Blogging Again

Such a long time coming. Desire to write is always present, time to do it – rare. Tonight’s Motivation: tears. Feeling things that need to be written down and things that are the kind of stuff that should be shared. Things that are part of the fabric of life in the sense that they make we humans contemplate our similarities much more than our differences. Feeling connected.

Tears tonight…
In honor and memory of my lovely mother in law’s birthday and her beautiful smile and sweet, loving spirit. In seeing that smile in my kids and my husband and knowing she is looking down so proud. We will always love you, Joycie.

From both exhaustion and exhilaration of a 3 day Championship Swim Meet here in Knoxville and watching my 4 lil (okay, some big) fishies swim and leave it all in the pool! The culmination and success of an exciting, hot and sweaty, challenging swim season with some of the best families in the world and the pride of my children’s achievements.

For a precious friend who’s youngest son has Cystic Fibrosis and the manner in which they fight that evil disease. And for the reminder she gave me when I confessed about the disarray of my house and the needed home repairs. She said, “but is your family happy?” What an important and incredible reminder about what really matters. And how fortunate do I feel? Everytime I think about my babies and her baby and a chronic illness and the grace with which they are fighting it…tears do so come to my eyes. They are “Andrew’s Army” and they have shirts to proclaim it. I am blessed to know her and the whole family.

From the difficult task of teaching children to be good teammates and show sportsmanship when they are personally crushed. Seeing my lil 7 year old, Brady, tell me he should have been in that relay, with big tears in his eyes, but yet rising to the challenge and cheering for his friends in a competition he was not chosen to be a part of. Learning. We all are all the time.

Having a teenage daughter that likes to talk and share with us. And of being able to share with her openly about priorities and life and decisions. And being able to tell her and remember at the same time how conflicted I was when she was a baby and I was a working mother. Remembering her asking me to “put on you jammies” so that she knew I was going to bed instead of going to work my night shift nursing job. Learning about those decisions first-hand. Remembering trying to get my feel for how to be a good mommy and working so hard at it. Relishing that if she and I are having this discussion and talking and crying together, something somewhere went very right. I love you, Marlee. My first baby girl that started all this craziness…

Crying as I reassure my husband who recalls a job several years ago that he “failed” at. NO. He did not fail. He supported his beautiful family and provided us income and insurance so that, I, could take some precious time with our children. He most certainly did not fail. Maybe by the company standard of how many cars he sold. But never by my standards of always putting us first.

Tears when I think about ownership and what that word means and how I want to own my actions and my mistakes. Of thinking about what that means in friendships and families and that any relationship of value requires work.

And certainly a very important realization is that these tears are essential and valuable in keeping me human and in touch and thankful to be right where God has lead me. In this very spot, right now, crying these tears.

Overwhelming Support and Other Natural Anti-Depressants

Wow friends, thanks for the insight, the ideas, and the support you all offered through those comments to my last post.   My wheels have been starting to turn very slowly, and writing that post was as therapeutic as it gets.   I started typing comments to address what I learned and gained from your comments and I found I  had too much to say, so I decided to just go ahead and post my rambling thoughts here.   I’ve inserted some of the comments I’m responding to. 

I love the way you all related in such a personal way. like this:

 “You know, I was doing okay until I got to the bottom of your post but when I read “Hubby … It must be hard to have your biggest fan be such a pain in the butt sometimes. I have un-dying faith in you …-.” That’s when the tears came! UGH! I can so relate to that statement. I know that I’m a pain in the butt to my husband sometimes (maybe a lot of the time?!?!) and we’ve been through some very bad times but just like you said, I love him so much and wouldn’t trade my life with him and my kids for anything”

 Well, we are in good company, because I cried writing the post, and it started a nice long cry that makes you need an eye-makeup artist by the next morning.  That’s okay.  It was good.   It was needed.  Hubby read it and it helped him understand me.  I must agree with momlovesbeingathome who wrote that comment.  Admitting that weakness when I need to support him the most was a really difficult piece of that post.  That is when I really lost it – when I realized I just wasn’t capable of being the support I wished I was. 

Joni – thanks for sharing those ideas about functioning. 

 “I would have days where I’d literally wake up and negotiate myself out of bed. I’d think, “ok, in the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is put my feet on the floor. For the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is get up and go to the bathroom.” And step by step I could get going.”

Those very specific examples made me relate to an even more difficult time and brought back some more memories and tears – but healthy ones.  Those thoughts initiated a conversation between Steve and I and both of us remembering, “we’ve been through worse”. 

I appreciate all the prayers and hopefulness tremendously. In all your individual ways, you offered love, camaraderie, support, personal insight, inspiration, even a compliment or two, and concrete ideas.  I love it – thanks. 

 “Writing is a great start, getting out and breathing some fresh air. Wake up in the morning and create your day, visulaize what you want to happen. Find someone else in a funk and cheer them up, can’t stay in a funk when you have to cheer someone else up”— tobeme

“I too am going through a rough time as well, a lot of things you wrote hit close to home for me. I just pray that soon I can see a sunny sky! I will be praying for you as well!” — lifelemons

“As always, you have provided me with great clairity and inspiration. Perhaps you can find comfort and support knowing how much you always inspire and help me. I dedicated my post today to you.” — onehappymom

For those of you that are currently in a “funk” like the one I’m giving it my all to get out of, or those of you that are facing life challenges as well, gosh, I appreciate you being so open.  I love this blog thing and now we do have a group that can help hold each other up.  There’s strength in numbers and I’ll think of and pray for you as you have so generously offered to do for me.

“Things often look bleek. But remember TOMOROW is another day.  ”         — turtlesbirds

” Here is to your husband getting the right job at the right time – the job he is meant to have – and to you being able to turn the corner on this funk.”      — mamadoggylove

And, dragonmommie – I am certainly nursing myself tonight as you suggested.

” I do not try to deny it is happening. I plan the time for myself to be depressed, if that makes any sense. I will spend a weekend or a few days at the most to nurse myself… when I can feel sorry for myself. I think we need that time to step back from life”

 I’m going to get out of the house and play a little bunco with other females.  You are so, so right that we have to take time out.  If not, the time in becomes much less effective. 

And, one last thought regarding Joni‘s words about raw prayer: 

” This sounds trite but prayer helps me. But it has to be raw genuine thoughts. Not the shoulda’s. You know the kind “God I’m scared we won’t be provided for but I know I should be grateful…” When I come clean to God in prayer, my ability to trust him grows. Don’t know how that works. I’ve actually said I didn’t trust that he would provide even though I’ve seen it before. And then asked for more faith or a glimpse of what He’s planning for peace of mind. “

WOW – that was deep and so painfully truthful.  I’ve kept my “Suzy Sunshine” act up, even with my prayer.  Not last night — after reading your post, I realized I haven’t even allowed myself to go to those raw, even ugly thoughts with God.  But it is soooo cleansing to admit that.  To say, “God, I’m trying to believe and have faith here and so far there’s nothing!  ”  Being that honest – woah.  I went to sleep with those kinds of prayers last night and I have to tell you, I woke up with a brighter outlook.  Today was a new today, and tomorrow is another brand new one, too. 

Peace, love, blessings, gratitude, and the strength to hold up through working it all out to you all.

Giving Him a Break

After yesterday’s post, which picked on my husband and his gross habit, I feel it’s only appropriate to give him a bit of a break today.  He’s wonderful, you know, just human like the rest of us.  And what a good sport…I did have his permission for that post before publishing it.  One of my blogging buddies (see Arms Wide Open on the blogroll), sent me this YouTube video that really explains a lot and let’s me know I’m not alone in my struggle. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovSXMoeVWHY

And now, putting that behind us, I want to make very clear that I am an extremely happy married woman who is still madly in love 19 years after meeting Steve and 15 years after marrying him.  Better or worse, richer or poorer (poorer right now), sickness and health (we’ve been there) — all that stuff is really true.  I named this blog Dying Arts as a tribute to many of the finest arts in everyday life that are in danger of extinction if we don’t fight for them.  Quality customer service; real patient-focused caring nurses; the gift of hospitality; creative, hands-on parenting; open, honest, and vulnerable communication; and, perhaps most importantly, the art, institution, and gift of marriage. 

Steve has been my best friend almost since the day I met him.  I believe God picked him out just for me.  And he and I are both committed to the absolute, never-ending, difficult, and daily work of sustaining a marriage.  We believe in communicating, in compromising, in stretching, and in working to make love last – not just waiting for it to “happen.”  Moments like that rarely “just happen”, and if they do, they are fleeting.  The real magic comes from working to keep a marriage and create those moments of magic.  Participating in them instead of just being present for them is an art.  Marriage is not a spectator sport and there’s no room on the bench.  Every spouse is an essential player – for the duration.  Marriage, along with parenting, are the hardest and yet most rewarding jobs out there. 

And so now, perhaps you should know some of the great things about my Steve.  We talk – all the time about anything and everything.  He’s my biggest fan, and I his.  He knows when to be my cheerleader and when to hit me with some constructive feedback.  We’re silly – most of the time and can make each other laugh like no other humans on this planet.  We keep our childhood playfulness about us and don’t really have to grow up in that regard.  Our apologies are sincere and sometimes creative (see My Favorite Apology).  We make efforts to fight fair.  God is the head of our household and our lives.  We have been very fortunate to receive many blessings from him and we promised to God and ourselves to keep him in this marriage.  We are currently broke, but also promised never to let money come between us (at least not for the long term – everybody has spats).  Our loyalty and allegiance as a family is to this family – and while we love the families from which we came, we had to leave them and make this one our top priority.

That’s a bit of rambling about our philosophy on the relationship of husband and wife.  This is how the wonderfulness of it plays out on a daily basis:

I came home from working nightshift this morning to find a little note taped to the door.  It basically said that we were alone in the house and that I had the “spa treatment” awaiting me.  He had taken Brady to pre-school early and the other 3 were already off to school.  I’ve had lots of lower back and hip pain since the kiddos and have had physical therapy, seen the chiropracter, still do exercises, and in general, am just prone to a lot of achy muscles and joints.  A massage is a real treat for me – or sometimes if I’m in real pain, not so much a treat, but needed agony to relieve some of those knots.  Knowing we don’t have the funds for such a treat right now, Steve’s creative caring improvised.  My bed had fresh sheets, there was warmed lotion, and the room darkened.  And although never trained at it, after all these years, Steve is pretty darn good at working those pains out.  It was such a treat after a night at work.  And, for those of you who automatically assumed this was a sex story, think again.  It was truly non-selfish on his part.  He made it clear it was all about me.  Absolutely no hanky-panky required, requested, or attempted.  I fell asleep during my massage and he covered me up and let me sleep until kindergarten pick-up, at which time he took me and my number two man (Harper) out for an affordable little lunch on our budget.  There may be plenty of folks whose husbands buy them diamonds, or take them on expensive vacations and the like, but I truly had to ask myself today:  Does it get any better than this?  I am very, very rich in the things that matter and a very lucky woman. 

In my post “Truth Hurts” I talked about a friend’s tragedy.  That event caused Steve to think about marriage and life and how fragile they both could be.  He was reflecting on all the folks we know who haven’t made it and on how marriage is, to many, a dying art.  On that day, my husband, who really does write beautiful love letters, sent this to me: 

k,

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

this day especially when those dear to us take matters into their own hands.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

despite those who take their wedding vows lightly.

you need to know this day how much you’r loved.

while some look for ways to hurt each other purposefully.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved.

though some would rather make a withdrawal than a deposit.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved,

some deciding to simply throw in the towel.

you need to know this day how much you’re loved,

when it’s easier to just simply think of yourself.

 

thank you for hearing me, thank you for listening to me, thank you for supporting me, thank you for encouraging me,  thank you for reminding me to smell the roses along the way of our great journey together.

 

we are told that children are blessings from God.  they are not ours, but His, entrusted in our care.  likewise, you are my wife picked personally by God to be my best friend, my confidant, my soul mate.  to quote my pal, jack nicholson, “you make me want to be a better man.”

 

and for that, k, all i can say this day and for all the days to come is how much you’re loved.

 

s

So, yes, marriage is one of the finest arts and greatest gifts that I highly recommend, as long as you don’t mind hard work and the rewards that come with it. 

Truth Hurts

I have a friend in real crisis.  It’s the kind of rock-your-world crisis that leaves you numb just so the fear, anger, depression, and reality don’t just kill you.  While the rest of us were dealing with picking up kids and what to fix for dinner today, she was facing head on the effects of alcoholism.  More accurately, she was facing the effects of alcoholism that she and her husband have tried desperately to deny. 

Their last counselor told them flat out at their first session that alcohol had no place in their marriage.   He was firm and told them that if they didn’t believe it that they really needed a new counselor, as they would be wasting his time and their money.  I appreciated that he told it like it was.  They did too, for awhile.  They stopped seeing him in the fall.  They had a major slip-up in the summer that started off with a few drinks.  Once they shared this with him, he identified that maybe they are people who think the rules don’t apply to them.  They push every limit and boundary they set, just to prove that they can.  As of late, they were out to prove they could successfully be social drinkers. 

This time, someone almost died trying to prove it. 

This is a soul-sister kind of friend.  She and I developed a relationship that was deeper and stronger than most years ago.  We’ve used that bond as foundation in holding each other up and we’ve needed it.  Life hurts from time to time and life is hard most all of the time.  Our daily decisions lead to circumstances that control our healthiness and happiness.  As an optimist, I see that statement as empowering.  We have the ability to make choices and change our situations.  If you don’t like the choices you’ve made, simply make new choices and change your whole set of circumstances.  It’s much simpler than it sounds.  I’ve found that most people don’t find it uplifting.  Most people spend more time reflecting on the wrong decisions and refuse to see the solutions available to them with new choices.  That’s how many, many people every day stay and live where it hurts.  Where it’s miserable and dysfunctional and where momentary events, fun, and circumstances all serve to cover up and hide the ugly truth beneath it.  It’s the epitome of denial.  Glossing over the surface adds to the injury.  The broken foundation below erodes.  It becomes excoriated, yet the surface continues to look fine.  Its a hurt that hides and worsens and that can’t even be seen.  And then, when some crisis actually pops a hole in the top layer, the built up hurt and resentment and untruths and guilt all come rushing out.  It’s overpowering.  It’s how many, many people live on a day to day basis. 

This friend has not experienced many healthy relationships in her life.  They’ve all been based on control and conditional love.  I set out to be a friend to her in the most fundamental sense first, and then on deeper levels.  I love her.  I tell her that — often.  That part doesn’t change if she doesn’t see things my way.  I don’t take it away if she doesn’t follow my advice.  I don’t judge her worth.  And, if she stumbles in her own walks and quests, I continue to love her.  My role is to support her through life, come what may.  Seeing as how she had never had that kind of friendship, we spent a long time building that foundation. 

One of the other really big promises I made to her is to be honest.  To not be the kind of friend that tries to make everything look okie-dokie or that blows sunshine at her.  I agreed to tell her, in love, when some of those basic decisions in her life were cutting off the circulation to her and her family’s health.  I think she’s grown to appreciate it, even when it stings.  I know she’s grown to understand my love.  Even when I don’t agree with her decisions, I still love her.  It’s been a huge learning process for her.  She’s used to trying to make other people happy.  I don’t want her making anyone happy, certainly  not me.  My hope for her is that she makes choices that make her family more healthy.  Happiness is just a plus and it’s a poorly understood plus. Happiness has generally come to mean “whatever feels good at the moment.”  It’s important to look very far beyond happiness straight into healthy  Real, true happiness follows that in a much more long-term way. 

We set these rules up on our friendship and have endured many crises together.  We’ve been together through just basic survival, like how to get all the kids fed and in bed, when your life is falling apart.  And, we’ve been together through events that are such major wake-up calls they make us question all our decisions prior to now.  Finding strength from each other in all those times is equally important.  It’s a real, solid, “I care deeply about what happens to you” friendship. 

Today, I’m very unhappy with myself.  I chose an easy road and it led me to act differently than the friend I said I would be.  My friend told me she and her husband quit drinking.  This was while in counseling and she told me they agreed to flat out stop.  They had realized they couldn’t even have the occasional margarita with the chips and salsa.  She really felt like the big drinking problem was her husband’s, but she agreed to stop too.  I was proud of them and relieved.  I praised and supported her and rejoiced with her.  I vowed to never drink in front of or with them.  I stopped fixing margaritas in their company and opted for an alcohol free punch.  I played the role of good friend for awhile and then I let her down. 

I chose not to ask about the alcohol.  I chose to believe that is was possible for them to just give it up like this and so I chose not to face reality.  In my mind, I will say that it’s because I just really believed that they had done it.  But in my heart, I will know that I didn’t actually want to know the answer.  I had no desire to hear her rationalize.  I didn’t want to hear her explain to me again about how much less they were drinking and that they had really proven they could have the one drink and not end up in crisis.  I saw the cups in her hand at social events and I didn’t ask what was in them.  Who was in denial here?  I think I just didn’t want to know.  I didn’t want to face it.  I didn’t want to invest the energy in holding her accountable.  I chose to bury my head in the sand and I became the superficial friend that listens to her tell me everything is just peachy and says “great” and goes on her merry way.  I chose to be the convenient friend, not the real one. 

And then yesterday reality hits hard, with a big slap on the face.   Someone is almost dead.  Someone is fighting for their life.  Alcohol is a killer.  Denial is the accomplice. 

And tonight, after covering survival mode with her – making sure all the kids were okay and dinner was provided and other such logistics – I had to come clean.  I’m mad at her for drinking.  I’m mad at her for drinking with him and allowing him to believe he could.  I’m mad at her for taking it lightly, for lying to me about stopping, and for being a part of this crisis that could both literally and figuratively kill her family. 

And I’m just as mad at me.  I mad at me for not being the friend I promised.  For not asking what was in the cup and “what the Hell are you doing?”  I’m mad at me for not reminding her why she wasn’t drinking in the first place.  I chickened out and I let her down and I had to tell her that.  We had to go back to our basic agreement as true friends.  I had to remind her that even if she told me she was going to walk around with a stiff drink in her hand 24-7, I would still love her.  I would worry about her and I would not be able to support that decision and in good conscience I would keep telling her to re-consider and reminding her of the risks, but I would continue to love her. 

We reaffirmed our agreement tonight.  Friendship on this level has the seriousness of marriage vows.  She knows where I’m coming from at this moment and she knows that my future role might not be pretty.  She knows I’m holding her accountable for these decisions.  And, she knows I will do this because I love her and her beautiful family. 

It’s up to me now to carry this out.  I’m not responsible for her and  her decisions, but I’m responsible for being a tough love friend.  I’m taking my commitment to this very seriously.  I’m approaching it all with reality even though the truth can and will and does hurt.  I have to.  It’s my duty as a friend and it’s an urgent priority.  I promise to try to be the voice of reality before the reality is that the alcohol kills someone and destroys a family in the process. 

My Favorite Apology

It’s an absolute fact that healthy, stable married couples will fight from time to time.  As I understand, it’s part of the being healthy.  It means there’s enough care, concern, and love to have real issues that cause friction.  I am proud to say my marriage is very healthy, certainly by the fighting standards.   

Steve and I have different argumentation styles.  We practice different tactics and strategies to “hit the other where it hurts.”  We know all this because he’s a Speech Communication major and when he was finishing his degree, we agreed to have a real disagreement in an open forum for his whole class to analyze.  Wow, and did they.  I would have done anything to get him through school and and even more to get him an “A”.   In the end, however, it probably would have been easier if he’d ask me to sleep with one of his professors.  It’s very eye-opening and has quite a sting to hear a group pick apart every detail of what you said and then try to couple that with your underlying feelings and motives.  I learned that although Steve has the temper, I tend to use more “underhanded” techniques to try to come out on top.  Ouch!  Do I really do that?  Okay, I might…but after all, no temper – I ‘m not hot-headed.  Steve has shared with me over the years that those cutting one liners I throw in there are the ones that a.) really hurt him  b.)  send his temper through the roof.  Apparently, my technique in Speech Comm terms is called “hitting below the belt.”  It makes me sound like a Dragon Lady.   

In the end, the class’ little learning session did greatly increase our awareness and our sensitivity toward each other.  We make a real effort to avoid those things that hurt the most and try to keep everything on a fair, calm, level playing field – theoretically.  But then there’s those days that we’re tired and frustrated and just one child too many has yelled just one too many times at the wrong pitch and the trash still hasn’t been taken out and our nerves just can’t handle anymore.  That’s where the little learning session becomes dangerous – because now that we know what really gets the other, all we have to do is just reach down into our little tool belt and pull those really ugly, but really-effective-at–making-your-point techniques out and blast the other.  It’s like being a super hero and not using your powers until you need them urgently.  Except super heroes usually do good deeds.  I guess this is more like being the villain.  

On a typical week at our house, the simple schedule of getting everyone to the correct place and reasonably on time will wear any human down.  Add to this sleep-deprived, and we’ve already been primed to not play in the most sportsmanlike manner.  I woke up in the afternoon (night shifter) to find that NO progress had been made on the laundry, dishes, trash, and assorted other household chores.  I initiated a “discussion” about this with hubby and I hit a nerve.  I made an extremely conscious focused effort to not play dirty, and I could tell that he was as well.  It was a rather calm chat.  We always try to view the situation from the other’s perspective and I could tell we were each practicing this principle.  And then, as if it were just some automatic reflex, Steve’s temper showed it’s ugly face.  Later, I was told that it was the difference between me saying I felt like he wasn’t doing his part to me stating he wasn’t doing his part.  Perception versus fact.  When it seemed to him that I had made it a fact – he lost it!  It wasn’t meant to be slinging insults or hitting below the belt on my part, but it was pretty accurate.  He hadn’t done his part!  I’m sticking to my guns on that one.  And later, when it was all over, he had to share that he really agreed with me and that made him even more furious.  It was a “truth hurts” scenario.  So, he screamed at me a little and condescended to me about it was a shame everyone couldn’t be a superbitch like me and then showed me a finger that wasn’t his ring finger and put it much closer to my face than I liked and then had the nerve to storm off!  That walking off thing really grates me!  It’s as if you can just walk away from the problem and the life that continues to go on whether or not you hide.  I followed and then lost my cool as well.  I cry when I lose my cool, always.  Through big tears, I tell him to get out of my face and that I will play single parent the rest of the evening while he attempts to get his act together.  I throw in that I’ll play single parent forever if he keeps this up.  And then he retreats to our bedroom.   A moment of disclaimer:  we make a very concerted effort to not do this in front of the children and generally succeed at that.  We have also both agreed to not play “Good cop, Bad cop.”  So, I simply told the kids that Daddy needed some alone time.  The kids and I had a fine dinner together and it took my mind off the drama Steve and I had created.  I signed all the homework papers and did the bedtime routine and managed tuck-in.  The boys are snuggle bunnies and require all the accoutrements to go to sleep.  We give in.  Routine is story and snuggling in Mom and Dad’s bed.  We move them later.  It’s just easier.  I decided that I wasn’t interrupting their routine just because Steve was being a butt and hiding out.  We marched into the bedroom and they were excited to see Daddy and gave him the big tackle hug and  hit on him (like males do for some reason) and said good-night to him.  I assumed he would then leave, since he was angry at me.  He didn’t.  He snuggled up in the bed on the other side of the boys.  I had avoided even looking his direction, but I glanced his way in surprise for just a second.  His mean face was gone.  He was wearing a sweet, gentle look.  I wasn’t really touched.  “Whatever!”  was pretty much my main thought.   

I read two dinosaur books to the boys and then Brady, age 3, read one to me.  Strangely, that book was about elephants the second time around, but points for trying.  Then we looked at one of my favorite Anne Geddes books together for awhile.  It was one Steve had purchased for me on a little vacation he and I had taken.  Great, why did I have to have some sentimental, sweet book up here tonight?  Anyway, the boys are hooked on my favorite page where all the babies are dressed up like worms, so we looked at that for a minute and then it was time for lights out.  Brady had sort of a rough day at preschool – he had scratched a friend for no apparent reason.  His day got rougher when he came home and Mom put him through the torture of clipping those claws he had used.  Judging from the screams, that might have been punishment enough.  Regardless, he was now tired.  Nighttime prayers were said by Harper and then it was goodnight time.   

Out of the quiet, though, still snuggling Harper next to him, Steve speaks.   “Boys, I need to ask you for some advice. “  Long pause.  “ Have you ever hurt someone you cared about?” Brady immediately tells the story again about how he scratched Joey today.    “And what do we do when we hurt someone ?”  asks Daddy.    “You say you sorry” says Harper.  “I say sorry to Joey” states Brady.  He still thinks we are reviewing his earlier incident. “It’s important to say you’re sorry.  What else can we do?”  Daddy continues on.   I can see where this is going and I’m started to feel kind of touched, a bit tender about the whole thing.  I don’t really want to feel that way, but it’s headed there.  

 “How do we show someone we are sorry?  What kinds of things can we do?”    He’s leading a real discussion now and the boys are chatting away with him.  He talks about words and actions and that we can’t take them back.  Wow.    “C’mon boys, name something else we can do..” I’m playing along now.  Why not?  This is pretty good stuff.  I whisper into Brady’s ear “flowers – tell Daddy flowers.”  Hee hee. Steve is still talking.  “What about a kiss?  Can we show someone we are sorry with a kiss?”    Brady blurts out “Flowers!”  and Steve loses it now in a silly way, cracking up.  Then, Steve gets up and comes around to my side of the bed.  He takes my hand and talks first to the boys.   “Listen up boys.  Pay close attention.  You’ll have to do this many, many times in your life, so you best learn now.”    Then, he turns his attention to me.  “I am very sorry.  I lost my temper.  Please forgive me.”  He then kisses my hand, then my lips.    Brady, in a jealous rage, tries to push Steve’s face away and now Steve and Brady’s faces are both on my lips.  Another time for crack up.  We get to end on a silly note and continue to snuggle.   

Saying you’re sorry is very important.  We both make sure we can do it.  Over the years, we’ve come up with some creative ways.  This one was my personal favorite.     Almost 15 years and counting…

Pass the Baby

“This one time…at band camp.”  Actually, it goes more like, “This one time, at work…” 

Just the other night a nursing colleague brought over a sweet little wide-eyed baby to her good friend to feed.  Common practice.  

 “I’ve got two feedings at the same time.  Can you feed her?” 

And then the transfer of cute little baby girl in the lavender sleeper takes place.  From one friend’s arms, to another friend’s lap.  The buddy system.  We do it all the time.  You can’t feed two babies at once, after all.  

  “She has wet burps.” 

And then nurse friend number one vanishes, quickly. 

“What does that mean?  Every time I get a “wet burp” baby, it ralphs all over me!”  

Cute little brown eyed baby eagerly begins to eat.  Nurse friend notices wet sensation on her scrub pants.  She seeks assistance of yet another nurse friend.  I, fortunately, am still a by-stander. 

“Here take this baby for a second.  I’ve gotten something on me.” 

Baby handed off.  She did not wait for approval.  Nurse friend now holding baby had little choice.    

“Well, if she got something on you, why are you handing her to me?” 

“Ahhhhhh” (small scream from the sink area)  “It’s poop!  It’s poop!  She’s pooped all over me!  It’s running down my scrubs!” 

“And you handed her to me?”  

 Nurse lifts up baby and discovers, that she, also, is now covered in poop.  Two nurses and one baby covered in poop.  Original “friend” who requested assistance and warned only of “wet burps” is nowhere in sight. 

The two nurses now involved in this situation and sharing the common bond of body fluids, begin the decontamination process.  Wipes are flying.  I went only near the situation to double check a medicine.  Somehow, I had a trace of poop on my hand.  I scrubbed again.  My water bottle was on a table nearby the scene.  I took it home for sterilization.  The poop was spreading quickly.   The cleanest of the two goes to retrieve the nurse who has apparently fled the scene.   

“She’s a crazy crack whore!”

That and other terms of affection fly.  It’s the way we show love in an NICU.   

From the outside looking in

I have one of those jobs that makes people often say, “Oh, I could never do that…”  I work with sick children and have now for almost 16 years.  My first years as a nurse were spent working with pediatric cancer patients.  It even makes me have an awestruck response every now and then, but more about that later.  Now, I work with sick babies in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  Most folks associate this with preemies, and while that’s true, we get critically ill babies, early or not.  Sometimes it’s a full term baby that just had a rough delivery, or sometimes, it’s a 24 week pregnancy with a baby just over a pound, teetering on the edge of life.  It has its variety and it has its challenges.   I continue to say that “Real Nursing” is the kind where it’s not so much about the paycheck, but much more about real life.  Dealing with genuine people in true crisis and having empathy and respect for them.  Trying to see if from their side of the bed, or isolette (incubator to most of you), if you will.  That’s the part I really love – trying in some small way to help other humans through this craziness.    Moms start motherhood with concern for everyone else.  They’ve been pregnant for up to 9 months, with many rough days.  They’ve just contracted, pushed, delivered and are completely worn out.  They are still bleeding, often in the process of being sewn up and they are instantly worried about everyone else, baby first.  I have the privilege of working with Moms and babies in a couple of different roles.  In one, I assist midwives with healthy baby deliveries in an alternative birth-center setting.  Those moms are all low-risk and are on the really healthy end of deliveries.  They’ve had to endure very few medical interventions and as a result, recover quickly.  Actually, they go home as soon as 6 hours later.  They are amazing!  They start telling Dad their sorry he’s been standing so long or that he had his hand squeezed too tight.  They tell the midwife they appreciate how long she’s been laboring with them.  They inquire if friends and family need food, drink.  They say things like “it’s been a long day for all of us.”  The experience that woman has just been through and there she is, nurturing everyone around her.  She shows very little concern for herself, other than a shower and a trip to the bathroom, and now it is all about taking care of baby.  It’s beautiful.  I cry a lot!   The downside here is that when anything goes different than planned or expected – who does the mother blame?  Herself.  It’s a really flawed system, but it’s inborn.  Moms have the gift of guilt and it is the gift that, unfortunately, keeps on giving.  I’ve been trying for a number of years to figure out how to take it away from them, but that’s the cruel irony, no one can take guilt away from another.  It’s an individual process and the only person who can free you from guilt is…you.  I’ve come to accept that and to understand that I cannot remove guilt.  My role is to help them process and work through it and hopefully increase their own strength enough to overcome their own guilt.  It’s complicated.   Just a few days ago, I watched a mom weep at her infant’s bedside.  He was born at almost 32 weeks, with full-term being 40.  He will likely do well, we just have to help him grow outside of her for several more weeks.  He’s around 4 pounds.  He can’t yet breathe well enough on his own to maintain oxygen for his little body.  We have a tube down his airway to help and he’s hooked to a machine, the ventilator, that breathes for him.  We control how fast, the amount of oxygen, how long a breath lasts and how much pressure each breath provides.  His tummy and intestines aren’t developed enough yet to eat.  We have mom save her valuable breastmilk in the freezer while we feed him with fluids into his bloodstream.  We use the vessels in his umbilical cord as IV’s.  There are tubes coming out of his belly button and that’s where the fluids and nutrients go in.  We also draw blood out of those lines, so we can accurately measure oxygen and other lab values from his blood.  While pretty standard for a neonatal unit, it can be scary to see.  I imagine that as a parent, it’s terrifying.  I’m fortunate to have only experienced it from the nurse side.    His mommy, the one who took such good care of him, agonizes and cries over what she’s done to him.  Her heart hurts and it hurts mine to watch her.  As tears roll down her cheeks, she keeps one hand on him.  She can touch him gently, but she won’t be able to hold him for days.  She talks about her blood pressure and that she tried to keep it down.  She did everything they told her to – bedrest, diet changes, frequent visits, restricted activity.  So why?  Why must her son now struggle so?  Could she have done something different?  How could I do this to him? – she asks herself and she says it aloud.  She talks about the two healthy babies she’s had previously.  She’s trying to prove she’s done it right before.  And now she’s trapped herself…if she’s done it so well before – why this, why now?  It’s painful to watch and more painful to imagine her misery.   I take a deep breath and say a silent prayer for her and one for me, that I might have some words that provide some bit of comfort.  That I might be a part of her healing process.  And then, I reassure.  I listen and let her get it out.  I hug her or touch her hand.  I congratulate her on a beautiful baby that is working very hard to get healthy.  I talk a bit about guilt and tell her I would take it away if I could.  I share with her that most moms, including me, are prone to guilt.  I offer her support and re-affirm for her that she did everything she could for him, and most importantly, it’s not her fault.  They are, true, just words.  But I mean them.  And maybe between she and I and all those others that support her, and this little baby that is working hard to get well, and God up above – those words will help a little in that process of removing her guilt.