I was all ready to type up another ranting post about something that has had me really bothered for quite a while - something to do with government and "luxury taxes" and, well, just generally complaining. It's funny the way God works, though. You never know when He's going to throw us a curve ball; thank goodness I was vigilant enough to catch it this time.
I watch Live! With Regis and Kelly just about every day. I didn't have any idea that today was their 20th annual wedding special. I like watching the weddings that Regis and Kelly put on. This year it's different, though. Not only am I enjoying it, but the couple this year has truly touched my heart.
Kacy Hardenbrook and Jordan Edsall from Garrett, Indiana is the couple being wed this year. Their story is different from any I have seen on Regis and Kelly in the past. See, not long ago, Kacy and the couple's two daughters were burned in a house explosion. Because of that, they were unable to have the wedding they had been saving for; that didn't stop them, though. They continued to face the challenges ahead of them with joyous hearts and hope for the future.
Not too long ago, I decided to make a change in my own thinking. I have to admit, I haven't been doing very good with it. I decided that I would stop focusing on the negative thoughts and negative things, and begin to be truly thankful for what I have, focus on the positive thoughts and positive things, and give earnest and heartfelt thanks to God for what I have. My last post is evidence that this hasn't quite sunk in yet, as it's basically one big complaint. Up until just a little while ago, it still hadn't sunk in, because I had planned to post yet another extended complaint.
After watching Kacy and Jordan get married though, and seeing all their hope, all their joy and all their happiness in the face of such great adversity, I can't, in good conscious, dwell on these things. I think I'll borrow a little bit of that broadcasted strength and put those complaints out of my mind. They have no place there, no home, and when I finally evict them for good, I'll be a better person for it. With God's help, the positive will take over and between my work and His blessing, anything is possible. Just look at Kacy and Jordan and their beautiful little girls.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Life Lessons
Okay, this post is not at all funny. In fact, it's me venting about something I'm quite close to, and a few lessons I've learned. The next post I make will most likely be in this same vein, but on a different subject, so just bear with me for a little bit. Hopefully, the humor will return in short order.
Anyway...there are a few things in this life that I just can't abide. I've had a relatively full life, and I've learned a lot of lessons, and it irks me beyond belief when others have had it either harder or easier than me, and haven't managed to learn those lessons, too. Or, they learn the lessons life tries to teach them, but they refuse to apply them significantly, instead relying on "book learnin'" to make their decisions and make up their minds for them. You were given lessons by "life" (or God, or Buddah, or whomever it is you believe in) for a reason; it was in hopes that you would apply those lessons liberally to every day life. When you fail to do that, I think that "life" doesn't like it very much, and it may very well come around to bite you in the ass. It might not happen today, or tomorrow, but it will eventually happen.
One of those lessons that I think a lot of people miss is the lesson that yes, as a human being, things will sometimes be your fault. Regardless of what your school teachers or your parents have told you, you are not perfect. Regardless of what you've read in scholarly tomes about the way business and life is supposed to run, there are going to be mistakes no matter how closely you follow the instructions. When those mistakes happen, step back and evaluate the situation. If you had a hand in the mistake, freakin' admit it. Don't blame everyone else around you. It's not always everyone else's fault.
The next lesson that I've learned and I think some of the world has missed is that there are not conspiracies around every corner. In any group of people, opinions will occasionally align. It's most often for different reasons, but just because they align doesn't mean that a conspiracy has formed. I came to my opinion on my own, and I did that through my own internal review of the facts that were presented to me, and through no one's influence upon me. Just because my opinion happens to be the same as two, four, eight - hell, a hundred people - doesn't mean that we all got together and said, "yes, this will bother the one who hasn't learned that particular lesson. Let's make this decision." We arrived by our opinions independently and for our own reasons - I can't state that enough - and they are our own possessions. I'm sorry if you don't like them, but the fault, in this case, is in you.
The last lesson is one of tolerance. In the wide picture, people think that this is reserved for things like race and religion and sexual preference, but that's not all that tolerance can be applied to. In organizations that I belong to, decisions get made, and I don't always 100% agree with them. Things don't go my way all the time, and because I have learned the lesson of tolerance, I'm okay with that. My presence in the organization is more important to me than being right. I can tolerate and even get behind what I might think of as a "bad decision" for the good of the organization. I'm able to put aside my ego like that because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few (or the one). If the lessons of tolerance had been learned (or applied), perhaps people wouldn't be as quick to take their ball and go home rather than play the game to their best ability even with a change in the rules.
I can't say that I learned these rules quick, or that the learning process was easy; it wasn't. I'm still young (thank goodness) and I have ample opportunity in front of me to continue to put these lessons into practice. I just hope that others can find happiness in ignorance, in fleeing, and in paranoia. I couldn't, before I learned those lessons. That's why I chose to learn.
Anyway...there are a few things in this life that I just can't abide. I've had a relatively full life, and I've learned a lot of lessons, and it irks me beyond belief when others have had it either harder or easier than me, and haven't managed to learn those lessons, too. Or, they learn the lessons life tries to teach them, but they refuse to apply them significantly, instead relying on "book learnin'" to make their decisions and make up their minds for them. You were given lessons by "life" (or God, or Buddah, or whomever it is you believe in) for a reason; it was in hopes that you would apply those lessons liberally to every day life. When you fail to do that, I think that "life" doesn't like it very much, and it may very well come around to bite you in the ass. It might not happen today, or tomorrow, but it will eventually happen.
One of those lessons that I think a lot of people miss is the lesson that yes, as a human being, things will sometimes be your fault. Regardless of what your school teachers or your parents have told you, you are not perfect. Regardless of what you've read in scholarly tomes about the way business and life is supposed to run, there are going to be mistakes no matter how closely you follow the instructions. When those mistakes happen, step back and evaluate the situation. If you had a hand in the mistake, freakin' admit it. Don't blame everyone else around you. It's not always everyone else's fault.
The next lesson that I've learned and I think some of the world has missed is that there are not conspiracies around every corner. In any group of people, opinions will occasionally align. It's most often for different reasons, but just because they align doesn't mean that a conspiracy has formed. I came to my opinion on my own, and I did that through my own internal review of the facts that were presented to me, and through no one's influence upon me. Just because my opinion happens to be the same as two, four, eight - hell, a hundred people - doesn't mean that we all got together and said, "yes, this will bother the one who hasn't learned that particular lesson. Let's make this decision." We arrived by our opinions independently and for our own reasons - I can't state that enough - and they are our own possessions. I'm sorry if you don't like them, but the fault, in this case, is in you.
The last lesson is one of tolerance. In the wide picture, people think that this is reserved for things like race and religion and sexual preference, but that's not all that tolerance can be applied to. In organizations that I belong to, decisions get made, and I don't always 100% agree with them. Things don't go my way all the time, and because I have learned the lesson of tolerance, I'm okay with that. My presence in the organization is more important to me than being right. I can tolerate and even get behind what I might think of as a "bad decision" for the good of the organization. I'm able to put aside my ego like that because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few (or the one). If the lessons of tolerance had been learned (or applied), perhaps people wouldn't be as quick to take their ball and go home rather than play the game to their best ability even with a change in the rules.
I can't say that I learned these rules quick, or that the learning process was easy; it wasn't. I'm still young (thank goodness) and I have ample opportunity in front of me to continue to put these lessons into practice. I just hope that others can find happiness in ignorance, in fleeing, and in paranoia. I couldn't, before I learned those lessons. That's why I chose to learn.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Decision-Making Process
Okay, I'm torn between two different subjects to write about here, and I'm going to take another night to sleep on it before I post another entry.
Just thought I'd let you know!
Just thought I'd let you know!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Mommy Chronicle, Part 3
So, I told you back a couple of weeks ago that I would give you the third and final part of the Mommy Chronicle tale. This one's not as down-and-dirty of the last two; no talk of conception or baby birthin', but I think you might find it...interesting...at the very least.
When the Conman was born, he had a few medical problems the little country hospital were not prepared to deal with. First, he had a heart murmur, he couldn't process sugar correctly (since I had gestational diabetes) and couldn't keep his sugar level over 35 or so for more than an hour after a feeding, and because he was a C-Section baby, he had copious amounts of fluid in his lungs. So, that's the baby's status at the time of birth and for about 36 hours thereafter.
Now, remember he was born at nearly 2AM on a Tuesday morning. I slept after he was born, and on Wednesday I woke up back in the room with teenage mommy of three. She was cuddling and suckling her newest arrival while her mother ranted and raved about how she wanted her 18-year-old daughter "fixed right this very minute" in front of my room full of visitors, not giving a flip about her daughter's privacy. Ahhhh well...so is life in rural WV.
Nevertheless, I asked the nurse repeatedly to go to the nursery and bring me my baby. I hadn't seen him since his birth the night before, and I was itchin' to get my hands on the little booger. The nurse kept giving me excuses, never really gave me the real reason why he couldn't be brought to me (his various maladies) so for most of the day on Wednesday, I was without baby. Finally, a pediatrician arrived at the hospital (that's right, there's no staff pediatrician at this hospital) and called me and my sewn-up belly to the nursery. Why he couldn't come to me I'll never know, but there you go. He explained the situation to me, and explained that a helicopter would be arriving in a mater of hours to whisk my child away to a hospital about 4 hours away.
Now, remember, this is the first time that I've heard about (1) my baby's illness, (2) that arrangements for his care were being made, and (3) that he was being transferred from "our hospital" to another hospital...without me.
Okay. I dealt with that. When the helicopter arrived, they wheeled the baby in to the room with me on a gurney in a plastic tent so I could "say goodbye", and then off he went. The next thing I knew, they were coming into my room with a washcloth and soap, said, "we want to see that you can give yourself a shower, and then you'll be discharged," hustled me into the shower and once I was finished showering, they shoved papers in front of my face for my signature and out the door I went.
When DH and I arrived at home, I packed what I could (all maternity clothes) hopped in the car and off we went to be with my boy at the new hospital. It was a four hour drive, I was still a little loopy from the drugs from the night before, and I had a prescription for some pretty powerful pain relievers in my possession. My thoughts? Oh, I'm fiiiiiiiine. I don't need to fill this...
Soooooo we arrive. We get checked into our hotel room, and off to the hospital we go. The boy's fine, in a NICU with about six other little babies (all of them girls) who were severely premature. I don't think any of them weighed more than 2 pounds. The nurses had already decided that his name was "Bubba", because they said, "Well, honey, he's the only boy, and he's big and healthy, and they all need a boy to protect 'em. That's what he's here for!"
The hospital staff at the new hospital was wonderful. They took fantastic care of not only the boy, but of me, too - he was connected to tubes and wires and looked like they were expecting him to just fall over dead at any second, and through my paranoid tears they somehow managed to convince me that he was okay, that it was all just monitoring equipment, and that he'd be juuuuust find as soon as they cleared up these one or two little problems.
That, however, is not where the story is here. The story involves mommy and mommy alone. Read on.
I mentioned I was still loopy from the drugs, right? Well, by the time they ran us out of the hospital and we finally retired to the hotel, we both pretty much just collapsed into bed. Sometime during the night, though, the pain meds wore off. Thank goodness our room had two beds, because I would have been arrested for murder the next morning. I remember distinctly waking up and asking DH to move my leg. I think it went something like this:
"Honey...honey...hoooooooooooney."
DH yawns.
"What?"
"Come over here, you need to move me."
"What?!?"
"Get up, you need to move me. Come move my leg."
"Oh...Okay..."
DH dutifully moves his wife's leg.
"No no no no no no no too far go back...ooooh yeah."
DH returns to bed. Repeats this scenario several times. Swears to fill painkiller prescription as soon as the drugstore doors open in the morning.
That was the first night. The prescription did get filled, and I was able to move through the rest of our time away from home relatively easily. That's not the end of the story, though. Remember that I also said I grabbed clothes, all maternity clothes? Yeah. When I gave birth, I instantly lost 35 pounds. That means that every inch of fabric I had to cover my body was only one wrong move away from falling completely off my body. Therefore, I had to buy a couple of outfits to wear that would keep me safely covered.
So we went to Wal-Mart. Now, at this point, the new pain med prescription had taken firm hold of my body, and I was walking upright and at least semi-normal. However...my mother insisted that I not walk around Wal-Mart under my own power. Therefore, she had DH retrieve one of those little motorized scooters. So, picture, if you will, a perfectly healthy-looking young woman in clothes that appear to be four or five sizes too large tooling around Wal-Mart on a scooter. Yeah. That's me.
Thankfully, we didn't have to go back to Wal-Mart and I didn't have to look at those people again. I'm sure they were glad to see the back-side of me, too.
So, to wrap the story up, the admitted Conman at the new hospital on Wednesday, and by Saturday he was able to be released. His sugar levels had regulated, the problem with his lungs had resolved, and the doctor assured us that his heart problems would correct themselves, as well, by at least five months old (they managed to correct at three months - my little boy - already an overachiever!).
So that's the end of the Mommy Chronicles. Hope they made you smile!
When the Conman was born, he had a few medical problems the little country hospital were not prepared to deal with. First, he had a heart murmur, he couldn't process sugar correctly (since I had gestational diabetes) and couldn't keep his sugar level over 35 or so for more than an hour after a feeding, and because he was a C-Section baby, he had copious amounts of fluid in his lungs. So, that's the baby's status at the time of birth and for about 36 hours thereafter.
Now, remember he was born at nearly 2AM on a Tuesday morning. I slept after he was born, and on Wednesday I woke up back in the room with teenage mommy of three. She was cuddling and suckling her newest arrival while her mother ranted and raved about how she wanted her 18-year-old daughter "fixed right this very minute" in front of my room full of visitors, not giving a flip about her daughter's privacy. Ahhhh well...so is life in rural WV.
Nevertheless, I asked the nurse repeatedly to go to the nursery and bring me my baby. I hadn't seen him since his birth the night before, and I was itchin' to get my hands on the little booger. The nurse kept giving me excuses, never really gave me the real reason why he couldn't be brought to me (his various maladies) so for most of the day on Wednesday, I was without baby. Finally, a pediatrician arrived at the hospital (that's right, there's no staff pediatrician at this hospital) and called me and my sewn-up belly to the nursery. Why he couldn't come to me I'll never know, but there you go. He explained the situation to me, and explained that a helicopter would be arriving in a mater of hours to whisk my child away to a hospital about 4 hours away.
Now, remember, this is the first time that I've heard about (1) my baby's illness, (2) that arrangements for his care were being made, and (3) that he was being transferred from "our hospital" to another hospital...without me.
Okay. I dealt with that. When the helicopter arrived, they wheeled the baby in to the room with me on a gurney in a plastic tent so I could "say goodbye", and then off he went. The next thing I knew, they were coming into my room with a washcloth and soap, said, "we want to see that you can give yourself a shower, and then you'll be discharged," hustled me into the shower and once I was finished showering, they shoved papers in front of my face for my signature and out the door I went.
When DH and I arrived at home, I packed what I could (all maternity clothes) hopped in the car and off we went to be with my boy at the new hospital. It was a four hour drive, I was still a little loopy from the drugs from the night before, and I had a prescription for some pretty powerful pain relievers in my possession. My thoughts? Oh, I'm fiiiiiiiine. I don't need to fill this...
Soooooo we arrive. We get checked into our hotel room, and off to the hospital we go. The boy's fine, in a NICU with about six other little babies (all of them girls) who were severely premature. I don't think any of them weighed more than 2 pounds. The nurses had already decided that his name was "Bubba", because they said, "Well, honey, he's the only boy, and he's big and healthy, and they all need a boy to protect 'em. That's what he's here for!"
The hospital staff at the new hospital was wonderful. They took fantastic care of not only the boy, but of me, too - he was connected to tubes and wires and looked like they were expecting him to just fall over dead at any second, and through my paranoid tears they somehow managed to convince me that he was okay, that it was all just monitoring equipment, and that he'd be juuuuust find as soon as they cleared up these one or two little problems.
That, however, is not where the story is here. The story involves mommy and mommy alone. Read on.
I mentioned I was still loopy from the drugs, right? Well, by the time they ran us out of the hospital and we finally retired to the hotel, we both pretty much just collapsed into bed. Sometime during the night, though, the pain meds wore off. Thank goodness our room had two beds, because I would have been arrested for murder the next morning. I remember distinctly waking up and asking DH to move my leg. I think it went something like this:
"Honey...honey...hoooooooooooney."
DH yawns.
"What?"
"Come over here, you need to move me."
"What?!?"
"Get up, you need to move me. Come move my leg."
"Oh...Okay..."
DH dutifully moves his wife's leg.
"No no no no no no no too far go back...ooooh yeah."
DH returns to bed. Repeats this scenario several times. Swears to fill painkiller prescription as soon as the drugstore doors open in the morning.
That was the first night. The prescription did get filled, and I was able to move through the rest of our time away from home relatively easily. That's not the end of the story, though. Remember that I also said I grabbed clothes, all maternity clothes? Yeah. When I gave birth, I instantly lost 35 pounds. That means that every inch of fabric I had to cover my body was only one wrong move away from falling completely off my body. Therefore, I had to buy a couple of outfits to wear that would keep me safely covered.
So we went to Wal-Mart. Now, at this point, the new pain med prescription had taken firm hold of my body, and I was walking upright and at least semi-normal. However...my mother insisted that I not walk around Wal-Mart under my own power. Therefore, she had DH retrieve one of those little motorized scooters. So, picture, if you will, a perfectly healthy-looking young woman in clothes that appear to be four or five sizes too large tooling around Wal-Mart on a scooter. Yeah. That's me.
Thankfully, we didn't have to go back to Wal-Mart and I didn't have to look at those people again. I'm sure they were glad to see the back-side of me, too.
So, to wrap the story up, the admitted Conman at the new hospital on Wednesday, and by Saturday he was able to be released. His sugar levels had regulated, the problem with his lungs had resolved, and the doctor assured us that his heart problems would correct themselves, as well, by at least five months old (they managed to correct at three months - my little boy - already an overachiever!).
So that's the end of the Mommy Chronicles. Hope they made you smile!
Monday, February 4, 2008
My Triumphant Return - Three Observations
First, I give you a Wifely Observation:
Okay, this may be TMI, but I'm gonna admit something here. It seems that whenever I'm in bed with DH and I'm trying to go to sleep, there's a certain position that encourages certain...bodily emissions...from me. You see, as long as I'm laying on my right side, I'm peachy-keen. But as soon as I turn over and lay on my left side and allow my dear DH to snuggle up against me and hold me as we sleep, my body instantly needs to...well... *sigh* Okay. I have to fart.
That's not the most romantic thing on the planet, I realize. In fact, it's just about the most un-romantic thing I can think of. What can I do, though? DH makes me fart.
Now, a Motherly Observation:
Conman's got his first, gen-yoo-ine loose tooth. I'm finding this incredibly exciting as a mommy. I can't wait until he looses it - not because I want him to feel pain, but because I can't wait to just arbitrarily give him money for something like loosing a tooth (fairy-tale reinforcement, anyone?). He's going from being a "little boy" to being "all grown up" right before my eyes, and I want to savor every second of it - even his slightly uncomfortable ones.
And lastly, an Entertainment Observation:
The Super Bowl commercials were just out of sight. They were hilarious from start to finish, with my favorite being the "E-Trade Baby". There were a couple other really good ones, too - "Justin Timberlake / Pepsi" commercial comes to mind - but those two are the only ones I really remember. All I really do remember is laughing through just about every commercial break during the game. That's what the Super Bowl is all about, ain't it? The commercials?
And on a related note, there's a commercial that's been running for a new drug that just has me in stitches every. single. time. I see it. The drug's name is "AcipHex", which on the surface isn't that funny. It's used to treat acid reflux. The funny part is the way it's pronounced. Are you ready for this? It's pronounced "ass effects". Now, I've gotta say, somebody really dropped the ball on this one, or missed out on a great naming opportunity - I've not quite decided which one yet. If it were a drug to treat, oh, I dunno, diarrhea or constipation, I could understand the name. I could even stretch that and say it could treat flatulence with a name like that. But if it treats acid reflux, somebody's got their orifices mixed up, methinks.
Okay, this may be TMI, but I'm gonna admit something here. It seems that whenever I'm in bed with DH and I'm trying to go to sleep, there's a certain position that encourages certain...bodily emissions...from me. You see, as long as I'm laying on my right side, I'm peachy-keen. But as soon as I turn over and lay on my left side and allow my dear DH to snuggle up against me and hold me as we sleep, my body instantly needs to...well... *sigh* Okay. I have to fart.
That's not the most romantic thing on the planet, I realize. In fact, it's just about the most un-romantic thing I can think of. What can I do, though? DH makes me fart.
Now, a Motherly Observation:
Conman's got his first, gen-yoo-ine loose tooth. I'm finding this incredibly exciting as a mommy. I can't wait until he looses it - not because I want him to feel pain, but because I can't wait to just arbitrarily give him money for something like loosing a tooth (fairy-tale reinforcement, anyone?). He's going from being a "little boy" to being "all grown up" right before my eyes, and I want to savor every second of it - even his slightly uncomfortable ones.
And lastly, an Entertainment Observation:
The Super Bowl commercials were just out of sight. They were hilarious from start to finish, with my favorite being the "E-Trade Baby". There were a couple other really good ones, too - "Justin Timberlake / Pepsi" commercial comes to mind - but those two are the only ones I really remember. All I really do remember is laughing through just about every commercial break during the game. That's what the Super Bowl is all about, ain't it? The commercials?
And on a related note, there's a commercial that's been running for a new drug that just has me in stitches every. single. time. I see it. The drug's name is "AcipHex", which on the surface isn't that funny. It's used to treat acid reflux. The funny part is the way it's pronounced. Are you ready for this? It's pronounced "ass effects". Now, I've gotta say, somebody really dropped the ball on this one, or missed out on a great naming opportunity - I've not quite decided which one yet. If it were a drug to treat, oh, I dunno, diarrhea or constipation, I could understand the name. I could even stretch that and say it could treat flatulence with a name like that. But if it treats acid reflux, somebody's got their orifices mixed up, methinks.
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