Wednesday, February 6, 2013


Another night of not much sleep… Wide awake at 5am I listened as my two oldest girls got up to get ready for seminary; dedication to say the least.

Moi tip-toed around the house as Hanna clunked her boots on the hardwood floors throughout; slow, steady, lumbering steps I knew it was her.  Without words they began their day.  I love hearing them and knowing which personality is roaming my halls.

I got out of bed just to be near them so I might absorb their radiant and dissimilar light.

It was nice.

My Daddy came to pick them up; ever faithful arriving each morning to help me by driving them to church at this unsightly hour.  I stole a hug.  He held my hand and spoke such thoughtful words; not many but just enough.  He has the most comforting voice.  I wish everyone could experience the healing he carries in his voice and his hands.  When I was pregnant he would gently touch my belly and speak to those lil humans and each time movement inside of me would stop.  They were listening; taking in each word – comforted by his spirit.  They already knew him.  

Busy pulled herself out of bed around 6am to faithfully check her blood sugar, take her meds and wake up her brothers.  She, without fail, ensures they are packed and ready to go and make it on the bus each break of day.  She giggles with Ethan spouting out silliness as he responds with laughter.  Later, she moves into the boys room and barters with Lil Man that she will put his socks on {before he gets out of bed} if he will wake up nice.  “Logan, did you sleep well?” she asks.  “No…” then they both snicker.  She moves back into the kitchen with me.

The three of us sit as we look at some of Lil Man’s drawings from school.  He grins and pretends he’s not paying attention as we ooh and ahh on his artwork.  I make Busy’s healthy lunch.  We’ve made a deal to eat better to help her health.  She is so very strong.  6:55 time to get out to the end of the driveway.  Before I know it they’re whisked away by the bus and my house is quiet.

I miss this.

I’ve been there on and off, but I haven’t had much time or energy to soak them in like this.

I called Mama yesterday.  Yesterday… whew… what a day.  She helped me wade through the chaos {most of which was happening inside me}.  I told her I didn’t want to fail again.  Do you know what her response was?  Not, “Oh don’t worry, you’ve never failed”  {Not that a response like that would be bad}  As a matter of fact Po told me just that yesterday.  But here’s what she said, “Andi, there is no limit to the amount of failures you can have in your life; just look at your mother.”  Ahh hahaha… we both just laughed.  Sometimes, most of the time, that’s exactly what I need.  Silly truths that allow you to accept you’re human; a cackle to break up the feelings of judgment you place upon yourself.

Mama was so frustrated yet devotedly undeterred about the events of yesterday.  She called with a plan B; then plan C and she’s working on a plan D.  I told her it’s alright, when we get through the alphabet of plan’s we will just start again with A-1.  Yesterday, she wore the cape for me.  {grin}

Po is asleep, the dogs are on the couch bathing in the light as it spills through the stained glass window of my front door. 
Today, I’m breathing and I might just see if my legs will allow me to stand in the kitchen and make gluten free bread.  I look forward to the smell of fresh bread in my house again.

I’m counting my blessings.

Over and out…


Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Taking back what is mine...

1.     Having no one else present; on one’s own.
2.    Without others’ help or participation; single-handed

Do you ever feel that way?  I mean certainly, I am not alone; not in this world of onlookers and weak judges; free agents of taking one’s spirit.  No.  Let us not forget them.

Certainly I must acknowledge those that stand by aimlessly taking no action; those are plenty and of good attendance.  They sit atop their neutral fence of safety.

Then there are those that care and yet are far out of reach of a physical being; yet still they make their presence known.  Those are the ones that deserve countless reflection of sincere and heart-felt thanks and prayers of gratitude.  They are the reason I’m still standing {as scarcely as it may be) but yet I stand. 

I just wrote a post about my health.  But… again, I’m snatching it back.  I felt if I shared it with you I just might be able to pull myself up into facing what I don’t have time for.

No, I’m not dying.  Yes, I’m still undiagnosed… of course I could go to Dr. Google. {wink} but I decided to tuck that post into “another post for another time folder”
{Yes, I have one.  I wouldn’t be a nerd without it}

Here’s what I stumbled across instead; a random thought from my past.  I’ve always felt that poetry was a silly word.  Not poetry itself, just the word.  It makes my tongue feel funny.  No, really.

With one of my dear friends we would sit around spewing out memories of pain, trial, love and loss in the form of poetry on a bare floor; what we referred to as “wearing the limerick hat”.  Her hat fit better than mine.

I am not a firm believer in punctuation or rhyming words; frilly phrases and spouting sonnets.  Mine were expressions of darkness I have survived; reminiscing of times that could not be spoken; only felt.  There are many trials I have never whispered due to the pain it would cause in others to know I have experienced it.  So they sit… in a page-less book of recollection never to have been spoken; except to her with the limerick hat.

However, I did find one.  A sporadic though
{as I have always referred to them
that does represent what I might be feeling now - one that is not so shaded; a small story of what I am made of. 

Something is wrong with me… I’m going through something right now physically that is - now affecting my all around health.  I hesitate to say that I’m sick; that sounds so over-dramatic.  I’m just not right and the wrong continues to build.
{Yes Mama, I promise I’m going back to the doctor}


In the midst of battle and giving to others what does not belong to them… which is my well-being.  I’m taking this moment to remind myself, my decision is made.  The choice I do make alone. 

My Footpath

Suppressed in the silhouette of a world I will hide
Relinquishing ally my own path I will stride
Playful and laughing not missing a beat
Trampled and drowsy not accepting defeat
We all feel the burden of anxiety’s tax
But it’s how I manage that leaves others taken back
I’m nothing amazing I’ve just learned to survive
I give everything blindly self-preservation I contrive
Giving in to the mayhem is what I refuse
Forging my own footpath declining to lose

For those that take for granted I’ve always pushed through I’m taking “me” back.  I’m not going to be pushed any longer.
I’m to the point; my body is making the decision for me.

I am declining to lose.  Oh no really, I appreciate the offer but I’ll pass thank you.

I think in the few times I’ve blogged in the last 7 months I’m piecing together, slowly mind you, what I’m missing and what I’m giving up.  Few and far between, yet still slowly moving back in to who I am and what I want to be when I grow up.

I’m giving to others that do not care about me.  It’s time to heal… time to change… and time to feel the warmth on my skin again.

I was born for more.

Sometimes, only sometimes you are blessed with the burden that allows you to see clearly.  Today I was gifted that... paved with good intentions I’m sure.  {sardonic laugh}  But my good deeds have been punished long enough. 

I’m off to Busy’s Endo appointment and one for me as well.  Why are we always the first to put ourselves last when it’s “us” that takes care of the others?  Today, I’m turning that leaf over again.  Today, I’m helping me and strangely… I might even listen to my doctor.

I’ll keep you posted.