When I was a little girl, I had a crush on this little boy named Jason. He was the boy that I woke up extra early for one Sunday morning (that just happened to be Valentine's day) and snuck to the corner gas station to buy a chocolate sucker for. I remember getting ready for church and preparing in my mind the moment where I would hand him the sucker and say something awfully romantic, like "Here, I found this. Do you want it?". You know, as romantic as an 8 year old can be. But that moment never happened. Because as I was walking into the kids service, I saw my friend Heidi, who was way cuter than me and somehow already developing boobs, giving him a homemade card with a box of conversation hearts.
My timing has been bad since childhood..
From picture taking to dance moves to even my first kiss, that ended up being more of an interaction between my chin and his lips because I had no idea how fast or slow you go in for one of those things. Yes, me + timing = bad bad bad.
As an adult, I got a little bit better. I don't blink or sneeze nearly as often in pictures, I can move like nothing else if you give me some old school Michael Jackson and an empty room and I would have to say that after years of practice, I now know how to give a kiss directly on the lips.
Beyond that, I have noticed that a lot of the 'timings' of my life have been out of my control. From jobs to creating major organs to houses to starting a family. In fact, in the last two and a half years, I have completely given in to the idea that God is in control here and He is so good and loving and faithful, that it's about time I start trusting Him with every part of my life. Genius, I know. You would think after years of felt bible characters and easter services that I would have figured that out by now.
So it really should come as absolutely no surprise to me that the day after we move out of our home and into my mother's house in Beloit. And the week after we gave our leased vehicle back to the dealership with no new car to bring home due to our recent drout from the lovely garage lady (if you dont know this wonderful story...see a few posts down). And the day before we have an appointment with my kidney specialist to find out what is exactly wrong with my singular kidney and see if it is even ok to try to get pregnant. We find out that we are in fact, with child.
Well, just me. Scott still has his washboard abs. jealous. My abs? Well, let's just say I could win a beer belly contest. And while we are at it, let's also throw out there that my favorite part of the day is when I unbotton my pants. feels. so. good.
So, are you saying that this wasn't in your "plan"? Actually, yes. I am a worry wart. And knowing that I have one kidney and a blood disorder that shifts me into the high risk region of the pregnancy world, I was really prepared to never try to get pregnant again. And I was ok with that. For the most part. And gosh, it felt like with our luck...from the garage crap to the car stuff to the kidney disappearence to the 3 lost pregnancies... The timing of all of this has been SO wrong in my mind...
But now that I look back, I couldn't have painted a better picture of God's faithfulness.
And just because I know that He is faithful does not mean that I am certain of my future. Or my sweet little baby's future. But, at this point, I don't need to be. I have today to celebrate. And tomorrow can wait. No matter what happens, God is still good and his timing is better than mine could ever be.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
2010. You little sneak.
I just wrote an entire blog, looked it over and hit delete. Sometimes, even I am too long-winded for me. How do you people do it? With your one paragraph blogs or your one sentence inspirational quotes? I need a chapter in a book. Well, I'm sure I don't...see, here we go again.
I have learned a few things in 2010. And I thought I would share them with you.
1) Books on tape make for amazing car rides. Or incredibly uncomfortable ones, if you have no idea who Joan Collins is and begin listening to her book that you borrowed from the library. When you start hearing words that doctors use to explain elephantitis, it is time to press eject, say a quick "forgive me Father" prayer and find a station that plays Steven Curtis Chapman or Kenny G.
2) Toenails completely change when you train for a marathon. They go from being a normal part of your body to a foreign object trying to do everything they can to escape. Oh, and after a few of them do escape, the rest of them must get scared because they DONT BUDGE. The toenails that made it through the marathon have not needed to be cut since early May. I am telling you, they are aliens now. Disgusting little aliens.
3) Hope is like that person at the grocery store that you see when you start shopping and accidently end up running into in every aisle and around every corner. IT JUST DOESNT GO AWAY. As much as I try to squelch it, the tiny flame keeps flying. Even though I have a love/hate relationship with hope, I am so thankful for its ridiculous tenacity to stick around.
4) If you have white poop, go immediately to the doctor. It just needs to be said.
5) As much as I want a family, I want a good marriage first. And if that means putting things on hold for a while so I could get back to being a good wife and friend to my husband, it is well worth it. And it was. Taking time off of trying to start a family in the last half of 2009 and the first half of 2010 was the best thing I did for myself as a woman, a mother and a wife. No child will fix a broken heart or a hurting marriage. Health in a marriage directly affects a child and that is worth taking the time to fight for.
5 is good enough for now. Honestly, I am a young sprout and unfortunately still more self-involved than I care to admit, so I am sure that I missed many other lessons along the way... 2011 will have plenty of time to knock me off my feet and teach me a thing or two though.
And 2011, if you want to teach me how to do a proper squat or magically instill in my brain the ability to speak and understand Spanish, I will not turn my ear. I promise.
Yo Promiso.
I have learned a few things in 2010. And I thought I would share them with you.
1) Books on tape make for amazing car rides. Or incredibly uncomfortable ones, if you have no idea who Joan Collins is and begin listening to her book that you borrowed from the library. When you start hearing words that doctors use to explain elephantitis, it is time to press eject, say a quick "forgive me Father" prayer and find a station that plays Steven Curtis Chapman or Kenny G.
2) Toenails completely change when you train for a marathon. They go from being a normal part of your body to a foreign object trying to do everything they can to escape. Oh, and after a few of them do escape, the rest of them must get scared because they DONT BUDGE. The toenails that made it through the marathon have not needed to be cut since early May. I am telling you, they are aliens now. Disgusting little aliens.
3) Hope is like that person at the grocery store that you see when you start shopping and accidently end up running into in every aisle and around every corner. IT JUST DOESNT GO AWAY. As much as I try to squelch it, the tiny flame keeps flying. Even though I have a love/hate relationship with hope, I am so thankful for its ridiculous tenacity to stick around.
4) If you have white poop, go immediately to the doctor. It just needs to be said.
5) As much as I want a family, I want a good marriage first. And if that means putting things on hold for a while so I could get back to being a good wife and friend to my husband, it is well worth it. And it was. Taking time off of trying to start a family in the last half of 2009 and the first half of 2010 was the best thing I did for myself as a woman, a mother and a wife. No child will fix a broken heart or a hurting marriage. Health in a marriage directly affects a child and that is worth taking the time to fight for.
5 is good enough for now. Honestly, I am a young sprout and unfortunately still more self-involved than I care to admit, so I am sure that I missed many other lessons along the way... 2011 will have plenty of time to knock me off my feet and teach me a thing or two though.
And 2011, if you want to teach me how to do a proper squat or magically instill in my brain the ability to speak and understand Spanish, I will not turn my ear. I promise.
Yo Promiso.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Pick & Choose.
Not to be confused with Pick and Save. At Pick N Save, you get to literally pick the items that you want and save money in the process. Gen to the ius. I have never been to Pick N Save, but I picture it to be a place filled with happy people who grab item after item and throw their fists in the air while crying out "SAVINGS!" and high fiving fellow shoppers in the check out line.
Pick and Choose? Well, this is different. At least in the connotation that I am taking from it.
I have this issue with God sometimes. I want to plan His plan for me. You know, live a healthy life until I'm about 87 or 93 and then, after a blissful night of playing with my great grandkids and watching a rousing re-run of Minute to Win It on the classic gameshow channel, fall asleep in my husband's arms only to be awakened by Gabriel the angel in heaven who immediately shows me a mirror and I discover that my body is identical to Marissa Miller.
Here is what I hate. When people say to me, "God has a plan for you...." Ok, so I don't hate the whole God has a plan thing and don't even disagree with it. But, I hate when they fill in the blanks at the end of the sentence. Like they somehow have this direct line to God and He conveniently whispers to them, and not me, the future direction of my life.
I had a particularly rough day the other day and I just needed a minute to be honest with myself and with God. I don't understand His ways, but I am not supposed to, I guess. I know that He is so good, so I hope in that and not in what necessarily happens to me. I have this faux bargaining session with God sometimes. It sounds a little something like this:
Ok God. So, I know that I can't have everything I want and exactly the way I want it. And I know that You are good and faithful and that no matter what happens in life, I have hope in You and will be ok (have I buttered you up enough Big G?). But, can you just give me this one little thing? Can I have this one tiny part of my life happen just the way I want it to? I mean, you are the miracle worker, so let's flex those big guns my way for a minute. capeesh?
But, here is how I really do see it. I prayed and believed the way you all said I should. and all three of my little ones died. Does this mean God is not as big as I thought He was? Does this mean I didn't have enough faith in Him and it's my own fault? Does this mean that He was just as sad as we were, but we live in a broken world and so sometimes, things we want to work end up breaking? Or maybe God is actually just that much bigger and more complex than we can comprehend so it could just be time to stop putting so much dependance on our own strength and just rest in the goodness of God no matter WHAT happens?
Anyways, I wrote a song. Because there are some moments in my life that scare me. Adopting and all of the what if's that come with that. Getting pregnant again and all of the risk that comes with that. Having a family. Being a mom. Finding a lump on my body, like my grandmother, grandfather and uncle did. And most days, I am confident in God. But sometimes. I am scared because in the grand scheme of things, I am so small.
Pick and Choose? Well, this is different. At least in the connotation that I am taking from it.
I have this issue with God sometimes. I want to plan His plan for me. You know, live a healthy life until I'm about 87 or 93 and then, after a blissful night of playing with my great grandkids and watching a rousing re-run of Minute to Win It on the classic gameshow channel, fall asleep in my husband's arms only to be awakened by Gabriel the angel in heaven who immediately shows me a mirror and I discover that my body is identical to Marissa Miller.
Here is what I hate. When people say to me, "God has a plan for you...." Ok, so I don't hate the whole God has a plan thing and don't even disagree with it. But, I hate when they fill in the blanks at the end of the sentence. Like they somehow have this direct line to God and He conveniently whispers to them, and not me, the future direction of my life.
I had a particularly rough day the other day and I just needed a minute to be honest with myself and with God. I don't understand His ways, but I am not supposed to, I guess. I know that He is so good, so I hope in that and not in what necessarily happens to me. I have this faux bargaining session with God sometimes. It sounds a little something like this:
Ok God. So, I know that I can't have everything I want and exactly the way I want it. And I know that You are good and faithful and that no matter what happens in life, I have hope in You and will be ok (have I buttered you up enough Big G?). But, can you just give me this one little thing? Can I have this one tiny part of my life happen just the way I want it to? I mean, you are the miracle worker, so let's flex those big guns my way for a minute. capeesh?
But, here is how I really do see it. I prayed and believed the way you all said I should. and all three of my little ones died. Does this mean God is not as big as I thought He was? Does this mean I didn't have enough faith in Him and it's my own fault? Does this mean that He was just as sad as we were, but we live in a broken world and so sometimes, things we want to work end up breaking? Or maybe God is actually just that much bigger and more complex than we can comprehend so it could just be time to stop putting so much dependance on our own strength and just rest in the goodness of God no matter WHAT happens?
Anyways, I wrote a song. Because there are some moments in my life that scare me. Adopting and all of the what if's that come with that. Getting pregnant again and all of the risk that comes with that. Having a family. Being a mom. Finding a lump on my body, like my grandmother, grandfather and uncle did. And most days, I am confident in God. But sometimes. I am scared because in the grand scheme of things, I am so small.
Untitled.
Open shops and little clocks. The time just passes by.
Pick and choose and my hearts to bruise.
It's never good. The timing's Yours.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..
But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose... another..
Round and round we go. This little show of hope and make-believe.
It's so clear to me that I can't see. And that's the part I dread.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..
But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose...another..
I am unshaken, but constantly shaking.
I am unwavered, yet find myself waving.
I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.
I try to be faithful, but I can't find faith in.
Losing my heart to a world that keeps taking.
I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.
Broken hearts. Clean up the floor and take the pain away.
Tiny pieces of you. All over the place.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water.
But I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose another.. round.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Go Figure.
I am meeting with a new counselor next week. Her name is Gail. I hope she is better than what I am picturing a female pychiatrist by the name of Gail to be. Let's start our time off by clearing one thing up, Gail. I do not like closing my eyes and picturing serenity. I want you to yell at me and tell me what I am doing wrong and maybe slap me across my face and shake my head in your hands and say, "Get ahold of yourself woman!!". Now that would be awesome.
I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.
See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.
Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.
And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.
People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"
So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.
Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.
Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.
Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.
Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?
I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.
See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.
Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.
And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.
People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"
So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.
Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.
Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.
Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.
Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?
Monday, November 1, 2010
I Remember When....
I have a confession.
I love talking about memories of other people.
But here is the real "issue".
Sometimes I do it, just so they will talk about a memory they have of me.
There is something validating about being told how funny or curious or strong or fearless you were as a kid. Or how brave or adorable or cute or dorky you were as a teenie bopper. It's like when you put in your status update "Write down one memory you have of me" and then sit and wait for the answers to pour in...laughing to yourself as someone says "memory, memory...that was so funny" while you are smiling and thinking "man, I was so funny".
It's awful and I know it. But, when I tell you something from your childhood that I think was hilarious or worth sharing again, it is partially because I want a boomerang memory to come right back at me... For example, I fed this bait to my brother last night. And he didn't take.
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid." - me.
"haha" - Colin.
If the story played out the way I wanted it to, it would have gone something like this:
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid: - me
"Oh my gosh! I totally remember that! I thought that was so fun! And you would always try to kick too, but you were so bad at it!" - Colin
"I was, wasn't I?" (to myself...oh clumsy silly stephanie..sigh) - me
See, Colin would have walked away feeling so cool because he could do the ninja kicks and had he reciprocated, could have made me feel equally as cool for being the cute and clumsy younger sister. fail, Colin. fail.
So, listen. We all love validating our friends for their super human kicks and amazing fort-making abilities as kids. Or how cool they really looked with that jewel studded hat in their 6th grade picture or the enormous corduroy pants that catapulted them into 9th grade popularity.
But, can't these memories be for both the giver and receiver? So, I'll scratch your back...you scratch mine, ok?
Backscratching...I used to play this game with my childhood friends called Write On Backs. They would write a word on my back and I would have to guess what they were saying and vice versa...Amy always tried to fake me out with her lower case "l" and upper case "I". She was so sneaky! But, I usually figured it out...oh smart and witty young Stephanie...sigh...
I love talking about memories of other people.
But here is the real "issue".
Sometimes I do it, just so they will talk about a memory they have of me.
There is something validating about being told how funny or curious or strong or fearless you were as a kid. Or how brave or adorable or cute or dorky you were as a teenie bopper. It's like when you put in your status update "Write down one memory you have of me" and then sit and wait for the answers to pour in...laughing to yourself as someone says "memory, memory...that was so funny" while you are smiling and thinking "man, I was so funny".
It's awful and I know it. But, when I tell you something from your childhood that I think was hilarious or worth sharing again, it is partially because I want a boomerang memory to come right back at me... For example, I fed this bait to my brother last night. And he didn't take.
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid." - me.
"haha" - Colin.
If the story played out the way I wanted it to, it would have gone something like this:
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid: - me
"Oh my gosh! I totally remember that! I thought that was so fun! And you would always try to kick too, but you were so bad at it!" - Colin
"I was, wasn't I?" (to myself...oh clumsy silly stephanie..sigh) - me
See, Colin would have walked away feeling so cool because he could do the ninja kicks and had he reciprocated, could have made me feel equally as cool for being the cute and clumsy younger sister. fail, Colin. fail.
So, listen. We all love validating our friends for their super human kicks and amazing fort-making abilities as kids. Or how cool they really looked with that jewel studded hat in their 6th grade picture or the enormous corduroy pants that catapulted them into 9th grade popularity.
But, can't these memories be for both the giver and receiver? So, I'll scratch your back...you scratch mine, ok?
Backscratching...I used to play this game with my childhood friends called Write On Backs. They would write a word on my back and I would have to guess what they were saying and vice versa...Amy always tried to fake me out with her lower case "l" and upper case "I". She was so sneaky! But, I usually figured it out...oh smart and witty young Stephanie...sigh...
Monday, October 25, 2010
I'm Freaking Out.
1) We have decided for sure for sure for sure that we are adopting from Ethiopia!!!!!!!
2) We have been freaking about the cost of it (approx. $30,000 total) but not freaking out too bad because we knew that if God put the desire to adopt in our hearts, He would provide a way.
3) Random and amazing friend came to us a month ago and said the following (warning: you might pee your pants)
"I want to help raise the money for your adoption"
4) GOD IS FAITHFUL
5) This random and amazing friend, Chris, is doing just that....and it is incredible to see God beginning to provide a way to bring our little one home to us.
6) Why am I posting? Because it is ALL that I can think about.. all day.. and night.. well, actually that is a lie, because at night I am either sleeping or trying really hard to remember the ridiculous thing that Scott said or did in his sleep (yes, he is one of those...and it is hilarious)
That is all. If you want to be a part of bringing the first baby Zibell home, just message me your email or comment it on here and I can send you what Chris sent out.
We are getting so close to this thing actually happening, I can almost feel it!
2) We have been freaking about the cost of it (approx. $30,000 total) but not freaking out too bad because we knew that if God put the desire to adopt in our hearts, He would provide a way.
3) Random and amazing friend came to us a month ago and said the following (warning: you might pee your pants)
"I want to help raise the money for your adoption"
4) GOD IS FAITHFUL
5) This random and amazing friend, Chris, is doing just that....and it is incredible to see God beginning to provide a way to bring our little one home to us.
6) Why am I posting? Because it is ALL that I can think about.. all day.. and night.. well, actually that is a lie, because at night I am either sleeping or trying really hard to remember the ridiculous thing that Scott said or did in his sleep (yes, he is one of those...and it is hilarious)
That is all. If you want to be a part of bringing the first baby Zibell home, just message me your email or comment it on here and I can send you what Chris sent out.
We are getting so close to this thing actually happening, I can almost feel it!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Let's Dance, the Last Dance Tonight
Oh Donna Summer. I didn't really know you until you were regurgitated into a dance mix for So You Think You Can Dance.... One day, my kids are going to talk about my Justin Timberlake like that. Like he hardly existed. So sad.
Tonight is the night. Our last night sleeping in our first home. Hold please, I need to go turn on some sad music to get in the mood here. Carrie Underwood? Check. Take that wheel Jesus.
So, to answer your question, yes. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I'm feeling a twinge of regret. So, I am going to do what any normal person would do when they are filled with all of the emotions of saying goodbye to a home that is filled with so many memories.
Rip it to pieces. That's right. It's really the only way I can justify leaving. I mean, it just makes sense.
Now I sound like an unfaithful spouse. And having said that sounds like I went to too much counseling as a child. There may not be a recovery here.
Ok. Alright '0000' East 'Blah' Parkway (to protect it from any funny business tonight of course), here's looking at you...
I'm happy to be leaving you, you lame...stupid...awful....
Well, we did replace that stove for a shiny new white one that purrs like a kitty. And we tore down that fireplace and people stopped pointing and laughing.. That railing we installed did change my thoughts on high heels...And we did replace those gold fans with ones that even Pottery Barn would be happy to invite over for dinner...And we got a new door and that glass door is in a better place now hopefully being what it was created to be. a window.... and Chip, well you are the world's friendliest chipmunk.
Well, crap.
That didn't work.
Fine.
I am going to miss you home. There. I said it. You are too darn cute to not miss. It's like Michelle from Full House.
So, lets have that Last Dance, whatd'ya say?
I suddenly have the urge to find a corner of a wall, wrap my arms...along it... and slow dance the night away.
Don't judge.
Tonight is the night. Our last night sleeping in our first home. Hold please, I need to go turn on some sad music to get in the mood here. Carrie Underwood? Check. Take that wheel Jesus.
So, to answer your question, yes. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I'm feeling a twinge of regret. So, I am going to do what any normal person would do when they are filled with all of the emotions of saying goodbye to a home that is filled with so many memories.
Rip it to pieces. That's right. It's really the only way I can justify leaving. I mean, it just makes sense.
Now I sound like an unfaithful spouse. And having said that sounds like I went to too much counseling as a child. There may not be a recovery here.
Ok. Alright '0000' East 'Blah' Parkway (to protect it from any funny business tonight of course), here's looking at you...
With your crazy gas stove that blew open the oven door when we turned you on.
And your stupid fake fireplace made of plywood that took up our entire kitchen and not even my dog believed was real.
With your stairs that made you swear off high heels.
And your gold fans that took me to the 70's.
And how about your glass door that just invited Peeping Toms to join us for dinner.
And let's not forget that annoying chipmunk that lives behind your front steps.
I'm happy to be leaving you, you lame...stupid...awful....
Well, we did replace that stove for a shiny new white one that purrs like a kitty. And we tore down that fireplace and people stopped pointing and laughing.. That railing we installed did change my thoughts on high heels...And we did replace those gold fans with ones that even Pottery Barn would be happy to invite over for dinner...And we got a new door and that glass door is in a better place now hopefully being what it was created to be. a window.... and Chip, well you are the world's friendliest chipmunk.
Well, crap.
That didn't work.
Fine.
I am going to miss you home. There. I said it. You are too darn cute to not miss. It's like Michelle from Full House.
So, lets have that Last Dance, whatd'ya say?
I suddenly have the urge to find a corner of a wall, wrap my arms...along it... and slow dance the night away.
Don't judge.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Other You.
We are going to have a child soon. A beautiful little boy or maybe girl from a country far away. Ethiopia to be exact.
We are just starting the process...raising money...filling out applications...researching and more researching....reading books....
And my mind is constantly filled with thoughts about our child. What will he/she look like? Boy? Girl? Newborn? 1 year old?
And as much as I am picturing taking this little child for walks...watching them grow up... playing and dancing in the living room to cartoons...snuggling during the winter months and running through hoses in the summer...hearing the soft breathing of a napping infant.... I have become even more overwhelmed with this:
This baby will come into the world grieving. Losing the one thing it has been so intimately connected with for its entire existence. It's mother.
I know that at some point, Scott and I will be the only scent that this child knows. the only voices that bring security. the only heartbeats they will hear. But when our little first one comes into the world, it will only have had one heartbeat...one voice...one scent... and it wont be ours. and it will be gone.
There is something so beautiful about adoption. but there is something so tragic.
We are adopting not to fill our need to be parents. We are adopting not to complete the family circle that we long for. No. I am realizing that more and more how incredibly selfish that is.
There is a child who has a mother that does not want them. There is a child who has lost both parents to death, disease or poverty. A child who has cousins running around somewhere in the world and aunt's and uncle's and grandma's and grandpa's who share their smile, their laugh, their quirks, their bloodline. Who they will never meet.
I understand grief. I do not understand rejection. I do not understand loneliness.
So, as the reality of adoption is setting in, I am completely sobered. The feeling of responsibility is heavy on my heart. This child needs love and we will give that unconditionally. This child needs security and we will provide that. But, this child will need to heal. And this is the part that I am praying the Lord shows us how to handle.
We are just starting the process...raising money...filling out applications...researching and more researching....reading books....
And my mind is constantly filled with thoughts about our child. What will he/she look like? Boy? Girl? Newborn? 1 year old?
And as much as I am picturing taking this little child for walks...watching them grow up... playing and dancing in the living room to cartoons...snuggling during the winter months and running through hoses in the summer...hearing the soft breathing of a napping infant.... I have become even more overwhelmed with this:
This baby will come into the world grieving. Losing the one thing it has been so intimately connected with for its entire existence. It's mother.
I know that at some point, Scott and I will be the only scent that this child knows. the only voices that bring security. the only heartbeats they will hear. But when our little first one comes into the world, it will only have had one heartbeat...one voice...one scent... and it wont be ours. and it will be gone.
There is something so beautiful about adoption. but there is something so tragic.
We are adopting not to fill our need to be parents. We are adopting not to complete the family circle that we long for. No. I am realizing that more and more how incredibly selfish that is.
There is a child who has a mother that does not want them. There is a child who has lost both parents to death, disease or poverty. A child who has cousins running around somewhere in the world and aunt's and uncle's and grandma's and grandpa's who share their smile, their laugh, their quirks, their bloodline. Who they will never meet.
I understand grief. I do not understand rejection. I do not understand loneliness.
So, as the reality of adoption is setting in, I am completely sobered. The feeling of responsibility is heavy on my heart. This child needs love and we will give that unconditionally. This child needs security and we will provide that. But, this child will need to heal. And this is the part that I am praying the Lord shows us how to handle.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
You.
I remember asking you to write letters with me to our 3 babies when we took a trip to the Dells. And you layed there on the blanket at the park in Devil's Lake. uncomfortable. wanting to be somewhere else. not because you didn't want to acknowledge them or face what we were facing. but because you and I grieve so differently. and this was a part of my grieving and not yours. but you wrote. and you let me cry. and you folded up those letters into a little envelope and let me have them.
I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.
I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.
I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.
I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.
But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.
And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.
I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...
Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.
And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.
I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...
Because I want to tell you. that you.
are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.
I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.
I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.
I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.
I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.
But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.
And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.
I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...
Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.
And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.
I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...
Because I want to tell you. that you.
are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Ode to my kidney:
Righty, oh Righty... I have so much to say.
My whole life, its been only us, but it feels so new today.
You scared us a bit with your large little figure.
But, the CT scan shows youre just an overachiever.
I've spent my whole life thinking that there was a lefty,
I can only imagine. Your feeling of responsibility must have been so hefty.
But instead of shriviling in your pity filled gloom
You decided to get ripped and force the rest of me to make room.
So, you are healthy and thriving and strong the doc's say
There's a tiny bit of fluid, but come on , you try to be a lone kidney for a day.
I guess I just want to aknowledge your hard work
And let you know that I will calm down soon so you won't go berzerk.
But, I do have one tiny favor to ask..
Its really really small, so dont take me to task.
I have this thing...this little old thing
The docs say its ok and its something we can swing.
I would like to run the marathon. Its 4 days away
So, how about we do this thing, whatdya say?
I promise to drink lots of water with glee
So, just make sure you do your job and filter that pee.
And when it is over, I promise you one thing
I will sit my butt down on a bench or a swing.
Or a chair or a couch or a bed or a table
Heck, Ill sit my butt down on some hay in a stable.
I promise to rest and let you get some zzz's when its done
But until then, do me a solid and stay on top of your function?
Right kidney, my kidney, my dear old new friend
Although I miss lefty, it is you on which I will always depend.
So, let's cheers to this newfound friendship, but before I bid adiou
You mind giving my damn uterus a pep-talk too?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Someone Owns Your Garage. Oh, And You're Missing A Kidney. So, You Have That Going For You.
There have been many moments in my life where I have wanted to run away.
I remember when my brother Sean and I decided that it would be better to run away from home than to stay in such a terrible place where they made you eat beans and rinse your plate before you put it in the dishwasher.
So, using our amazing courage and strong sense of street wits... We took off... To the basement... Until we heard mom yell for everyone to come to the table for tacos... with no beans... which then, I grabbed my plastic bag filled with dolls and a water spray bottle (the necessity for running away) and headed upstairs wondering how my family had been handling our traumatic exit for the past five minutes. It really must have been difficult for them considering they said nothing... too painful to relive I guess.
More recently, after each miscarriage and at every baby shower in between, I have felt a strong urge to run away. This time though, I wanted to run not from the awful house rules that my mother insisted we follow, but from my present reality. I wanted to escape into a world filled with fort building and make believe and piggy banks filled with pennies and tootsie roll wrappers (I cant be the only one who thought it was fun to flatten crushed up candy wrappers and put them in anything available as a kid).
Even closer to the current date and time, we had a wonderful deal going on. That deal being the selling and closing of our house. Most of you heard us talk about how quickly it happened and the hustle and bustle of packing and cleaning and preparing and house hunting and blah blah blah. In fact, today, we were supposed to close. Actually, right about now. This past weekend, we were supposed to move out. Our house was (and still is) completely packed. We got our P.O. Box for the forwarding address, the bills have been cancelled, the storage unit rented, the moving truck ready and then we find out THIS nugget of truth.
You dont own your garage. In fact, you dont own 1/4 of your yard. And crazy enough, you never have. Years before you bought your house, someone made a huge error and only transferred a portion of the property to the new owners circa 2000. And long story short, somebody else, somebody slightly evil bought that forgotten piece of land for a small price knowing that someone will have to buy it back from her, at which point she will want a really big price.
So, I have found myself wanting to run away again. And this time, from my own house. No rules or evil mothers to make you clean up after yourself. I want to run away from the fact that no matter which way you spin it, we are going to be in a pretty large amount of debt in order to pay this woman for the land that WE LIVE ON. Thank GOD the buyers are being so patient and letting us try and figure this out, so we can still close on the house and move in the near future. It's just now, we get to pay a shady woman for our garage and a portion of our kitchen and then live with my mother so we can pay off the debt we will incure and also save back up for the down payment we lose since all of our money will now go to her...and lawyer fees... Yes, running away has been on my mind.
And yesterday, I got some more news that made me want to run away. Except this time, I want to unzip my skin and escape my body. Run as far away as my little exposed skeleton and muscle will allow.
A. You have a slightly sick right kidney and B. You seem to be missing your left kidney.
Yes. You heard me right. Missing. Gone. Never been. Apparently, I was born without a left kidney. Who does that? Who just doesnt HAVE a kidney. Me, I guess. Is it weird that even though I have never had one, I suddenly miss it.
I have a CAT scan soon to see just how sick my right kidney is...hopefully, it is just "needs some chicken soup and a good night sleep" sick so we can get back to normal...which is a debateable term in the Zibell house.
I find out Monday if I can actually run away. Meaning, run in the marathon that I have spent the last 5 months preparing for. Apparantly, running for 5 hours at a time isnt the best thing for your body....and maybe not so great when you have one kidney that isnt up to par, persay. But, my doctor will tell me Monday. And until then, I am pretending that none of this is happening...because, well, I just dont want to go there yet.
The irony of all of this is that my first instinct when the going gets....strange...and bad...and frustrating... is to run is now the one thing that I may no longer be allowed to do.
So. If you see me in the near future tearing down our garage (because hey, if I can't have it...neither can this mean old lady), or if you see a jar at a gas station for a fundraiser that says "Segway for Stephanie!", please know that these may be my new versions of "running away"... and don't be alarmed, just make me some tacos with no beans, help me build my fort and offer me a piggy back ride....for 26.2 miles. I promise, it won't be that bad.
I remember when my brother Sean and I decided that it would be better to run away from home than to stay in such a terrible place where they made you eat beans and rinse your plate before you put it in the dishwasher.
So, using our amazing courage and strong sense of street wits... We took off... To the basement... Until we heard mom yell for everyone to come to the table for tacos... with no beans... which then, I grabbed my plastic bag filled with dolls and a water spray bottle (the necessity for running away) and headed upstairs wondering how my family had been handling our traumatic exit for the past five minutes. It really must have been difficult for them considering they said nothing... too painful to relive I guess.
More recently, after each miscarriage and at every baby shower in between, I have felt a strong urge to run away. This time though, I wanted to run not from the awful house rules that my mother insisted we follow, but from my present reality. I wanted to escape into a world filled with fort building and make believe and piggy banks filled with pennies and tootsie roll wrappers (I cant be the only one who thought it was fun to flatten crushed up candy wrappers and put them in anything available as a kid).
Even closer to the current date and time, we had a wonderful deal going on. That deal being the selling and closing of our house. Most of you heard us talk about how quickly it happened and the hustle and bustle of packing and cleaning and preparing and house hunting and blah blah blah. In fact, today, we were supposed to close. Actually, right about now. This past weekend, we were supposed to move out. Our house was (and still is) completely packed. We got our P.O. Box for the forwarding address, the bills have been cancelled, the storage unit rented, the moving truck ready and then we find out THIS nugget of truth.
You dont own your garage. In fact, you dont own 1/4 of your yard. And crazy enough, you never have. Years before you bought your house, someone made a huge error and only transferred a portion of the property to the new owners circa 2000. And long story short, somebody else, somebody slightly evil bought that forgotten piece of land for a small price knowing that someone will have to buy it back from her, at which point she will want a really big price.
So, I have found myself wanting to run away again. And this time, from my own house. No rules or evil mothers to make you clean up after yourself. I want to run away from the fact that no matter which way you spin it, we are going to be in a pretty large amount of debt in order to pay this woman for the land that WE LIVE ON. Thank GOD the buyers are being so patient and letting us try and figure this out, so we can still close on the house and move in the near future. It's just now, we get to pay a shady woman for our garage and a portion of our kitchen and then live with my mother so we can pay off the debt we will incure and also save back up for the down payment we lose since all of our money will now go to her...and lawyer fees... Yes, running away has been on my mind.
And yesterday, I got some more news that made me want to run away. Except this time, I want to unzip my skin and escape my body. Run as far away as my little exposed skeleton and muscle will allow.
A. You have a slightly sick right kidney and B. You seem to be missing your left kidney.
Yes. You heard me right. Missing. Gone. Never been. Apparently, I was born without a left kidney. Who does that? Who just doesnt HAVE a kidney. Me, I guess. Is it weird that even though I have never had one, I suddenly miss it.
I have a CAT scan soon to see just how sick my right kidney is...hopefully, it is just "needs some chicken soup and a good night sleep" sick so we can get back to normal...which is a debateable term in the Zibell house.
I find out Monday if I can actually run away. Meaning, run in the marathon that I have spent the last 5 months preparing for. Apparantly, running for 5 hours at a time isnt the best thing for your body....and maybe not so great when you have one kidney that isnt up to par, persay. But, my doctor will tell me Monday. And until then, I am pretending that none of this is happening...because, well, I just dont want to go there yet.
The irony of all of this is that my first instinct when the going gets....strange...and bad...and frustrating... is to run is now the one thing that I may no longer be allowed to do.
So. If you see me in the near future tearing down our garage (because hey, if I can't have it...neither can this mean old lady), or if you see a jar at a gas station for a fundraiser that says "Segway for Stephanie!", please know that these may be my new versions of "running away"... and don't be alarmed, just make me some tacos with no beans, help me build my fort and offer me a piggy back ride....for 26.2 miles. I promise, it won't be that bad.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Hitting THE Wall.
I have heard about this "wall" that runners hit. A point in their race where they feel like they can't go on any further. I didn't really understand this wall.... mainly because I had never had one...
Fast Forward. Me. laying flat on the floor of my bedroom. My face landing on a pair of jogging pants(ironic). Crying. Well, sobbing. Ok, wailing.
"I don't want to run anymore"
Scott...my confused for the moment husband...sits next to me and tries to hide his smile and act very concerned about my current state...
"Sweetie...you signed up for a marathon... and you just ran 15 miles! You can't stop now"
The wailing continued for about 35 seconds. Then, after a few moments of listening to him trying to stifle his laughter, I start to laugh....and cry....but more so laugh. I imagine this moment will be re-lived in the Zibell house... except it will be with our oneday 4 year old child who is crying over a missing button on a favorite stuffed animal or a lollipop that fell on the floor and shattered. And this time, Scott will be calming down the appropriately aged person. (Unless, I lose my mind and train for another marathon...which in that case, I will definetely be in a corner somewhere wailing)
Rewind. 3 1/2 hours earlier. And the wall has been hit. And man, I totalled that bad boy. I was not even TWO MILES into a FIFTEEN MILE run and I was already done. over it. tired. physically worn out. mentally gone.
It was the worst 3 hours of my life. AND YES. It took 3 HOURS! That is how bad it was. Last week, I ran 14 in 2:22. And this week, I added not only a mile but almost 40 minutes to the run. Em to the barrassing.
Lindsay, my faithful running partner and I, tried everything we could to get over it as she, too, was not wanting to keep going. We changed things up and started listening to music for the first 5 miles instead of the last. We tried to talk about things that would take up a lot of time and hopefully distract us, like wondering if hell was a marathon race that never ended. But nothing. Two days ago, I was running a 9 minute mile. And today. I could hardly get to 12 minutes. I'm not kidding. It was so very bad.
It was like my body was not my own. I could contort my face and strain with the best of 'em and my body would react by slowing down instead of moving faster. I couldn't find a rythym and felt like I was running for the first time. I haven't been out of breath running in a long time unless I am doing sprints and I couldnt catch my breath. The normal self-talk I do was backfiring left and right because all of the sudden I had a new voice in my head cussing out the inspiring voice. And she was mean.
I wish I could tell you that I won. That I overcame the wall and bounded like a gazelle to the finish line. But, no. I jogged...if you can call walking with a slight hop jogging...to the end with a pained look on my face and an even more pained body for spending the last 3 hours in awful running form.
And afterwards, I walked through the door of my house, dropped my half frozen Gatorade on the floor and crawled to my bedroom where the carpet welcomed me. And wept in self-pity and agony. like a baby. IT. WAS. PATHETIC.
And I have a 16 mile run in 5 days. And I have 5 today. And 7 on Wednesday. And 5 again on Thursday.
So. Today, I need to make a quick list of why I am running. And maybe this will help. If it does not help...then, I may need to pay one of you to get all Tanya Harding on me. Go for the shins.
Why I Run:
For Jennifer Aniston. Well, for Jennifer Aniston's stomach. Actually, because of Jennifer Aniston's stomach. This feels like it is getting creepy. I just want to have a stomach like hers.
For my three little ones. I want to make them proud.
For me. Because I love the space and the thinking time and the music and the empowerment and the challenge.
Ok. I can do this. I just need a little more gusto. A little more Gatorade. And a LOT more carbs.
Fast Forward. Me. laying flat on the floor of my bedroom. My face landing on a pair of jogging pants(ironic). Crying. Well, sobbing. Ok, wailing.
"I don't want to run anymore"
Scott...my confused for the moment husband...sits next to me and tries to hide his smile and act very concerned about my current state...
"Sweetie...you signed up for a marathon... and you just ran 15 miles! You can't stop now"
The wailing continued for about 35 seconds. Then, after a few moments of listening to him trying to stifle his laughter, I start to laugh....and cry....but more so laugh. I imagine this moment will be re-lived in the Zibell house... except it will be with our oneday 4 year old child who is crying over a missing button on a favorite stuffed animal or a lollipop that fell on the floor and shattered. And this time, Scott will be calming down the appropriately aged person. (Unless, I lose my mind and train for another marathon...which in that case, I will definetely be in a corner somewhere wailing)
Rewind. 3 1/2 hours earlier. And the wall has been hit. And man, I totalled that bad boy. I was not even TWO MILES into a FIFTEEN MILE run and I was already done. over it. tired. physically worn out. mentally gone.
It was the worst 3 hours of my life. AND YES. It took 3 HOURS! That is how bad it was. Last week, I ran 14 in 2:22. And this week, I added not only a mile but almost 40 minutes to the run. Em to the barrassing.
Lindsay, my faithful running partner and I, tried everything we could to get over it as she, too, was not wanting to keep going. We changed things up and started listening to music for the first 5 miles instead of the last. We tried to talk about things that would take up a lot of time and hopefully distract us, like wondering if hell was a marathon race that never ended. But nothing. Two days ago, I was running a 9 minute mile. And today. I could hardly get to 12 minutes. I'm not kidding. It was so very bad.
It was like my body was not my own. I could contort my face and strain with the best of 'em and my body would react by slowing down instead of moving faster. I couldn't find a rythym and felt like I was running for the first time. I haven't been out of breath running in a long time unless I am doing sprints and I couldnt catch my breath. The normal self-talk I do was backfiring left and right because all of the sudden I had a new voice in my head cussing out the inspiring voice. And she was mean.
I wish I could tell you that I won. That I overcame the wall and bounded like a gazelle to the finish line. But, no. I jogged...if you can call walking with a slight hop jogging...to the end with a pained look on my face and an even more pained body for spending the last 3 hours in awful running form.
And afterwards, I walked through the door of my house, dropped my half frozen Gatorade on the floor and crawled to my bedroom where the carpet welcomed me. And wept in self-pity and agony. like a baby. IT. WAS. PATHETIC.
And I have a 16 mile run in 5 days. And I have 5 today. And 7 on Wednesday. And 5 again on Thursday.
So. Today, I need to make a quick list of why I am running. And maybe this will help. If it does not help...then, I may need to pay one of you to get all Tanya Harding on me. Go for the shins.
Why I Run:
For Jennifer Aniston. Well, for Jennifer Aniston's stomach. Actually, because of Jennifer Aniston's stomach. This feels like it is getting creepy. I just want to have a stomach like hers.
For my three little ones. I want to make them proud.
For me. Because I love the space and the thinking time and the music and the empowerment and the challenge.
Ok. I can do this. I just need a little more gusto. A little more Gatorade. And a LOT more carbs.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Toenails are for sissies.
I think about this blog way more than I follow through with writing on it. And when I say I think about this blog, I mean, once every few weeks. It's like journaling. I think I like it more than I actually do. Or maybe I really like it, but somewhere between red sports saturns and executive lady suits, I got old and busy.
Either way. An update for the masses. of four. again, thanks mom, Aunt Wendy, Leah and Scott. This is what family is for.
Let's break it down. shall we? In no specific order.
Running - This has taken over my life. I plan my days around it. My weekends are now boring and early ending. My mornings are filled with stretching and moaning and limping out of bed. BUT! I am in a pair of jeans that I wore for our ENGAGEMENT pictures! circa 2004. And when I say, I am 'in' these jeans, I do mean that they are literally a part of me because they are so tight. I really can't wear them in public yet, because they still push part of my butt up to my shoulder blades. But, they buttoned. And me = happy camper. with a smushed in butt. Im hoping my 16 miler coming up will change the status of these jeans to 'comfortable fit'. Either way, I am that much closer to completing my first and LAST marathon. boo to the yah.
House - We have spent the last three weeks doing EXACTLY what makes me angry at homeowners. Upgrading and beautifying in order to sell. I have joined the group that I stick my tongue out at. But, I must say, our house looks snazzy. AND the best part is Scott and I are still married. And actually going strong. For a couple that can't even 2man-kayak together, we sure did smash our record on teamwork! So, here is to selling that house.... I won't get sentimental yet. Get outta here East Gate Parkway! When it becomes official...this is when I will change my mind and cry and pout and realize the emotional connection that I have. And like in Milo & Otis... the new owners will make me walk away while yelling...Dont look back!!!
Babies - It hits me at very random times...the thought of my three babies. Mile 11 at the RockNRoll Half Marathon. Driving home listening to Run DMC. Watching an episode of Design Star. Really, it is just strange. But, I still think about them every day and I still am motivated to make them proud in whatever I do. As for our future children.... we are tentatively moving forward with adoption. I don't say tentative because we are afraid of adoption. That, we are realy excited about. But, tentative because we have so much filling our days right now and the idea of adopting sounds so big and time consuming and difficult and overwhelming. And, it could fall through. So, for someone who runs and jumps into a pool instead of tiptoes in....I can't get myself to move faster even if I tried.... And I am ok with that. And at the moments when it hits me and I am not ok with that...well, I am running or driving in a car or getting sucked into Design Star. I still want four kids. Can you adopt quadruplets? You think I'm joking. Scott would die. Literally keel over. But, I think we can take it. 4 kids? We have 2 dogs already and Reggie is smart. I bet I could teach him how to change a diaper. And Addie? Well, she would eat a diaper for sure. So, there is the whole cleaning up part. ehhhh....gross.
One day, when I stop hating on my Mac computer...I will post pictures. Scott has a blog. http://www.imaginingwindows.tumblr.com/ and he is artsy. and posts pictures. He is so much cooler than me. Give me a top 40 pop song and Coors Lite in a can and I am happy all day long...
Peace in the middle.
Either way. An update for the masses. of four. again, thanks mom, Aunt Wendy, Leah and Scott. This is what family is for.
Let's break it down. shall we? In no specific order.
Running - This has taken over my life. I plan my days around it. My weekends are now boring and early ending. My mornings are filled with stretching and moaning and limping out of bed. BUT! I am in a pair of jeans that I wore for our ENGAGEMENT pictures! circa 2004. And when I say, I am 'in' these jeans, I do mean that they are literally a part of me because they are so tight. I really can't wear them in public yet, because they still push part of my butt up to my shoulder blades. But, they buttoned. And me = happy camper. with a smushed in butt. Im hoping my 16 miler coming up will change the status of these jeans to 'comfortable fit'. Either way, I am that much closer to completing my first and LAST marathon. boo to the yah.
House - We have spent the last three weeks doing EXACTLY what makes me angry at homeowners. Upgrading and beautifying in order to sell. I have joined the group that I stick my tongue out at. But, I must say, our house looks snazzy. AND the best part is Scott and I are still married. And actually going strong. For a couple that can't even 2man-kayak together, we sure did smash our record on teamwork! So, here is to selling that house.... I won't get sentimental yet. Get outta here East Gate Parkway! When it becomes official...this is when I will change my mind and cry and pout and realize the emotional connection that I have. And like in Milo & Otis... the new owners will make me walk away while yelling...Dont look back!!!
Babies - It hits me at very random times...the thought of my three babies. Mile 11 at the RockNRoll Half Marathon. Driving home listening to Run DMC. Watching an episode of Design Star. Really, it is just strange. But, I still think about them every day and I still am motivated to make them proud in whatever I do. As for our future children.... we are tentatively moving forward with adoption. I don't say tentative because we are afraid of adoption. That, we are realy excited about. But, tentative because we have so much filling our days right now and the idea of adopting sounds so big and time consuming and difficult and overwhelming. And, it could fall through. So, for someone who runs and jumps into a pool instead of tiptoes in....I can't get myself to move faster even if I tried.... And I am ok with that. And at the moments when it hits me and I am not ok with that...well, I am running or driving in a car or getting sucked into Design Star. I still want four kids. Can you adopt quadruplets? You think I'm joking. Scott would die. Literally keel over. But, I think we can take it. 4 kids? We have 2 dogs already and Reggie is smart. I bet I could teach him how to change a diaper. And Addie? Well, she would eat a diaper for sure. So, there is the whole cleaning up part. ehhhh....gross.
One day, when I stop hating on my Mac computer...I will post pictures. Scott has a blog. http://www.imaginingwindows.tumblr.com/ and he is artsy. and posts pictures. He is so much cooler than me. Give me a top 40 pop song and Coors Lite in a can and I am happy all day long...
Peace in the middle.
Friday, June 11, 2010
MOMENTOUS OCCASIONS.
I am FINALLY pre-babies weight.
Wait. What?
Let me give you my chubby tubby timeline, as I like to call it..well, I like to call it that now because I have never given it a name until just this second. And let's be honest, it could be better.
May, 08 - ran first half marathon. body = awesome (in my book...again, all up for debate here)
May, 08 - leave for baby makin' cruise. and it worked. the baby was made.
July, 08 - lost our little one. spent the week at home. people brought food.
*time out*
When I say "people brought food", I mean, for ONE meal...we would get an appetizer... bread... entree...dessert...drinks... and sometimes even more. (insert many dang gina's)
I will not embellish each time, but I need to make you aware of this: EVERYTHING was in the comfort food genre and EVERYTHING was portioned for at least four people.
And. I. Ate. Pretty. Much. All. Of. It. I mean, I would leave a brownie for Scott. Sometimes.
*time in*
September 08 - time to get back in the saddle. literally. baby makin' time again. And yes, Scott eggoed my...preggo.. wait, that can't be right... He leggoed my eggo? What is that saying?!? I got pregnant. Man, I thought I could have said that way cooler.
November 18, 08 - lost our second little one. (now it's time to insert explitives..it's ok. we started to)
Spent another week at home. PEOPLE BROUGHT FOOD. And Thanksgiving began.
-Now this is where it gets tricky. Not only was I so angry with my body and felt so much guilt for what my body was doing that I felt the need to destroy it. I also didn't want to talk to a single person. And with the holidays all around me, what better way to avoid conversation than to always have food in my mouth. And naughty naughty food. Because, hey, if my body isn't going to do me any favors, why should I do it any.
I honestly thought that. Self-destruction at its worst. or actually, at its best.
December, 08 - Find out I have a blood disease. Just another confirmation that it is my fault. So, what to do? Besides cry and fight off the urge to sleep all day. Eat, drink and smoke cigarettes. I was seriously having a serious fight with my body. I was like a bully. I just wanted to see it hurt. so sad to look back on. But, my heart was very broken. And sometimes, you break things when you are broken.
Jan, 09 - Realized I had been depressed and just kind of snapped out of it. It was literally like a snap. And all I thought was, "What have I been doing to myself?" But, 20 pounds and a sad liver and black lung later, the damage had been done.
Feb, 09 - I was on a mission to be healthy. So, ran a 10k. Cut the crappy crap and moved forward.
March, 09 - Got pregnant. Started 14 medications including daily shots to the tummy, a strict diet and daily one hour walks and weekly dr. appointments.
June 14, 2009 - Lost our 3rd baby. Found out he was a boy. Named him Will.
You know where I'm going with the whole people bringing food thing...and the emotional eating thing...
June - September 09 - Spent entire summer not talking about it. (the absolutely healthiest thing to do, if you don't mind me lying)
Nov - Dec, 09 - Went on a working out warpath. Who knew how much time I had before the doctor would tell me I wasn't allowed to again (I skipped that...everytime I was pregnant, thought about getting pregnant or for 4 weeks after I had a miscarriage, I wasn't allowed to work out because of the whole blood disease thing)
January, Feb, March, April and May, 10 - Tried unsuccessfully to get pregnant. really? 3 times pregnant on the first go. And now? Notta single hit. Not one swimmer made it to the mothership. so strange. and a WHOLE new set of emotions to deal with. I lost my babies...I wasn't supposed to also have the big "I" stamped across my belly. Infertility was not supposed to be a part of our story too.
May, 10 - Decide it is time. Time to stop. As you can see in a very condensed version, the past two years have been all consuming with baby. And body. And hormones. And doctor appointments. And medical bills. And grieving. And researching. And eating. And tears. And shots. And misplaced anger. And deep deep deep sadness. And more doctor's appointments.
It's time to take a break and take a breath. And explore other options. I refuse to throw my hands up and give up on family. But, I have reached my limit on what my body can handle. It was like it was screaming at me, "I NEED CONSTISTENCY...please" So, I have given in.
_____________________________
You might laugh and say, wow...you wrote all of that to tell us you have lost a few pounds?
All of this weight I have added, I can pinpoint. It's like the credit card debt that never goes away..."it was that one doctor's appointment...remember when the car needed to be towed...school books...that one dinner we had to pay for..."
Those three pounds? Baby number 2. Thanksgiving to Christmas, 08? 7 pounds. Baby number 3? Lost 6 then gained 9. Medication? 6. Every pound had a name. And I am sick of those names.
I want the good memories of these past two years. I want to look at Scott's tattoo and think of our little ones. I dont want to look at my flabby stomach and think of what used to be in there. I want to think about the laughter that occurred when we told our family we were pregnant for the first time. Not the silence that came with sitting on my couch with a tub of ice cream, spoon and glazed over eyes.
So, partly, this has been serious closure for me. Maybe that is why I have been working so dang hard at it. And partly, any mom would understand this...I want them to be proud of me. I don't want to look back and say that this was the point in my life where everything went downhill. I want them to be proud of the decisions that I made and who I chose to be.
So there. Momentous Occasion #1. Here is to many, many more.
Wait. What?
Let me give you my chubby tubby timeline, as I like to call it..well, I like to call it that now because I have never given it a name until just this second. And let's be honest, it could be better.
May, 08 - ran first half marathon. body = awesome (in my book...again, all up for debate here)
May, 08 - leave for baby makin' cruise. and it worked. the baby was made.
July, 08 - lost our little one. spent the week at home. people brought food.
*time out*
When I say "people brought food", I mean, for ONE meal...we would get an appetizer... bread... entree...dessert...drinks... and sometimes even more. (insert many dang gina's)
I will not embellish each time, but I need to make you aware of this: EVERYTHING was in the comfort food genre and EVERYTHING was portioned for at least four people.
And. I. Ate. Pretty. Much. All. Of. It. I mean, I would leave a brownie for Scott. Sometimes.
*time in*
September 08 - time to get back in the saddle. literally. baby makin' time again. And yes, Scott eggoed my...preggo.. wait, that can't be right... He leggoed my eggo? What is that saying?!? I got pregnant. Man, I thought I could have said that way cooler.
November 18, 08 - lost our second little one. (now it's time to insert explitives..it's ok. we started to)
Spent another week at home. PEOPLE BROUGHT FOOD. And Thanksgiving began.
-Now this is where it gets tricky. Not only was I so angry with my body and felt so much guilt for what my body was doing that I felt the need to destroy it. I also didn't want to talk to a single person. And with the holidays all around me, what better way to avoid conversation than to always have food in my mouth. And naughty naughty food. Because, hey, if my body isn't going to do me any favors, why should I do it any.
I honestly thought that. Self-destruction at its worst. or actually, at its best.
December, 08 - Find out I have a blood disease. Just another confirmation that it is my fault. So, what to do? Besides cry and fight off the urge to sleep all day. Eat, drink and smoke cigarettes. I was seriously having a serious fight with my body. I was like a bully. I just wanted to see it hurt. so sad to look back on. But, my heart was very broken. And sometimes, you break things when you are broken.
Jan, 09 - Realized I had been depressed and just kind of snapped out of it. It was literally like a snap. And all I thought was, "What have I been doing to myself?" But, 20 pounds and a sad liver and black lung later, the damage had been done.
Feb, 09 - I was on a mission to be healthy. So, ran a 10k. Cut the crappy crap and moved forward.
March, 09 - Got pregnant. Started 14 medications including daily shots to the tummy, a strict diet and daily one hour walks and weekly dr. appointments.
June 14, 2009 - Lost our 3rd baby. Found out he was a boy. Named him Will.
You know where I'm going with the whole people bringing food thing...and the emotional eating thing...
June - September 09 - Spent entire summer not talking about it. (the absolutely healthiest thing to do, if you don't mind me lying)
Nov - Dec, 09 - Went on a working out warpath. Who knew how much time I had before the doctor would tell me I wasn't allowed to again (I skipped that...everytime I was pregnant, thought about getting pregnant or for 4 weeks after I had a miscarriage, I wasn't allowed to work out because of the whole blood disease thing)
January, Feb, March, April and May, 10 - Tried unsuccessfully to get pregnant. really? 3 times pregnant on the first go. And now? Notta single hit. Not one swimmer made it to the mothership. so strange. and a WHOLE new set of emotions to deal with. I lost my babies...I wasn't supposed to also have the big "I" stamped across my belly. Infertility was not supposed to be a part of our story too.
May, 10 - Decide it is time. Time to stop. As you can see in a very condensed version, the past two years have been all consuming with baby. And body. And hormones. And doctor appointments. And medical bills. And grieving. And researching. And eating. And tears. And shots. And misplaced anger. And deep deep deep sadness. And more doctor's appointments.
It's time to take a break and take a breath. And explore other options. I refuse to throw my hands up and give up on family. But, I have reached my limit on what my body can handle. It was like it was screaming at me, "I NEED CONSTISTENCY...please" So, I have given in.
_____________________________
You might laugh and say, wow...you wrote all of that to tell us you have lost a few pounds?
All of this weight I have added, I can pinpoint. It's like the credit card debt that never goes away..."it was that one doctor's appointment...remember when the car needed to be towed...school books...that one dinner we had to pay for..."
Those three pounds? Baby number 2. Thanksgiving to Christmas, 08? 7 pounds. Baby number 3? Lost 6 then gained 9. Medication? 6. Every pound had a name. And I am sick of those names.
I want the good memories of these past two years. I want to look at Scott's tattoo and think of our little ones. I dont want to look at my flabby stomach and think of what used to be in there. I want to think about the laughter that occurred when we told our family we were pregnant for the first time. Not the silence that came with sitting on my couch with a tub of ice cream, spoon and glazed over eyes.
So, partly, this has been serious closure for me. Maybe that is why I have been working so dang hard at it. And partly, any mom would understand this...I want them to be proud of me. I don't want to look back and say that this was the point in my life where everything went downhill. I want them to be proud of the decisions that I made and who I chose to be.
So there. Momentous Occasion #1. Here is to many, many more.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I am a 71 year old in a 27 year old body.
So, I'm starting to look at all of the blogs out there and wow. I am ashamed at my lack of web smarts. I dont even know if I could insert a picture. Do you people still use the old copy and paste?
Another reason I am an old soul. I can't have a conversation with anyone in my car if the music is on. Or, if I am anywhere and music is playing for that matter. My desk, my house, a dentist office. It's strange, I know. But, I just can't concentrate.
Anyways, I started training for the Chicago Marathon this week. ouch. And one of my friends who is running it with me wants to document it via blog. Here are our blog name ideas:
For the fear of sausage rolls and the love of ice cream.
Where the world knows no cellulite.
So, I dont have a runners body. awesome.
Why cant our hobby be napping?
We just do this for the friday night pasta dinner.
We'll see. But, I will tell you one thing. My last half marathon, I trained for a few months and didnt lose a pound...all the while watching my younger brother's extra layers slide off of him like butter on a hot knife.
I WANT TO BE THE BUTTER AND HOT KNIFE THIS TIME.
Another reason I am an old soul. I can't have a conversation with anyone in my car if the music is on. Or, if I am anywhere and music is playing for that matter. My desk, my house, a dentist office. It's strange, I know. But, I just can't concentrate.
Anyways, I started training for the Chicago Marathon this week. ouch. And one of my friends who is running it with me wants to document it via blog. Here are our blog name ideas:
For the fear of sausage rolls and the love of ice cream.
Where the world knows no cellulite.
So, I dont have a runners body. awesome.
Why cant our hobby be napping?
We just do this for the friday night pasta dinner.
We'll see. But, I will tell you one thing. My last half marathon, I trained for a few months and didnt lose a pound...all the while watching my younger brother's extra layers slide off of him like butter on a hot knife.
I WANT TO BE THE BUTTER AND HOT KNIFE THIS TIME.
Monday, May 3, 2010
What I Meant to Say Was...
I'm surrounded by love. Yet, I struggle accepting love.
So, when Scott looks at me and says I am sorry. And I look at him and say, I dont believe you. What I mean to say is, I dont believe that I am deserving of somebody to want to be better for me.
When I say, I want to be alone. I mean to say, I need to collapse and I don't want to bother you with my collapsing.
I am realizing more and more how hard it is for me to fully accept love from others.
I notice when I get slightly frustrated when people ask me how I am doing. And I am not frustrated with them. I am frustrated that I need them. I am frustrated that I might have to depend on someone other then myself and God.
I notice when I argue with Scott and he puts his arms around me, I stiffen. Not because I am mad at him. But, because I am trying to push the lump back down my throat and pretend like his love isn't unconditional towards me.
Something inside of me sees love and wants to run in the other direction because love means that you will be inconvenienced. And I, personally, love the inconvenience of it. The "I'm coming over to your house" or the "I need to talk right now". I love to love others. But, I am very uncomfortable with someone, especially Scott at times, loving me. Someone being inconvenienced for me.
I am an independent woman and I have always taken great pride in that. But, the more and more I search, I am seeing that much of my independence is a guard. It keeps you, my family, my friends, my husband from having to take care of me.
It keeps you from having to take care of me. man, there it is. I am afraid that if I ask, you won't want to.
As embarrassing and humiliating as it is for me to even think it. When I say, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I don't need anything. I'm 27 and can take care of myself. I'll get through it. People have it much worse, etc...
What I mean to say is, I want someone to take care of me and I'm afraid that you won't want to.
So, when Scott looks at me and says I am sorry. And I look at him and say, I dont believe you. What I mean to say is, I dont believe that I am deserving of somebody to want to be better for me.
When I say, I want to be alone. I mean to say, I need to collapse and I don't want to bother you with my collapsing.
I am realizing more and more how hard it is for me to fully accept love from others.
I notice when I get slightly frustrated when people ask me how I am doing. And I am not frustrated with them. I am frustrated that I need them. I am frustrated that I might have to depend on someone other then myself and God.
I notice when I argue with Scott and he puts his arms around me, I stiffen. Not because I am mad at him. But, because I am trying to push the lump back down my throat and pretend like his love isn't unconditional towards me.
Something inside of me sees love and wants to run in the other direction because love means that you will be inconvenienced. And I, personally, love the inconvenience of it. The "I'm coming over to your house" or the "I need to talk right now". I love to love others. But, I am very uncomfortable with someone, especially Scott at times, loving me. Someone being inconvenienced for me.
I am an independent woman and I have always taken great pride in that. But, the more and more I search, I am seeing that much of my independence is a guard. It keeps you, my family, my friends, my husband from having to take care of me.
It keeps you from having to take care of me. man, there it is. I am afraid that if I ask, you won't want to.
As embarrassing and humiliating as it is for me to even think it. When I say, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I don't need anything. I'm 27 and can take care of myself. I'll get through it. People have it much worse, etc...
What I mean to say is, I want someone to take care of me and I'm afraid that you won't want to.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
It's Like Putting An Old Hoodie Back On.
3 interesting things about my new job.
#1 The woman I replaced left behind in her desk 14 different hand lotions and 84 pennies. And apparently about 7 saved steamy messages from several different gentlemen callers. I didnt get to hear them but my boss said she blushed the entire time. dang gina.
#2 When you are re-introduced to old colleagues and they stand to greet you..they ONLY want a handshake, NOT a hug. I did not realize it until after about the 5th really awkward hug. But, really though? When you walk into a room and their face lights up and they stand and come around to the front of their desk to greet you, why would you go that far and NOT hug? You lead people to believe you are planning on hugging! But, no. As, I was going in for the hug, they would either A) stick their outreached hand into my stomach/chest area and I would just kind of hug "around" them. so weird. or B) say "oh, haha, we are hugging" and then I would say "oh, no! we can handshake" and it would be weird, so we would kind of hug. Ugh, I keep replaying it over and over in my head.
#3 I work with Jarrett Payton's wife. Walter Payton's son. Sweet.
That's all for now. I will somehow secretly take pictures of my office so you all (and by you all, I mean my sister in law and mother who will probably be the only ones reading this) can help me decorate (nothing can go on the walls though. boo). Im thinking more white?
peace.
#1 The woman I replaced left behind in her desk 14 different hand lotions and 84 pennies. And apparently about 7 saved steamy messages from several different gentlemen callers. I didnt get to hear them but my boss said she blushed the entire time. dang gina.
#2 When you are re-introduced to old colleagues and they stand to greet you..they ONLY want a handshake, NOT a hug. I did not realize it until after about the 5th really awkward hug. But, really though? When you walk into a room and their face lights up and they stand and come around to the front of their desk to greet you, why would you go that far and NOT hug? You lead people to believe you are planning on hugging! But, no. As, I was going in for the hug, they would either A) stick their outreached hand into my stomach/chest area and I would just kind of hug "around" them. so weird. or B) say "oh, haha, we are hugging" and then I would say "oh, no! we can handshake" and it would be weird, so we would kind of hug. Ugh, I keep replaying it over and over in my head.
#3 I work with Jarrett Payton's wife. Walter Payton's son. Sweet.
That's all for now. I will somehow secretly take pictures of my office so you all (and by you all, I mean my sister in law and mother who will probably be the only ones reading this) can help me decorate (nothing can go on the walls though. boo). Im thinking more white?
peace.
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