creative little daisy

Sweet little blog of mine, why do I neglect you so?

I have have so many fascinating things I would love to talk about. Like...

• My cat's hyperactive thyroid
• Making pompoms out of yarn
• Spring (did you hear that NC? enough with the cold, it's SPRING!)
• Bayleigh. I Never run out of Bayleigh stories, like the time I said son of a gun, and she asked if I meant son of a #@$&*. Yes she did.
• I can't remember if I introduced you to Lola. Did I? A chihuahua mix I found abandoned beside the road.
• Early menopause. Oh joy!
• Trying to learn new makeup strategies for a face that isn't as young as it once was. 
• Pillowcase dresses. So sweet aren't they?
• Our pending induction into the club of jobless folks. The plant where Mitch has worked for the past 26 years is closing in a couple of months. Oh my!
• Some of my new favorite things.

See,  just that quick I came up with ten potential blog posts. I have absolutely no excuse. Where shall I start, the starving cat or menopause? Job loss or stray dog? Foul mouthed four-year-old? You tell me, what are you just dying to hear about?

And empty nester, once again

This is going to be a hard post to write. I know it will leave me in tears and I will struggle with how to best put this tangled mix of emotions I'm having into words. For that reason, I've been putting it off. Sometimes waiting is good.

As a side note, I read a list of blog pet peeves recently and apparently some folks don't like it when a blogger shares personal stories. If you are one of those folks, I will not mind if you want to click away now. This is going to be all about me. 

Several years ago I was watching Desperate Housewives and one particular scene struck a personal cord and seemed to touch my very soul. I felt the pain of the actress like it was my own. I can't tell you any other part of the show, just once scene that lasted a minute or two. In that scene, Bree opened a kitchen drawer and noticed a sippy cup. She melted into an emotional puddle of sadness. For some reason I felt her pain and wanted to turn away because somehow I knew I would one day feel that same pain.

My story plays out much differently than Bree's but I know the pain of noticing a sippy cup when the child no longer lives with you.

I don't know how much backstory I need to go into. I blab about Bayleigh enough that surely it's evident she's the light of my life. 

As I've said before the story of Alyssa's marriage isn't mine to tell. She married Bayleigh's father young and tried very hard to make it work. Very hard. When she felt like she had given it all she could I let her know that she should not stay out of fear for how she would care for herself and her child alone. But even before that, she and Bayleigh spent a great deal of time here. I cared for Bayleigh while Alyssa finished nursing school and then when she started working. So, from the time she was born, we've had a bond. I think because I had such a special bond with my granny, it gave me a full circle kind of feeling. Like I was giving back something special that was given to me.

When they moved into the room upstairs, it was never intended to be permanent. It was just our way of giving Alyssa a soft place to land and to provide as much support as we could for both her and Bayleigh.

Well the time has come for her to move on, to be out of her parent's house. She is in a relationship with a very nice man. A man who is responsible and kind and is good to both she and Bayleigh. A couple of weeks ago Bayleigh started pre-K and started staying full time in their new apartment about 45 minutes away. I'm not going to lie, it breaks my heart to type those words. Not because I have any worries about her care, but just because I have been joined at the hip with that little peanut for the past four and a half years.  It is such a mixed up bunch of feelings I have. On one hand, I have so much free time now. Plenty of time for sewing and building and painting, and most days, I am fine. Maybe better than I thought I would be. But there are those moments. Those Bree sippy cup moments when I feel like I could cry a river. It wasn't easy on Bayleigh at first either. She missed her nana and papa as much as we missed her, but every day has been easier for her than the previous day. She went to school this morning without any tears. I'm learning how to live as an empty nester once again.

So there you have it, that's where things are with me. I'm a little fragile, but very proud. I'm proud of Bayleigh for being such a big girl and I'm proud of her mama for being such a good mama. I'm proud that they are fluffing their own little nest. A nest a little closer to nana's would have been nice, but still, I'm proud.

Long time no blog

Where to begin? When I go for long stretches without posting, it's always difficult to know where to pick up. Do I try to play catch-up and explain what I've been up to, and if so should I write one long rambling post, put it in bullet form or just break it into a few short posts? How about a little of each. I'll ramble a bit on some things, maybe throw in a bullet list or two, then follow up with some short posts. How's that?

Well, the most important thing that happened in our lives in the past month, was that our Marine got on a great big boat and sailed across the Atlantic ocean.

(source)

He's been in the Marines for more than three years, and this is his first deployment. We've been lucky having him just two hours away, but he didn't join so he could see the sights of Jacksonville, NC.

It wasn't easy to watch him get on a bus and know I wouldn't see him again for at least eight months. I thought 13 weeks of boot camp was hard. We have been able to communicate a bit, a line or two here and there, via email. I had some sense of comfort, excitement even, knowing he was taking part in training exercises and humanitarian missions. Then something horrible happened. There was a crash and two young men lost their lives. Two others severely wounded. They were part of the VMM261, the same squadron as Casey. Like Casey, the young men who died were Corporals. All I have been able to find out is that they had just dropped a group off a group of troops and there were four aboard at the time of the crash.  I don't know if Casey was among those that had been dropped off, I do know that sense of comfort has been shaken. I mourn for the families of those young men and I pray that the injured will recover.

I had other things I was going to say, but they seem so insignificant at the moment. Some how the mundane things of my day to day don't belong in this post. So I'll stop here for now, but not before asking that you say a prayer for those injured young Marines and for the families of Cpl. Kerns and Cpl. Reyes.

confession

I try to be a happy person.

A loving and understanding person.

I usually give the benefit of the doubt.

The older I get, the more I worry. I guess it comes with having lived life. Having experienced heartache and loss, the tendency to guard yourself more.

I am a believer in God. In Jesus. In grace and forgiveness, and yet....

There is a dark place in my heart. A place that is heavily guarded, and untrusting. It is a place I didn't even know existed until a few years ago. It is a place that  does not want to love and trust and give the benefit of the doubt.

Because of the existence of this place, deep in my own heart. I feel a bit like Adam and Eve, hiding in the garden from God.

Because of this darkness, my walk with God has suffered.

I want to place blame. To say it is because of another's actions that I have this place. But deep within me, I know this is my battle. My cross to bear.

I wish it would just go away. Oh how I pray for the blackness to be gone, but I know the answer to that prayer. I know it is my work to do.

When the day comes and I have to answer for myself, it will not be acceptable that I harbored this hate in my heart. No matter what the reasons. And yet knowing this does not make it any easier to let go. As much as I dislike the darkness, I hold onto it. As if letting go means the other person is right.  I feel so justified in my hate. Typing that word is not easy. I've always been taught not to hate. Not to even say the word and I until now, I've never felt this way. It isn't a good feeling. It's like living under a heavy wet blanket and even joyful times are slightly tainted by its ugliness.

So there is an inner struggle. The part of my sprit that knows better is at constant odds with the part of my heart that needs to protect those I love.

How do you come to terms. How do you love someone you just don't want to love, when you can come up with reason after reason not to?  Like Jesus, I pray that this cup would pass. Really I do.  I do not want to do the work I know I need to do. 

It's not been an easy road and in reality, it's not even my road. I'm just a spectator and yet bitterness consumes me.

I'm not trying to sound all cryptic, the details aren't important. The point of my post is hopefully by opening myself up, by laying it out there, I can at least face the battle that is before me.  

No matter what the other person does, it is my heart that I will hold in my hands when I stand before my maker and do I want it to be dark and ugly or bright and filled with love? I have a lot of polishing I need to do. I just don't know how to begin.

So thankful...

Yesterday North Carolina saw widespread devastation as tornadoes barrelled across the state. We heeded warnings and huddled in the safest place in the house. The wind blew and rain fell hard, and when it was over we were able to go outside and splash in the puddles.  Not so for many others. Areas to the north, east, south and west of us saw heartbreaking damage from the storms.  My heart breaks for my fellow North Carolinians this morning. Life was lost and homes destroyed.

For the safety of my family and the roof over my head, I am immensely grateful this morning.

 

This Boy

  


This blue eyed boy.

He was home for the weekend. After he left I noticed that he left his wet towels and dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. I'll be honest, I was annoyed. For about one second.

One second was all it took for me to thank God for those towels on the floor. Those towels and the two hospital gowns.

This handsome blued eyed boy came home wearing a couple of snazzy hospital gowns Saturday night, because they cut his clothes off in the emergency room.

 

He takes after his mom and doesn't like getting his picture taken.

He does like riding his dirt bike. That's what he was doing Saturday afternoon. He doesn't remember how he ended up off his dirtbike and on the ground.

Thank God our neighbors saw it happen and called 911 before calling us to let us know our son was lying in a field. They stayed with him and kept him still until we arrived. 

Let me tell you, watching your son be put on a backboard and placed in an ambulance is not something you ever want to experience.

After being thoroughly scanned and x-rayed, they determined he had a concussion and a bruised kidney.

It could have been so much worse. I can't even let my mind go there. I just sit here tonight and thank God for those wet clothes on the floor and for that boy who left them there.

 

About this daily posting thing...

Yea, it's not happening is it? I was feeling a bit stressed about it, then I had one of those days yesterday that puts things into perspective. The idea of sitting down and writing about lamps and furniture just seemed utterly ridiculous.

I recently read a blog post about children getting older and asking questions that make us uncomfortable as parents. If I remember correctly, the author opened up by saying when we think about having children, when we decide the time is right, that we want to have children, it's not children we dream of and wish for, it's babies.  We want to have sweet little babies to cuddle and nuzzle, to comfort and protect. We don't envision eye-rolling teens and we most certainly don't envision parenting headstrong adults, who are still our children.

I'm finding it a tough road to navigate, this being the parent of adults. Young adults. I think for me it is further complicated by the fact I have no experience to draw from.  By that, I mean the relationship between a parent and an adult child. My mom died when I was 19 and to be honest we never had the typical parent child relationship. I learned more about what not to do from her than what to do as a parent. I met my father when I was 25, so needless to say, that wasn't your typical parent child relationship.

I feel lost at sea at times when it comes to knowing how to do what is right for my babes. My babes, who the rest of the world views as grown-ups.  They have their own lives, after all. They are ultimately responsible for the decisions they make. I won't be getting anymore calls from the principle to discuss a poorly thought out decision. I can give them advice, but it is up to them whether or not they chose to take it. I can't ground them, can't take away their video games or phone privileges. I can only pray. I can only make myself available to them,  listen when they choose to come to me, and try to gently guide them when I fear they are steering off-course. I can't take the wheel and folks, that's not always easy to accept.  They are grown-ups with jobs and cars and bills and all the responsibilities that come with being a grown-up, but they are still my children. And as hard as it was to sit up all night rocking a sick toddler, or to wipe away the tears of a little one who's had their feelings hurt by a bully on the playground. As frustrating as it was to battle over homework and chores, nothing compares to the helpless feeling of still needing to nurture and protect and make everything better, yet knowing it just isn't possible anymore. Your super-hero powers as mom have been stripped away. You can't kiss it and make it better anymore. You can't control who they trust with their heart and you can't kiss away the pain when the ones they choose let them down. 

It's the greatest job in the world, but it's also the hardest, and unlike most jobs, it doesn't necessarily get easier with experience.

I'm taking Bayleigh to ballet in a few minutes, if that doesn't make my heart smile, I don't know what will.

 

 

Randomness

I'm thinking of moving my blog from Typepad to Blogger. Anyone have any helpful insight as to how difficult this will be to do?

I made biscuits for breakfast- ok, so it was more like brunch. Anyway, as I was making those biscuits, Bayleigh was helping, and it occurred to me this seemingly small event is anything but small.  We are making memories. The things we do, these everyday little things are settling into her little heart and mind and will be sweet memories one day when she's old and I'm gone. 

I painted the front door, and I don't think I like it. It looks OK from outside, but if the door is open, it looks awful from inside my living room. It reminds me of the teal that was all the rage in the 90s. You know, the shade that was always paired with peach. Blech!

 

Not bad from this view, right?

Check out this one.

 

1995 called and wants its teal door with brass knob back.

The interior side hasn't been painted, it's still stained. I plan to paint it, but  NOT be this color.

Hi all!!!

I'm here. I' m good. I'm trying my best not to be defeated by the table and chairs from hell. Yes, they are still tormenting me. My fifty dollar craiglist table and chairs has become so much more- and not in a good way. Yet.

I'll have more to report, soon. I just realized I had not posted since I had pleurisy, so I wanted to at least check in and say HI! I'm is better. Much better.  I still have a slight twinge occasionally, but nothing like the stabbing pain I was experiencing. It lasted about two weeks. Not fun, but it surely makes me appreciate being pain free that much more.  I fully attribute my healing to the power of prayer and faith that prayer works.

I'm not proud to say my faith at time waffles. I always believe in God, I just don't always have confidence that God is in control, or that he has a plan for me. Oh, I know it in my heart, but sometime this human brain does what human brains do and thinks it knows best.

Well, how wrong is that?

I could give you so many examples of times I felt so lost and out of control only to look back later and see exactly how God was working in my life or the life of someone I love.

This time, I had been debilitated by pleurisy for more than a week. Yes, debilitated. Pleurisy is an inflammation of the lining of the lung. When I would inhale, it felt like a cheese grater on my lung. Every breath in caused a stabbing pain and if I got the slightest bit winded it was amplified. When you are several days into an illness that changes your way of life, you begin to feel like you will never return to normal. After more than a week I was feeling very low. Helpless and hopeless if you will. Hot baths did wonders to relieve the pain so I was taking at least two a day. During one of those baths, all was quiet and I was praying.  A thought came into my mind, I can't explain why, but it was there and wouldn't leave. The thought was you need to ask Mrs. Muriel to pray for you. I've known Mrs. Muriel all my life, she lives not far from me and attends the same church. She's in her late 70s or maybe early 80s and is the kindest most lovely lady I've ever known.  You need to ask Mrs. Muriel to pray for you! It would not stop. For days, a whisper in the back of my mind, it was there.  Did I call her up? Drive to her house? Nope, I ignored it. Or tried to. Then Sunday morning rolled around. I didn't feel like going to church and almost stayed home. Mrs. Muriel was there and so was the whisper. Still trying to ignore it I got in my car after church to leave. Then I got right back out and proceeded, I'm sure, to freak Mrs. Muriel out a little. Because I get all emotional really easy and as I approached her and tried to explain why I was approaching her I was babbling and crying. She may have been a little freaked out, but she never let it show. She put her arm around me and said lets go back inside. She put her arms around me and prayed. She prayed and I prayed and I felt a sense of peace.  I'm not saying that Mrs. Muriel has some magical healing powers and her prayers reached the ears of God when mine couldn't. But I truly believe it was a test of my faith. It was Gods way of telling me calm down, have faith, and stop trying to do this alone. Let others share your burden.

I left with a renewed faith that God is in control. My mood lifted and my mind was in a better place. A place that allowed my body to heal.

I'm about to get personal here

Are you a donor? An organ donor? I've mentioned here before the fact that one day I will likely need a double lung transplant. So organ donation is a subject close to my heart.  I will  tell you my story, in another post. For now I want to share the words of an amazing young woman on the other side of transplant. She just received her new lungs two weeks ago. I'll just give you a little back story first, but after you click over to read, I imagine you'll want to stay a while and get to know her story for yourself. I only know her through her blog and only found it recently. It's one of those blogs you get lost in, reading the archives, learning more and more until you feel like you've made a friend. I have to confess, I was a blog stalker, never commenting, but praying for her and rooting her on as she waited for the gift that would save her life.

It is not unusual to experience what is called a dry run when waiting for transplant. It's when you are called but for some reason the organs are deemed not viable and the transplant is called off. An emotionally draining event, no doubt. Piper endured four or five of these, one time making it to the operating table and being put on a vent and under anesthesia, only to be told it didn't happen when she awakened.  What a roller coaster ride.  

Reading her blog has been inspirational and educational. I don't know her, but I do know she is a beautiful person whose life was saved by a stranger. Someone whose life was cut short, but in life had made the decision to be an organ donor. In death, they gave the ultimate gift, so that another may live. 

Piper's blog is A Matter of Life and Breath. Her writing is always from the heart, but this post titled "Scars" really spoke to me.

**about the shirt I'm wearing above. Piper's sister originally designed shirts for  "Team Piper"  for the Great Strides Walk to benefit Cystic Fibrosis research. I jumped at the chance to have one of my own when she offered to print more and make them available on her blog.