
Honestly, there were moments I was afraid we wouldn't...
...but, God...
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| 2000 |
God kept us together.
God provided for us.
God blessed us with an amazing bunch of children.
God taught us, and directed us, and reigned us in.
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| 2006 |
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| 2009 |
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| Bahrain, 2011 |
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| Married Prom, 2013 |
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| September 9, 2017 |
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Memories (installment 26)
I don't remember much about that last week before the ship pulled out. I know the CO and his wife visited. I know Jason packed his stuff up. I know life went on. Time passed.
April 1st came, and the ship was leaving. I HAD TO be at the dock to see it off. I had responsibilities...to the CO, and to the other wives, and to my children. I had to be there. I didn't realize that 3 hours of standing on the concrete pier, waiting for that ship to leave would be so hard on me physically. I DID expect it to be hard emotionally. Finally, the ship left, and the kids and I piled back in the car and headed home.
It was about lunch time when we got to the house, and I was wiped out. Three hours on the concrete pier, holding my one-week-old baby, and corralling the other 4 (ages 2, 4, 5, and 8) had been a little too much for me. I fed kids, and got them put down for naps, and called my midwife because I was concerned with how much I was bleeding. She made me promise to get some rest. I went to take as much of a nap as I could, and she called my neighbor, who came over to help.
The next couple of weeks were amazing. My midwife had mobilized help for me. She was apparently very concerned about me, and told me that if I didn't get the rest I needed, she was going to send me to the hospital. I KNEW I couldn't afford THAT, since the ship was gone, and I needed to be home with the kids. She knew that our church would step and help....and, boy, did they ever....
People took the kids for the day....to the park, to the aquarium, to their houses, to the beach. Young couples came and cleaned the house. Meals were provided...MORE meals....I seem to remember SIX more weeks' worth of meals! I was able to just spend time with my baby, resting and recuperating.
After the initial rough times, I thought the rest of the deployment would be a cup of tea. Right. We had prepared for a lot of possibilities of things going wrong while the ship was gone. We had a great team in place to deal with things. A neighboring church was prepared to help with things like car repairs and dryers and other small home repairs.... we were prepared.
There truly is nothing like a deployment for a military wife to earn her stripes! During that deployment, I dealt with:
a broken windshield
a broken dryer
a broken bone in my foot
a broken collar bone in my 2-year-old
a wife that had her children removed from the home
a wife that threatened me
various other irritations and gossips...
my dad, brother and sister came to visit
my sister stayed for about a month
Toward the end of the summer, Jason's dad was retiring from the Marine Corps, and Jason was planning to be there, to surprise his dad. It was exciting....and I decided that I would be there, too...I packed up myself, my sister, and all 5 children, and we met Jason's uncle near Austin, TX, and caravaned to South Carolina with them for the retirement. We had an amazing time seeing extended family, and enjoying the retirement, and after it was over, my sister went home, and Jason drove back to Texas with me.
The summer of 2002 was a summer of learning for me. I learned that I could deal with a LOT more than I thought possible. I learned about the amazing love our church showed to us. I learned to ask for help. I learned (sadly) that not everyone responded positively to stress in their lives. I learned to really appreciate all of the help my husband provided when he was home (there's nothing like having him gone to help me appreciate him more!!). I also learned a lot of things about myself....things I would need further down the road.
April 1st came, and the ship was leaving. I HAD TO be at the dock to see it off. I had responsibilities...to the CO, and to the other wives, and to my children. I had to be there. I didn't realize that 3 hours of standing on the concrete pier, waiting for that ship to leave would be so hard on me physically. I DID expect it to be hard emotionally. Finally, the ship left, and the kids and I piled back in the car and headed home.
It was about lunch time when we got to the house, and I was wiped out. Three hours on the concrete pier, holding my one-week-old baby, and corralling the other 4 (ages 2, 4, 5, and 8) had been a little too much for me. I fed kids, and got them put down for naps, and called my midwife because I was concerned with how much I was bleeding. She made me promise to get some rest. I went to take as much of a nap as I could, and she called my neighbor, who came over to help.
The next couple of weeks were amazing. My midwife had mobilized help for me. She was apparently very concerned about me, and told me that if I didn't get the rest I needed, she was going to send me to the hospital. I KNEW I couldn't afford THAT, since the ship was gone, and I needed to be home with the kids. She knew that our church would step and help....and, boy, did they ever....
People took the kids for the day....to the park, to the aquarium, to their houses, to the beach. Young couples came and cleaned the house. Meals were provided...MORE meals....I seem to remember SIX more weeks' worth of meals! I was able to just spend time with my baby, resting and recuperating.
After the initial rough times, I thought the rest of the deployment would be a cup of tea. Right. We had prepared for a lot of possibilities of things going wrong while the ship was gone. We had a great team in place to deal with things. A neighboring church was prepared to help with things like car repairs and dryers and other small home repairs.... we were prepared.
There truly is nothing like a deployment for a military wife to earn her stripes! During that deployment, I dealt with:
a broken windshield
a broken dryer
a broken bone in my foot
a broken collar bone in my 2-year-old
a wife that had her children removed from the home
a wife that threatened me
various other irritations and gossips...
my dad, brother and sister came to visit
my sister stayed for about a month
Toward the end of the summer, Jason's dad was retiring from the Marine Corps, and Jason was planning to be there, to surprise his dad. It was exciting....and I decided that I would be there, too...I packed up myself, my sister, and all 5 children, and we met Jason's uncle near Austin, TX, and caravaned to South Carolina with them for the retirement. We had an amazing time seeing extended family, and enjoying the retirement, and after it was over, my sister went home, and Jason drove back to Texas with me.
The summer of 2002 was a summer of learning for me. I learned that I could deal with a LOT more than I thought possible. I learned about the amazing love our church showed to us. I learned to ask for help. I learned (sadly) that not everyone responded positively to stress in their lives. I learned to really appreciate all of the help my husband provided when he was home (there's nothing like having him gone to help me appreciate him more!!). I also learned a lot of things about myself....things I would need further down the road.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Memories (installment 24)
The adventure began in Texas, in a 3-bedroom, two bath townhouse.
Jason was stationed on a VERY small ship...the USS Defender. The Defender is a mine-sweeper, and is one of the last of a dying breed of wooden hulled ships. There were usually about 90 men stationed on board.
We first arrived in Portland, TX, in April. The housing we were in was nice. It was fairly new and well maintained. We had more room than we'd had for a while, and financially it worked well for us. There were playgrounds, and a pool.
We started homeschooling by planning our daily PE around trips to the pool. We also did a little bit of reading (to little siblings), some math (and science) in the form of baking, and writing letters to family and friends in South Carolina. In this manner we completed the last of the school year and headed into the summer.
I started getting to know people in the neighborhood. I learned that there are good people and bad people in every setting...even on a ship as small as the Defender.
We also were looking for a church. We had attended a Calvary Chapel in South Carolina for a short time, so thought that would be a great place to start. Calvary Chapel Coastlands was a great church home to us for about a year.
In June, I learned that I was pregnant again...due in March, 2002. I started researching having a homebirth. Jason also came home and told me that he had volunteered me for another adventure....the position of Ombudsman for the ship. Neither of us had any clue what we were in for!
Jason was stationed on a VERY small ship...the USS Defender. The Defender is a mine-sweeper, and is one of the last of a dying breed of wooden hulled ships. There were usually about 90 men stationed on board.
We first arrived in Portland, TX, in April. The housing we were in was nice. It was fairly new and well maintained. We had more room than we'd had for a while, and financially it worked well for us. There were playgrounds, and a pool.
We started homeschooling by planning our daily PE around trips to the pool. We also did a little bit of reading (to little siblings), some math (and science) in the form of baking, and writing letters to family and friends in South Carolina. In this manner we completed the last of the school year and headed into the summer.
I started getting to know people in the neighborhood. I learned that there are good people and bad people in every setting...even on a ship as small as the Defender.
We also were looking for a church. We had attended a Calvary Chapel in South Carolina for a short time, so thought that would be a great place to start. Calvary Chapel Coastlands was a great church home to us for about a year.
In June, I learned that I was pregnant again...due in March, 2002. I started researching having a homebirth. Jason also came home and told me that he had volunteered me for another adventure....the position of Ombudsman for the ship. Neither of us had any clue what we were in for!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Adventures in childrearing
Have you ever met anyone who (it seemed to you) had perfect children? Or maybe their parenting choices were THE BEST, and everything you did with your children was inferior?
As mothers, we all experience "Mommy guilt" from time to time...whether or not it is legitimate. One of the earliest memories from the parenting journey is one of "my baby isn't measuring up" or "my baby isn't sleeping/smiling/rolling over/walking yet" and always the thought that comes after is "I must be doing something wrong."
Somewhere in our heads we all know that the above thought process is wrong. We KNOW that every family works differently. We KNOW that every child is different. WE KNOW THIS, but for some reason it doesn't "stick". We end up calling the doctor, our girlfriends or our mothers, hoping for some reassurance that the way we are handling things, or the way our child is responding is "normal" or at the very least, "okay."
After almost 15 years of the parenting journey, I still have to remind myself that my children are individuals, and even within our family there is a lot of diversity of personalities. I know that my oldest child is probably the easiest child any first-time mother could have asked for. I know that my 5th child is the one most like me, and as such drives me crazy every day. I know that my 4th child is the one most like his father, and because of that, he drives me crazy every day! I know lots of different things about each of my children. I know many of their likes and dislikes, and I know (for the most part) how each will respond in a given situation. In a word, I am an expert on my children. For now, I know them better than anyone else knows them. I know more details of their lives, and more of their personality.
Even so, I have my moments of second-guessing how my husband and I are raising them. I come in contact with someone else who is even slightly critical of how my child is responding at any given time, and my mind goes back down the "Mommy Guilt" path. In that moment, I forget....I forget that this other person is NOT the expert on my child. I forget the particularly hard day that child may have had already. I forget the progress we've made with that child in the last week/month/year. All I can see in that moment is the glaring imperfection in my child.
The thing is that I get really critical of my child in that moment. I forget that God gave that child to ME, knowing that *I* would become the expert on that child. I am still learning to trust God, that He gave my children the parents HE wanted them to have. The converse is also true. I am NOT an expert on anyone else's child. I can NOT judge their parenting skills by one exposure to that child. I must, in the same way, trust that God gave that particular child to that particular parent, and made them the experts on their children.
Maybe, if I keep reminding myself of those facts, one day I'll be able to extend grace to *THOSE* parents in the same way I hope they extend it to me.
As mothers, we all experience "Mommy guilt" from time to time...whether or not it is legitimate. One of the earliest memories from the parenting journey is one of "my baby isn't measuring up" or "my baby isn't sleeping/smiling/rolling over/walking yet" and always the thought that comes after is "I must be doing something wrong."
Somewhere in our heads we all know that the above thought process is wrong. We KNOW that every family works differently. We KNOW that every child is different. WE KNOW THIS, but for some reason it doesn't "stick". We end up calling the doctor, our girlfriends or our mothers, hoping for some reassurance that the way we are handling things, or the way our child is responding is "normal" or at the very least, "okay."
After almost 15 years of the parenting journey, I still have to remind myself that my children are individuals, and even within our family there is a lot of diversity of personalities. I know that my oldest child is probably the easiest child any first-time mother could have asked for. I know that my 5th child is the one most like me, and as such drives me crazy every day. I know that my 4th child is the one most like his father, and because of that, he drives me crazy every day! I know lots of different things about each of my children. I know many of their likes and dislikes, and I know (for the most part) how each will respond in a given situation. In a word, I am an expert on my children. For now, I know them better than anyone else knows them. I know more details of their lives, and more of their personality.
Even so, I have my moments of second-guessing how my husband and I are raising them. I come in contact with someone else who is even slightly critical of how my child is responding at any given time, and my mind goes back down the "Mommy Guilt" path. In that moment, I forget....I forget that this other person is NOT the expert on my child. I forget the particularly hard day that child may have had already. I forget the progress we've made with that child in the last week/month/year. All I can see in that moment is the glaring imperfection in my child.
The thing is that I get really critical of my child in that moment. I forget that God gave that child to ME, knowing that *I* would become the expert on that child. I am still learning to trust God, that He gave my children the parents HE wanted them to have. The converse is also true. I am NOT an expert on anyone else's child. I can NOT judge their parenting skills by one exposure to that child. I must, in the same way, trust that God gave that particular child to that particular parent, and made them the experts on their children.
Maybe, if I keep reminding myself of those facts, one day I'll be able to extend grace to *THOSE* parents in the same way I hope they extend it to me.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Memories (installment 13)
I survived the miscarriage...funny how circumstances where you wish you could just die make you stronger.
I went back to work eventually, and before too long I was pregnant again. My first baby was due in May...I was pregnant again in April...this baby was due on December 31st. I recognize now, that had I NOT had the miscarriage, I would not have my wonderful eldest daughter.
We were living WAY outside of Columbia, in a little trailer and commuting into town for work and church. We barely had enough room for the two of us. There was NO WAY we'd fit a baby in there, too. We started looking for another place, and eventually found an apartment, but our lease was up, and the new place wasn't going to be ready for another month. What to do?!?
What happened was that we moved in with Jason's parents for a month. THAT was interesting, and NOT something I would recommend. There were three generations living in that house, and I was pregnant with the fourth. Three women and one kitchen. NOT a great mix. That, and answering the phone...
"Hi, may I speak to Mrs. P?"
"May I ask WHICH Mrs. P you'd like to speak with? There are THREE of us!"
Fortunately, that was only for one month, and then we were able to move into our apartment.
Sometime during that time, I had a small wreck on my way back to work after lunch with my in-laws. It really wasn't bad, but I had just gone through a miscarriage, and I panicked. I was terrified that I was going to lose this baby, too. I'm sure that the girl that "T-boned" me was not thrilled about having to pay for my ambulance ride and ER visit, but I wanted to make sure my baby was going to be okay.
During this time, I went through two more jobs...I was working as a switchboard operator at the Bible college I graduated from, and then changed, and was working in a daycare. I learned from that, too...I learned that I never wanted to put my children in a formal daycare situation.
While I was working the daycare job, I was put onto partial bedrest, and had to quit my job. My fluid levels were low, and the doctors/midwives were concerned about the baby. Besides that, my baby was in the frank breech position, and I needed to concentrate on trying to get her to turn.
I went back to work eventually, and before too long I was pregnant again. My first baby was due in May...I was pregnant again in April...this baby was due on December 31st. I recognize now, that had I NOT had the miscarriage, I would not have my wonderful eldest daughter.
We were living WAY outside of Columbia, in a little trailer and commuting into town for work and church. We barely had enough room for the two of us. There was NO WAY we'd fit a baby in there, too. We started looking for another place, and eventually found an apartment, but our lease was up, and the new place wasn't going to be ready for another month. What to do?!?
What happened was that we moved in with Jason's parents for a month. THAT was interesting, and NOT something I would recommend. There were three generations living in that house, and I was pregnant with the fourth. Three women and one kitchen. NOT a great mix. That, and answering the phone...
"Hi, may I speak to Mrs. P?"
"May I ask WHICH Mrs. P you'd like to speak with? There are THREE of us!"
Fortunately, that was only for one month, and then we were able to move into our apartment.
Sometime during that time, I had a small wreck on my way back to work after lunch with my in-laws. It really wasn't bad, but I had just gone through a miscarriage, and I panicked. I was terrified that I was going to lose this baby, too. I'm sure that the girl that "T-boned" me was not thrilled about having to pay for my ambulance ride and ER visit, but I wanted to make sure my baby was going to be okay.
During this time, I went through two more jobs...I was working as a switchboard operator at the Bible college I graduated from, and then changed, and was working in a daycare. I learned from that, too...I learned that I never wanted to put my children in a formal daycare situation.
While I was working the daycare job, I was put onto partial bedrest, and had to quit my job. My fluid levels were low, and the doctors/midwives were concerned about the baby. Besides that, my baby was in the frank breech position, and I needed to concentrate on trying to get her to turn.
As I mentioned earlier, the baby was due on December 31...sometime in October (I believe), an external version was attempted...picture this...HEAVILY pregnant mom, laying flat on her back in the hospital bed, with external monitors attached, accompanied by husband. Enter midwife and doctor, plus a nurse or two. Doctor climbs up on the bed, over the mom, and midwife gets on the other side of the bed. Using all four hands, doctor and midwife attempt to physically turn the baby around, pushing on the outside of mom's overextended belly. It HURT. And....it didn't work. That baby was STUBBORN, and was comfortably wedged up under my ribs.
After that spectacular failure, a C-section was scheduled...10 days before the due date, so as to not allow me to go into labor with a breech baby. Frances Lillian was born, via C-section at 7:58 am on December 21st. We arrived home from the hospital on Christmas Eve....in time for Christmas lunch at our house with Jason's parents, grandmother, sister, niece, and sister's boyfriend. That was also the day we decided to move again....
Monday, May 26, 2008
Memories (installment 19)
We were very anxious to get away from the trailer park, and some other neighbors who also went to our church were building through a USDA program for first time builders who didn't have great credit. It was a program meant for us!
We found some property, and went to work...okay, well, we went out and watched the builders at work! Our little house was beautiful! It was NEW, and was on just over an acre of land. True, it was a LONG drive to work, for both of us, but we loved our little house.
We finally moved out of the trailer on April 15th, 1998, and into our own home. OUR house. Three bedrooms, two bath, dishwasher, laundry room, back deck. It was amazing...and it was home.
During this time, Jason was working for the Department of Juvenile Justice as a prison guard. One day, when he was still in training, I found him cleaning all of his pictures out of his wallet and taking off his wedding band. When I asked why, he said that he was going to be working in maximum security with sexual offenders. He did not want any of them to know that he had a family.
Our little house was in Gilbert, SC, in Lexington County. We liked Lexington County, but, again it was a LONG ways for both of us to drive to work, church, or to spend time with Jason's family. We still weren't talking to my family.
During the move, Jason hurt his back, and while he was recovering, started looking for another job. The career change he was looking for came in the form of truck driving school. He was at school for 3 weeks, passed his test and was offered a job which he took.
He started driving Over The Road (OTR) for Swift Transportation, delivering car parts in SC and Michigan (?). He was gone a LOT, but in the beginning, he was team driving with another guy because he was in training.
I was still working, taking care of my three children, loving our new house....and looking forward to the times my husband was home. Little did I know what this was preparing me for.
We found some property, and went to work...okay, well, we went out and watched the builders at work! Our little house was beautiful! It was NEW, and was on just over an acre of land. True, it was a LONG drive to work, for both of us, but we loved our little house.
We finally moved out of the trailer on April 15th, 1998, and into our own home. OUR house. Three bedrooms, two bath, dishwasher, laundry room, back deck. It was amazing...and it was home.
During this time, Jason was working for the Department of Juvenile Justice as a prison guard. One day, when he was still in training, I found him cleaning all of his pictures out of his wallet and taking off his wedding band. When I asked why, he said that he was going to be working in maximum security with sexual offenders. He did not want any of them to know that he had a family.
Our little house was in Gilbert, SC, in Lexington County. We liked Lexington County, but, again it was a LONG ways for both of us to drive to work, church, or to spend time with Jason's family. We still weren't talking to my family.
During the move, Jason hurt his back, and while he was recovering, started looking for another job. The career change he was looking for came in the form of truck driving school. He was at school for 3 weeks, passed his test and was offered a job which he took.
He started driving Over The Road (OTR) for Swift Transportation, delivering car parts in SC and Michigan (?). He was gone a LOT, but in the beginning, he was team driving with another guy because he was in training.
I was still working, taking care of my three children, loving our new house....and looking forward to the times my husband was home. Little did I know what this was preparing me for.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Memories (installment 7)
In honor of my favorite month…I wanted to share how I met my wonderful husband.
I was in my Junior year in college, and it was the weekend that high school students came to visit the school. There was a skit being put on for their entertainment in the chapel. I was coming into the chapel with a friend, and this kid snagged us, and asked if we could help him out, by coming into the chapel in front of him. THAT kid was Jason. He was a Junior in HIGH SCHOOL that year.
Fast forward…two years later, I was a second-year senior, and living off campus. There was this new guy there…somehow familiar looking, and talking to me about this girl that he was interested in dating. We spent a lot of time together, just talking and hanging out.
I was still sort of dating a guy I had been dating for about a year…he was anxious to get married. I was NOT convinced. I needed space to think…about how I could break up with him…convince him that it was OVER. He showed up at my work on Friday night, with roses. I was not happy to see him. I spent a little bit of time with him, trying to make sure he understand that I really meant it…then I ran away. I went to the dorms to spend the night with my friend, who decided that we needed to get out…
We called Jason and one of his friends, and we ran away to IHOP…where we drank copious amounts of coffee, and talked until late into the night. That was October 13th. We had our first “official” date on the 17th, and were married exactly a year later. (Oh, and those friends who went out with us to IHOP? They’re married now, too…to each other!)
Birthdays have never been a huge deal for me. My parents never really made anything of them…I remember one birthday party. We had family parties, but only ever had one party that I was able to invite any friends to attend. Even that was a little bit of a disappointment.
Since we’ve been married, we have not celebrated Valentine’s Day much…but, we also don’t really make a huge deal out of my birthday. We DO usually go out to dinner…and I guess this year, my birthday presents will be delivered on Monday…a new washer and dryer, and a desk that we will have to assemble…happy birthday/Valentines’ Day to me!
I was in my Junior year in college, and it was the weekend that high school students came to visit the school. There was a skit being put on for their entertainment in the chapel. I was coming into the chapel with a friend, and this kid snagged us, and asked if we could help him out, by coming into the chapel in front of him. THAT kid was Jason. He was a Junior in HIGH SCHOOL that year.
Fast forward…two years later, I was a second-year senior, and living off campus. There was this new guy there…somehow familiar looking, and talking to me about this girl that he was interested in dating. We spent a lot of time together, just talking and hanging out.
I was still sort of dating a guy I had been dating for about a year…he was anxious to get married. I was NOT convinced. I needed space to think…about how I could break up with him…convince him that it was OVER. He showed up at my work on Friday night, with roses. I was not happy to see him. I spent a little bit of time with him, trying to make sure he understand that I really meant it…then I ran away. I went to the dorms to spend the night with my friend, who decided that we needed to get out…
We called Jason and one of his friends, and we ran away to IHOP…where we drank copious amounts of coffee, and talked until late into the night. That was October 13th. We had our first “official” date on the 17th, and were married exactly a year later. (Oh, and those friends who went out with us to IHOP? They’re married now, too…to each other!)
Birthdays have never been a huge deal for me. My parents never really made anything of them…I remember one birthday party. We had family parties, but only ever had one party that I was able to invite any friends to attend. Even that was a little bit of a disappointment.
Since we’ve been married, we have not celebrated Valentine’s Day much…but, we also don’t really make a huge deal out of my birthday. We DO usually go out to dinner…and I guess this year, my birthday presents will be delivered on Monday…a new washer and dryer, and a desk that we will have to assemble…happy birthday/Valentines’ Day to me!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Memories (installment 15)
The winter at the dump was cold. There was no heat in our little house, and little insulation. We had a good amount of snow(for South Carolina), and we were sleeping on a mattress on the floor. The heaters we had were little electric ceramic heaters which helped, but never really got the place to a comfortable level.
I found a job as quickly as I could...I was working for a home medical equipment company, answering phones, taking orders, scheduling deliveries, and helping out with insurance filing. I enjoyed that job. Jason went back to work at the fast food restaurant, working as a shift manager.
Frances' first birthday was while we were living there...it was fun to have Jason's family out to celebrate with us! We were doing okay, but were really looking forward to getting out of that house!
In January, we lived through a series of events that rocked our world. In short, Jason was accused of neglect, on the testimony of an anonymous tipster who lied to the police. Our daughter was taken from us, and Jason had to call me at work to tell me all of this. Frances was 13 months old at the time, and still nursing. I got to see her ONE TIME during that week...I was MISERABLE, Jason was miserable, and I'm sure that Frances was a very sad little girl during that week as well. There were no official charges brought, but we had to deal with the VERY invasive tactics of the Department of Social Services, and the anguish and trauma of having our child taken from us for a week's time.
After Frances came home, we got a puppy...he was a cutie! Frances loved that little guy, and his was a lot of fun. During that summer, we moved again...away from the dump (YEAH!!), and into a duplex in town, where we spent about 2 years. The pup moved with us, and grew by leaps and bounds...as did Frances. Sometime that summer I also found out that we were expecting again. I had quit my job by this time, and we were trying to get by on just Jason's income...and he was working two or three jobs at a time.
In the mean time, my relationship with my parents had gotten even worse. They kept putting more and more pressure on me to do things their way, and both Jason and I got to the piont where we could not handle any more of it. One day, I sat down and typed out a letter to them stating how upset I was with how they were treating us, and how I could not handle any more of it. I said that I was going to have to go for a while without talking to them, until I was better able to handle communicating with them.
Let me tell you...that letter did NOT go over well. My brothers were very adament that I was in the wrong (honestly, they really didn't care about Jason at that point), and that I needed to "fix it" and talk to my parents. I didn't get any communication from my parents, at all. No attempted phone calls. No letters. Nothing. Even so, I was petrified. They had tried forcing me away from Jason before, and I knew that their tendency was to be a "little" controlling.
The next four years were hard.
I found a job as quickly as I could...I was working for a home medical equipment company, answering phones, taking orders, scheduling deliveries, and helping out with insurance filing. I enjoyed that job. Jason went back to work at the fast food restaurant, working as a shift manager.
Frances' first birthday was while we were living there...it was fun to have Jason's family out to celebrate with us! We were doing okay, but were really looking forward to getting out of that house!
In January, we lived through a series of events that rocked our world. In short, Jason was accused of neglect, on the testimony of an anonymous tipster who lied to the police. Our daughter was taken from us, and Jason had to call me at work to tell me all of this. Frances was 13 months old at the time, and still nursing. I got to see her ONE TIME during that week...I was MISERABLE, Jason was miserable, and I'm sure that Frances was a very sad little girl during that week as well. There were no official charges brought, but we had to deal with the VERY invasive tactics of the Department of Social Services, and the anguish and trauma of having our child taken from us for a week's time.
After Frances came home, we got a puppy...he was a cutie! Frances loved that little guy, and his was a lot of fun. During that summer, we moved again...away from the dump (YEAH!!), and into a duplex in town, where we spent about 2 years. The pup moved with us, and grew by leaps and bounds...as did Frances. Sometime that summer I also found out that we were expecting again. I had quit my job by this time, and we were trying to get by on just Jason's income...and he was working two or three jobs at a time.
In the mean time, my relationship with my parents had gotten even worse. They kept putting more and more pressure on me to do things their way, and both Jason and I got to the piont where we could not handle any more of it. One day, I sat down and typed out a letter to them stating how upset I was with how they were treating us, and how I could not handle any more of it. I said that I was going to have to go for a while without talking to them, until I was better able to handle communicating with them.
Let me tell you...that letter did NOT go over well. My brothers were very adament that I was in the wrong (honestly, they really didn't care about Jason at that point), and that I needed to "fix it" and talk to my parents. I didn't get any communication from my parents, at all. No attempted phone calls. No letters. Nothing. Even so, I was petrified. They had tried forcing me away from Jason before, and I knew that their tendency was to be a "little" controlling.
The next four years were hard.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Rethinking My Strategies
I was thinking over the last couple of days about the frustrations we have faced and are facing with the treatment (or lack thereof) for Frances' numbness in her arms and hands. Frankly, I was almost to the point of giving up. If two neurologists and a battery of tests can't find anything wrong with her, who was I to continue to question it?
At that point, I took a walk down memory lane. Another walk of frustration with doctors. With accusations of psychosomatic illness, and uncertainty of treatments. This was a walk I took at a similar age, with my parents. with a very different set of symptoms, causes, and outcome.
When I was in my early teens, our whole family began experiencing unusual symptoms, with aching limbs, severe headaches, nose bleeds, "foggy" brain, and for my mother, repeated miscarriages. Several doctors just blew us off, saying that it was "in our heads," or that we were making things up. Right. At one point I was tested for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I didn't have it, even though the doctor told me later he could have sworn I did, based on my symptoms.
I remember the horrible migraine-like headaches after church EVERY Sunday. HORRIBLE pain in my legs, making me want to curl up in a little ball on the floor and cry. I remember the accusations from the doctors, and the lack of treatment. "Here, go home and take some Ibuprofen. I'm sure that will help."
Finally, when I was in my freshman year in college, and suffering even more from the aching limbs, headaches, and "foggy" brain, we found a new doctor who actually listened to us. We went to see him, and he BELIEVED us...and not only that, but he had an explanation for what what going on!
It seems our family has been exposed, at some point, to some toxic levels of something that set in motion strings of reactions to chemicals. Some foods bothered me, but mostly it was environmental chemical sensitivities that were affecting me. Things most people took for granted....PineSol, bleach, perfumes, deodorants, gas fumes, lotions, pesticides. Finally, with an explanation, there was a method of treatment that HELPED!!
I remember my sense of freedom from the pain. AMAZING relief. I could think again, without the fog! I could sleep without the pain....I could be normal!
And now, after that little walk through my memories, I remembered WHY I am fighting this fight. I love my daughter. I want her to be able to do things in as normal a way as possible. I want her to be free of the stigma...or to be able to overcome whatever disability this boils down to. Most of all, I want answers for her. Because the not knowing is the hardest part of this.
This week her counselor released her...saying to come back after school starts, and we'll see how things are progressing there. She is scheduled for another nerve conduction study at the end of August, and goes back to see the neurologist in early September (before school starts).
I still don't believe the neurologist.
I still DO believe the psychologist.
I still think the neurologist needs to image her head.
I'm still NOT going to give up....because...
I still love my daughter, and want answers for her....
At that point, I took a walk down memory lane. Another walk of frustration with doctors. With accusations of psychosomatic illness, and uncertainty of treatments. This was a walk I took at a similar age, with my parents. with a very different set of symptoms, causes, and outcome.
When I was in my early teens, our whole family began experiencing unusual symptoms, with aching limbs, severe headaches, nose bleeds, "foggy" brain, and for my mother, repeated miscarriages. Several doctors just blew us off, saying that it was "in our heads," or that we were making things up. Right. At one point I was tested for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I didn't have it, even though the doctor told me later he could have sworn I did, based on my symptoms.
I remember the horrible migraine-like headaches after church EVERY Sunday. HORRIBLE pain in my legs, making me want to curl up in a little ball on the floor and cry. I remember the accusations from the doctors, and the lack of treatment. "Here, go home and take some Ibuprofen. I'm sure that will help."
Finally, when I was in my freshman year in college, and suffering even more from the aching limbs, headaches, and "foggy" brain, we found a new doctor who actually listened to us. We went to see him, and he BELIEVED us...and not only that, but he had an explanation for what what going on!
It seems our family has been exposed, at some point, to some toxic levels of something that set in motion strings of reactions to chemicals. Some foods bothered me, but mostly it was environmental chemical sensitivities that were affecting me. Things most people took for granted....PineSol, bleach, perfumes, deodorants, gas fumes, lotions, pesticides. Finally, with an explanation, there was a method of treatment that HELPED!!
I remember my sense of freedom from the pain. AMAZING relief. I could think again, without the fog! I could sleep without the pain....I could be normal!
And now, after that little walk through my memories, I remembered WHY I am fighting this fight. I love my daughter. I want her to be able to do things in as normal a way as possible. I want her to be free of the stigma...or to be able to overcome whatever disability this boils down to. Most of all, I want answers for her. Because the not knowing is the hardest part of this.
This week her counselor released her...saying to come back after school starts, and we'll see how things are progressing there. She is scheduled for another nerve conduction study at the end of August, and goes back to see the neurologist in early September (before school starts).
I still don't believe the neurologist.
I still DO believe the psychologist.
I still think the neurologist needs to image her head.
I'm still NOT going to give up....because...
I still love my daughter, and want answers for her....
Monday, January 21, 2008
Memories (installment 4)
Going to go back a little bit here, because I left out things…
Life on the dairy was challenging, at best. I loved all the cows, and still miss them…which is probably why I collect cow stuff. We moved to the dairy in February, the year that I turned 10. The exact week my parents began the take-over, there was an ice storm. My parents knew next-to nothing about cows, and milking, and having 200 head to care for. There was no electricity in our county for a whole week, and only one generator….to cover something like 5 dairy farms. Those poor cows! At best, they got milked once a day during that time, and sometimes it was less than that. For cows used to being milked twice daily, it had to be painful!
During that week, my brothers and I were camped out at a neighboring farmer’s house with his teenaged daughters…it was cold there, too, but at least they had a good roaring fire going!
Like all animals, cows have personalities…some are amusing, some are irritating, some are just plain scary. When we moved to the dairy, we took our milk cow, Milkshake, with us. She was a good old cow that we had been hand milking for several years, but she really couldn’t compete with those other dairy cows. We named most of our cows, and most of the names were based on those cow-personalities. Princess, Queen, Snowball, Milkshake…I’m quickly losing all their names, as it’s been more than 20 years since we lived there.
One year, my grandparents, aunt and uncles and cousins came for Christmas, because it was difficult to travel anywhere when we had to be back to do the milking again in 8 hours. There was ice and snow (unusual for Christmas in SC!), and in the middle of cooking dinner, the power went off. Fortunately, we had a camp stove that my dad set up in the garage, and we were able to finish the cooking out there. That was the year that my older brother and I received a calf as our Christmas present. That calf was a lot of fun…we RODE her…no bit and bridle, just a halter, which made her a little difficult to control! I also had a 4-H heifer then, so I rode Clinton (my heifer), and my brother rode Snowball. I still wonder how we never broke any bones!
On injuries…so many things happened while we lived there….things that could have been disastrous. Cows kick, and step on people, and fling their heads and tails around without real good awareness of what they’re doing to their people…. My father broke a bone in his hand, trying to get a cow to get off of his foot. He also had to get a horse-serum tetanus shot because of running through a fence trying to get away from a cow that was chasing him! My hands were smashed more times than I care remember. We froze in the winter, with ice falling, and slick spots on the floors. One of our barn roofs caved in from snow on it…thankfully we were able to get all the cows and people out when we heard the trusses starting to break. My brother had a couple of run-ins with bees…LOTS of bees and/or wasps. He ended up in the emergency room the last time, getting a shot, because he had more than 20 stings! My dad had a sting that he reacted to very poorly…his poor face was so swollen people didn’t recognize him! I dealt with terrible skin problems on my hands…probably from all the chemicals used in the barn…blisters, dry, chapped, bleeding. The problems stopped when we left the dairy. The worst of the problems we dealt with were my mother’s miscarriages…she had at least 4 during the 5 years there…and her kidney infection that could have killed her. Life on the dairy was HARD, physically.
It was also hard emotionally, especially on my parents. Finances were always tight, and that always means emotionally trying times. Pair that with the long hours, heavy work, and physical problems, and our whole family came away from life on the dairy farm emotionally wrung out.
Life on the dairy was challenging, at best. I loved all the cows, and still miss them…which is probably why I collect cow stuff. We moved to the dairy in February, the year that I turned 10. The exact week my parents began the take-over, there was an ice storm. My parents knew next-to nothing about cows, and milking, and having 200 head to care for. There was no electricity in our county for a whole week, and only one generator….to cover something like 5 dairy farms. Those poor cows! At best, they got milked once a day during that time, and sometimes it was less than that. For cows used to being milked twice daily, it had to be painful!
During that week, my brothers and I were camped out at a neighboring farmer’s house with his teenaged daughters…it was cold there, too, but at least they had a good roaring fire going!
Like all animals, cows have personalities…some are amusing, some are irritating, some are just plain scary. When we moved to the dairy, we took our milk cow, Milkshake, with us. She was a good old cow that we had been hand milking for several years, but she really couldn’t compete with those other dairy cows. We named most of our cows, and most of the names were based on those cow-personalities. Princess, Queen, Snowball, Milkshake…I’m quickly losing all their names, as it’s been more than 20 years since we lived there.
One year, my grandparents, aunt and uncles and cousins came for Christmas, because it was difficult to travel anywhere when we had to be back to do the milking again in 8 hours. There was ice and snow (unusual for Christmas in SC!), and in the middle of cooking dinner, the power went off. Fortunately, we had a camp stove that my dad set up in the garage, and we were able to finish the cooking out there. That was the year that my older brother and I received a calf as our Christmas present. That calf was a lot of fun…we RODE her…no bit and bridle, just a halter, which made her a little difficult to control! I also had a 4-H heifer then, so I rode Clinton (my heifer), and my brother rode Snowball. I still wonder how we never broke any bones!
On injuries…so many things happened while we lived there….things that could have been disastrous. Cows kick, and step on people, and fling their heads and tails around without real good awareness of what they’re doing to their people…. My father broke a bone in his hand, trying to get a cow to get off of his foot. He also had to get a horse-serum tetanus shot because of running through a fence trying to get away from a cow that was chasing him! My hands were smashed more times than I care remember. We froze in the winter, with ice falling, and slick spots on the floors. One of our barn roofs caved in from snow on it…thankfully we were able to get all the cows and people out when we heard the trusses starting to break. My brother had a couple of run-ins with bees…LOTS of bees and/or wasps. He ended up in the emergency room the last time, getting a shot, because he had more than 20 stings! My dad had a sting that he reacted to very poorly…his poor face was so swollen people didn’t recognize him! I dealt with terrible skin problems on my hands…probably from all the chemicals used in the barn…blisters, dry, chapped, bleeding. The problems stopped when we left the dairy. The worst of the problems we dealt with were my mother’s miscarriages…she had at least 4 during the 5 years there…and her kidney infection that could have killed her. Life on the dairy was HARD, physically.
It was also hard emotionally, especially on my parents. Finances were always tight, and that always means emotionally trying times. Pair that with the long hours, heavy work, and physical problems, and our whole family came away from life on the dairy farm emotionally wrung out.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Memories (installment 6)
Once there was a family. Mom, Dad, Big Sister, Little Brother. Then they added a little baby, and lived happily ever after.
Isn't that how the story is supposed to go? Everyone grows up, and gets married, and everything is just peachy. As we all know, life doesn't often deal us that perfect hand. So, reality...
I was 6 years old, and we were going to the Mennonite church. I started school at the school operated by a neighboring church. My dad was working in sales. Mama was home with my younger (by 13 months) brother. Mama got pregnant and everyone was excited.
Fast forward 9 months...to January, 1975....baby brother is born. He looks normal, healthy, happy. The only thing of any note was that his ear was folded when he was born. Apparently that SHOULD have been a clue to the doctors, had they only known.....
Mama and baby John came home from the hospital, and things were uneventful for a little while, but soon clues started to pop up...he was not responding normally to things.
"Doctor, there are things that just aren't right."
More doctors' visits, tests.
"Ma'm, we're sorry to tell you this...your little baby was born with a heart defect."
John was happy, but he wasn't healthy. The doctors wanted to try to fix his little heart, but he needed to gain some weight first. So, a couple of months later, brother and I stayed with the pastor and his family, and my parents took John to the University Hospital in Charleston, SC, for his surgery.
I never saw him again. The doctors' attempt to repair John's heart didn't work...he died on the operating table.
I remember Mama and Daddy coming in, and they didn't have John with them. I kept asking, "Where's John?" I was only 7, my brother was 6. How do you explain to LITTLE children? What do you tell them?
There was a memorial service....there was no body. His body had been donated to the University, hopefully to help others....
Fall-out. There is always fall-out from these types of tragedies. Daddy's sales job went away. At least the insurance lasted long enough to cover most of the bills. Still, my parents came away from that hospital stay with $8 to their name, and 2 more children, and a farm and animals....there wasn't time to be able to take off and grieve. Work had to be found, and money made to pay the bills.
I miss my baby brother. I grieve his short 5 months of life. He would have turned 31 this year. John Joseph....we'll always miss you.
I also think of my parents, living through what had to be heart-breaking pain. Mama was 30 when John died. Daddy was 34. How do you go on? Pull yourself together, and parent your remaining children, who are too young to understand? I hurt for them, too.
Isn't that how the story is supposed to go? Everyone grows up, and gets married, and everything is just peachy. As we all know, life doesn't often deal us that perfect hand. So, reality...
I was 6 years old, and we were going to the Mennonite church. I started school at the school operated by a neighboring church. My dad was working in sales. Mama was home with my younger (by 13 months) brother. Mama got pregnant and everyone was excited.
Fast forward 9 months...to January, 1975....baby brother is born. He looks normal, healthy, happy. The only thing of any note was that his ear was folded when he was born. Apparently that SHOULD have been a clue to the doctors, had they only known.....
Mama and baby John came home from the hospital, and things were uneventful for a little while, but soon clues started to pop up...he was not responding normally to things.
"Doctor, there are things that just aren't right."
More doctors' visits, tests.
"Ma'm, we're sorry to tell you this...your little baby was born with a heart defect."
John was happy, but he wasn't healthy. The doctors wanted to try to fix his little heart, but he needed to gain some weight first. So, a couple of months later, brother and I stayed with the pastor and his family, and my parents took John to the University Hospital in Charleston, SC, for his surgery.
I never saw him again. The doctors' attempt to repair John's heart didn't work...he died on the operating table.
I remember Mama and Daddy coming in, and they didn't have John with them. I kept asking, "Where's John?" I was only 7, my brother was 6. How do you explain to LITTLE children? What do you tell them?
There was a memorial service....there was no body. His body had been donated to the University, hopefully to help others....
Fall-out. There is always fall-out from these types of tragedies. Daddy's sales job went away. At least the insurance lasted long enough to cover most of the bills. Still, my parents came away from that hospital stay with $8 to their name, and 2 more children, and a farm and animals....there wasn't time to be able to take off and grieve. Work had to be found, and money made to pay the bills.
I miss my baby brother. I grieve his short 5 months of life. He would have turned 31 this year. John Joseph....we'll always miss you.
I also think of my parents, living through what had to be heart-breaking pain. Mama was 30 when John died. Daddy was 34. How do you go on? Pull yourself together, and parent your remaining children, who are too young to understand? I hurt for them, too.
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