No eloquent title post today. One word sums it up.
Tired.
Exhausted is another good one.
Silas continues to be up at night, and his times are becoming more random. Last night it was 1:43. I did not go in, because I did not want to start a new habit. But I heard him cry nonetheless, and it meant a great loss of sleep for the both of us.
I can barely keep my eyes open today.
I have also been losing some weight. This is not intentional. I have lost all my pregnancy weight, and am now hanging in some numbers that are lower than I was before my pregnancy with Caleb. I think it is due to two things: Silas's incessant nursing, and this gluten-free, casein-free diet, which greatly limits the options.
I simply don't feel all that healthy. With my never-ending tiredness, and my weight dropping a bit, I just don't feel like I can go conquer the world. I can't even keep my kitchen clean.
I wish this was a better blog post. I never did write about our trip to the pumpkin patch two weeks ago, or Brian's birthday. It hasn't ALL been bleak. But I will admit, I am ready to be done with this months-long trial God has seen fit to allow me to endure.
There is Silas crying now... off to my duty.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Thursday, October 6, 2016
A Daughter's Perspective
Yesterday, my mom turned in a letter to her workplace announcing her retirement.
I never expected so many emotions to be pulled to the surface within me at her retirement. It has been coming for some time, and it is by no means a surprise, after all, she is the last of our four parents who is still working. My dad retired after his heart surgery, not long after Brian and I were married. Forgive me, I do not know when Brian's parents retired, but they were both retired when I met them.
My mom was a stay-at-home mom when I was little. That was always the intent, especially when we were young. She was always there, with homemade sauce and meatballs simmering on the stove, or baking cookies or custard. I remember she came in to school to get me when I was sick. I never liked to miss school, and I would push to go even when I really should not have gone. There was one time, two days in a row, she had to come and get me. I remember returning back home to her tender loving care, laying down on our rec room sofa in my white skirt with fuchsia polka dots. I was home, and she would take care of me. That was all that mattered.
I remember when I broke my wrist in the fifth grade. The nurse actually sent me back to class, and I sat there clutching my arm in terrible pain, trying to concentrate on my school work. The lunch aide came in to get me, saying "We are calling your mother; you need to get to the doctor." My mom rushed in, and we spent the rest of the day hopping around from pediatrician to x-ray to orthopedic doctor. It was a loooooong day, and I remember coming home in a cast, with my older brother and sister (who had never been in casts nor broken anything), watching me sympathetically, and my mom trying to get a late dinner on the table. Then, she helped me figure out how to take a bath without getting my cast wet. I believe we wrapped my arm in a plastic bag.
She was there.
When I was in middle school, she returned to work, but it wasn't too much of a loss. After all, she worked in my very school, part-time in the cafeteria. I remember one day, I was smacked in the face with a ball pretty hard in gym class, and I went to see her in the kitchen. She lovingly examined my face with her soft touch, and to this day, I still remember how comforting that action was. There is nothing like a mother's touch, no matter how old you are, and I write that with tears in my eyes.
When my parents separated, my mom, sister, and I lived on our own. I didn't last long with the two of them, since I went to college, but of course, I returned a few weekends and holidays. My mom graciously did my laundry for me whenever I was home (of course, I could do my own, but it was her gift to me). After college, I returned home for a bit, worked for a year or so, and prepared to head to Prague to teach English. My sister married, and my mom and I moved to another place, and then I was gone in about a month. After my year abroad, I returned home to my mom, taught in Christian school for five years, and then I got married. Never once in those five years did I think of living with my mom a burden or a drag or whatever. She was more than my mom. She was my friend.
The night of my wedding, just before Brian and I rode off into the sunset (to the lovely world of rural PA), I cried when I hugged my mom goodbye. She tried not to show it, she tried not to put a damper on my big day, but I know there was a gaping hole in her heart that day, a hole that is still there.
My mom has always been my confidant. There is no greater listener in all the world. She doesn't try to fix. She listens; she sympathizes. The worst thing about being her daughter is watching her get older. She is so much more forgetful. Her body isn't what it used to be. Seeing her retire is bringing to the surface all of those fears- the fears of losing her, the fears of one day having to let her go. It is a fact for us all.
My mom is God's gift to me, and to my sister. We three are a strong bond, and I have already told my mom that when that dreaded day does come, if she could look down from heaven, she'll see my sister and I, knees and hands in the dirt, our husbands having to pry us away. Because my mom is so much more than some old lady. She is a part of me. Her sweet spirit is a calming presence in my life.
I am so happy she is retiring. She deserves it. Her job has been physically demanding, and enough is enough. She has been working since I was in middle school, and it is time for rest. I so wish I could be there with her, that I could see her more, that my kids could see her more.
But it is enough that she'll be home once again, being the stay-at-home grandma now, doing just as I remember her best.
Mom, you know I love you more than words. You do so much for me, and I appreciate every little thing. I'm here, cheering you on. And on October 26th, I'll be waving my pom-poms, all day long.
I never expected so many emotions to be pulled to the surface within me at her retirement. It has been coming for some time, and it is by no means a surprise, after all, she is the last of our four parents who is still working. My dad retired after his heart surgery, not long after Brian and I were married. Forgive me, I do not know when Brian's parents retired, but they were both retired when I met them.
My mom was a stay-at-home mom when I was little. That was always the intent, especially when we were young. She was always there, with homemade sauce and meatballs simmering on the stove, or baking cookies or custard. I remember she came in to school to get me when I was sick. I never liked to miss school, and I would push to go even when I really should not have gone. There was one time, two days in a row, she had to come and get me. I remember returning back home to her tender loving care, laying down on our rec room sofa in my white skirt with fuchsia polka dots. I was home, and she would take care of me. That was all that mattered.
I remember when I broke my wrist in the fifth grade. The nurse actually sent me back to class, and I sat there clutching my arm in terrible pain, trying to concentrate on my school work. The lunch aide came in to get me, saying "We are calling your mother; you need to get to the doctor." My mom rushed in, and we spent the rest of the day hopping around from pediatrician to x-ray to orthopedic doctor. It was a loooooong day, and I remember coming home in a cast, with my older brother and sister (who had never been in casts nor broken anything), watching me sympathetically, and my mom trying to get a late dinner on the table. Then, she helped me figure out how to take a bath without getting my cast wet. I believe we wrapped my arm in a plastic bag.
She was there.
When I was in middle school, she returned to work, but it wasn't too much of a loss. After all, she worked in my very school, part-time in the cafeteria. I remember one day, I was smacked in the face with a ball pretty hard in gym class, and I went to see her in the kitchen. She lovingly examined my face with her soft touch, and to this day, I still remember how comforting that action was. There is nothing like a mother's touch, no matter how old you are, and I write that with tears in my eyes.
When my parents separated, my mom, sister, and I lived on our own. I didn't last long with the two of them, since I went to college, but of course, I returned a few weekends and holidays. My mom graciously did my laundry for me whenever I was home (of course, I could do my own, but it was her gift to me). After college, I returned home for a bit, worked for a year or so, and prepared to head to Prague to teach English. My sister married, and my mom and I moved to another place, and then I was gone in about a month. After my year abroad, I returned home to my mom, taught in Christian school for five years, and then I got married. Never once in those five years did I think of living with my mom a burden or a drag or whatever. She was more than my mom. She was my friend.
The night of my wedding, just before Brian and I rode off into the sunset (to the lovely world of rural PA), I cried when I hugged my mom goodbye. She tried not to show it, she tried not to put a damper on my big day, but I know there was a gaping hole in her heart that day, a hole that is still there.
My mom has always been my confidant. There is no greater listener in all the world. She doesn't try to fix. She listens; she sympathizes. The worst thing about being her daughter is watching her get older. She is so much more forgetful. Her body isn't what it used to be. Seeing her retire is bringing to the surface all of those fears- the fears of losing her, the fears of one day having to let her go. It is a fact for us all.
My mom is God's gift to me, and to my sister. We three are a strong bond, and I have already told my mom that when that dreaded day does come, if she could look down from heaven, she'll see my sister and I, knees and hands in the dirt, our husbands having to pry us away. Because my mom is so much more than some old lady. She is a part of me. Her sweet spirit is a calming presence in my life.
I am so happy she is retiring. She deserves it. Her job has been physically demanding, and enough is enough. She has been working since I was in middle school, and it is time for rest. I so wish I could be there with her, that I could see her more, that my kids could see her more.
But it is enough that she'll be home once again, being the stay-at-home grandma now, doing just as I remember her best.
Mom, you know I love you more than words. You do so much for me, and I appreciate every little thing. I'm here, cheering you on. And on October 26th, I'll be waving my pom-poms, all day long.
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