Yup, I signed up for NaNoWriMo again. Yup, I gave up again. My excuse this year was the five-day road trip to Iowa, during which I tried to write but found myself both uninspired and carsick.
We were there to visit Ross's family and enjoy and early Thanksgiving. It was a very quick but pleasant trip, made even sweeter by my decision to drop NaNoWriMo this year. No, it's not that I am proud to be a quitter. Not by any means. I've tried this three times and just haven't been able to discipline myself enough to stick with a daily writing schedule. And yes, I know that I will NEVER be a successful writer if I can't do that.
But, while we were in Iowa, I realized a few very important things about myself - things I was unhappy with. Things I want - and need - to change. Things that are far more important than stringing together 50,000 words and patting myself on the back.
Don't think that I'm mocking those who are participating. I think it's a super idea, but for me, right now, it's become low priority.
In two days, I will be 33 years old. My baby just turned 5 months old. I am very unhappy with my body. With my general state of health. I've been told that moms can't snap right back into shape, that their bodies take 9 months to change and grow a baby and that there should be 9 months for it to return to "normal". Which is fine. But that doesn't mean that when my baby is 9 months old, suddenly by body will magically drop these 25 pounds, that my lungs will return to their "running-friendly" state, and that I will be able to sign up for the next 5K that pops up in my Facebook feed.
I have to DO something.
Granted, for 3 months after the birth of my baby, I was under medical orders not to exercise. I'd had an emergency c-section and frankly, dealing with a baby who couldn't nurse, dealing with my own emotions, and dealing with the choice to return to work - or not - after becoming a mom, well, all those things were more than enough for me to focus on. I wasn't worried that I couldn't squeeze my still-swollen feet into my Nikes. Who cared?
Well, now that I've had to invest in a new, "upsized" wardrobe...I do.
It's time to celebrate me by beginning to take care of myself again. Eating healthier. Cooking at home more often. Hiding the Halloween candy from myself. Walking again. Refusing to put myself down with my own words. Putting God first again.
So. For the rest of this month - and hopefully, indefinitely, I have to focus on myself and my family in a healthy, God-honoring way. It doesn't mean I won't write. It just means that I need to plan my time better, to sacrifice some of it for my husband and my son, to work on healthier decisions, to improve my spending habits, to put a little more effort into housework, to exercise more, to pray more, to cook more, to love more, to connect more with friends and family.
And...yeah...to put down the smartphone more.
So that's what I'm doing for the rest of the month. To my Nano-friends: I salute you! May success be yours! I'll join you next year. By then, I am hoping and praying, I will have gotten back into the routine of taking care of myself.
In fact, I'm planning on it.
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Guilt-Trippin'
Here it is, boys and girls. We're in the home stretch. According to the cute little app on my phone, baby should be arriving in (give or take) 42 days.
And I'm feeling all the expected emotions: excitement, anxiety, impatience, fear, joy, concern, delight, marvel, worry...
...and guilt.
When my track record included nothing but miscarriages, I remember telling pretty much anyone who would listen (including God) that I would prefer the most painful, complicated pregnancy - so long as it produced a healthy, full-term baby - to remaining childless. When my friends suffered through their pregnancies (ending up dehydrated, bed-ridden and/or fatigued to the point of hospitalization), I considered that preferable to having my children die within my womb. That's not to say I was flippant and disregarded my friends' pain. It was just something that, in a strange way, I envied. It was a pain I hadn't been able to experience. With that pain came a promise that I'd been denied this far. It was like I was more than willing to trudge through the desert to get to the Promised Land; I just hadn't been liberated from Egypt yet. (I wanted to make a Charlton Heston reference and a Moses one seemed appropriate.)
So why am I feeling guilty?
Because, other than the very scary subchorionic hematoma that haunted my first trimester, I've had a relatively easy pregnancy. Instead of the acne explosion I was dreading, my face actually cleared up and became less sensitive. Instead of day-long morning sickness, I had maybe a dozen bouts with mild nausea - I never threw up. Instead of being battered all night long by tiny legs kicking nonstop, I've found that the baby actually has "quiet time" when I'm sleeping and is rarely active after 11:00 PM. In fact, other than my weight gain (which has admittedly been a little excessive, although my doctor is not concerned), I've had practically zero issues. Some back pain here, minor swelling there, and an insatiable desire for peanut butter in all forms, but really - nothing to write home about.
But...I'm done. I'm tired of being a human incubator. I want my figure back. I want to wear cute clothes again. I want to wear my impractical, beautiful four-inch snakeskin-print heels! I want to hold my baby in my arms and not my belly. I want to be able to sleep on my back again. AND OH MY GOSH I WANT TO EAT SUSHI AGAIN!
So, I'm feeling guilty because I'm also feeling like I don't have the right to be totally over being pregnant.
These thoughts are probably not so different from any other lady's, six weeks from her due date, and yet they make me feel selfish. I'm the one who swore a hellish pregnancy was still better than a lifetime of miscarriages, and I'm STILL complaining about my fairly symptom-less eight-month stretch.
I still have friends who cannot have children, or who struggle to get pregnant. Even in these past few months, I've been contacted by friends who recently miscarried and wanted to tell me even before their own families, simply because they knew I'd been there and wanted my take on things. It broke my heart to see them go through loss - sometimes more than once - but I was truly honored that they trusted me with their grief.
Which seems to complicate my frustration with this pregnancy. I'm so very torn between keeping my mouth shut about the discomfort because I feel guilty sharing it, knowing there are people who would do quite a lot to be in my position - and being swept, via my experience, into the ranks of fierce, fabulous women who wear their stretch-marks like tiger stripes and who have no shame in being mothers.
Of course, worrying adds neither days to my life nor health to my baby. I'm just going to have to go with what I know - keep things honest - and diplomatic - and public. That seems to work for me.
So, to summarize: it's the Final Countdown and, even if I'm not emotionally ready for baby - my body most definitely is. Let's do this, Baby Godlove. Not too early, but please don't be tardy, either! Making people wait for you is soooooo rude!
And I'm feeling all the expected emotions: excitement, anxiety, impatience, fear, joy, concern, delight, marvel, worry...
...and guilt.
When my track record included nothing but miscarriages, I remember telling pretty much anyone who would listen (including God) that I would prefer the most painful, complicated pregnancy - so long as it produced a healthy, full-term baby - to remaining childless. When my friends suffered through their pregnancies (ending up dehydrated, bed-ridden and/or fatigued to the point of hospitalization), I considered that preferable to having my children die within my womb. That's not to say I was flippant and disregarded my friends' pain. It was just something that, in a strange way, I envied. It was a pain I hadn't been able to experience. With that pain came a promise that I'd been denied this far. It was like I was more than willing to trudge through the desert to get to the Promised Land; I just hadn't been liberated from Egypt yet. (I wanted to make a Charlton Heston reference and a Moses one seemed appropriate.)
So why am I feeling guilty?
Because, other than the very scary subchorionic hematoma that haunted my first trimester, I've had a relatively easy pregnancy. Instead of the acne explosion I was dreading, my face actually cleared up and became less sensitive. Instead of day-long morning sickness, I had maybe a dozen bouts with mild nausea - I never threw up. Instead of being battered all night long by tiny legs kicking nonstop, I've found that the baby actually has "quiet time" when I'm sleeping and is rarely active after 11:00 PM. In fact, other than my weight gain (which has admittedly been a little excessive, although my doctor is not concerned), I've had practically zero issues. Some back pain here, minor swelling there, and an insatiable desire for peanut butter in all forms, but really - nothing to write home about.
But...I'm done. I'm tired of being a human incubator. I want my figure back. I want to wear cute clothes again. I want to wear my impractical, beautiful four-inch snakeskin-print heels! I want to hold my baby in my arms and not my belly. I want to be able to sleep on my back again. AND OH MY GOSH I WANT TO EAT SUSHI AGAIN!
So, I'm feeling guilty because I'm also feeling like I don't have the right to be totally over being pregnant.
These thoughts are probably not so different from any other lady's, six weeks from her due date, and yet they make me feel selfish. I'm the one who swore a hellish pregnancy was still better than a lifetime of miscarriages, and I'm STILL complaining about my fairly symptom-less eight-month stretch.
I still have friends who cannot have children, or who struggle to get pregnant. Even in these past few months, I've been contacted by friends who recently miscarried and wanted to tell me even before their own families, simply because they knew I'd been there and wanted my take on things. It broke my heart to see them go through loss - sometimes more than once - but I was truly honored that they trusted me with their grief.
Which seems to complicate my frustration with this pregnancy. I'm so very torn between keeping my mouth shut about the discomfort because I feel guilty sharing it, knowing there are people who would do quite a lot to be in my position - and being swept, via my experience, into the ranks of fierce, fabulous women who wear their stretch-marks like tiger stripes and who have no shame in being mothers.
Of course, worrying adds neither days to my life nor health to my baby. I'm just going to have to go with what I know - keep things honest - and diplomatic - and public. That seems to work for me.
So, to summarize: it's the Final Countdown and, even if I'm not emotionally ready for baby - my body most definitely is. Let's do this, Baby Godlove. Not too early, but please don't be tardy, either! Making people wait for you is soooooo rude!
Thursday, April 24, 2014
10 Weeks Left!
They say animals can sense when a change is coming. The weather, a big move, things like that. After observing Thor's behavior the past several weeks, I'm inclined to agree. He's always been my special little guy, letting me squeeze him, bathe him and clip his claws with no trouble at all. But lately, he's been having mood swings. Either he's affectionate to the point of annoying (trust me, it takes a lot for me to get sick of kitty cuddles), or he's downright mean. Last night, he hopped into bed with me and curled up on my pillow, baring his soft white belly for scratches, furiously purring until Ross kicked him out of the bedroom. This morning, he followed me into the kitchen and, out of nowhere, bit my calf so hard he drew blood.
I tell you, this furry dude is not looking forward to being the second favorite "son" in the house. And he doesn't have much time left to get used to the idea, either! I'm currently cruising through week 30 of my pregnancy, and the reality of it is starting to hit me hard. In ten weeks or less - hopefully not less! - we're going to meet our son. The idea is terrifying, thrilling, and about every emotion in between. I'm torn between being totally over being pregnant and being willing to do it for another year in order to avoid the anxiety that will surely come with being a brand-new mommy.
The good news is that I recently passed my glucose test, despite my embarrassingly terrible eating habits the past few months. Admittedly, I'm not proud of it, but I used to rail on my husband for the amount of sugar he consumes in a day (it's a lot - much like the typical America diet, I'm thinking)...but these past few weeks I swear that ice cream, peanut butter and Sarris chocolate have been pretty much my meat and potatoes. The chocolate especially. I have always loved Sarris candy, but I truly EMBRACE it now! At least two of my other daily staples have been skim milk and whole-wheat English muffins, but of course that doesn't negate all the crummy stuff. I've gained about 30 pounds so far, and while that is well within the normal range, it's still a little hard to swallow that fact - no pun intended. I'm looking forward to returning to my regular walks as soon as I can after the baby is born. I miss them more that I expected to, but the shortness of breath that is practically standard for pregnant women has been extra hellish for this chunky little asthmatic, so exercise has been low on the priority list this time around.
The doc has increased my prenatal visits to twice monthly, which is standard once a patient enters the third trimester. He's also keeping en eye on my pre-existing high blood pressure which, thankfully, is completely under control at this point. It still frustrates me that I did everything in my power to counteract it naturally (regular cardiovascular exercise, weight loss, restricted sodium diet, etc.), but now isn't the time for me to be petty about taking medicine I don't want, especially because it's working.
He also wants me to start working on a birth plan. My current birth plan includes these two items: (1) Get baby out of my body quickly; and (2) Let me sleep.
Okay, I'm joking. A little bit. I've had people assume that I'm going for a non-medicated birth, assume that I'm not breastfeeding, assume a lot of things already. Truth is, I'm surprising myself with how flexible I'm willing to be. We elected not to attend any birth classes, other than the hospital tour. I've talked to friends who didn't feel classes really benefitted them, and I've also been told that the same information can be gathered fro YouTube videos. Which is probably true. I'm still exploring my options as far as pain management and labor go. Although my blood pressure is great now, I'm not going with any "traditional" options for birth (home birth, water birth, etc.) I want my baby as close as possible to medical assistance in the event something should go wrong. That's my own choice, as will be my decision to breastfeed (or not), return to work (or not), circumcise (or not), film a birth video (or not), or any of the other hundred million things I'll have to think about in the hours before, during, and after my son's birth. Which is why a birth plan, even a very loose one, is a good idea. Because I probably won't be thinking about details once I'm in the middle of labor. I'm also sharing the plan with my husband and step-mommy, who will be in the delivery room with me.
I'm not in the nesting phase yet (which explains the state of my housekeeping efforts - nil), but I am in the "read all about it" stage. I've been given some wonderful books and it's nice to read about options regarding child-rearing that I hadn't considered. I'm also in the self-conscious stage. My belly is pretty darn prominent now. I can still dress the bump (keep your eyes open for an upcoming "Beauty and the Bump" post about maternity fashion!) but it's starting to get hard to handle. I feel huge most days, even though the swelling of my hands and feet has been minimal. My husband was a big baby - nine pounds or so - as were his sisters. My sister and I, on the other hand, were on the petite side. I was just over six pounds. So we'll see how big our little love bug gets - but I'm willing to bet he won't be tiny. In my head he's already topped six pounds and that is why I feel enormous and can't breathe. Never mind the two and a half months he still has to keep baking in my oven!
Thanks for reading - and a very humble and sincere thank you to those of you who have been cheering us on and praying for us as we barrel into parenthood! This experience hasn't been easy, but we count every day a miracle.
I tell you, this furry dude is not looking forward to being the second favorite "son" in the house. And he doesn't have much time left to get used to the idea, either! I'm currently cruising through week 30 of my pregnancy, and the reality of it is starting to hit me hard. In ten weeks or less - hopefully not less! - we're going to meet our son. The idea is terrifying, thrilling, and about every emotion in between. I'm torn between being totally over being pregnant and being willing to do it for another year in order to avoid the anxiety that will surely come with being a brand-new mommy.
The good news is that I recently passed my glucose test, despite my embarrassingly terrible eating habits the past few months. Admittedly, I'm not proud of it, but I used to rail on my husband for the amount of sugar he consumes in a day (it's a lot - much like the typical America diet, I'm thinking)...but these past few weeks I swear that ice cream, peanut butter and Sarris chocolate have been pretty much my meat and potatoes. The chocolate especially. I have always loved Sarris candy, but I truly EMBRACE it now! At least two of my other daily staples have been skim milk and whole-wheat English muffins, but of course that doesn't negate all the crummy stuff. I've gained about 30 pounds so far, and while that is well within the normal range, it's still a little hard to swallow that fact - no pun intended. I'm looking forward to returning to my regular walks as soon as I can after the baby is born. I miss them more that I expected to, but the shortness of breath that is practically standard for pregnant women has been extra hellish for this chunky little asthmatic, so exercise has been low on the priority list this time around.
The doc has increased my prenatal visits to twice monthly, which is standard once a patient enters the third trimester. He's also keeping en eye on my pre-existing high blood pressure which, thankfully, is completely under control at this point. It still frustrates me that I did everything in my power to counteract it naturally (regular cardiovascular exercise, weight loss, restricted sodium diet, etc.), but now isn't the time for me to be petty about taking medicine I don't want, especially because it's working.
He also wants me to start working on a birth plan. My current birth plan includes these two items: (1) Get baby out of my body quickly; and (2) Let me sleep.
Okay, I'm joking. A little bit. I've had people assume that I'm going for a non-medicated birth, assume that I'm not breastfeeding, assume a lot of things already. Truth is, I'm surprising myself with how flexible I'm willing to be. We elected not to attend any birth classes, other than the hospital tour. I've talked to friends who didn't feel classes really benefitted them, and I've also been told that the same information can be gathered fro YouTube videos. Which is probably true. I'm still exploring my options as far as pain management and labor go. Although my blood pressure is great now, I'm not going with any "traditional" options for birth (home birth, water birth, etc.) I want my baby as close as possible to medical assistance in the event something should go wrong. That's my own choice, as will be my decision to breastfeed (or not), return to work (or not), circumcise (or not), film a birth video (or not), or any of the other hundred million things I'll have to think about in the hours before, during, and after my son's birth. Which is why a birth plan, even a very loose one, is a good idea. Because I probably won't be thinking about details once I'm in the middle of labor. I'm also sharing the plan with my husband and step-mommy, who will be in the delivery room with me.
I'm not in the nesting phase yet (which explains the state of my housekeeping efforts - nil), but I am in the "read all about it" stage. I've been given some wonderful books and it's nice to read about options regarding child-rearing that I hadn't considered. I'm also in the self-conscious stage. My belly is pretty darn prominent now. I can still dress the bump (keep your eyes open for an upcoming "Beauty and the Bump" post about maternity fashion!) but it's starting to get hard to handle. I feel huge most days, even though the swelling of my hands and feet has been minimal. My husband was a big baby - nine pounds or so - as were his sisters. My sister and I, on the other hand, were on the petite side. I was just over six pounds. So we'll see how big our little love bug gets - but I'm willing to bet he won't be tiny. In my head he's already topped six pounds and that is why I feel enormous and can't breathe. Never mind the two and a half months he still has to keep baking in my oven!
Thanks for reading - and a very humble and sincere thank you to those of you who have been cheering us on and praying for us as we barrel into parenthood! This experience hasn't been easy, but we count every day a miracle.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Team Pink or Team Blue?
If you're a friend or follower of mine on social media sites, then you already know. But for those of you who might not be aware...
It's a boy!
Trust me, as thrilled as we are, both Ross and I are shocked off our rockers. I was convinced I was carrying a girl. Most of my friends thought it was a girl. Heck, even my Italian-American, meat-loving, gun-toting Papa was excited to have a granddaughter.
Maybe in a few more years. But first up, a bouncing baby boy!
Our anatomical ultrasound could have been nerve-wracking, but our technician, Connie, was relaxed and friendly. Ross asked her to check the heart for abnormalities, which she is supposed to do anyway, because, in the back of our minds, we wondered if this little baby might suffer from the same heart defect Ross was born with. We immediately received the news that the heart was fine...as were the brain, bowels, spine, and everything else - even the baby's tiny little toes!
I suppose things didn't look too different than the 8 bazillion sonogram images my friends have posted online, but when it's yours, it's just a little more - magical? Miraculous? I don't know. It's pretty neat to get to post pictures of my little guy on my bedroom mirror and think that, in a few short months, I'll be seeing him face to face.
Even though we "cheated" and learned the gender before we had originally planned to, we went ahead and had my stepmom's birthday cake act as our gender reveal cake. We wanted to keep things pretty intimate, so we just invited family and a few of her closest friends to join us for a little party. She didn't know the cake she was cutting was going to be pink or blue, though, so she definitely started to cry when she put two and two together (which was pretty quickly; she's a smart cookie). A cheer went up when she sliced the cake to reveal its neon blue interior. Of course, everyone would have cheered if it was pink, too. I think our friends and family were just as relieved to know that the baby is healthy and growing normally.
We are immeasurably grateful for that. Trust me.
What I'm less than grateful for is the comments I've gotten. I shouldn't really complain; I haven't had the onslaught of them that some of my friends have received (my buds Matt and Jaime, happily expecting their FOURTH little girl - because they actually wanted a large family - get nasty looks from total strangers because they have - gasp! - more than two children). Still, hearing, "You're big for 21 weeks - are they sure it's not twins?" is a bit of a stab in the gut. "Why, yes, I am certain that all four of my ultrasounds were incorrect and I'm not carrying a single child, but actually a litter of them!" I mean...people...I'm five feet tall. I'm all chest and hips. I have virtually no torso. There is nowhere for the baby, plus my internal organs and pre-existing fat stores, to go. My other favorite comment was from a family member who insisted that the name we chose would cause the child to be made fun of his entire life. Never mind the fact that we carefully chose it for its meaning, significance, lack of uber-trendiness, and sound with our last name (which, as you know, is pretty distinct).
Fortunately, most folks have simply been as joyful and grateful and excited as we are.
I'm wondering what these next few months are going to be like. Although I didn't suffer the morning sickness that bothered a lot of my friends, I've had pregnancy rhinitis for the past four months. That's pretty much non-stop sniffles and watery eyes. It's definitely been unpleasant. And, now that I'm showing, I'm swinging between feeling like an absolute goddess (ooh, I am glowing, aren't I?) and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry because none of my clothes fit and I am already having a hard time putting on my socks (thankfully, they still fit).
They say it's quite a roller coaster, and I'm inclined to agree.
It's a boy!
Trust me, as thrilled as we are, both Ross and I are shocked off our rockers. I was convinced I was carrying a girl. Most of my friends thought it was a girl. Heck, even my Italian-American, meat-loving, gun-toting Papa was excited to have a granddaughter.
Maybe in a few more years. But first up, a bouncing baby boy!
Our anatomical ultrasound could have been nerve-wracking, but our technician, Connie, was relaxed and friendly. Ross asked her to check the heart for abnormalities, which she is supposed to do anyway, because, in the back of our minds, we wondered if this little baby might suffer from the same heart defect Ross was born with. We immediately received the news that the heart was fine...as were the brain, bowels, spine, and everything else - even the baby's tiny little toes!
I suppose things didn't look too different than the 8 bazillion sonogram images my friends have posted online, but when it's yours, it's just a little more - magical? Miraculous? I don't know. It's pretty neat to get to post pictures of my little guy on my bedroom mirror and think that, in a few short months, I'll be seeing him face to face.
Even though we "cheated" and learned the gender before we had originally planned to, we went ahead and had my stepmom's birthday cake act as our gender reveal cake. We wanted to keep things pretty intimate, so we just invited family and a few of her closest friends to join us for a little party. She didn't know the cake she was cutting was going to be pink or blue, though, so she definitely started to cry when she put two and two together (which was pretty quickly; she's a smart cookie). A cheer went up when she sliced the cake to reveal its neon blue interior. Of course, everyone would have cheered if it was pink, too. I think our friends and family were just as relieved to know that the baby is healthy and growing normally.
We are immeasurably grateful for that. Trust me.
What I'm less than grateful for is the comments I've gotten. I shouldn't really complain; I haven't had the onslaught of them that some of my friends have received (my buds Matt and Jaime, happily expecting their FOURTH little girl - because they actually wanted a large family - get nasty looks from total strangers because they have - gasp! - more than two children). Still, hearing, "You're big for 21 weeks - are they sure it's not twins?" is a bit of a stab in the gut. "Why, yes, I am certain that all four of my ultrasounds were incorrect and I'm not carrying a single child, but actually a litter of them!" I mean...people...I'm five feet tall. I'm all chest and hips. I have virtually no torso. There is nowhere for the baby, plus my internal organs and pre-existing fat stores, to go. My other favorite comment was from a family member who insisted that the name we chose would cause the child to be made fun of his entire life. Never mind the fact that we carefully chose it for its meaning, significance, lack of uber-trendiness, and sound with our last name (which, as you know, is pretty distinct).
Fortunately, most folks have simply been as joyful and grateful and excited as we are.
I'm wondering what these next few months are going to be like. Although I didn't suffer the morning sickness that bothered a lot of my friends, I've had pregnancy rhinitis for the past four months. That's pretty much non-stop sniffles and watery eyes. It's definitely been unpleasant. And, now that I'm showing, I'm swinging between feeling like an absolute goddess (ooh, I am glowing, aren't I?) and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry because none of my clothes fit and I am already having a hard time putting on my socks (thankfully, they still fit).
They say it's quite a roller coaster, and I'm inclined to agree.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
The Much-Anticipated Disney Post!
It's been a few months, but I still wanted to share about the incredibly wonderful Disney vacation Ross and I enjoyed in October. I posted all the pictures on Facebook, but several of my friends and family just aren't into that. So, I'm adding some of them here. It's hard to capture in words and pictures how awesome it was, but I'll try!
Ross and I hadn't been on a bona-fide vacation since our honeymoon to Texas in 2010. We'd had a few weekend getaways, but nothing that was really spectacular. After having a few very emotional months (both my mother and his grandmother passed away in 2013) we really wanted to do something special for ourselves last year. So, we planned to head to Disney during the week of Ross's birthday. He'd been there before, but I never had. As the date of our departure approached, I turned into one of those little kids in the commercials I grew up with. "I CAN'T SLEEP!" We took the advice of several friends and carefully planned out our meals in advance, but were willing to "play it by ear" for most everything else. I just wanted to explore the Happiest Place on Earth!
The weather was beautiful. Other than a few sprinkles that Tuesday morning, we experienced pleasantly hot temperatures, usually in the mid-eighties or above. (What a shock when we came back home to 40 degrees and cloudy skies!)
From the moment we boarded the bus - er, Magical Express - to head to the park, I could hardly believe I was there. It's true - the staff at Disney is wonderfully welcoming, kind, and friendly. Nearly every employee acknowledged Ross's "birthday boy" pin and was sure to wish him a special day. We stayed at the charmingly kitschy Pop Century Resort, which was decorated with cutouts and loads of memorabilia from the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's. (We stayed in the 80's portion of the complex, like, totally.)
Our first stop was Hollywood Studios, where we saw the Muppets in 3-D, Ross created his own Star Wars-inspired droid, and I hopped on a speeder bike. Thanks to my college friend Dave, who works pyrotechnics for the parks, we got front-row seating at the Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular - and I ended up onstage as a volunteer! That was very, very cool. Ross's birthday meal was enjoyed at the supremely geeky Sci-Fi Diner, in which patrons are seated inside convertible cars facing a movie screen, drive-in style. Clips from tacky, B-movies are shown, as well as advertisements from the 50's and 60's. The meal was incredible. I can say that about every scrap of food we ate in the parks! Even the "fast food" was pretty special. I ordered the salmon sandwich, which happened to be pretty much the size of my head, and Ross got a burger and the most delicious caramel apple pie milkshake I could ever imagine. Plus dessert! We were so full from that meal that we decided we'd probably be splitting our meals for the rest of the trip. The meal plan is set up for you to do that, if you wish, and we figured it would be better to risk feeling a little hungry rather than being unable to move after eating! (We certainly never went hungry, by the way!)
The next day, we headed to Epcot. Ross achieved the rank of Junior Ranger when we visited Canada, and I fangirled all over myself when we saw that almost half of the gift shop in England consisted of Doctor Who merchandise. We really enjoyed the street performers in France and Italy - mimes and musicians who were certainly more imaginative than what we Americans often assume!
When we had originally booked our reservations, we didn't realize that the International Food & Wine Festival was slated to occur when we were there. I hadn't thought much of it, since Ross and I aren't big drinkers, but the more I read about it, the more interested I got. Authentically-prepared traditional dishes from all over the world were being served in temporary booths, along with the regional foods offered in the permanent displays. Over the course of the week, we tried fish 'n' chips and pale ale in a London pub, garlicky escargot and creamy-smooth caramel gelato in France, tempura and sushi in Japan, filet mignon with truffle sauce in Canada, kimchi dogs in Korea, mint tea and lamb shanks in Morocco, plus lots of other great food in the more traditionally American restaurants. I would have to say that Epcot was my favorite place, since I love learning about history, other cultures, and - yep - ethnic foods. We ended up there on three out of the five days we were in Disney! The fireworks display on the lake, "Illuminations of Earth", was moving and very beautiful. We ended up seeing that twice, as well; once on our own and once with Dave's lovely family.
On day three, we finally set off for the Magic Kingdom. When you're surrounded by castles and fairy tale characters, it's easy to feel like a little kid, wanting nothing more than to put on your own crown and pretend to be a princess. Which, as you can see in the picture, I did, of course. Getting to meet one of my favorite princesses, Ariel, was a real treat. We talked hair - what a surprise! Something else that was very special, though, was that our newlywed friends Colleen and Adam, whose wedding we had to miss due to our vacation, were spending that day in Disney, and we were able to join them for lunch! Talk about magical! We decided on the relatively new "Be Our Guest" restaurant. With its Beauty and the Beast themed décor and food, it was perfect for the French-speaking Colleen and myself. And the boys? They just wanted the roast beef sandwiches. (Which, naturally, were fantastic.)
Days for and five saw our return to Epcot, after a quick stop back at Hollywood Studios to ride the Toy Story arcade game (Ross kicked my butt when it came to high scores). In Epcot, I was encouraged by the skywriting (see below) we saw over the park, though I know some people were probably irritated or offended. I thought it was cool. We finished our rounds at the Food & Wine Festival and met up with yet another old buddy - my former Starbucks co-worker, Jen!
When we finally had to pack up our bags and say "bye-bye" to that famous mouse, I admit, I was ready to go home, but already thinking about returning to the park with our future children. I was so impressed at how kid-friendly the park really is, with bathrooms on every corner, stroller "parking lots" and lots of kid-approved food that isn't all junk. We'd like to come back when our kids are over three - which is great, because it will take us that long to save up again!
All in all, we had a real blast. It was so much fun being there as a couple because our decisions were our own - not based on who had to potty, who was thirsty, and who wanted to see Princess Aurora RIGHT NOW. We'll have that adventure a few years down the road.
In conclusion, here are my tips for folks who are considering a trip to Disney anytime soon. I'm certainly no travel guru, but I learned a few things that week!
1. Take advantage of the meal plan. The portions are large; you can split meals with family. If you're not hungry, you can "save" meals to eat later, or grab "to-go" food instead of eating at sit-down restaurants. That being said, if there's a place you'd really like to try, book your dining reservation in advance! We're talking like 3 months in advance. No joke; when we tried to make changes a few weeks before our trip, there were no reservations available in the entire park!
2. Wear comfortable shoes. That seems like a no-brainer, but I brought shoes that I thought were comfortable, only to learn that they weren't really appropriate for 12 hours of walking in the hot sun.
3. Pick a time of year that the park will be less crowded. According to our inside man, Dave, the park is practically devoid of life from the week after Thanksgiving until right before Christmas. Our October visit was pretty nice, too.
4. Let the park employees take your picture! Yes, it's expensive, but you don't have to buy any shots you don't like, plus your whole group actually gets to be in them, rather than taking awkward selfies in front of Cinderella's castle (trust me, they won't work very well).
5. Do stop at Downtown Disney - without the kids. It's more of an adult-friendly shopping area. But if the kids insist...you can drop them off at the gigantic Lego store that is there. That's where Ross and I spent most of our time, since we're pretty much 30-something children anyway. It's where I met my new boyfriend. He's big and green.
6. Take advantage of Magic Bands (they serve as room keys, identification, tokens, and allow purchases to be made) and Fast Passes. I can't stress this enough! Ross and I joked that the seemingly limitless capabilities of the Magic Bands made them Disney's version of the Mark of the Beast, but they were extremely helpful in navigating the parks and allowed us to focus on fun, not where our key cards had been left, or where our credit cards were. Fast Passes allow quick access to certain rides during certain times. Consider getting the MyDisneyExperience app for your phone as well, which allows you to make and cancel reservations, gives to real-time wait times in all the parks, lets you know about special events, and allows you to book up to three Fast Passes per guest per day in advance. It also serves as GPS when you're within the park.
6. There's no shame in dressing like your favorite character. No matter how old you are!
Ross and I hadn't been on a bona-fide vacation since our honeymoon to Texas in 2010. We'd had a few weekend getaways, but nothing that was really spectacular. After having a few very emotional months (both my mother and his grandmother passed away in 2013) we really wanted to do something special for ourselves last year. So, we planned to head to Disney during the week of Ross's birthday. He'd been there before, but I never had. As the date of our departure approached, I turned into one of those little kids in the commercials I grew up with. "I CAN'T SLEEP!" We took the advice of several friends and carefully planned out our meals in advance, but were willing to "play it by ear" for most everything else. I just wanted to explore the Happiest Place on Earth!
The weather was beautiful. Other than a few sprinkles that Tuesday morning, we experienced pleasantly hot temperatures, usually in the mid-eighties or above. (What a shock when we came back home to 40 degrees and cloudy skies!)
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| Birthday boy! |
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| Geek gathering grounds... |
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| I'm the short one, in case you can't tell. |
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| Nope. No Time Lords here... |
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| Nothing like a man in a vest... |
.JPG) |
| LJS will never live up to this. |
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| Reppin' the T.A.R.D.I.S. |
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| Dave, Katie and their cute little girls! |
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| Newlyweds! |
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| She-Ra, eat your heart out. |
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| He wears a fez now. Fezzes are cool. |
Days for and five saw our return to Epcot, after a quick stop back at Hollywood Studios to ride the Toy Story arcade game (Ross kicked my butt when it came to high scores). In Epcot, I was encouraged by the skywriting (see below) we saw over the park, though I know some people were probably irritated or offended. I thought it was cool. We finished our rounds at the Food & Wine Festival and met up with yet another old buddy - my former Starbucks co-worker, Jen!
 |
| Unexpected and neat. :-) |
When we finally had to pack up our bags and say "bye-bye" to that famous mouse, I admit, I was ready to go home, but already thinking about returning to the park with our future children. I was so impressed at how kid-friendly the park really is, with bathrooms on every corner, stroller "parking lots" and lots of kid-approved food that isn't all junk. We'd like to come back when our kids are over three - which is great, because it will take us that long to save up again!
.JPG) |
| So, not the next King of England. No biggie. Still the king of my heart! |
In conclusion, here are my tips for folks who are considering a trip to Disney anytime soon. I'm certainly no travel guru, but I learned a few things that week!
1. Take advantage of the meal plan. The portions are large; you can split meals with family. If you're not hungry, you can "save" meals to eat later, or grab "to-go" food instead of eating at sit-down restaurants. That being said, if there's a place you'd really like to try, book your dining reservation in advance! We're talking like 3 months in advance. No joke; when we tried to make changes a few weeks before our trip, there were no reservations available in the entire park!
2. Wear comfortable shoes. That seems like a no-brainer, but I brought shoes that I thought were comfortable, only to learn that they weren't really appropriate for 12 hours of walking in the hot sun.
3. Pick a time of year that the park will be less crowded. According to our inside man, Dave, the park is practically devoid of life from the week after Thanksgiving until right before Christmas. Our October visit was pretty nice, too.
4. Let the park employees take your picture! Yes, it's expensive, but you don't have to buy any shots you don't like, plus your whole group actually gets to be in them, rather than taking awkward selfies in front of Cinderella's castle (trust me, they won't work very well).
.JPG) |
| Hulk SMASH the competition! |
6. Take advantage of Magic Bands (they serve as room keys, identification, tokens, and allow purchases to be made) and Fast Passes. I can't stress this enough! Ross and I joked that the seemingly limitless capabilities of the Magic Bands made them Disney's version of the Mark of the Beast, but they were extremely helpful in navigating the parks and allowed us to focus on fun, not where our key cards had been left, or where our credit cards were. Fast Passes allow quick access to certain rides during certain times. Consider getting the MyDisneyExperience app for your phone as well, which allows you to make and cancel reservations, gives to real-time wait times in all the parks, lets you know about special events, and allows you to book up to three Fast Passes per guest per day in advance. It also serves as GPS when you're within the park.
6. There's no shame in dressing like your favorite character. No matter how old you are!
.JPG) |
| Sometimes, vacation selfies are okay. (Please note that all photographs published in this post are the sole property of the author. You may share the link to the page but you may NOT REPOST any individual pictures without permission. Thank you for your consideration.) |
Monday, January 27, 2014
Christmas Redeemed
Since I was a teenager, Christmas has been a difficult time for me. My parents separated immediately after Christmas when I was 14 or 15. Suddenly the holidays were split between Mom’s family and Dad’s. Though my parents never “fought” over us, my sister and I were nevertheless shuttled between Bridgeville and Crafton, sometimes further, depending on who was in town that year.
I lost my job at Starbucks a few days before Christmas is 2008. My mom moved in the same week, and it was extremely difficult for both of us.
For many years, I cried at the sight of Christmas lights because they reminded me of the times before my parents separated – decorating the tree, listening to the Beach Boys’ Christmas album (which my dad later admitted he hated), and watching Mom make Christmas cookies (I wasn’t allowed to help, probably because I was so clumsy). For years, I cried because I never had a date for Christmas. I was lonely. Even as a fairly well-adjusted person, and a person with a strong faith, I had a hard time during the holidays. I can see how someone who was struggling with depression or a serious life change might have an even harder time.
The first Christmas I allowed myself to really enjoy was the one immediately before my wedding. Christmas 2009 saw my bridal shower, some weight loss, and a general sense of excitement and hope. I was going to be married two weeks later! My first Christmas as a wife was rather disappointing, though, as Ross and I got our signals crossed about gift-giving and there was some miscommunication that I almost let ruin the whole day (fortunately we can laugh about it now).
The next two Christmases were marked by loss. In August of 2011 and in May and September of 2012, we lost our babies – not to mention several friends of the family near the holidays, as well. Christmas was hard. Seeing images of that sweet little Baby in His mother’s arms, singing songs to the infant Savior, and passing by Nativity scenes showing the adoration of the Christ – it was all so very emotional. Times like that, I was grateful for a small family. I didn’t have dozens of cousins with babies of their own showing up at family parties. Instead, I grew closer with my dad’s family – it’s just my Grandma, my aunt and uncle. We live close together, and grieve together.
This year, we lost my mother in February and Ross’s grandmother in July – and then, a dear friend suffered a miscarriage just recently. We admit, we’re getting to that age where people and things are beginning to pass away. The knowledge that our friends have lost jobs, lost parents and grandparents and unborn babies, lost their faith…it doesn’t make things easier. We’ve had a tough four years, Ross and I. We can say, with all modesty, that we’re grateful we’ve stuck it out. We know people have gotten divorced for far less than what we’ve gone through. We are grateful to God, our church, and our family and friends who have been understanding and supportive through all of our trials. They have helped us laugh, let us grieve, encouraged us to hope, and loved us faithfully.
This year, Christmas was different.
Christmas Eve marked the end of our first trimester.
Yes, we’re pregnant.
And this baby is going to make it.
We found out on Halloween (what a treat, huh?), although I knew it about a week prior – in spite of a negative test. Since I’d switched OB-GYNs after my second miscarriage and received excellent, sympathetic and professional care with my third loss, I knew that I would be given a lot of attention this time around. Earlier genetic testing and blood work had revealed that there was nothing “wrong” with either of us. We prayed, waited, and wondered, and felt that it was best to try again this past fall. My doc put me on progesterone even before we conceived, in order to help my body support a pregnancy. It must have worked. We’ve seen or heard the heartbeat four times now, and the baby is growing at a steady rate. I’ve been praying over the baby regularly, and the verse that was quickened to me was John 10:10, “The enemy has come to steal, kill, and destroy, but I have come to that you may have life, and life abundant.” These are the words of Jesus and have brought me great comfort. Although we believe that our other children are in Heaven, they never got to experience the joy of getting to know Jesus – the journey of walking with Him, of turning from sin and choosing a life of love and hope. This child will have that opportunity – not just for eternal life, like his or her siblings have already received, but for a fulfilling and joyful life with Christ on this earth.
Still, the “perfect pregnancy” I was hoping for, alas, is not a reality yet. When I started to bleed around 7 weeks, I was rushed in for a ultrasound, but nothing was determined other than the baby was fine. Two weeks later, I went back for a follow-up and we learned that I have a very common condition – a subchorionic hematoma. That’s a super-fancy name for a bleed in the uterus. It’s rarely a problem for the growing baby, but it can cause a lot of bleeding and inconvenient (ie., terrifying, especially for a woman who has lost three babies). The problem with mine was that, at least at 9 weeks, it was the same size as the placental sac. Fortunately, problems arise in only about 1% of pregnancies with hematoma. In fact, a very recent study, done in October of 2013, revealed that the rate of miscarriage among women with hematoma was no higher than women without them, provided that a viable pregnancy had been established (ours has). That was so encouraging, even though I bled nearly every day for almost six weeks. Happily, a late December check-up revealed that the hematoma had dramatically shrunk in size and my bleeding had stopped. Baby was growing!
Please know that, although this is really thrilling and life-changing, it is so scary to share it with you. Although I believe this is finally “it”, and we’ll get to hold this little one in our arms in this lifetime, there’s still a bit of doubt nibbling at me. Why wouldn’t there be? I have a strong faith and friends who encourage me, but what woman, after three losses, wouldn’t be terrified to tempt fate? I am fortunate that my friends – especially the older women at church – have spoken life over me, spoken God’s promises over me, and spoken words of hope and prophecy to me. It helps so much to know that I’m not the only one who wants to meet this baby! There are dozens of people praying daily, and for me, that is a great comfort and it gives me strength. These aren’t people who are whimpering weakly before God, ‘Please let the baby live!’ These are people who understand their authority in Christ, and who boldly come before God and remind him of his promises – as he commanded. People who have been speaking scriptures over me, who have confidence when I do not.
I’m “going public” now, even though I am afraid, because I know that there are childless women who read my blog. I know that there are women who still grieve over their losses who read it. I know there are men who don’t know how to help their wives, sisters, and daughters, who are struggling to have children, who read it. I want to encourage others. I want to open up my heart and share my journey. Those who know me well know that writing is healing for me.
We specifically chose this day to reveal our big news because it would have been my mom’s 59th birthday. We wanted to be able to remember today as a joyful day, when we got to share something special with our friends, rather than a day that “should have been”. It’s the best way I can think of right now to honor her.
Thank you for coming on this journey with us.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Real Love?
Today, I heard the statistic that a full 56% of Americans surveyed believe in the concept of "love at first sight".
I almost threw up.
Maybe that's one the biggest problem with society today. Maybe it's way bigger than gun control, or marriage equality, or mental disease, or religious freedom, or anything else that we can find to fight about.
It sounds curmudgeonly to say it, but I think the very idea of "love at first sight" is complete bunk. Poppycock. A fable. In fact, those very words are pretty darn curmudgeonly, too, but then "curmudgeonly" is, sadly, an under-appreciated word. Cur. Mudge. On. Ly. Curmudgeonly! Type it - it doesn't even feel natural to the fingers, all splayed out over the keys like that.
Back on topic: sure, it's easy to be enraptured with the idea of locking eyes with an attractive stranger and being swept up in a dramatic, emotional affair. After all, isn't that what so many bar-hoppers are looking for on Saturday nights? Pretty sure they aren't in the market for a long-term committment - someone who will attend grandfather's funeral with them, or remember to pick up the dry cleaning after work on Thursday. At least, not the people I know who bar-hop (or used to). Isn't that what the movies feed us, though? Isn't that how romance novels introduce us to their "heroes"?
The problem with that concept is this: love is not a feeling. It's not an idea. It's a choice. It's a decision. I love Disney movies as much as the next girl. Honestly. They're pretty. They're fun. And full of adventure and romance and animals that talk.
But reality? Nope.
Well...that would include a sequel in which Cinderella develops embarrassing corns on her feet, leading to painful surgery; Aurora is given an expensive treatment for her narcolepsy that isn't covered by her insurance policy and Prince Philip needs to refinance the castle's mortgage; Ariel gets mercury poisoning from sushi; the Beast realizes that he needs anger-management classes; Belle's dreams of becoming a writer are dashed by rejections from numerous publishing houses; Aladdin deals with self-esteem issues over marrying above his station; and Tarzan and Jane's children refuse to wear pants, inciting neighbors to call child services on them.
Kind of depressing, huh?
That's where love comes in. Love is the decision to fight past the disappointments and remind each other about hope and better times. Love is the promise of "we will get through this". Love is the blessing God gave man and woman to help them survive the disasters of daily life. Everything from burning dinner to losing a child is a tragedy in some way or another, and without love, it's pretty tough to navigate life as all those problems begin to pile up. Even lots of "little" ones, put together, are practically insurmountable.
Love gives us strength for the climb. Sometimes, it gives us wings to soar above problems altogether. But love isn't a quick fix.
That's not to say you can't fall in love quickly. I did. Ross proposed when we'd only been dating three months and I said 'yes' with no hesitation whatsoever. In two days, we celebrate our three-year-anniversary. But falling in love with someone purely by looking at them? That's as shallow as the human race can possibly get. "I like how you look; therefore, I want to possess you."
That's called "lust", friends. It means 'wanting something that doesn't belong to you'. And it's called a sin in most major religions. Even some minor ones, I'd bet. It's not a good thing. Don't get me wrong. Immediate attraction can certainly lead to healthy, mature, loving relationships. It can open the door to love. Desiring something that you don't have can be a way to spur us to action, to change, to another path that better defines us.
But please don't give something so fleeting and fickle as lust the huge and all-encompassing title of "love".
I almost threw up.
Maybe that's one the biggest problem with society today. Maybe it's way bigger than gun control, or marriage equality, or mental disease, or religious freedom, or anything else that we can find to fight about.
It sounds curmudgeonly to say it, but I think the very idea of "love at first sight" is complete bunk. Poppycock. A fable. In fact, those very words are pretty darn curmudgeonly, too, but then "curmudgeonly" is, sadly, an under-appreciated word. Cur. Mudge. On. Ly. Curmudgeonly! Type it - it doesn't even feel natural to the fingers, all splayed out over the keys like that.
Back on topic: sure, it's easy to be enraptured with the idea of locking eyes with an attractive stranger and being swept up in a dramatic, emotional affair. After all, isn't that what so many bar-hoppers are looking for on Saturday nights? Pretty sure they aren't in the market for a long-term committment - someone who will attend grandfather's funeral with them, or remember to pick up the dry cleaning after work on Thursday. At least, not the people I know who bar-hop (or used to). Isn't that what the movies feed us, though? Isn't that how romance novels introduce us to their "heroes"?
The problem with that concept is this: love is not a feeling. It's not an idea. It's a choice. It's a decision. I love Disney movies as much as the next girl. Honestly. They're pretty. They're fun. And full of adventure and romance and animals that talk.
But reality? Nope.
Well...that would include a sequel in which Cinderella develops embarrassing corns on her feet, leading to painful surgery; Aurora is given an expensive treatment for her narcolepsy that isn't covered by her insurance policy and Prince Philip needs to refinance the castle's mortgage; Ariel gets mercury poisoning from sushi; the Beast realizes that he needs anger-management classes; Belle's dreams of becoming a writer are dashed by rejections from numerous publishing houses; Aladdin deals with self-esteem issues over marrying above his station; and Tarzan and Jane's children refuse to wear pants, inciting neighbors to call child services on them.
Kind of depressing, huh?
That's where love comes in. Love is the decision to fight past the disappointments and remind each other about hope and better times. Love is the promise of "we will get through this". Love is the blessing God gave man and woman to help them survive the disasters of daily life. Everything from burning dinner to losing a child is a tragedy in some way or another, and without love, it's pretty tough to navigate life as all those problems begin to pile up. Even lots of "little" ones, put together, are practically insurmountable.
Love gives us strength for the climb. Sometimes, it gives us wings to soar above problems altogether. But love isn't a quick fix.
That's not to say you can't fall in love quickly. I did. Ross proposed when we'd only been dating three months and I said 'yes' with no hesitation whatsoever. In two days, we celebrate our three-year-anniversary. But falling in love with someone purely by looking at them? That's as shallow as the human race can possibly get. "I like how you look; therefore, I want to possess you."
That's called "lust", friends. It means 'wanting something that doesn't belong to you'. And it's called a sin in most major religions. Even some minor ones, I'd bet. It's not a good thing. Don't get me wrong. Immediate attraction can certainly lead to healthy, mature, loving relationships. It can open the door to love. Desiring something that you don't have can be a way to spur us to action, to change, to another path that better defines us.
But please don't give something so fleeting and fickle as lust the huge and all-encompassing title of "love".
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Eye of the Beholder
Last week, Ross and I spent a day in Washington, D.C. I had been there four times previously, but never as a sightseer. Once, I went for a debate tournament and ended up in the hospital with a severe allergic reaction (thanks, dude at Ben & Jerry's who didn't clean the scoop between uses). Another time, I went as the wardrobe mistress for Songs for a New World, which Clarion University had the honor of performing at the Kennedy Center. Another time, my sister and I joined the March for Life, held in a particuarly bitter January (we did end up with our pictures in a news article). And once, I was just passing through, catchinhg a connecting flight back to Pittsburgh. I got to fly over the Potomac at sunset. It was beautiful.
But this time, Ross and I were the touristy sort. I shamelessly flashed my camera everywhere, including places it was prohibited (I got three clean shots before being shut down but the polite but stern security guard). I was surprised, though, at how many of the Smithsonian Institute Museums actually DO allow photography. It was a sightseer's dream come true.
There was a particularly cool exhibit about the government's influence on America's eating habits, including rationing and government-sponsored food campaigns. One was about eating more carp. It was awesome. I also noticed no apologies issued for America's over-consumption of simple carbohydrates, but then, you can't have it all. To my delight, there was a small patch, much like a Boy or Girl Scout badge, that advertized "Heinz's Ketchup". How charming! Representin' the Steel City, baby!
In addition, Ross and I meandered over to the public archives to do a little digging about our respective family histories. I've always been fascinated about my unusual maiden name, and why it was so hard to trace my lineage back to my family's native Belgium. Well, I found out why when I saw a copy of my great-grand-uncle's marriage certificate. Louise Paulette married a Geroges Henri TILLIETTE on June 8, 1890. The spelling of my family's name had, in fact, been changed when they came to America! I was enraptured! Finally, I might be able to trace my history further back than Ellis Island records indicate! Still, there are some "holes" in my history that are proving more difficult than delightful. For example, there's no record of Georges Henri actually coming to America, nor his brother Joseph, who was my great-grandfather. In addition, there were three seperate women named Pauline in the family tree, making things even more twisted. I learned more about both my grandfathers' service records, and that there is no birth record of my mother, my aunt, or myself. Still, those records are being updated all the time, and since there aren't a lot of people searching for Thielets and Kuskils, I don't imagine they're being worked on too hastily.
We ate a quick but delicious lunch at Taqeria Nacional, a tiny Mexican joint wedged behind and incredibly classy seafood house. We joyfully clutched our greasy bag of delicious tacos and our bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola and squeezed past the huge sea of "regulars" - almost all middle-class power-suited whites - and sat down against the building across the street. With Ross's huge backpack and our scrubby jeans, people must have thought we were homeless. I didn't care. My fish taco was awesome.
As fun as everything was, the best part, for me, came when we stopped at a Sheetz in Maryland. There was a trio of noisy pre-teen girls jabbering about a boy or something, in front of us as we waited for my sandwich (turkey on wheat with veggies, no dressing) and Ross's smoothie (epic strawberry banana masterpiece). The employee called out Ross's drink, and the littlest girl looked towards us, saying, "Is this yours?" Immediately, we had all their attention. "Are you really in the army?" one girl asked, indicating Ross's shirt. "No," I apologized, feeling his muscles. "But he looks like he could be, doesn't he?" "Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?" the other girl asked. "We're married," Ross replied, showing them his wedding ring. "We're from Pittsburgh," I offered. "Oooh, I bet you're Steelers fans! I'm sorry about that last game, but you guys have the whole season to make it up!" I laughed. Were these the girls who had irritated me only minutes before because they were being too noisy? How unfair of me. The ringleader of the group turned to me. "You're really pretty!" she said. I melted. Me? Pretty? A few moments before, in the car, I had been mercilessly picking at a pimple on my chin, complaining to Ross that I still had to lose the few pounds I had put on during my pregnancy. I was in a shapeless black dress and dumpy sweater. But this little girl thought I was pretty?
"Thank you, sweetie," I said humbly. Ross came back from paying for our food, and the girls beamed. "I wish you a happy marriage!" one said.
"God bless you girls," I said, silently thanking the Lord that he had arranged for that chance meeting.
"God bless you, too!" they replied proudly.
But this time, Ross and I were the touristy sort. I shamelessly flashed my camera everywhere, including places it was prohibited (I got three clean shots before being shut down but the polite but stern security guard). I was surprised, though, at how many of the Smithsonian Institute Museums actually DO allow photography. It was a sightseer's dream come true.
There was a particularly cool exhibit about the government's influence on America's eating habits, including rationing and government-sponsored food campaigns. One was about eating more carp. It was awesome. I also noticed no apologies issued for America's over-consumption of simple carbohydrates, but then, you can't have it all. To my delight, there was a small patch, much like a Boy or Girl Scout badge, that advertized "Heinz's Ketchup". How charming! Representin' the Steel City, baby!
In addition, Ross and I meandered over to the public archives to do a little digging about our respective family histories. I've always been fascinated about my unusual maiden name, and why it was so hard to trace my lineage back to my family's native Belgium. Well, I found out why when I saw a copy of my great-grand-uncle's marriage certificate. Louise Paulette married a Geroges Henri TILLIETTE on June 8, 1890. The spelling of my family's name had, in fact, been changed when they came to America! I was enraptured! Finally, I might be able to trace my history further back than Ellis Island records indicate! Still, there are some "holes" in my history that are proving more difficult than delightful. For example, there's no record of Georges Henri actually coming to America, nor his brother Joseph, who was my great-grandfather. In addition, there were three seperate women named Pauline in the family tree, making things even more twisted. I learned more about both my grandfathers' service records, and that there is no birth record of my mother, my aunt, or myself. Still, those records are being updated all the time, and since there aren't a lot of people searching for Thielets and Kuskils, I don't imagine they're being worked on too hastily.
We ate a quick but delicious lunch at Taqeria Nacional, a tiny Mexican joint wedged behind and incredibly classy seafood house. We joyfully clutched our greasy bag of delicious tacos and our bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola and squeezed past the huge sea of "regulars" - almost all middle-class power-suited whites - and sat down against the building across the street. With Ross's huge backpack and our scrubby jeans, people must have thought we were homeless. I didn't care. My fish taco was awesome.
As fun as everything was, the best part, for me, came when we stopped at a Sheetz in Maryland. There was a trio of noisy pre-teen girls jabbering about a boy or something, in front of us as we waited for my sandwich (turkey on wheat with veggies, no dressing) and Ross's smoothie (epic strawberry banana masterpiece). The employee called out Ross's drink, and the littlest girl looked towards us, saying, "Is this yours?" Immediately, we had all their attention. "Are you really in the army?" one girl asked, indicating Ross's shirt. "No," I apologized, feeling his muscles. "But he looks like he could be, doesn't he?" "Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?" the other girl asked. "We're married," Ross replied, showing them his wedding ring. "We're from Pittsburgh," I offered. "Oooh, I bet you're Steelers fans! I'm sorry about that last game, but you guys have the whole season to make it up!" I laughed. Were these the girls who had irritated me only minutes before because they were being too noisy? How unfair of me. The ringleader of the group turned to me. "You're really pretty!" she said. I melted. Me? Pretty? A few moments before, in the car, I had been mercilessly picking at a pimple on my chin, complaining to Ross that I still had to lose the few pounds I had put on during my pregnancy. I was in a shapeless black dress and dumpy sweater. But this little girl thought I was pretty?
"Thank you, sweetie," I said humbly. Ross came back from paying for our food, and the girls beamed. "I wish you a happy marriage!" one said.
"God bless you girls," I said, silently thanking the Lord that he had arranged for that chance meeting.
"God bless you, too!" they replied proudly.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Character Study: Ruth
I got the opportunity to share this short teaching at my church's Women's Encounter God weekend. The theme was "The Bride of Christ" and there were many great lessons on brides, wives, and marriage during our time of fellowship. I worked with two friends, who bookended the lesson about Ruth with one about Naomi (and how God turns bitterness into joy) and one about Boaz (also, about Jesus as the kinsman-redeemer). I hope to eventually share more studies about women in the Bible, but this is all I have at the moment. I hope you enjoy it!
Ruth: Faithful and Obedient
The people of Moab were born of the incestuous relationship between Lot and his oldest daughter (Genesis 19:37). Like most other Middle Eastern tribes, they worshiped many gods, the leader of whom was named Chemosh, to whom the Moabites sometimes sacrificed children. This is one of the gods to whom King Solomon, influenced by his pagan wives and concubines, would later build a temple.
The Bible tells us that the Egyptians and the Moabites had fairly friendly relationship, as they shared a common ancestor through Jacob’s son Joseph. However, probably because of that relationship, the Moabites committed the sin of abusing the Israelites as Moses led them out of their captivity in Egypt. Because they did not greet their distant cousins with food, drink, and encouragement, instead attempting to curse and harass them (Numbers 22:6-8), they were punished by being excluded from the assembly of worship for ten generations (Deuteronomy 23:3). Some of their women seduced the Israelites, and enticed them to worship their gods. This brought a terrible plague upon the Israelites. The Lord specifically stated to his people at the time that they were in no way to encourage the well-being of the Moabites, although they were prohibited from making war upon them (Deuteronomy 23:6).
It was out of this culture that a woman named Ruth was born. We know very little of Ruth’s origins, other than she was likely raised a pagan like the rest of her tribe. Somehow, she and her fellow Moabitess Orpah caught the eyes of two Israelite brothers, Mahlon and Kilion, whose father had died and whose mother was named Naomi (Ruth 1:3-4). This family had traveled to Moab to avoid a severe famine in their homeland of Judah, and they brought to Moab the knowledge of the One True God of Israel, Jehovah. Although they were far from their people, far from the tabernacle and the altars, there must have remained in them some devotion to the Lord, for how else could Ruth have fostered a desire to know more about the Hebrews’ unseen God?
We can imagine Ruth, maybe in secret, quizzing her husband about his unusual religion. His God required sacrifice, but prohibited images of himself (Exodus 20:4). His God appeared as a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night (Exodus 13:21). His God was too holy to allow His face to be seen by his own chosen people (Exodus 33:20). His God parted the waters of the Red Sea so that his children and all their flocks could escape the chariots of Egypt (Exodus 14:22). In short, his God was fascinating, and the complete opposite of her gods! Her gods were wood and stone, and silent. She gave much to these gods, and received nothing in return. Perhaps Ruth had asked her husband to someday take her see his hometown of Bethlehem. We don’t know.
What we do know is that both Mahlon and Kilion died in the land of Moab (Ruth 1:5), and that Naomi, deeply saddened by the loss of her sons, purposed in her heart to return to Bethlehem alone and bitter (Ruth 1:8). Here we see the first glimpses into Ruth’s shining character, and one of the characteristics that would help her lead an exemplary life: she was FAITHFUL. She could easily have remained in the land of her birth, where she had better chances of remarrying or, at the very least, returning to her home and the protection of her kin. After her husband’s death, there were absolutely no legal ties binding her to Naomi. Yet she made the vow: “Where you go I’ll go. Where you stay, I’ll stay. Your people will be my people. Your God will be my God.” (Ruth 1:16)
In Bethlehem, Ruth is able to demonstrate that faithfulness through her dedication and work ethic. She immediately takes on this difficult role of a gleaner – a position reserved only for the lowest of the low in Hebrew society (Ruth 2:2). Although it was a mandate given by God to prevent abject poverty (Deuteronomy 24:21), gleaning could result in humiliation or harassment, especially for foreigners.
Yet Ruth put aside any fears she may have had in order to fulfill her promise to help support Naomi. She worked in the field of Boaz for many hours with little rest (Ruth 2:7). This dedication quickly aroused the interest of Boaz, Naomi’s kinsman, who was impressed enough to make provision for Ruth’s protection even before he knew who she was (Ruth 2:8).
The other quality that Ruth possessed in abundance was OBEDIENCE. Be careful not to mistake “obedience” for “slavishness”. Ruth was not blindly subservient to all who held positions above her in life. Obviously, this was not the case, or she would never have developed her own ideas about following after the God of Israel while inside the borders of a pagan nation! Ruth made wise choices regarding who she trusted. She knew that Naomi, for example, would not give her foolish advice, and that Boaz, through his actions, was gentle and generous. Ruth understood to respond only to the people who wanted her to succeed and flourish. She put her trust in these people and sought after their fellowship and wisdom. We, too, need to put our trust in the One who knows our faults and failures, yet who loves us enough to encourage and lift us up. Ruth had every opportunity to crumble before the anxieties and uncertainties of her future. She was entering a foreign land – of which she was an enemy – with no real means to take care of herself, with nothing more than a bitter mother-in-law in tow! But she was determined to be faithful and obedient, and God allowed her good deeds and kind heart to draw others to her like a beacon.
Even before she meets Boaz, he has the opportunity to hear of her kindness to Naomi, his kinswoman, and he is openly impressed with her actions (Ruth 2:11). And what did Ruth see when Boaz summoned her from the fields? Although we might imagine a dashing young prince carrying the heavy sacks of grain for the delicate Ruth, chances are good that Boaz was an older man – shall we call him “distinguished”? A younger man would not be as likely to possess the land and wealth that Boaz is said to have had. At any rate, he was well-respected in Bethlehem for more than his treasures. Boaz would have been a fine catch for any charming young Hebrew girl, but he was unmarried.
When he first saw Ruth, I wonder…what did he think of her? Was she a stunning, exotic girl with eyes like jewels and a bewitching smile? Or did his heart leap with pride and wonder when he realized that in front of him stood a young woman brave enough to leave all she knew in order to protect the mother of her dead husband? Regardless of Ruth’s outward appearance, Boaz immediately viewed the tenderness and strength of her heart and saw it as beautiful.
Did he love her right away? Did his admiration and respect for her grow as she worked in his fields tirelessly for an entire summer to supply food for herself and her mother-in-law (Ruth 2:23)? When did Naomi first notice the blossoming relationship between Ruth and Boaz? Did she suddenly witness it in a glance, or a smile, or had she been expecting such a miracle all along? Did she joyfully praise God when she realized that, with Ruth cared for, her bitterness had come to an end? She must have!
Imagine the emotions Ruth must have felt when Naomi explained to her how to present herself to Boaz for marriage (Ruth 3:3). Her heart must have been pounding wildly as she bathed and perfumed herself, trying to enjoy the rare ritual. Over and over in her mind, as she dressed in her finest linen, she must have walked through the steps Naomi gave her. Over and over in her mind, she imagined the perfect scenario – and a thousand worst-case scenarios, too. What if Boaz did not understand her intentions? What if he did, and rejected them? What if he refused to marry a widow? What if he refused to marry a Moabite widow? Although her faith had carried her from Moab to Bethlehem and into the fields of Boaz, would it carry her into his arms as well?
She need not have worried. The unseen God of the Hebrews was as faithful to her as she had been to Naomi. Boaz agreed without hesitation to marry her and provide for both her and Naomi (Ruth 3:11); delighted himself that Ruth chose not to seek out a younger man to marry. The final hurdle – another, closer relative who had the rights to marry Ruth and inherit Elimelech’s property – was hardly an issue at all, and Ruth and Boaz were married. Soon, Ruth bore a son and called him Obed, meaning “servant or worshiper”. What a perfect name for the child of two servants who found love and redemption through God’s gifts of obedience and faithfulness.
Ruth and Boaz would continue to receive blessings – and give them – long after their deaths. Obed grew up to be the father of Jesse, who would grow up to be the father of David…from whose lineage came our kinsman-redeemer, Jesus Christ.
Ruth’s obedience and faithfulness actually played a role in your salvation. What can your obedience and faithfulness do for others?
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