More Night Wakings...

Last night (early this morning) -- 4:00AM to be precise (more on this later) -- jolted awake by piercing screams coming from S's room. I hurry in there, ask him what's wrong, and then turn the light on to see the BLOOD in patches all over his pillow. He's clutching his head, screaming, "Oweeee! Oweeee! Oweeee!" I get a washcloth, and, several wipes and rinses later, reveal an inch-long gash at the top of his head, courtesy of the corner of his nightstand. J's arisen by this time, so we do a little consultation, the result of which we decide to super-glue S's head shut. By this time, S is bravely sniffling and giving me interesting facts like, "You know, Mom, in colonial times, they used to put leeches on people to bleed them and pull the diseases out so they could get better. Except it didn't really work. Haha!" This after I told him that head wounds bleed a lot and that it was a good thing so the germs get carried away from his gash. We staunched the bleeding, gently combed his hair away from the cut, and held the sides of the gash together while super-gluing it back together. (Don't worry, medical folks, it was medical super-glue -- not Loc-Tite!) I tucked S in and kissed him goodnight. He slept till 8 this morning.

When he came down to breakfast, between the two of us, we spun a tale of blood, courage, and nighttime wakings (at which point S interjected, "It was 4 AM. It was exactly 4 o'clock. I checked." Who does that?! Who wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, bleeding and in intense pain, and checks to see exactly what time it is? Gosh, I love that kid!), the result of which all four of my boys have matching head wounds. It's about time S got his, right? J was first when, as a boy, his younger brother threw a rock at his head. O was second when he got pushed into a piano bench at Grandma's house by an older brother. H got his from falling off the back of a chair and landing with his head onto the vent behind the chair. And S from sleeping. Ah, life with boys!

The Sickness of Mr. H

Here is how H gets sick (so far)...

Wednesday night
11 PM: wakes up crying. I pat his back and get him back to sleep.

11:20 PM: wakes up again. I go in his room and he's standing by his bed with a little glob of vomit in his hand. We go to the bathroom, wash him up, wait for more (which doesn't come), get him back to bed. I fetch a bowl from the kitchen and set it by his bed.

Midnight: wakes up crying again, but no vomit. I decide to sleep in his room to keep him asleep.

12:20AM: wakes up crying again, leans over the bed and vomits in the bowl. Wimpers a little and goes back to sleep. I get up, dump the vomit in the toilet, rinse out the bowl, and go back to his room.

1AM: repeat of 12:20AM

6:30AM: I wake up in H's bed. He's sitting on the floor playing "Cars" on O's Leapster.

No. More. Sick. Wow. Would that all of us would get sick that way.

He played, scampered around, had a massive amount of energy all day. That's it. I've been watching him since then. No more sick. Still mystified by it.

Mirror, Mirror...

There is a mirror inside me -- somewhere in my head, my heart, my spirit -- somewhere in there is a mirror in which I look everyday. It is how I see myself -- not the graphic t-shirt and jeans, the mid-back length hair, the spotty complexion -- the inside stuff, the way I measure my self-worth. Usually I can look in the mirror and feel okay with what I see. I try my best to be a loving, nurturing mom; a helpful, supportive, loving wife; a loyal, accepting, open friend; a passionate, vibrant, intuitive musician; a humble, open, serving daughter of my Heavenly Father. Usually I can look in the mirror and see someone I can live with -- someone I might even like.

Except for last night. Last night the mirror shattered. At 11:30PM. And I had to let someone know, right? Poor, sleeping husband. I looked in the mirror last night and saw myself in pieces -- broken, ugly, selfish, and hateful. With all those sharp shards and angles left and right, I saw myself as damaging to those around me -- especially my loved ones. And so it came out -- the self-loathing. The resentments, the jealousy, the anger -- all the uglies. Poor no-longer-sleeping husband. Dear, patient, husband. And then Sleep, merciful sleep took over after a while. And thank goodness it did...

This morning I looked in the mirror. All put back together. Decent, trying E. So tell me what that was, the mirror-shatterer. The dark-E? Satan? Hormones? Being human? The Manic of manic-depression? The Depression of manic-depression? I'm trying to know my enemy so it won't strike me down again. It's gotten me before -- made me anxious and crazy-feeling, but for much longer than just a night. So I tell myself -- this is normal for me. And I'm okay with that too. Because that's reparo for the mirror. Thank the Lord for perspective, maturity, prayer, His grace, and the Atonement. Else I'd be in pieces still...

A Belated Thanks...

To my middle school Home Ec teacher,

Mrs (Miss?) Pignatello,

Bless you for teaching me to make omelets 20 years ago. That spinach-mushroom-feta omelet I made for lunch today was a little bit of heaven!

Denali 2012

I have setup another blog that is specific to the climb that I will be doing in Alaska this May, 2012.  For those that want to follow along here is the link:

Expedition 2012 Climbing "The High One"

Quotes to Live By...

"Form a habit of pushing on through the fatigue and fear that might make you think of quitting."

"I can't be a perfect servant every hour, but I can try to give more effort than I thought I could."

Both by President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Here's another one...

"We are never alone when we stand with our Father in Heaven." --President Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.


I know my Heavenly Father is mindful of me, because he put these quotes in my reading path yesterday and today. How did He know I wanted to sleep, zone out my mind, and quit? How did He know that I want to be a perfect servant for Him so much that the effort seems almost too much? To be perfect all the time is beyond me, but to give more effort and then some more? That I can do -- or at least try. How did He know I've been feeling so alone lately, with J's work schedule, my single-mom-type life, my long absence from the temple, and my spotty scripture study? Well, no wonder I've been feeling alone, but I don't have to be. Back to the temple I go, back to diligent, meaningful, consistent scripture study, back to my Father in Heaven, and I won't feel alone. Already I feel Him with me again. He always knows just what I need.

I didn't used to feel known and beloved of my Heavenly Father. I grew up learning/thinking that he was a misty far-off being just watching me from the distant heavens. I know now that He knows me. He loves me. He cares about the details of my life. And what an amazing gift that knowledge is.

The Young Professionals

I am married to what I call a "young professional." He is in his 30's, working in the technology industry at a "9-to-5" job (Oh yes, there's a reason I put that in quotes!) in the prime of his life. He balances work, leisure, self-improvement, and family and he looks dang good doing it. I have been thinking about this a lot lately, but it really hit home last night while at the funeral services of J's friend and co-worker. This man too was a young professional. He was 39 years old, a salesman at J's company, in the prime of his life. He worked hard, played hard, lived life to the fullest, loved his wife, 9 year old daughter and 3 year old son with a passion, and was infinitely positive and happy. The funeral service included a time when anyone in attendance could share thoughts and memories of Terry. His parents and a few of his lifelong friends spoke. He made such an impact on peoples' lives. I couldn't help but wish that at least one of his co-workers would get up and pay tribute to him. There were so many in attendance at the services that knew Terry from work. J considered it but, in the end, decided it was a night just for family and close friends. It really was, but it did get me thinking about the "young professional" as a breed. These men -- my man included -- spend most of their waking hours at work. Their lives, their friendships, their energy, their thoughts revolve around work (well, and if they're male -- sex.) As much as I'd like to think that the kids and I are J's top priority and center of his world, I realize that we are not. We hear quotes like: "You are what you repeatedly do." Well, J works, works, and works some more. And when he's not working, he's working out with people with whom he works. Or he's thinking about work. Or he's thinking about and texting the co-workers with whom he works out about the work-out. Or he's sore from the work-out.

It helped me to realize this. I've had a hard time lately with how much J has been at work. I've teased him at night, asking him if I should get into bed with him and whoever he is texting from work. I've tried to pull his focus back to me and the kids. I've tried and tried, and I've been frustrated and discouraged by my failed efforts. But he is a "young professional." He is work. His friendships are all at work. And somehow, it will all work out.