I can make a tight fist with both hands. Tight. As in, all eight fingertips press into my palms with enough pressure to leave little marks. And this is interesting because why? Because I couldn’t do it five months ago.
I hit the brick wall, my own personal cracking point, right about the time my dad graduated with his doctorate degree. I was in so much joint and muscular pain that I could hardly sit or sleep comfortably, much less ride my bike, garden or go for walks. And then, like I mentioned in an earlier blog post, I began to take prednisone and my life slowing came back to normal. (Actually, that’s not true. I never hit “normal” again because a mere two weeks after starting this drug Jeremy and I found out about a teeny baby who needed a home. Ha!—what is normal?!) Around the time I started on prednisone, I made a wisecrack to Andrew about how I couldn’t remember the last time I could make a fist. He commented that this was really sad. It was. It is. And that’s why I’m profoundly grateful to be making fists again.
By God’s grace I can unscrew jars again. I can drive easily, with no pain to my hands or elbows. I can garden, go for walks and probably ride my bike again—bike riding has been put on the back burner since becoming a mother, though I’m certain I could do it pain-free. One of the most beautiful activities—if you can call it an “activity”—I enjoy doing again is sitting on my legs. I love nothing more than to curl up on the couch or on the floor to watch a good movie or read a good book. Curling up cannot be overrated!
By God’s grace my lab work is normal again. My sed rate is perfect, down from it’s elevated levels last winter, and all other counts look excellent. By God’s grace I see a fantastic rheumatologist and nurse every few months to make sure I’m still healthy. (I say that this, too, is revealing of God’s grace in my life because doctors are like the rest of the population—some are good and some are terrible. Mine’s not just good, he’s great.) By God’s grace I’ll be off the steroids in a few months with good health maintained by only by one arthritis drug.
The interesting thing about God’s grace is that I was NEVER WITHOUT IT. Not for one sore-joint, achy-body, sad-hearted moment. Although I can’t understand why God allowed me to go through this suffering—and why He may allow me to suffer again—I can say with great certainty that He loves me the same amount each and every day of the week. His grace reached me when I was in despair and on my knees praying for relief, and it reaches me now as I wash dishes, play with Livia and fold the laundry. So today I praise Him for His unfathomable love and continuous grace… and the ability to make tight fists.
My Pottery Barn flag was stolen a few weeks ago so now the ShopKo version proudly waves from our front porch. Right around the time the flag was taken, I was thinking a lot about the concepts of mercy and forgiveness, turning the other cheek and truly loving your neighbor—thanks to the movie To End All Wars and a sermon Stu preached that Sunday. I don’t plan on putting a sign out front that say, “Please! Take my flag! It’s all yours!” But I’m finally chilling out about my recent stolen properties.
I wish I could chill out about other things in my life as well; namely, political discussions. Whew! Politics has the ability to get me really riled up. I covet a peaceful heart when someone begins slinging the mud at my candidate or the issues I consider important. The good thing about these discussions, though, is that they have forced me to research the issues and have allowed me to enter into discussions with people who see the world far differently from myself. Nonetheless, I have not yet figured out how to remain cool, calm and collected while debating politics. TGIF. This weekend I’m going to let the issues rest in order to reclaim my sanity.
By the way, if you’re in Lincoln and haven’t yet registered to vote, today is the last day to do so. Call (402) 441-7311 for registration locations. Check out this page for more information on voting in Lancaster County.
You know those thoughts you have, the “I would NEVER…” statements? Well, I’m realizing a few I had Before Livia (B.L.) that are now being turned on their heads.
#1. “Our living room will NEVER look trashed and crowded with tons of plastic toys.”
Truth. Our living room looks trashed and crowded with tons of plastic toys. I have made some attempt to blame this mess on the fact that we have an old home with absolutely no first floor storage and that our living room is actually quite small. But the truth, oh the truth, is that we own a lot of STUFF for Livia. Bright, colorful plastic stuff to lay under, to sit on, to shake, rattle and roll, you name it. So now I’m eating my words and asking guests to please ignore the mess as their knees bump the exersaucer and they trip over plastic rings and rattles thrown passionately by Livia’s strong right arm. One misconception all cleared up; onto #2.
#2. “Because I prepare Livia’s baby formula in advance, I will NEVER be hurriedly fixing a bottle for a screaming child.”
Last night, approx. 9:20pm. The location: first floor of the Tredway home. Cue sound: baby screaming (and I mean really screaming). Dad has given up comforting screaming baby as screaming baby seems particularly unable to be comforted. Mom is winning Olympic Gold for Fastest Washing Technique Ever Used for a Baby’s Bottle and thinking back to the time when a day’s worth of bottles were all neatly lined up on the refrigerator awaiting feeding time. Dang. Idea #2? Also a huge false belief.
The moral of this story is to never say never. “When I graduate with a degree I will NEVER work as a waitress or a secretary.” “When I get married I will NEVER go to bed angry with my husband.” “When I have children I will NEVER let their noses get all snotty and crusty with boogers.” Hmmm… Just never say never.
Something’s up with me these days. I don’t know if it’s lack of stimulation for my creative juices or if it’s just plain old writer’s block. Blog ideas keep popping into my head and I’ve even begun jotting words down in new Word docs, but something happens and the process is over almost before it’s begun. [Sigh]
I wanted to tell you all about RENT last night at the Lied Center and how the moment the actors began singing and dancing I realized how much I miss the stage. (Sometime, if you want to get on my good side, just ask me if I’m “still working.” God bless you, Christopher Cartmill.)
I also wanted to tell you how odd it was to wait in line for 90 minutes at a HyVee store in north Lincoln to receive a flu shot and how grateful I am that my dad cared enough about my health to drive all over town in order to find a location that was still distributing vaccines. How I was one of a handful of people in that line who didn’t have gray or white hair and how I imagined they were all wondering why a young whipper-snapper like myself needed a shot. How I stared first at Hallmark cards and Revlon lipsticks, then moved on to gazing at piles and piles of delicately sliced lunch meats and finally eased my way past rows of cheaply designed children’s toys and stacks of turtle wax. How the last aisle surrounded us with novels by Nora Roberts and John Grisham on one side and soy milk and Burt’s Bees products on the other — and how much I wished that aisle would’ve been first because I could’ve read an entire Grisham tale by now. How when I finally got the flu shot I felt like I had been liberated from both HyVee and flu germ heaven. And did I mention how grateful I am to my dad for helping me out?
Huh. I didn’t know I could type that much! Maybe my creative block was destroyed somewhere up there amongst all the ‘how’s’. Let’s hope so.
hebetudinous (heb-i-TOOD-n-uhs -TYOOD-) adjective
Dull or lethargic, especially relating to the mind.
[From Late Latin hebetudo (dullness), from Latin hebes (dull).]
“Examination of precedents led the judge to his conclusion, but he had something to say first: ‘It would be hebetudinous and obtuse to fail to be cognizant of the adverse consequences of a ruling in this case.”
-James J. Kilpatrick; A Clown And a Blowhard on the Bench; Buffalo News; Apr 10, 1993.
“The audience waits in a kind of hebetudinous fixation, perhaps astonished at the perfectly sustained level of mediocrity.”
-Kevin Kelly; ‘Aspects of Love’: Unlovable; The Boston Globe; Apr 27, 1990.
“I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I know how bad I am.” Those candid words of Samuel Johnson, lexicographer extraordinaire, provide a perceptive observation on the human condition. A language is a mirror of its people. As a disinterested record of the language, a dictionary serves as an accurate window to the culture. It’s not surprising that there are more words to describe people who fall on the wrong side than on the good. In this week’s AWAD we’ll look at words for people on both sides.
-Anu Garg
anu@wordsmith.org
Trying out for the Cornhusker marching band? Oh my goodness. That one sentence gave me a good chuckle for the day.
Dear Livia,
The theme of your fifth month of life seems to be growth. You are growing, in both height and weight, faster than I imagined you would. Grandma L. and I spent some time sifting through racks of fall clothes last week, hoping to find outfits long enough to rid you of that “highwater-pants” look you’ve currently got going on. At five months you’ve finally moved out of your itty-bitty 0-3 month clothes—they still fit around your tummy, though! But not for long… Today you ate a record-breaking 10 ounces at one feeding. Ten ounces? No wonder you didn’t move much after that; your stuffed tummy weighed you down!
A few days ago, cheered on by your daddy, you finally rolled from your stomach to your back. You pushed hard on your arms, leaned your head to one side, gave a push with one leg and voila! A roll! By our reactions one would think we’ve never seen anything ever roll over—we were so excited. In the past few days you’ve been babbling quite a bit and today I heard you say two consonants in a row—quite impressive language development if I do say so myself.
You and I are getting into a home routine now. You wake up around 7:20am and talk loudly until we come to get you. I’ve learned that once you’ve been picked up, you do not appreciate being put back down until you’ve eaten. You eat four more meals later and call it a day around 10:00pm. I’m learning how to be more organized and more intentional in my actions because of you. Woe is me if we go out with a diaper bag that weighs less than 10 lb.—we could be missing something essential! And bathtime! Oh, baths require critical planning. Baby tub, baby soap, baby lotion, baby towel and washcloth, baby comb, fresh diaper and fresh outfit. Fortunately, you enjoy the whole bathing process as long as I sing and pretend to have great fun with exaggerated happy smiles on my face.
All this to say that we love you in a way that we’ve never loved anything before. You are endlessly fascinating to us. We praise God for you!
Much love,
Mama
Is it wrong to use “gifts” (in this case, return address labels) from a non-profit organization without sending a donation in return?
When I was little I actually liked the dentist’s office. I liked the whole reclining chair, spotlight on your teeth, staring at the ceiling posters gig. I liked choosing a flavor for the teeth cleaning procedure. I really liked one dentist in particular who was very funny and, this always helps, who really liked me. I loved going home with a brand new toothbrush, tube of toothpaste and floss. Plus, sometimes I’d get a coupon for a free ice cream cone (go figure!) after being a good patient! Loved those ice cream cones.
Then, one day, things changed. The reclining chair dipped too far back for my taste. The headache-inducing whiz of the dental tools caused my temples to reel in horror. And, this was the clincher, no more coupons for free dessert!
So with mounting dread, yesterday I found myself back in my dentist’s office for the long-awaited creation of a new crown. (For some odd, unknown reason, my first and only crown cracked, broke and fell off within one year of molar coverage. Grr!) My very kind dentist and my very kind dental hygienist kindly directed me to the reclining chair, leaned me back and got to work dabbing topical anesthetic on my gums. The rest of my 90 minutes appointment saw an internal conversation that went something like this:
Oh no! I’m going to have to get a shot! I didn’t know I had to get a shot! Darn. I’m going to be here awhile.
Shooting pains on back molar. Shot didn’t work at all.
Eeeeek!
Another shot is given.
Darn. I’m going to be here even longer.
Clausterphobia begins to set in. Mouth now full of tools.
Ugh. Not feeling so hot… Stomach’s kind of queasy. Can’t breathe very well. I wonder if anyone’s ever thrown up while in the chair? That would be so bad. So bad. Don’t throw up. Think nice thoughts. Cool breezes. Fresh air. There ya go.
Hygenist inserts thick gummy gook into my mouth for five whole minutes.
Five minutes? Five minutes? I can’t breathe for one minute, much less five! Alright. Gotta distract myself with People. Huh. Kevin Costner got married again. Oh dear. Can the man not smile even for his wedding pictures? He probably feels self-conscious or something when he smiles. I know some folks like that.
Hygenist returns and frees me from my bondage.
All done? That was the fastest five minutes ever!
Leaving denist’s office.
I’m a weenie.
