Super Noob [Search results for god] 

In my former life, I was a sales manager for Cintas Corporation. Part of my duties was to perform field rides with my sales reps. One fine day, I was out with “A",” one of my better reps, and we were meeting a potential client at the Hard Rock Cafe in Phoenix.

“A” and I sat at our table and informed the waiter we were waiting on someone who was running late. He took our drink order and left the table. Meanwhile, in all my newly engaged infinite wisdom, I removed my ring and began to apply lotion to my hands. Our drinks were brought over, and “A’s” phone rang. It was the prospect telling us he was later than expected, and would prefer to meet us closer to his office.

So, feeling guilty about having only ordered a diet coke, I tipped the waiter $7.00 on a $4.00 tab. We left.

Half way to the new rendezvous I realized my ring was not on my finger. Instant and breath taking panic. “Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God," was all that I could get out of my mouth. “A” asked what was wrong, and I told him. Immediately he turned his car around, and told me we would tear that place apart looking for it.

I called the Hard Rock, and spoke with some nit wit who went to check our table. Nope…not there. However, she kindly asked for my phone number and let me know she would call me if she found it. WHAT!!!???!?!??!?!??! Yeah, freaking RIGHT!!!!!!!!!! I told her I would be there in 5 minutes, and I wanted to speak with the manager.

The manager came on the line, I explained, he put me on hold to go ask the waiter if he noticed it. Came back on the line, and said “no…he didn’t see it.”

Upon arrival, I was a frantic mess, ready to storm the place and beat every last person to a bloody pulp if that’s what it would take to get the ring back. The manager greeted me and said “I think you better sit down.” Again…yeah right! He then informed me that the waiter did find the ring. I cried. He realized his attempt at humor (you better sit down for this news sort of humor), was a grave mistake.

Anyway, I think the waiter had it all along, but then found his conscience and decided to give it back. I also believe that had I not tipped him so much on a measly little check, that I wouldn’t have my ring today. That was one of the scariest experiences…EVER!

Thanks, Melis for inspiring me to tell my tale. :)

This past Sunday my Aunt's mother passed away. One of my cousins and I were talking about it, and we both had the same memory come to mind. P.I. (Aunt's Mom's initials) was shouting as we would ride by on our bicycles "E.T. phone home!" We would laugh hysterically at her kooky remark and ride by again to hear her repeat it. We were young kids then. We weren't very forgiving, and so we basically thought she was, well...kooky.

Now I am an adult with kids of my own, and to be honest I can still say that she was kooky. The difference is, today I will tell you I am too. When I remember P.I. now, I don't remember her for being kooky. I remember her for her generous heart, her forgiving nature, her quickness to befriend, her eagerness to smile and her love to laugh. She was a warm woman with a good soul, and she was my Aunt's mother.

It is impossible for me to process the despair my Aunt must feel at the loss of her mom. It was very sudden, and somehow that makes it worse. I think when we know the end is near, we can at least attempt to ready ourselves for the grief to come. But when a loved one is taken suddenly without warning, it hits like a freight train.

I know this all too well. When I was younger I lost one of my closest friends. There was an accident at work, he was badly injured and didn't make it out alive. Freight train. Devastation. Devastation for all of us who were left behind.

An entire year went by, and within it not a day was missed that I didn't ask God "why"? Why him? Why us? I still don't have the answers, but I no longer ask the quesitons. God knows...and for now that has to be enough.

So tonight my heart aches for my Aunt and the suffering she endures. I love her, but I can offer her no shelter in the storm. I know that only time will give her that. For on Sunday P.I. did phone home, and God told her it was time.

When I was a little girl I would lay awake at night in my bed thinking about my mortality. I didn't know then it was called mortality, I only knew that someday I would cease to exist. It scared me. It made me sick to think about not seeing my loved ones again.

Now that I am grown, I won't lie, I still have thoughts about my own mortality, but they barely make it onto my radar these days. Since becoming a mother, my scary thoughts all center around the most important people in my life...my children. I hear about a tragic accident involving someone else's child, and my heart sinks for the parents. Then the inevitable occurs, I begin to think about the "what if." What if it were my child? It would crush me.

I admit this is a bit morbid, but I feel the need to put it out there. I have wondered whether I am alone in this, or even a minority...or if this happens to all women when they become moms. When I say that I worry about something happening to my kids, that sounds completely normal even to me. But if I were to say that some thought on the subject crosses my mind most every day, well, that sounds plain nuts...even to me. Sadly, it's the truth. I am acutely aware of the lack of control I have over the rest of the world. Who am I kidding? I don't have control in my own household most days. So it leads me to think about all of the things that could harm my kids. When that happens (the thinking about these things), I am overwhelmed.

I wish I could say that I have absolute faith in God's plan for me and my family. In fact, I do believe God has a plan, and I do have faith in that plan. But I am not without fear. It seems like such a shameful waste of energy to spend precious moments pondering things that have not and probably will never happen. But alas, I do. Is that normal? Do all moms do this? If so, are they just better at redirecting these thoughts than I am? I wish I really new for sure.

Now...I feel the need to quantify a little bit. I am not nuts. I don't spend hours and days thinking about this stuff. But with such a delicate subject matter, it doesn't take hours and days of these thoguhts to be bothered. Bothered I am.

So...am I? Am I alone in thinking this way?

Almost three weeks ago we brought our furry little bundle of joy home to join our family, and today he is fighting for his life.

I debated about posting this, but I fear my head may explode if I don’t hash it all out.

Wednesday night we were playing with him in our living room, and he needed to go out for a potty break. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then ten minutes later he was at the back door wanting to come back in. When he did his breathing was very labored and his gums were going grey.

Within ten minutes I had him in my car headed for the emergency vet. There he has been since. He has pulmonary edema, which, in laymen's terms is fluid build up on the lungs. He has a severe case. There are two types. Cardiogenic (having to do with the heart), and non-cardiogenic (obviously not having to do with the heart). He has the second type.

Causes could be: anaphylactic shock (brought on by a sting/bite), choking, head trauma, electric shock, or heat stroke. We have no idea what it was, but we know it wasn’t any of the above with the exception of choking. We don’t know if he may have swallowed something and it restricted his airway for a few minutes, or if his collar got hung up on a bush he plays in and freaked out, thereby choking himself.

In any case, most cases of this typically resolve themselves within 24hours. Finnegan has been in the vet hospital since Wednesday night and shows no improvement. Because he hasn’t worsened, they keep suggesting more time. So…we’ve been continuing to give him more time.

My heart is sick with worry, I cry out of no where throughout the day, I look at his toys strewn about my living room and cry again. I am a huge mess. There is already a hole in his absence. I can’t imagine what will happen if he doesn’t make it, and yet the vet has said we need to start preparing for that. How? I am not God, nor do I want to play God. The thing is, we don’t have an endless supply of money either.

I think the consensus that we have reached is to try to give him until Monday to show improvement. If he doesn’t go into respiratory distress before then. If that happens, then I will consider it his way of letting us know he can’t do it anymore.

In the meantime we are trying to figure out how we will come up with the money to support our little guy until then. Our bill thus far is over $3,000.00. Now is one of those times when I wish I were still working.

So…we wait. Just like we’ve been doing since this began. Waiting and hoping that he starts to show us that he is going to pull through. Meanwhile, I am an emotional wreck and was ill prepared to answer my precocious daughter’s questions about his whereabouts. “The doctors will tell us when he can come home, right mama?” “Mama, Finnegan is our dog…so he needs to come home to be with us.” “Do you promise they will tell us when he is ready, mama?” What on earth do you say to that?

I have this picture that Andy took of me holding Colton. He was a brand new little guy, and I was in love. So in love that it floored me. I experienced it once before when Addyson entered the world, but I didn't really believe my heart could hold that much more. What a fool I was. The second I heard his cry, my eyes flooded and my heart expanded. God had blessed me with another little soul, and Colton immediately found his place.

When I learned I was pregnant with Colton I was a bit surprised. Not, of course, at the how of it...just at the how soon of it. Andy and I had decided it was time to let nature take its course again...and let me just say, nature had the fast track in mind. I was worried about my little Addyson. She was 9 months old when Colton was conceived, and I fretted over her being kicked from the nest too soon. It broke my heart.

As Colton's scheduled due date arrived I fretted over that too. I had tremendous guilt that my babes needed to be born via c-section. With Addyson, I at least went into labor with her, and was able to give it the good ole' college try. But with Colton, I chose his birthday. I hated that (and I don't usually say hate). What if we were taking him out before he was really ready? Shouldn't he have been the one to say "okay guys...here I come!" It took me a long time to be okay with that.

So, here are two pictures actually. The first is one of my holding Addyson after they wheeled me back from surgery. My eyes (and entire face) were so puffy. It's a wonder I could stop crying long enough to have a picture with her. My little baby...too soon the big girl.

Here she is, so unsure of what is all happening. Only 18 months old. But a brave little face nonetheless. She obviously knew something I had yet to learn. That Colton was a precious gift to her. God gave her a new best friend.
And here I am with my newest little addition. I am looking at my screen through a filter of tears as I remember how I felt then...and how even that doesn't compare to what I feel today.

Thanks, Julie for hosting such a wonderful theme. It has afforded me with some wonderful knew photos, and has enabled me to relive some very treasured memories.
Please go join up with Julie for some more Mom N' Me posts.

I have been operating almost on autopilot this entire day. Nearly numb waiting for news...but praying for news like THIS. I am elated, which probably only scratches the surface of the joy MckMama and her family must feel.

I am amazed by her story, and how it has affected so many people all over the world. Crazy...this thing called blogging. Mckmama (for the very few of you who have not read her blog) is an inspiration to so many. Inspiring even in the most mundane day to day details, let alone how she has handled the situation with her youngest son, Stellan.

If I am being totally honest (and that is what I aim to be 100% of the time), she was the reason I started my blog. Not because I wanted to be like her, but because I would read her posts, and find myself with things swimming in my head. These things, aka thoughts, needed an outlet. This is mine. It matters not to me whether I have one million readers or one. I write these posts for me, and for my family...and anyone who cares to read. However, I have gotten a little off the beaten path here.

Back to what this post was all about to begin with...Mckmama. Through her blog, and with her amazing story, I have been inspired. Inspired in more ways than just to begin a blog. On a very personal level, she has inspired in me a deeper faith in God. Even if this story had had a different outcome, mine would still be the same. For that I believe a sincere thank you is in order. So...thank you, Jennifer. Your one life has touched so many.

If ever you have walked through your house to see an item that belongs to someone else at every turn, or if you’ve ever laughed so hard you’ve cried at something one of your offspring has said, or if you’ve ever cried out of sheer frustration over something one of your offspring has done…then this is for you. Come share a story, or a picture or a bunch of quippy little one liners about what keeps your role as motherhood at the forefront of your life.

You know you’re a mom when a look like this on one of your children is like seeing a glimpse of God’s grace.

I have been remiss. Or just lazy. Or busy...something like that. I am usually fairly diligent about posting each day, but as my sister in law pointed out, I didn't participate in Not Me Monday, and I didn't have a post up today. I didn't realize she relied on me to pass the time while she pumped. Sorry, M...won't happen again.

Anyway, bittersweet goings on around these parts. I have spent the better part of the morning culling through old toys. Toys that have been in our home since the birth of my daughter. Getting rid of them is harder for me than it is for my children. In fact, Addyson was all too eager to dispose of her toys, merrily tossing them in the big box for other boys and girls. Yet for me it simply marks the passing of yet another era. No more baby toys. No more teethers or rattles. Actually, we are even giving away a ton of toys that are still age appropriate.

I have come to realize that having all those toys is just ridiculous. Not only are they constantly scattered ALL OVER MY LIVING ROOM, they never get played with anymore. Too many. So, with Christmas around the corner I decided it was time to do a major clean out. You know...to prepare for the gluttony to come.

In any case, we are donating our toys to a local charity that accepts gently used items. I would have taken them to Goodwill, but my husband just informed me that they just throw them out. They don't like keeping up with recall items...or something. But this local charity is specifically for children, and they assured me that my my children's treasures would indeed go to deserving kids. Awesome.

So today I say goodbye to old toys...and the passing of yet one more treasured time. Thank God that I treasure each and every moment with these guys. The passing days just bring more and more joy (and a few scattered headaches).

I should warn you that this is just a random post about nothing much at all. Just was remembering a couple of things, and here goes...

When I was younger, well, no...not when I was younger. At least not just when I was younger. I still do it today. What? Ah yes, let's get to that. I ask questions like "would you rather...?" or "what would you do if I...?" I get a huge kick out of asking the most outlandish things. What's even funnier is I have actually done some of the "what would you do if I's?"

My husband (then just plain old boyfriend) and I were walking by a restaurant, and I asked him "what would you do if I pressed my bare butt (does that offend you? should I say bottom?) against the glass window to the people eating just inside?" He couldn't get me outta there fast enough. He already knew what sort of crazy streak I have and he embarrasses easily.

Not sure why I find this so funny. I have always appreciated humor that defies the norm. I get the biggest charge out of seeing people's reactions to behavior that isn't considered socially acceptable. So much so that I have done some pretty out there things just so I could get those reactions.

Read on.

I am in high school. I am walking home and trailing behind a small group of boys (not anyone I recognized). One of them is straggling just behind the others. I am alone. Idea. I speed up so that I am just behind the straggler and I softly make a noise like a chicken "baaaak." The straggler stiffens a little, but pretends not to notice. I am stifling a laugh. I repeat the noise...only this time slightly louder and with a little poke of my index finger to his back. He turns to look at me immediately. Unmasked shock in his eyes (I couldn't blame him). Then without hesitating he catches up to his friends and is frantically whispering to them. Well, I couldn't make the guy look crazy to his friends, right? That's what I figured...so as they were standing huddled just fifteen feet in front of me, I begin scratching at the ground with my right foot and loudly making the chicken noises ( I am dying of laughter at the memory as I write). My arms are bent at the elbows and I am flapping as if I have wings. They are staring, no doubt wondering if I was on something, or if I was a little crazy...I was neither. As this is happening, my adrenaline surges, and in one last burst I shoot forward to their group, scuttle through them (all the while making the chicken sounds), then stop and calmly walk away. They are left standing and still wondering what on God's green earth is wrong with me. I laughed all the way home that day. On a little side note I ran into them later in the year at a post football game party. They all laughed and shouted "hey it's the chicken lady." They all admitted they thought I must have been totally crazy, but that they thought it was hilarious. It was. Anyway, we were friends after that night.

As I sit here tonight, I realize that I actually don't do stuff like that anymore. Not really. Now I am too busy making sure that bottoms and noses are wiped, mouths are fed, no one is hurting anyone else, my house is at least in some state of "respectable." Yet the thing is, I know that I will do those things again. My kids have no idea what lurks in their future. I thought my mom could embarrass me when I was young? (okay, so maybe I was the one who embarrassed her, but that doesn't fit in with the point I am trying to make). Anyway, all I am saying is: Drew, Addyson and Colton, beware! The chicken still lives within.

I don't understand why moms feel the need to justify their choices to other moms. Or anyone for that matter. I am not even talking about moms who stay at home vs. moms who go to work. Nope, I am referring to the little things that seem so big. For example, I have always been so very laid back over-the-top anal when it comes to my children and their sleep. This was particularly bad with my daughter. When she was napping, I freaked out whenever anyone would make a noise in the house. I wouldn't answer the phone during her naps for fear of my hushed voice waking her. I seriously thought my daughter was born with the special power to hear even a pin drop from clear across the house. So...my husband would get so irritated with me (rightly so), and my dad would blast me for not answering his calls, and I would get looks from friends whenever I mentioned my daughter sleeps on a schedule. You know the looks I mean, right? I think every mom has gotten them at some point. They are the very looks that create the need in us to justify our choices. Now...I will say, that when my second came along, and my daughter was only 18 months, there was no real way to keep her hushed when he was sleeping. So I had to become more laid back. Do I still think sleep in ultra important to their overall health and development? You bet. Do I freak out if one of them wakes too early at naptime anymore? No way. However, back when I was in the freak out mode still, I felt the constant need to justify my hyper-sensitive ways regarding my daughter's sleep. "You need to make noise in your house so she gets used to it." My dad would say. "I know, and I do, but dad she is a really light sleeper, and she needs her naps or she just gets so cranky." I would tell him. I am certain what he heard is "I am a first-time mom, and I don't know what I am doing." The thing is, I did know what I was doing. I knew that I was a little (okay a lot) over the top, but I also knew that her sleep was something that was a non-negotiable for me. It was something that I believed, and still believe, is crucial to healty development.

Just today, my kids and I were at the park for one of our mommy meet ups. A friend of mine was making a bottle for her 8 month old daughter, and asked her 2 year old son if he wanted one too. I can say with the utmost sincerity that I thought absolutely nothing of it! Seriously. But do you know what happened next? She began justifying why he was getting the bottle. There is actually a very sound reason behind it I might add. But that isn't the point. The point is that she is his mom. She knows what is best for him. Who on God's green earth am I to judge that decision?

So what is this innate behavior we moms all seem to possess? Why does it crop up like that? The bottom line is this...we are all just doing what we feel in our hearts to be the best for our children. No one in the world loves her child more than a mother, and we are all in the same boat. So how about next time you see a mom doing something you would never dream of doing, you just give her a knowing smile instead of a what in the world are you doing look. **This of course does not apply to anyone who is doing something obviously harmful in any way to their child**

Just remember the next time you feel the need to explain yourself to someone about a choice you have made for your child(ren)...don't. Remind yourself that mommy does in deed know best.

Often, I wonder at Drew's relationship with our other two children. Will it be a good one? He is 8 years older than Addyson. Or will it be strained and distant? What does Drew really feel about them? These are not questions I can ask him...they are questions that will only be answered in time.

Today, I was sorting through a couple of things next to my computer, when I came across a handwritten poem that Drew had done. It is obvious that the poem was one that the teacher assigned, and the students had to change the wording to make it their own.

His is titled "Addyson"

It reads:
If I could grant a wish for you
I would get a thrill or two

May you get no chores when you get older
May you get older and a whole lot bolder

May you be beautiful and really sweet
May you be always organized and really neat

May you have the skills of a great saint
May you always have fun and never faint

May you always have a lot of fun
May you get married and have one son

May you never have to pay a fare
May you never be attacked by a bear

May you always be very rich
May you never become a snitch

May you never be truly pale
May you never step on a nail

May God bless you all of the time
My you live until 99

Oh, if I could grant a wish for you,
I would get a thrill or two.

Thank you, Drew for answering one of my questions early. I sure do love you.

When it comes to germs I have always had a mild to moderate phobia. I don't like to share drinks...not even with my own mother. I will not use someone else's chapstick or lipstick. If I want a bite of what you're eating I will use my own fork...being careful to pick a spot that you have not forked twice. Yes, you could say I'm a touch of a germaphobe.

It comes as no surprise then that I have a bit of useless trivia stuck up here in the old noggin regarding this very subject. If you would rather remain blissfully ignorant, then stop reading here. Okay, I have warned you.

Let's start with the lemon wedge. Nice, refreshing, citrusy goodness that adorns most drinks you order up in a bar or restaurant. These little suspects are a hot house for bacteria. In one study 21 restaurants were tested. Guess how many lemons turned up dirty? Three quarters of them. Yes. A whopping 75%. Not done, the first group tested were loaded with fecal matter. Precisely why I order my water or tea sans lemon.
Yes, I'd like water...hold the poop please.

How about your shower head? Seems totally harmless. I mean, come on, it's a shower. Legionella bacterium housed there causes a potentially fatal, pneumonia-like condition called Legionnaires’ disease. It's contracted by inhaling water droplets which are infected with the bacteria. "The organism feeds on cysteine, a substance produced by a wide variety of waterborne organisms and bacteria found in potable water. Legionella can survive in tap water for many months, and showerheads provide a hospitable environment." Philip M. Tierno, Jr., PhD. Clean those showerheads at least once a year.

I will just scratch the surface of public restrooms. I have this whole OCD ritual whenever I use one. I wash my hands once I am inside the restroom, but before using the facilities. See, I plan on wiping myself, and I do not want to transfer germs from the nasty door handle to...ahem...you get the picture. I do not sit, not even if there is a liner. I am a hoverer through and through. I tear off the first several squares of paper before I get to the part I will use (someone else was there before me...and God only knows what they did). I flush with my foot (I admit this part is silly, considering I will wash my hands again). After getting to the sink, I dispense the paper towels before I turn on the water. I wash my hands again (thrilled when the faucet is operated by sensor). If not on a sensor, I turn the water off with my paper towel. Then I exit the bathroom, careful to use the paper towel on the door handle. Ah...and if there are no paper towels, water goes off with elbow, door gets opened by toilet paper, and hands air dry. I NEVER use the air dryers. Excessive? Maybe. But when I learn things like 42% of men don't wash their hands after using the restroom and 51% of women don't, I choose to err on the side of excess.

Hand dryers are germ spreaders.

I used to work in sales for a company called Cintas. Part of what they offer is restroom products. A tid bit I learned from one of those reps is that the hand dryers are not sanitary and simply spread bacteria. I have even heard that the schools and universities that have had the H1N1 outbreak this year are being told by the health department that they have to take out all of their hand dryers and replace them with towel dispensers because the hand dryers are spreading disease.

Ok, the last on my list tonight are the candies offered up in a bowl as you leave the restaurant. Without giving you any more statistics, I will just paint a picture for you. Let's just say for fun that fifty people before you have dug their paw into that dish of candy. Let's also say that half of those people used the restroom while there. That means, that approximately 25% of those people are dipping in with excrement on their hands. Yummy! I'll just stick with the mints in my purse, thank you very much.

Now, I should say this. Of all the thousands of germs out there, only a fraction of them actually can be harmful. The others are considered good germs. Germs can indeed be our friends. In fact we need them to help us stay healthy. But YIKES! Again, I'll just take my chances, and continue on with my phobia of the little critters. How about you?

I'm not exactly sure when it happened...but I've been trained. I'm so ashamed. Once upon a time I stood my ground. I made a statement, and I held to it. Was I only dreaming?

When Addyson came along, she began training me immediately. Boy, was I surprised. See, I was so sure that I would be training her. I even planned to have her eat and sleep on a schedule. She was going to be the best sleeping baby that ever graced God's green earth. I even read Babywise in preparation. Well, Addyson did not read her copy of the book, and she had other plans. For twelve weeks I held her for every nap. Well, I did, or Andy did (don't even get me started there, we were so at each other's throats). Holding her at naptime wouldn't have been so bad if she would have slept in a sling so I could multi task. Heck, I would have been happy if she would have let me hold her and just read a book. Again, she had her own ideas. My darling daughter had to be in her room, with the shudders closed, in my lap while rocking in the glider. If one of these criteria wasn't met, all hell (yes hell) broke out in the Mamma household. So you see, she has been working us from the start.

When she was 12 weeks, I was finally determined to teach her how to sooth herself at naptime. This bolgna started to seep into our nights (which to that point had been just fine, she'd nurse two or three times a night and go straight back down), so we sleep trained. It was the best thing I ever could have done...for her, for me... for my marriage ;) In three days time she would go down for a nap in her own crib with no soothing from me. Amazing.

Today, I was thinking about this as I lay next to her during rest time. It dawned on me that somewhere along the way, she worked me over. Did you notice the first sentence of this paragraph? That's right...as I lay next to her during rest time (insert record skip). It's the only way I can get her to nap now, and even that is failing lately. So I may throw in the towel. We may just give up once and for all on the old naptime for Addyson. That or I'll still be sleeping with her when I'm 80.