The Holy Ghost

We are a Christ following family.  We're not perfect, but we follow a Jesus who is.  We, however, speak a lot of "Christian-ese".  This sometimes kicks me in the butt.

I had driven out to my best friends house.  It was late on a Friday, maybe 9:30.  Siri (6) had fallen asleep in the car.  Gannon (10) went inside to clean his friends room and play video games.  Annika, however, wanted her mom.  I did not want to hold Annika.  I wanted to sit, quietly, and talk with my friend about life.  Annika would have none of it.  She is a threenager if there has ever been one.  She is strong willed, smart, and sassy.  This works both for and against me.  Most of the time, she can be reasoned with.  She makes smart choices most of the time, but sometimes (and ONLY sometimes) she out-logics me.
My best friend lives out in the country.  On a farm.  With animals.  They make funny sounds sometimes.  So she and I were sitting outside, and Annika was in my lap.  I was desperately trying to get her to go inside to play a game, go to the potty, get a drink....SOMETHING to give me a moments rest.  I asked her why she didn't want to go inside.  "It's dark.  I'm scared."  I "Christian mom-ed her.  "Sweetie, it's ok.  Jesus is with you.  You're safe."  The house is MAYBE 200 feet from where we were sitting.  There were lights on.  She was being obstinate.

Suddenly, she took a sharp breath in, jumped a little, and clutched her chest.

"Annika!  Are you ok?  What's the matter?"

She did it again.

"Annika, WHAT is going on?"

"Jesus keeps scarring me!"

My friend and I looked at each other.  We tried not to laugh.

My friend asked "Annika, where is Jesus?"

"In my HEART!" came the retort with a sideways look that clearly meant "DUH!"

"But why is he scarry?"

In the most precious way possible, Annika tilted her head to the side, her curls framing her sweet little face. She put both of her hands out to emphasize her explanation...

"Well.  SOMETIMES, Jesus puts a sheet over him.  That's because He's being the Holy Ghost.
Then He scares me!"

*repeat action of sharp breath, hand over heart, little jump*

Really Jesus...

Imagine

Some kids have imaginary friends.  I did.  Mine was named "Janie".  Janie and I had all sorts of fun together.  I don't remember Janie, but mom and dad are happy to remind me of her.  Gannon and Siri both had short lived imaginary friends.  I could probably look back and tell you about them, but this story is about Annika.
Annika is 3, and she has QUITE the imagination.  But Annika doesn't have an imaginary friend.  Annika has Markship.

Driving down the road a few weeks ago, we were discussing where to eat.  We don't eat out often, but when we do, the kids have a say.  Siri wanted Chick-Fil-A, and Gannon wanted Whataburger (life in the world of fast food is pretty much over when we leave Texas).  Of course they couldn't agree.  They both looked to Annika for a decision, a decisive vote.  They each plead their case: "Chick-Fil-A has a PLAYGROUND!  Don't you want to go inside and PLAY!?!?!?"  "Whataburger has COOKIES with the kids meals!  YOU LOVE COOKIES!!!!"  Annika sat stoic, not blinking, not looking at either sibling. She would not be swayed.  She knew what she wanted.  Calmly and quietly, she said, "I want to go to Markship."
Markship.  So, at three, sometimes places we go and things we see and do have names that aren't entirely accurate.  I racked my brain trying to figure out what Markship was.
"Do you mean McDonalds, Annika?"  "No, Mommy, Markship!"  "Annika, do you mean the place we ate all the lobster in Maine?"  "NO, Mommy!  MARKSHIP!"
At a loss, I did what any desperate parent would do.  I asked for clarification.
"What's Markship, Annika?"
"Mommy.  Markship is the restaurant place with the macaroni and cheese.  With bathrooms that are always open if you need to go potty.  It has pink chairs and pink tables and the food is all soooooo yummy!"

She makes this face while she's telling me about the wonders of Markship.  

"Annika, is Markship real?"  "No, mommy, but IMAGINE if it WAS!!!"

Since that day, we've learned much more about Markship.  It also serves chicken and fries and diet sprite (I don't think she's ever HAD diet sprite), has a HUGE playground with water, there are wooden ships on the floor, and the floor is made of wood.  Any time we talk about a place to eat, or what to eat, Marship is recommended.  Sometimes, Gannon and Siri ask if we can try Markship.  Gannon now has a business model to open a restaurant called Markship.  

If you drive past my house this summer, and there are three beautiful kids sitting at a lemonade stand, colored pink of course, be sure to glance at the name.  You're probably visiting the first Markship in the USA.  Tip well.

That time I had an abortion.

WARNING-GRAPHIC CONTENT-READER DISCRETION ADVISED

NO, SERIOUSLY, THIS HAS SOME PRETTY RAW PARTS.  

DON'T LET YOUR KIDS READ THIS.

5 years ago, I had an abortion.  Gordon and I had Alia, Gannon, and Siri.  We were pregnant with our fourth and thrilled that God was growing our family.  We had gone to Illinois to see my parents for Christmas, and drove 17 hours home.

December 28th:  I had scheduled my 20 week ultrasound for the day after we got back to fit in with travel and school (I was ready to start my final semester of RN school).  I took the three kids to the doctors with me.  Alia and Gannon were reading, and wanted to stay in the car.  Alia was 14, Gannon was 4, so that was OK with me.  I took Siri in with me for a quick heart beat check and to schedule our gender ultrasound.  The doctor had a hard time finding the heart beat.  She assured me that baby was probably in a bad position, and she'd take me for a quick ultrasound to make sure baby was ok.  We went to the ultrasound room.  I held Siri and prayed.  

"Well, that's not what I was expecting to see at all.  I'll be right back."  She put down the wand and left the room.  My doctor and another physician came into the dimly lit room.  I was still holding 18 month old Siri.  The wand slid from one side of my belly to the other, with both doctors shaking their heads.  I heard "Did you check that angle?.....Do you see anything there?...."  The practitioner I didn't know started to leave.  He touched my sock clad foot and said "I'm so sorry."  Sorry about what?  I knew.  No one had said it yet.
"Well, it looks like baby died, and he's been dead for a while, he has what we call 'lemon head'."  I learned later this is called Spalding's Sign. "Go ahead and take a moment.  You can leave in a few minutes.  My surgery scheduler will call you tomorrow so we can schedule a D&E."  She left the room.  

My heart was in my throat.  I couldn't even call Gordon.  I couldn't call Gordon and tell him our baby was dead.  I picked Siri up and walked to the car.  I lost it.  I wept.  I didn't say a word to Alia or Gannon.  I started driving, but I wasn't really sure where I was going.  I called.  He was on a job site.  Normally that means hours of not being able to reach him.  He didn't answer.  I texted (yes, while I was driving) 911.  He called.  I couldn't even think of words.  I was still crying.  "The baby died.  I don't know what to do."  I don't remember much of the rest of that day.  I called some friends, I called some family, Gordon came home.  The rest of the next few days were a blur.  

December 29th: The next day, the surgery scheduler called late in the day.  "We can get you in January 19th."  I was going to have to stay pregnant with my dead baby boy for another 3 weeks.  I panicked.  I told Gordon I would use a coat hanger before that.  I wouldn't, COULDN'T stay pregnant with my dead son for three weeks.  I wasn't sure I could make it for three DAYS.  He called my doctor.  "Take a Unisom and go to bed" was the response.

December 29th:  I slept most of the day.  When I woke up in the afternoon and realized I would have to stay pregnant for several weeks, I started to have a total breakdown.  I was not strong enough to do that.  I didn't feel safe in my own body.  We went to the ER.  I got Ativan.  I thought about drinking.  I was still pregnant.  It didn't make sense.  They could be wrong and I might hurt the baby.

December 30th:  Gordon is a fixer.  He couldn't stand my depression.  He needed to fix me.  That's one of the things I love about him the most.  He started calling people.  He called OB/GYN's in San Antonio, Austin, Houston, Dallas-Fort Worth.  He called so many he lost track.  "My wife had a 20 week intrauterine fetal demise.  Her OB can't get her in till mid January.  Is there anyone in your office who could see her for a D&E in the next few days?"  It was like Mary and Joseph looking desperately for a place with no room in the inn, even for a baby that wouldn't take up a crib.  Finally, an office explained.  "A D&E is a specialized procedure.  There's a risk the head might pop off,  go through her uterus and float around her abdomen.  Then she'll need more surgery to remove the head.  It's pretty much a late term abortion."  The wheels started turning.  Calls were made to a different type of practitioner.  There was a place very close to where I went to school.  It would be $600.  Gordon called my doctors office with a plan in mind.  They said they couldn't stop us, but my doctor would like "fetal tissue" for "cytogenetic testing".  We would do what we could.

December 31st:  We went to the "clinic". I sat in a room with my husband, surrounded by people.  Some talking, even laughing, others more somnolent.  I didn't know any of their stories.  I didn't really care.  I knew MY story, and it wasn't one I wanted to tell.  They called me back to ultrasound.  I prayed in some quiet, secret place that it had been a mistake.  I knew it wasn't.  I was right.  They checked my antibodies.  I wouldn't need rhogam.  I knew that already, too.  They took me back to my room.  My bed was on the back wall with the door to the right.  In between the door and the bed was a table with canisters that dropped down under neath.  The suction was hooked up.  A stool sat in the opposite corner to the door.  They asked if I wanted sedation.  I said no.  The doctor recommended I take it, and I wasn't really in a mental position to argue.  I lay there, with a tech and the doctor in the room wondering what I'd done wrong... 

I don't remember a lot of the procedure.  I remember the sound of the suction.  More harsh and grainy than a vacuum cleaner.  I remember asking to see him.  If I could see my son.  The tech told me there were just pieces. That was ok.  I needed something I could identify as human so I knew this was real, so that I knew I had been a mom to this "fetal tissue".  When they finished, the tech escorted me to recovery. Gordon still wasn't allowed to come back.  I didn't want him there.  I felt like I'd failed him... As a wife, as a woman.  I couldn't even grow him a baby.  What a loser.  

They were closing when I finished " recovering". As I walked out, the tech handed me a specimen cup. "For your doctor to do the testing.  Just take it to the lab." It was his arm.  

Gordon drove us home.  I was wearing my Navy sweatshirt.  The cup was in my pocket.  We picked up the kids at home, our sitter had to go take care of her family.  The five of us drove to an area hospital, and came into the ER with me.  The registration clerk looked at me with confusion and disgust.  It was ok, I felt the same way about myself and the circumstances.  

I sat in a fast track room in the ER for what seemed like hours, my " specimen " tucked safely into my pocket.  A nurse came in to take it.  I started crying, apologized, and asked for just a few more minutes.  This was the only time I would be able to hold my baby outside my womb.  She came back, and I relented.

I left the ER about 9pm.  We drove home, and there was nothing.  I didn't think I was sad, mad, tired... I was empty.  I went to bed.  

When I woke up, it was a new year, a new semester, and I'd like to say new faith, but that part took time.  I Tried to avoid feeling, thinking... I did give it to God in enough time to find out I was pregnant early February.  That pregnancy ended in demise as well, but it was such a different experience.  I had grown in faith and in humanity.

Why am I sharing this?  Especially on what is supposed to be a light, fun, kids say silly things post?  Partly for my own selfish reasons.  5 years ago, I had an abortion.  I don't think I ever really "processed" it.  I thank you for letting me do so.

The other reason is for a cry to humanity.  My experience was so....bizarre....but God taught me SO much.  The staff at the clinic were truly amazing.  Their empathy and gentile care was a million times more than what I'd received from my "Christian", respectable, respected OB.  They were more compassionate in a place that is shunned and picketed than at an office of high repute.
So before you judge, picket, slam, protest....think about ALL the people involved.  Instead of holding up a graphic sign, sit down outside and take a woman to coffee.  Take her to lunch.  Get to know her as a person.  You don't know HER story, and she doesn't know yours.  Make a difference.  Be Jesus.  Save lives.  An abortion clinic saved mine....

Deep thoughts with Annika and Siri

We're currently driving from Galesburg, Illinois back to our home in Texas. The weather has been... questionable for December in the mid west.  Right this very moment, I'm in the bathroom of a Kum-n-go, taking the advice of my grandmother, "if you have the chance to try to go, you should at least try.".
I walked past a conglomeration of cheap redneck souvenir options and into the overly florally deodorized particle board- paneled stall.  Siri had already locked herself in the smaller of the two stalls and I could see her feet swinging as she sat.  I pulled down Annikas pants and sat her on the stained, plastic toilet seat.  I tried not to think of what else had occupied that spot today.
Siri and Annika often have bathroom conversations, but this one was more profound than normal. 
" Annika, these bathrooms are wood, and that means they are nice. And expensive.  Do you know what wood is made of? "
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh... She was so serious with her delivery...
"Annika, this wood... It's made from TREES.  wood is made from TREES, Annika.  Remember that the wood you see in nature, it's made from TREES.".
Annikas eyes lit up.  She wiped and got off the potty using entirely too much palm-to-toilet contact for my comfort.  She touched the paneling.  " oOoooOoOooh!  Trees are made of WOOD...."

We still have 10 hours to drive...

And, Annika probably has Ebola.

Pink and Tap Dance

Gannon has his moments.  This morning, I watched with pride as my sweet boy lead 40 people at See You At the Pole.  He was thoughtful in his prayer.  He was mature in his presentation.  He prayed for his administration, for his teachers, and for unbelievers in his school to come to know Christ.  I didn't wear mascara to the event for obvious reasons. 

Have you ever noticed, though, that days with your kids can be pendulum-esc?  By the time we left Bible Study this evening, I was ready to string him UP a pole.  

To understand Gannon, you have to understand his slightly obsessive personality.  He finds something and he LATCHES. Like a leach.  For a long.....long......long........long...........time, sucking the life out of every person, thing, idea, or thought in contrast or contention to his obsession.  

Recently (for the past number of months), My Little Pony has been the "rock" in his brain.  If there can be a hyper-focus of an obsession, Pinkie Pie has been Gannon's.  The color pink is his new favorite.  He wan't to try out for the character of Pinkie Pie.  His Sunday School class were making sheep, so he colored his pink and named it Pinkie Pie.  He wants a bed set.  My nine year old son wants a Pinkie Pie bed set.

  

Please understand that him liking My Little Pony (MLP for short) and he being a "Bronie" does not bother me.  What bothers me is the constant search for ANYTHING that might be even REMOTELY related to MLP and fixating on it to the detriment of everything else.  Tonight, at Bible Study, he convinced several kids to bring him pink shirts next week so that he could wear pink every day. 

He sees pink everywhere.  He sings the MLP theme song in the shower.  He saves up money for the minis.  Annika (2) and Siri (6) were not this bad about Frozen.  And Frozen was Baaaaaad. 

 Tonight was the end of it for me.  I don't know what specifically broke the camels back, but I was done.  I started yelling.  

Me:  "I AM SO TIRED OF THIS OBSESSION!  I CAN'T EVEN HAVE A NORMAL CONVERSATION WITH YOU BECAUSE MY LITTLE PONIE TAKES OVER"

Gannon:  "Actually, PINKIE PIE takes over!  I CAN'T GET IT OUT OF MY BRAIN!"

Me: "Gannon, it's OVER.  This obsession is DONE WITH.  I can't handle your disobedience and arguing over a TV SHOW!  You need to find a new hobby!"

I said that, and this happened....

(scroll past the picture)

Gannon:  " A NEW HOBBY!?!?!?!?!?!?!  LIKE WHAT?!?!?!?  I DON'T EVEN KNOW!?!!?!??!? THERE ARE TOO MANY CHOICES!!!!! LIKE CROCHET, OR TAP DANCE!!!!!! HOW WILL I EVER PICK!!?!?!??!"

I stopped the conversation to take the picture and tell you about this.  Crochet or tap dance..... 

I'm sure he'll find something.  

*This was published with Gannon's permission

Gannon, tequila, and a Mexican jail

I love to travel.  Loooovvvveeeee.  I love to plan experience, to meet new people, taste new foods... I have wanderlust and I have it bad.  You should check out my travel blog The Jolly Camper.  It's less funny and more camp-ey.

Tonight, we had a great time with our friends, the Warrens.  They are our pastors, our dear friends, our kids best friends....really more like family.  We like to do stuff with the Warrens, and we refer to it as the "WarNig *event*".  We've had the WarNig Christmas, the WarNig Camping Trip, the WarNig Thanksgiving, a WarNig 4th...The WarNig "bottomless cup" hockey game.....you get the idea.  So tonight, there   were drinks, laughs, and trip planning.

The kids played upstairs while the adults brainstormed. We had initially tried to plan a camping trip for the first few weeks of October, but we kept having "oh, yah, we have *insert event here* that day.  So, no October camping trip.  Somehow, Mexico came up.  Mexico.  I've never been to Mexico!  I think running the Beach to Bay Marathon Relay in Corpus Christi is the closest I've been to our southern neighbors.  Mexico came up, and somehow, between 4 exhausted adults, a bottle of McAllen 18, a cup of coffee, and midnight conversation, a camping trip to Padre Island National SeaShore with a day trip to Playa Bagdad was scheduled.  SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  A trip to put on my count down!  (Yes, we're leaving the continent for Spring break, and YES we're finishing up the lower 48 states this summer...but a CLOSE trip!  Fewer than three digits in the number!!!!!)

We departed the Warrens with as much excitement as two families totaling 12 people can muster at near midnight.  Lists were swirling in my head.  Packing...weather in Mexico in November...food....leaving on a Friday after school....Kids birth certificates, I probably need to order a few more copies...I started thinking out loud.  I think out loud, loudly.

Gannon caught on.
"MEXICO!?!?!?!  WE'RE GOING TO MEXICO!?!?!?!?!"

So, the way Gannon processes things is unusual.  If you've read more than one of these blog posts, you've probably figure that out.

"Yup!  All of us!  In November.  With the Warrens."
It wasn't immediate excitement.  You could almost hear the wheels turning.  What. Would. He. Say.

"Well, I hope I don't end up in a Mexican jail from drinking too much of that drink you warned me about."

I have no recollection of warning him about tequila, but I can honestly say, I
feel like this was a parenting win.    

SIXTY NINE DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pee and Boogers

Annika is a fairly cute 2 year old.  She's strong willed, articulate, and passionate.  She's been dubbed "the dictator" by the older two for her finger pointing-firm speaking, which she adamantly denies participating in.  She's stubborn.  OOOOOooooooohhhhhh is she stubborn.

Potty training has been a beast.  Her vehement denial of using a bathroom or pull ups left me damp and crying more than once.  This was one of those times.

Participating in team building has been an important...no...essential portion of campus transition.  I'm a school nurse.  That's my full time gig.  I still dabble at the hospital on weekends and holidays, but school is what I love most.  Moving from high school to elementary has proved interesting.  Pregnancy scares, fights, STD's, and illicit drugs have been replaced by anaphylactic peanut reactions and lost teeth.  Getting to know my admin team is imperative to effective communication for the well being of the campus.  

Tonight, we met for team building at a local taco joint.  I got the kids bean and cheese tacos and threw quarters at them to keep them quiet on the claw machine so I could enjoy a few quiet minutes over nachos and a beverage.  None the less, they made their every-3-minute rounds to make sure I knew Gannon had a drink of Siri's soda, or that Annika was playing the claw machine with Gannon's quarters, or that someone had dumped an entire salt shaker out and was licking it off the table (it was Annika).  Thanks for the report, guys.  I didn't previously realize your in insatiable love for micro-justice.  News to me.  I'll get right on the micromanagement of your lives in a booth of a taco joint.  Because you can't self-regulate for 3 freaking minutes.  Seriously.

I finally had Gannon and Siri zoning mindlessly over a game of "Equestria Girls" on my phone, and had Annika on my lap.  Straw to lips.....driiiiinnnnnnkkkkkkkk. Then, mid sarcastic joke about having too many kids to my vice principal, I felt warm.  Warm and damp.  Then dripping in my shoe.  SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!?!?  I GAVE HER QUARTERS TO BE GOOD.  And she peed on my leg.  Great.

I realized in that moment, that this is what being a mom is.  It's sitting with a plat of nachos, a strawberry frozen beverage, and my vice-boss, in a puddle of urine, and acting like it's totally normal.  Shoes.  For the love of God, why isn't she wearing shoes.  "Get your shoes, please, it's time to go home and take a bath."

Home we go.  It's going to be better at home.  We'll have baths, watch a quick show, and fall asleep to be ready bright and early for the Friday of a three day weekend.  The thought was a shadow as I laid in bed with Annika screaming in my left ear that her nose hurts, as Gannon cries in my right ear that he "really really really didn't mean to get his blanket stuck in his ceiling fan".

"Gannon, sit down and be quiet.  Did you turn your fan off?"  Thankfully, over zealous to please Siri is on top of turning off the fan.  "Annika, blow into the napkin so you're nose won't hurt."  *blow* "Oh for the love.  What is that.  Is that a bead?!?!?!"

I'm ready for another drink.