My Drunk Stumble With God...

I lead a youth group at church on Wednesday nights for 7^th grade girls. And no, it’s not because the Ohio Reformatory for Women didn’t have anyone else (as someone asked; joking, of course...I am not on parole; nor have I ever been). Part of our assignment in group is to read and reflect on a Psalm every day. I am a little behind schedule. Ironically, when I decided to get on board, this is the Psalm I started with…

Psalm 15

“Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary?

Who may live on your holy hill?

He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous,
who speaks the truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue,
who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellowman,
who despises a vile man but honors those who fear the Lord,
who keeps his oath even when it hurts,
who lends his money without usury (interest) and does not accept a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things will never be shaken”

After reading that, I fear I will never dwell in the Lord’s sanctuary. I’m pretty certain (actually very certain) I am guilty of all those things. Maybe on a daily basis. Except accepting a bribe against the innocent. Probably because I am not exactly sure what that means and my Bible doesn’t break this verse down in the margin (I love when they break it down for dummies in the margins of my Bible)…

In my quest to strengthen my relationship with God, I realize that I am not sure I had much of a relationship with Him at all. While I am a passionate, empathetic person, who does my best to help people every day; I am nowhere close to being the person God has called me to be. Maybe it’s because I am still trying to figure out what He is calling me to be…Outside of this ‘feeling’, I have nothing else to indicate I am not doing what He has called me to do. That being said, after reading this Psalm, I am confident I do not live the life I was called to lead...Someone once said to me, “I’m not sure where you are in your walk with God”. To which I responded, “my ‘walk with God’ isn’t really a walk; it’s more like a drunken stumble”.

Reality: I am not walking. I am stumbling. Like a drunk woman. I am not walking in a straight line. I am putting one foot in front of the other, bouncing off things, tripping over my own two feet; all while thinking to myself I am doing pretty well for a person in my condition. I am leaning on friends (sometimes even strangers) to keep me upright and (what I hope is) in the right direction. Anyone who’s ever been stumbling drunk knows, you typically have one of two destinations in mind at that time: the bathroom and/or home. And typically you want to get to one of those places ASAP (before you vomit, pee yourself, pass out, or a combination of the three). I will admit, I have been there before. More times than I’d probably like to admit, but we won’t get into that. This isn’t confession, after all…

Any who…my “drunk man’s stumble” with God is just that. A drunken stumble. I have been living in excess, doing whatever I want, and stumbling along. I bounce off things, but keep putting one foot in front of the other. In my mind, I think I am doing alright. I mean, I’m getting there right? Much like the drunk person you try to take the keys from, I think I am FINE. In my mind, I don’t need help. Yet, I continue to lean on people to keep me upright and hopefully point me in the right direction. I am so focused on my destination (or what destination best suits ME at the time), that I don’t care what it takes to get there. I just want to get there. NOW. I have no patience. I am so focused on staying upright and getting to where I want to go, that I pay no attention to anything else. Then I wonder why I feel like shit the next morning and curse myself for making such stupid decisions the night before. Then I SWEAR, I am NEVER going to do it again. However, I keep repeating the same pattern; the same mistakes. Not as often as I used to, but continuing the cycle nonetheless…What’s the definition of insanity again? Oh yeah, doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. Oops…

Instead of giving lip service, I need to actually “put my money where my mouth is”. Instead of telling myself, I’ll get up early and read my Bible tomorrow, I need to do it TODAY. I need to ACTUALLY put God first instead of intending to. Big difference between intentions and actions. Even though I intend to make God and His will my top priority, I don’t. Period. No excuses.

No one can see our intentions. They can see our actions though. No matter how hard I pray for the guidance to become the person God wants me to be, I won’t get anywhere if I don’t put forth any effort. I certainly won’t get anywhere if I continue to repeat the same pattern; aside from walking myself into a circular rut (which I feel like I’m in already).

So, my goal today is to make decisions that honor the first half of the sentences in Psalm 15, not the latter.

Baby steps…

“Sober” baby steps…

I Should Pay More Attention to Myself...

I’m tired. And not a little bit tired. To the bone, deliriously, tired. I have felt like shit since yesterday. All of a sudden, in the middle of trying to get shit done, I hit a wall. Nausea, dizziness, fatigue, weak…just all around ugh. I’ve been dragging ass since. Literally. Dragging my ass everywhere today. On my way home from grocery shopping with my dad, I felt like I was going to fall out while driving. And it was only 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I had more errands to run and really didn’t want to go home because I knew I would have terrible time listening to my body and resting when I got home. However, I went home, put my groceries away, and crawled into bed. I slept on and off from 3:30pm to 6:30pm. I probably would’ve slept the entire time had it not been for the fly I can’t seem to kill, buzzing around my ear…

Now, I am not a napper. That is my sister’s realm. I often say, I don’t nap unless I am really sick or dead. And considering I am communicating with you now, I would say the latter is out of the question. Currently, I have laundry to fold, dishes to do, my kitchen table is a mess…but, I can barely keep my eyes open to even type this. After my little nap this afternoon, I was able to eat. However, my functioning is still not up to par…I lost a bag of shredded cheese. And by lost, I mean I had it in my hand one second, not in my hand the next, and no recollection of what I did with it in between. I looked in the fridge 3 times, the pantry, and the bedroom. I figured I just carried it with me and put it down. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve found random things in odd places. I finally found it on the 2^nd shelf of the refrigerator. In plain sight. Right in front of my face. Later on, I opened the dryer to get a roll of toilet paper. And those are only two of the things I remember off the top of my head.

Needless to say, as soon as I am done with this, I am going to bed. Period. The lesson I’ve learned today is to take care of myself. I think I spend so much time trying to get it all done and pushing myself to the absolute limit, that eventually my body says, “fuck you, I am DONE”. No matter how hard my mind tries to push, my body digs its heels in and refuses to do anything else. Then I spend time that I could’ve used being productive, recuperating from my previous attempt at uber-productivity. Bottom line: I will never get it all done. There will always be a list. I am always going to be a work in progress. If I don’t take care of me, what progress I have made will fall apart around me, so I need to listen to my body more and my crazy ass mind less…

PS: While attempting to post this, my internet wasn't working...I don't understand why they find it necessary to tell me that Internet Explorer isn't responding. As if, I didn't notice that my obnoxious clicking wasn't effective. Until 15 screens pop up...

Welcome to the Recesses of My Mind (Ok, not recesses. More like..."Welcome to the Random Spontaneity of My Mind")

I would like to write more. And by write, I mean type. Even though I have a dozen journals I’ve kept over the years; even though I still write in them from time to time, I now prefer to type. I think my inclination to physically write my thoughts and feelings down using paper and pen was ruined in college. I became so accustomed to typing everything, that I started to get writer’s block if my fingers weren’t on a keyboard. I became so frustrated with this phenomenon, that I was determined to ONLY write in an actual journal. Yet, here we are…I have so many thoughts running around in my head; putting them on paper (whether it be figurative or literal paper) seems to be the only way to get a little peace. I feel like technology is robbing us of our souls; or, at least it is robbing us of our patience. Something I had very little to begin with. I feel like technology makes things so impersonal. Instead of documenting thoughts in our own hand writing, they are documented in the traditional Times New Roman, 12 point font (which I refuse to use anymore)…but, that is how we are programmed. Standard font. Standard spacing. Standard. Standard. Standard. Instead of handwritten letters, we send emails. Instead of phone calls, we send texts. I find myself feeling relief when someone doesn’t answer their phone, so that I can…

CONNECTION! We are missing connection.

Sidebar: welcome to my ADD mind…where I constantly interrupt myself (and others) with random thoughts that intrude in my psyche. I try REALLY hard to disregard them or “shelve” them until I’ve completed the first thought. However, obviously my meds haven’t kicked in yet. I also know that 9 times out of 10, anything I “shelve” will fall into the black hole I often refer to as my mind. My mind is not a steel trap that retains information. It is a black hole, where thoughts fall into a deep abyss…

Ok, back to connection…We are missing connection. Which some days I am a complete “comma whore”. (That’s not what that sentence was supposed to say, but I used a comma that I realized probably shouldn’t have been there and that thought took over the remainder of my sentence. You see how this works? My mind, that is).

Ok, back to connection…We are missing connection. Which some days I am completely OK with. As much of a “people person” as I might seem, it wears me out most days. Exercising a filter and focusing on NOT saying EVERYTHING that comes into my mind can be EXHAUSTING. This constant exercise in exhibiting appropriate social skills isn’t as easy as it seems. I often laugh/cringe when I people tell me I just say what I think. Sometimes, I even get offended/butt hurt. Mainly, because THIS IS ME FILTERED (ok, not right this second, but I mean in every day interactions with others). I worked REALLY hard to be “PC” and not say anything to leave anyone blankly staring at me or in tears; yet, everyone else sees it as me saying what I think! TRUST: Most days, I DO NOT say whatever I am thinking…This is a somewhat scary reality. For everyone involved. Including myself. That being said, I realize it is now 5:56am and I needed to be in the shower 10+ minutes ago. Until next time…that I get up at 5am to do yoga, the DVD doesn’t work, and then I am left staring at my laptop…

Parenting at its finest...

I used to know how to parent until I became one. Prior to children, I was full of, "When I have kids, I'll never...". Everything sounded good in theory. It was very easy to make imaginary kids behave. I never had to use corporal punishment with them or even raise my voice. 

Then I had my own, real, live, children...

Then I realized, parenting is a crap shoot at best. It's chaotic. It's overwhelming. It's confusing. It's (by far) the hardest thing I've ever done. It's also fun. It's exciting. It's motivating. It's a blessing. 

All that being said, I still have no idea what I'm doing. I do the best that I can in the moment and pray to God they turn out alright. I make a concerted effort to model good manners and social skills. I try to be diplomatic and neutral in my discipline. I try, I try, and I try...

Some days, I hit the nail on the head.

Other days, I feel as if I am the nail...

This has resulted in some of my "finest" parenting moments.
For example, my four year old used to have a swear jar. Yes, you've read that correctly. When he was three, he cussed like a sailor. Some would say I do as well. As much as I try to censor myself (trust me, I do), I let it fly from time to time. Needless to say, it catches on. And once they know it's not to be said, they say it even more. Every once in awhile, you will hear Cooper mutter, "fawkin" (sound it out...) to himself when he can't do things, like put on his shoes or open a door. You will also hear him yell at his brother, while in a fit of rage, "stupid, fawkin, ass!"; as if he's developed Tourette's Syndrome suddenly. 

I've heard Isaac say, "for the love of God, Cooper..." and, "you're going to give me a heart attack". Pretty sure I've said those a time or two during our mornings of "routine chaos" trying to get out the door on time. 

After one retaliates because the other has been taunting him, I sometimes turn a blind eye. Hell, sometimes I even laugh (to myself of course). I've even given permission for Cooper to follow through with throwing a car at Isaac, who was blatantly taunting him after stealing Cooper's truck. Isaac was given three chances to return the truck or let Cooper finish and release the wind up I'd intercepted. Isaac chose to take his chances with the wind up...Who would've guessed Cooper would have such good aim? I mean, seriously, he was a toddler at the time...(I considered this a lesson in natural consequences)

I sing, "It's the end of the world as we know it" or, "We can't always get what we want", when they're throwing a fit over something I deem stupid. Oops, "we don't say stupid, momma"...Isaac now sings that to Cooper when he's having a fit.

I've been known to ask in exasperation, "have you lost your damn mind?!". Especially after I caught Cooper chewing on the iPhone charger that was still plugged into the wall. We almost had our own version of National Lampoon's Christmas...

I've let my children sleep in bed with me because I've been too tired to care.

I've let them have candy for breakfast. Or, to make me feel somewhat better, a chocolate chip granola bar. I might even throw in a banana. I have improved on this by the way (for those of you who might like to pass judgement). In which case, I invite you to get the fuck off my blog and don't come back. I say that with love.
Depending on their mood, I may not push them to brush their teeth. It lowers the odds of someone getting a toothbrush jammed down their throat during the epic battle over rights to the step stool.

I've smacked my child upside the back of the head when he's done something outlandish. 

I've flicked them in the ear discreetly in public to get their attention and then smile sweetly when they cry out. 

The list goes on...

However, in spite of those "stellar" moments, I'd like to add:

We sing songs and say prayers every night (OK, we've fallen out of this habit recently, but this was SO true when I started this post a year ago and then got distracted or, more than likely, fell asleep).

Bedtime ends with a kiss (or two), a hug, and four statements: goodnight; I love you; sweet dreams and I'm glad you're my son. I caught Cooper doing the same bedtime routine to his bear once. Isaac now says, "I'm glad you're my mom".
We sing and dance around the kitchen. One of their favorite songs is, "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty because I used to sing it to them every night.
We wrestle and roll around on the floor. (PS: this is a great form of exercise on those days you can't get to the gym)

When I hurt myself and say, "ouch", one or both of them will stop what they are doing and ask, "are you OK, momma?". The other day, I cried out in pain from a back spasm and Isaac started to rub my shoulders in an attempt to help ease the pain. And even though he wasn't close to it, I thanked him greatly for his help.

They typically say, "excuse me" when trying to get someone's attention. Mind you, they say it repeatedly until they are acknowledged, but they say it nonetheless. 

They share! Not all the time. But, I've seen and heard it done! 
We found an injured kitten the other day and I was pleasantly surprised at how gently they handled it and took turns holding it on their laps. (Sidebar: This was shortly after I threatened to kick them if they kicked our dog again. I considered this a lesson in empathy...)

My sailor is very good about saying, "thank you" and according to the Sunday school teacher, he is "the sweetest little boy". Yes, we go to church every Sunday (typically).  
Isaac is very good about saying, "please" and is awesome at spontaneous acts of affection (i.e. a big, random hug or kiss).  

The list goes on...

I've realized, while I'm not the most perfect parent, I still must be doing something right. My kids are four and five. They are boys. VERY active boys I might add! Because of that, there is a certain level of chaos and orneriness to be expected. Outside of that, my boys can be very well behaved, kind-hearted, and compassionate. They are good boys.

Someone once said to me, "if the worst thing your kids ever do, is say the f-word, I think you're alright". 

And I would agree. We're alright. 

And So It Begins...

If I had a nickel for every time someone told me I should write a book, well...I'd maybe have fifteen cents. Surely not enough to retire on; let alone make a living. However, more than one person in my life has told me "to write a book" based on the life experiences I've shared. I've also had numerous people tell me they look forward to my Facebook posts because my posts make them laugh. Apparently, the crazy shit that seemingly happens to me on the daily brings joy to people's lives. It's happened enough times, I am now writing a blog. Seems much easier than a book and Facebook posts in which you have to keep clicking "continue reading" get boring after awhile. Facebook isn't the venue for long winded posts...Blogger is.
So, let's get acquainted...I am a divorced, single mother of two boys (ages three and four). That sentence alone should justify the title of this blog given some of the things I've experienced as a parent of two young boys. However, life gets more interesting because I work in human services. It's been about 10 years and I am starting to realize the word "human" is relative. My boys and I live with my parents. In fact, I share a room with my boys (need I say more...). I'm a CrossFitter and I eat Paleo (I am going to use those two words loosely at this juncture). Hey, it's hard! Working full time, raising two boys, and taking care of myself are very time consuming. So what did I do? I got a boyfriend. And not any boyfriend...I got a boyfriend who works an opposite shift as me and has his child opposite weekends as me. One would think it really puts a monkey wrench in getting to know someone. However, I have realized, when the majority of the time you spend together involves juggling work, kids, meals, baths, bedtimes, etc; you REALLY get to know someone! Thank God he's a calm and patient man. Quite opposite of myself.
People often refer to me as direct. My mom has always said I "shoot straight from the hip". Unless you are Helen Keller, you know where you stand with me. I have (what used to be debilitating) ADD. However, considering the circumstances, I think I've come a long way and I am managing quite well. If you don't agree with me, ask my therapist. She's the professional and I trust her opinion more than yours.
As much as I enjoyed my weekend, I have realized I didn't make the Paleo meatballs I've been saying I was going to make for a week now. This means, I am going to throw away 3 pounds of meat and I won't have much to eat this week in the way of "healthy". If I don't make it ahead of time, I am screwed. I don't think it matters how good my intentions are. Intentions don't equal production. In my defense, I was helping my mom. She called me this afternoon (I stayed at my BF's) and asked me to come home and take her to the ER. She then told me to "take my time". The fact that my mom: A) asked for help and B) asked to go to the hospital, meant only one thing...she was dying. Actually, she cut herself and thought she needed stitches. Knowing my mom, it must have been really bad for her to do the previously stated things. I didn't ask any questions. I told her I'd be right there. No shower. No teeth brushed. No bra. I put on a pair of shorts and out the door I went. As I sped, tailgated, and tapped my fingers impatiently while stuck behind every Sunday driver and cyclist, all I could think of was how bad her injury must have been. I had visions of her being unconscious on the floor, bleeding profusely in the near 20 minutes it took me to get across town. So, I called the neighbor to check on her, but they weren't home. When I pulled in the driveway, she was sitting in a chair with a blood soaked paper towel in one hand and her wallet in the other. The first thing she said to me, "I tried to call you. I think I could have driven myself, but you didn't answer your phone". I didn't answer my phone because she called my office 3 times and even though my voicemail said, "you've reached the desk (I reiterate use of the word desk) of Abagail Henderson", it never dawned on her she called the wrong number. As we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, I said, "I hope they aren't crowded since it's a Sunday afternoon". Then I saw the full waiting room. Then I felt as if I had taken my mother to the circus and this was the freak show. I counted 3 people in neck braces and wheelchairs. However, they behaved as if nothing was wrong. One guy even had bloody gauze stuffed in his ear, but talked on his cell phone and got up and down out of his wheelchair as if he was  just fine. One woman talked on her cell phone and read a magazine; the neck brace proved to be only a minor inconvenience. There was the apparent nuclear family with their 3 children and a Pomeranian. A very large woman, more obviously sans bra than myself with some strange caption on her ill fitted t-shirt. At least the interpretation of her shirt distracted my mother for a moment. However, her hearing isn't the best. So, she tends to make "discrete" talk about those around her less than discrete...A guy with one crutch who asked the guy with the bloody ear gauze (an apparent stranger) to watch his Mountain Dew while he talked to the triage nurse. A husband and wife in church clothes who looked vaguely familiar and unscathed. I think I went to high school with her, but I can't be sure. Much like I can't be sure why they were there in the first place. The list goes on...
After they got my mom into a room and determined she would need stitches, the dilemma came into play as to how she would get her diamond thumb ring off without pulling the chunk of skin with it.

They decided to put soap on it and while the nurse held the skin in place, my mom managed to slide the ring off. I sat in the chair not looking and felt mildly queasy. She dried her hands and handed me a wad of paper towels, which I proceeded to throw in the trash next to me (assuming that was why she handed it to me in the first place). About 5 minutes later, my mom asked me where her ring was because she had handed it to me. I had no idea what she was talking about. Turned out, it was in the wad of paper towels I had just thrown away. She neglected to give me that minor detail when she handed me the used paper towels in the first place. So, I had to glove up and dig through the trash. I am just thankful I hadn't thrown it in the bio hazard bin. Good news: I found the ring! The doctor got mom all stitched up and she was back to chopping vegetables when we returned home. She's not the most patient, patient (I come by that honest).
Given it's getting late and I intend on getting up at 5am to workout at 5:30am, I am going to have to sign off. However, stay tuned, as tomorrow I take BOTH boys to the doctor by myself. I've already assured my boss, even if I smell like alcohol, I've not been drinking...Tuesday, I'm going to judo class for the first time. Wednesday, I have a review at work to make sure I'm up to date on paperwork (have I mentioned my ADD?). Thursday doesn't seem too eventful at this moment.  However, I have "Open house" on my calendar at 6pm and no clue what that is referring to, let alone where I'm supposed to be. Should be interesting...Friday is preschool open house (maybe THIS is the open house I referred to on Thursday) with my 4 year old, the ex, and now my mother. Seems like an eventful week already and that's only the shit I have scheduled. Stay tuned...