Hello! Although I am not really a new mom blogger (I have been blogging since August of 2008), I am a sort-of-newish public blog mama since February of 2010. Don't ask me why I felt the need to suddenly go public with my blog, I'm not sure I really have a reason for it. I do know that it seems like a fairly healthy way to have a midlife crisis, right?
Anyway, if you are dropping by to join the party, please overlook the dog fur and kid toys -- I've got two of each and trying to pretend they don't exist is pointless. Grab a seat, but don't be surprised if my son begs to play Star Wars guys with you or my daughter drags you to the kid-sized table where she's sticking glittery stickers to a piece of pink construction paper. Or if my husband kidnaps you to the basement where we're keeping our first brood of Buff Orpington chicks, at least until he gets the coop built. Did you know that they have automatic chicken coop doors? I didn't know that until yesterday, either.
My life is pretty ordinary, and I'm sure that is the biggest reason I didn't go public with my blog when I first started writing. I was a good student, married my college sweetheart, moved to a mid-Atlantic state when he was in graduate school, returned to Iowa when he was offered a job about 35 miles from where he grew up -- a big surprise for us because he's a theatre designer and this is, well, this is Iowa. We got a dog, bought a little house, gutted it, got another dog, and renovated the house.
Then we decided to start a family. After an ectopic pregnancy, we had our wonderful son in June of 2005 and made him the big brother of a little sister in September of 2007. We are currently battling unexpected secondary infertility. I swallowed my first dose of Clomid about an hour ago. I don't feel any more fertile yet...
This past November, we bought a big old farmhouse out in the country. This has been a bit of an adjustment for us (mice. Mice. Mice! MICE!), though we are eager to put in a gi-gundous garden this spring and, as I said, we have a small flock of chickens started in the basement. Because organic brown eggs sound super, don't they?
Here are some of my quirks:
1. I like to be funny. Sarcastic, even -- I know, SHOCKER! If you don't want to read a blog where the author admits her shortcomings and pokes fun at herself, you shouldn't read mine.
2. I like to write. I've never hosted a give-away, nor have I monetized my blog. Yet. If I end up pregnant with Clomid quintuplets, I might have to change that policy.
3. I am a fan of the chain description: words-tied-together-with-hyphens-to-make-a-funny-run-on-point. Yep. I like me my hyphens... And ellipses...
4. I like comments. OK, who doesn't. I follow up diligently. Really, I do!
5. I'm a lunch-hour blogger, so if my schedule gets keee-razy, I don't get a chance to give my blog or bloggy friends the love. I hope you can forgive me, but I gots-ta pay the bills. My hubby works in arts education, 'nuff said.
6. I try to be positive and witty and clever, but the struggle we've had trying to conceive baby #3 has stretched my good humor to the limit. Some of my more recent posts were a little darker than I would normally write. But, since I am above all an honest blogger, writing something that was all cheery and rah-rah-rah when I was feeling blah-blah-blah was resoundingly fake, so I didn't do it.
Here are some of my most favorite posts:
Malfunctioning Bedroom Devices
Brontophobia: Fear of Storms
Sleep
In case my blog gets pulled for a prize, here are my top three choices:
US6 – Hand Stamped Personalized Necklace valued at $48 The Double Stacked A Lot Of Love.
Provided by: Kristen’s Custom Creations I lved this design and don't have any mother's jewelry!
US97 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade wire and colorful bead necklace from the mission-driven company, Ana Patricia! just thought this was so much fun!
USC 10 – One winner will receive a beautiful handmade glass pendant with their choice of chain. The piece is made by me with care using glass and paper. The design I will give away is called “Lilac“. I fell in love with this -- so very pretty!
Other prizes in which I'm interested: US39, US44, US66, US110, and USC19. My son is 4 and daughter is 2, so anything appropriate for them is fine, too!
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, October 23, 2009
Water for a Friend
I have never had a secret, nothing in my life has ever been so traumatic that I feel the need to hide an event deep within the closet of my mind. I supposed that stems mostly from my perception that my life has been pretty easy.
My heart is aching for a friend who has carried some very dark, very awful secrets with him for much of his young life. The kinds of secrets that spill out when there is nothing left but pain, anger, and betrayal. The kinds of secrets that were happening not far from me geographically, but miles away from my own experience. Devastating, horrible, life-sucking, criminal secrets.
As I'm learning these things about my friend, I am shattered to know that I was there, yet so insulated and immature that I didn't reach out to him. I'm not sure that I could have as a teenager. I can, now, as an adult, as a parent. I can stand up and say that what happened to him is more wrong than anything that should ever happen to any person. His tormentors used inhuman power against him, I hate them for that. I hate them for reforging him, for forcing him to endure the hot coals and freezing water of abuse. I am so sorry.
I know that there isn't any way for me to re-write his past. I hope that he will look to me as a person on whom he can count in the future. I feel selfish in even expressing my grief for his childhood, knowing that the scream pounding in my chest is nothing compared to the silent howl of his youth.
This has been pressing on me for about a week now, ever since I read a response to an entry in his blog. The response was written by two friends who have chosen to abandon him because his changed views on religion and faith disagree with theirs and they are offended by his deserved anger. I won't drag my feelings to his blog, I won't put my thoughts into a place that is his because this isn't my story and it is so not about me. This goes in my blog.
What is the Christian thing to do? Tromp all over the blog of a very real, very raw, very recovering person because his righteous anger upsets your crinoline sensibility? Or do you bring your friend a cool drink of water as he suffers on the cross of his past?
I'm bringing water, how about you?
My heart is aching for a friend who has carried some very dark, very awful secrets with him for much of his young life. The kinds of secrets that spill out when there is nothing left but pain, anger, and betrayal. The kinds of secrets that were happening not far from me geographically, but miles away from my own experience. Devastating, horrible, life-sucking, criminal secrets.
As I'm learning these things about my friend, I am shattered to know that I was there, yet so insulated and immature that I didn't reach out to him. I'm not sure that I could have as a teenager. I can, now, as an adult, as a parent. I can stand up and say that what happened to him is more wrong than anything that should ever happen to any person. His tormentors used inhuman power against him, I hate them for that. I hate them for reforging him, for forcing him to endure the hot coals and freezing water of abuse. I am so sorry.
I know that there isn't any way for me to re-write his past. I hope that he will look to me as a person on whom he can count in the future. I feel selfish in even expressing my grief for his childhood, knowing that the scream pounding in my chest is nothing compared to the silent howl of his youth.
This has been pressing on me for about a week now, ever since I read a response to an entry in his blog. The response was written by two friends who have chosen to abandon him because his changed views on religion and faith disagree with theirs and they are offended by his deserved anger. I won't drag my feelings to his blog, I won't put my thoughts into a place that is his because this isn't my story and it is so not about me. This goes in my blog.
What is the Christian thing to do? Tromp all over the blog of a very real, very raw, very recovering person because his righteous anger upsets your crinoline sensibility? Or do you bring your friend a cool drink of water as he suffers on the cross of his past?
I'm bringing water, how about you?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Letter to a Friend
Hello, my dear…
So I hear that you’re gonna have a rack that will FINALLY let you live out your dream of working at Hooters. :)
I have tried writing to you 18 times this week and have hated everything I’ve written. It was too sentimental, then too stoic, and always too exactly not what I wanted to say… I hope that 19 times is the right one.
I love you for being the older sister that I have never had; you and Dan and the kids are the people I include in my chosen family. I want you to know that I will always support you, cry with you, and cheer for you. I don’t want to push too hard, nor distract your energy when you need it so much, but I am with you every step. You have always been in my daily thoughts and will be even more so now. I know that I am too far away to hold your hand, fold your laundry, or to sing silly songs to you, but if I were closer I would do all that for you and your family -- and more.
Please keep us updated if you feel up to it, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep us in the loop minute-by-minute.
I’m not sure I got it right with draft 19, but I know that you’re going to be around to read drafts 20, 200, and 2000.
Love you always,
Me
So I hear that you’re gonna have a rack that will FINALLY let you live out your dream of working at Hooters. :)
I have tried writing to you 18 times this week and have hated everything I’ve written. It was too sentimental, then too stoic, and always too exactly not what I wanted to say… I hope that 19 times is the right one.
I love you for being the older sister that I have never had; you and Dan and the kids are the people I include in my chosen family. I want you to know that I will always support you, cry with you, and cheer for you. I don’t want to push too hard, nor distract your energy when you need it so much, but I am with you every step. You have always been in my daily thoughts and will be even more so now. I know that I am too far away to hold your hand, fold your laundry, or to sing silly songs to you, but if I were closer I would do all that for you and your family -- and more.
Please keep us updated if you feel up to it, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep us in the loop minute-by-minute.
I’m not sure I got it right with draft 19, but I know that you’re going to be around to read drafts 20, 200, and 2000.
Love you always,
Me
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
It's Raining, It's Pouring...
It is raining today. I've looked at the RADAR and it will be raining, and possibly storming, all day. I think this is OK, the rain certainly matches my mood.
It was a tough weekend in the Olinger household and an even tougher start of the week. Today is that mythical mid-way point and I'm searching for signs of improvement in the forecast.
The kids are sick. Nothing serious, but annoying enough to them that I've spent most of the last three nights comforting one or the other of them for the majority of the time that I should be sleeping. Both seem to be doing better today, I hope, anyway.
Milo is hitting an important milestone today! He's starting preschool in T-2 hours. He is appropriately alternating between terrified and excited. My bet is that he'll be excited until we park at the preschool, then terrified as we walk to the building and into his classroom.
Violet can count to ten! Almost... She's got 1-6, 9 & 10. I think she's afraid of 7 because, well... 7 ate 9. Ba-dum-bump!
Work is busy for both me and Scott. This is the week that all of the first-year students are on campus and we've both got meetings and events galore. We played the "shift the kids back and forth so that both of us can attend as much as possible" game on Monday and Tuesday. That's so exhausting... Plus, the kids totally trashed my office twice yesterday. I need to figure out if I can scrub highlighter off of an upholstered chair. Don't ask...
But the news that has made this week the most difficult, drawing me deeply into my shell, is that our dear friend, my sister-by-choice, has breast cancer.
Selfishly I have yet to contact her. I haven't called because I know that I will simply come unspooled if I talk to her. I haven't written because everything I write sounds like a eulogy -- and I'm not sending something that grotesque to her. I know that she needs me and am very thankful that Scott has done what he always does: reach out, use inappropriate humor, and send massive amounts of chocolate. As in bought an entire aisle of dark chocolate from Target -- one of every variety, several of the most tempting.
I am not the one who is sick, but I am not processing this well at all. I am furious that cancer is trying to steal someone whom I love so much. Every time I put Violet to breast, and that has been quite a few times since she's ill, I touch the very tissue that my friend will lose next week. I hold in my hand that which is giving my daughter life and that which is poisoning my friend. And I am angry about it -- who gives cancer the right to creep quietly into her body, sliding between cells, ravenous and vicious?
On Sunday night, the night before I learned of my friend's battle, I lay next to Milo's bed, sighing because he didn't want me to leave his side. His sleep was uneasy, his fever rousting him every few moments. I lay there and thought, "This is annoying, but it will pass. I can't imagine what I would do if one of my babes was so sick that the illness won't pass. I can't imagine the grief of not being able to lie on the carpet next to the bed of my child. I am lucky."
I wept silently as I recalled a young family that I had seen at Disneyland on the trip to California that we'd taken when Milo was about 19 months old. I was pregnant with Violet and we were visiting my dear friend about whom I am writing. We were in line behind the family for the Jungle Cruise ride and I noticed that the young mother was struggling to hold a child on her hip in the heat. The child looked too old to really need to be held, or so I thought until I saw that she was bald. An ugly, ugly scar mapped her scalp. My heart stopped. I realized that the little girl and her family were on a Make-a-Wish trip.
Instantly my pregnant hormones went into overdrive and I started blinking rapidly to hold back tears. My chest tightened and my breath caught in my throat. It was all I could do to not bawl as I watched the girl, grinning from ear to ear, as she described all of the things she thought she would see on the ride. This mother wasn't just holding her child in a long line, she was clasping her into her body, trying to force her back into the womb, back into a time when she was safe and healthy, back to the time when their souls were one.
I had to look away, gulping air. I rubbed Violet's bum inside me, squatted and kissed a sticky Milo, then hoisted him up onto my hip, vowing that I would carry my children into my body any time they needed me to lift them up. I think of this family every time one of my kids is ill.
I don't want to overwhelm my friend, after all, this isn't about me and what I want -- it is about her and what she needs. I am thirsty for knowledge, but unsure how far to push her; I don't want to hover and smother, yet I am unsure of how to support. She is so generous that I don't want her to know how wrecked I am about this; her first reaction would be concern for me and I think she needs to put her energy into healing. I will write to her by the end of the week, I must swallow my own fear and grief and let her know how much I love and support her.
I want to carry my friend. I want to scoop her up and hold her. I want to sing to her and keep her safe. I want to do these things for her because I love her, because I love her children and her husband, and because I love my children and my husband, and a little girl whom I have never met.
It was a tough weekend in the Olinger household and an even tougher start of the week. Today is that mythical mid-way point and I'm searching for signs of improvement in the forecast.
The kids are sick. Nothing serious, but annoying enough to them that I've spent most of the last three nights comforting one or the other of them for the majority of the time that I should be sleeping. Both seem to be doing better today, I hope, anyway.
Milo is hitting an important milestone today! He's starting preschool in T-2 hours. He is appropriately alternating between terrified and excited. My bet is that he'll be excited until we park at the preschool, then terrified as we walk to the building and into his classroom.
Violet can count to ten! Almost... She's got 1-6, 9 & 10. I think she's afraid of 7 because, well... 7 ate 9. Ba-dum-bump!
Work is busy for both me and Scott. This is the week that all of the first-year students are on campus and we've both got meetings and events galore. We played the "shift the kids back and forth so that both of us can attend as much as possible" game on Monday and Tuesday. That's so exhausting... Plus, the kids totally trashed my office twice yesterday. I need to figure out if I can scrub highlighter off of an upholstered chair. Don't ask...
But the news that has made this week the most difficult, drawing me deeply into my shell, is that our dear friend, my sister-by-choice, has breast cancer.
Selfishly I have yet to contact her. I haven't called because I know that I will simply come unspooled if I talk to her. I haven't written because everything I write sounds like a eulogy -- and I'm not sending something that grotesque to her. I know that she needs me and am very thankful that Scott has done what he always does: reach out, use inappropriate humor, and send massive amounts of chocolate. As in bought an entire aisle of dark chocolate from Target -- one of every variety, several of the most tempting.
I am not the one who is sick, but I am not processing this well at all. I am furious that cancer is trying to steal someone whom I love so much. Every time I put Violet to breast, and that has been quite a few times since she's ill, I touch the very tissue that my friend will lose next week. I hold in my hand that which is giving my daughter life and that which is poisoning my friend. And I am angry about it -- who gives cancer the right to creep quietly into her body, sliding between cells, ravenous and vicious?
On Sunday night, the night before I learned of my friend's battle, I lay next to Milo's bed, sighing because he didn't want me to leave his side. His sleep was uneasy, his fever rousting him every few moments. I lay there and thought, "This is annoying, but it will pass. I can't imagine what I would do if one of my babes was so sick that the illness won't pass. I can't imagine the grief of not being able to lie on the carpet next to the bed of my child. I am lucky."
I wept silently as I recalled a young family that I had seen at Disneyland on the trip to California that we'd taken when Milo was about 19 months old. I was pregnant with Violet and we were visiting my dear friend about whom I am writing. We were in line behind the family for the Jungle Cruise ride and I noticed that the young mother was struggling to hold a child on her hip in the heat. The child looked too old to really need to be held, or so I thought until I saw that she was bald. An ugly, ugly scar mapped her scalp. My heart stopped. I realized that the little girl and her family were on a Make-a-Wish trip.
Instantly my pregnant hormones went into overdrive and I started blinking rapidly to hold back tears. My chest tightened and my breath caught in my throat. It was all I could do to not bawl as I watched the girl, grinning from ear to ear, as she described all of the things she thought she would see on the ride. This mother wasn't just holding her child in a long line, she was clasping her into her body, trying to force her back into the womb, back into a time when she was safe and healthy, back to the time when their souls were one.
I had to look away, gulping air. I rubbed Violet's bum inside me, squatted and kissed a sticky Milo, then hoisted him up onto my hip, vowing that I would carry my children into my body any time they needed me to lift them up. I think of this family every time one of my kids is ill.
I don't want to overwhelm my friend, after all, this isn't about me and what I want -- it is about her and what she needs. I am thirsty for knowledge, but unsure how far to push her; I don't want to hover and smother, yet I am unsure of how to support. She is so generous that I don't want her to know how wrecked I am about this; her first reaction would be concern for me and I think she needs to put her energy into healing. I will write to her by the end of the week, I must swallow my own fear and grief and let her know how much I love and support her.
I want to carry my friend. I want to scoop her up and hold her. I want to sing to her and keep her safe. I want to do these things for her because I love her, because I love her children and her husband, and because I love my children and my husband, and a little girl whom I have never met.
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