Happy dance

I love being a mom. I so enjoy watching my little guy grow and change every day. He'll be 15 months on October 4th. Hard to believe. I look back at some old ("old") pictures from when he was newborn, 4 months, 6 months, a year... My, my how he has changed! We just see traces of him in those pictures; through all the chubba on his cheeks and arms. He still has kankles - that hasn't changed. He's at such a fun age, too. He says "dah-TEE" (daddy), "ka" (kitty), "na-na" (bottle), and he once said "happy" quite clearly, but not since. He can almost say "quack" and "duck".

He has such happy feet. A few weeks ago, he started this little happy dance where he kind of tries to march, but instead of marching, he stamps his feet back and forth really fast. He does that to music (and then spins a few times before falling on his tushy), and when he's excited for something... And sometimes just because.

It makes me wonder what he's so happy about. Think about it. How great would it be to just break out in a spontaneous happy dance. I think about him throughout the day, and I've started to share the happy dance with my co-workers. Sometimes it's in response to a little success they experienced. Sometimes it's just to put a smile on their face.

Last holiday season (maybe the day after Thanksgiving), we dressed Jeffrey in his Santa suit and took him to Marion Estates (a nursing home where my mother-in-law works) for a visit. Really, we were there to visit the mom in law... but we discovered that Jeffrey's presence - merely being there - brought such joy to the hearts of the residents. There was one woman who just clapped and smiled, almost coming out of her skin, at the sight of him. We've noticed how he has that affect on people everywhere he goes. There is just something about him that evokes happiness in people. What a ministry! We pray all the time that God builds that in him, and that he never loses that "thing" that makes people smile.

I love my little man. I love his happy feet. I love the way he comes running into the kitchen when he hears the "ding" of the microwave (because he knows his bottle is ready). I love the way he babbles to himself in the morning when he's waking up. I love the way he splashes his bath water all over the floor, and giggles when he gets mommy wet.

What a joy. There's nothing like it.

Intervention Update

So, yeah, that worked like a charm. My mom has lost it. Seriously, lost it. Got an email from my sis letting me know that John (sis's hubby) went for a visit and discovered that she hasn't done a thing (in 3 weeks) AND she spent over an hour complaining about us and the work we've done. (She actually told him that the work we did in the front yard was "crappy." Um, yeah. Four people spent 5 hours (for a told of 20 man hours) working in her yard, pulling weeds, pruning and mowing, and she says we did a crappy job. That's hilarious.) That's 2 out of 3 rules broken. You guessed it, we're out. She was told what the consequences would be if she acted like that. I wonder if she thinks we were just blowing smoke? I don't know.

Good grief.

She apparently went for a counseling session. "A" counseling session. Yeah, like that'll get to the heart of her issues. She then told my sister that she wants us all to go to counseling together. HAHAHAHAHAAHAAhahahahaa.... Wow. TJ said, "You need to take care of your issues first." My mother actually said that she doesn't have any issues. TJ responded, "So, you're threatening suicide isn't an issue?" She just humphed.

I don't know what kind of counselor she's seeing, but either my mom is THAT good to be able to dupe a professional into thinking that her problems are actually "family" problems, or that counselor needs to find a new profession. That is just laughable. And so so sad.

My sister wrote a scathing letter... She hasn't sent it. I think it needs to be softened. The idea isn't to criticize her or make her feel horrible (the very things we are trying to prevent), but rather to be matter-of-fact about the consequences she now faces for talking behind our backs and criticizing our service to her.

I'm so glad that I dealt with this some time ago. I'm grateful for the ability to set strong boundaries and to see my mother in the light of the truth. This is who she is. I can't change her. I can only expect her to be who she is. Her words have no power over me. I no longer need her approval. It's very freeing to be able to keep a cool head in that way. Sure, her words can still hurt me (in the same way that any criticism would), but it doesn't affect who I am or make me feel worse about myself. In fact, it just makes me believe all the more in who God says I am.

I pray for my mother often. I pray that she would accept the love and forgiveness that Jesus offers her and that she would allow Him to heal the deep, gaping wounds that were left by the words and actions of her own mother. She is very pained and sad. I know that her anger and bitterness come from a place of intense pain. I wish she could experience joy and hope.

Intervention

We did it. We intervened. "My name is Marilyn. M-A-R-I-L-Y-N."

Went to mom's yesterday to confront her on the house situation and her lack of participation in getting her out of the financial hole she's dug herself into. The four of us (sis, bro-in-law, hubby and I) had a talk with her about our boundaries and the ground rules for us helping her sort her stuff, all the paintings (over 200) and get the house ready to sell quickly. Every time we go it's a huge fight... The last two times were awful. (The last time was the worst. I went off on her... She bawled and through the tears said, "I just have one question. Do you want me alive, or do you want me dead? Because I can make either happen easily." Give me a fricken break. I just told her that I won't even honor that question with an answer. She said, "That's your answer." I said, "No, I won't answer that because it's a ridiculous question." At the end of our time there helping her sort all the paintings to get them ready to sell (to a gallery that I contacted) she told me "screw you" as I left. That's nice.) So, we're pretty much over it. We had basically three conditions: 1) She must own the process and participate. If she doesn't do anything, we don't do anything. 2) She needs to be respectful of us, and truly be grateful with us for what we're willing to do to serve her. As soon as we even hint that she is ungrateful, we're out. 3) There will be no arguments. We don't have time to sit and argue and listen to her complain about everything. We won't engage with her in that manner, and if she chooses to engage in argument, we'll just leave. She, in turn, had a couple of ground rules of her own. 1) She wants input into the work we're doing. And 2) she wants to be able to say what is kept, thrown out or sold. We all agreed to the terms. We made it very clear to her that the process is in her hands and that she has control of the outcome. (She can be nice to us through the process, and we'll be happy to labor for her. Or... she can blame and criticize, and talk about us behind our backs, and we'll be happy to let her handle it all herself - in which case she can't ever say that she "couldn't get anyone to help." See, I'm not willing to sacrifice my time with my family and the limited amount of time I already have with my precious boy to deal with a bitter, resentful, vicitimized person.)

She seems to have heard us, but we'll see how the next few weeks go! She (mother) actually had the nerve to argue with me about paint colors, etc. Right... so... the paint is free... Our labor is free. Everything we're doing is volunteer. Plus, she won't be living in that house for much longer anyway. Scott just told her, "Pretty much any paint color looks better than what's there." She agreed. Scott was awesome. He backed her into a corner on every point she tried to make. It was hilarious. She also said, "I've been trying for years to get people here to help me." Scott asked, "Who have you asked?" She said, "You guys." He said, "Hmmm, that's funny. Seems to me we've been down here helping you and every time you request that we do yard work. So, that's what we do, and now you're saying that you couldn't get anyone to help you sort through your stuff. So, how are we to blame when we did what you asked?" She said, "Yeah... that's true."

HAHAHA Oh, geez. This is such a joke.

Lord, help me if I ever become my mother.

POed

Ok, I just need a moment to vent. I've been up all night because just as I was dozing off, a little thought popped into my head and I've been pissed about it ever since.

Those of you who know me well, know the drama between my mother and I. I've done a LOT of work over the last 5 years or so to fix my end and I finally got to the point where I could forgive, and mourn. I had to mourn the loss of my mom. Let me 'splain. There was always this hope that my mom could just be a mom to me. It dawned on me - a little revelation, if you will - that my mom is who she is and will likely never change, and I needed to get to a place where I expected nothing less than that from her. In other words, I could not expect her to be anything other than what she is. So, for me, that meant I couldn't expect her to be my friend, say kind words, accept me for who I am without all the digs and criticisms about my life and character, and so forth. I had to let go of what I thought she should be and just allow her to be.

I've realized that since then, I've been able to look at her through the same lense that Jesus looks at her. She is a child of God. She is loved. She is broken. And I needed to love her despite all of the crud that mucks us all up, inside and out. It has completely changed the way I relate to her. I don't engage in the digs because her words mean nothing to me. I'm solid in who I am, so when she criticizes me, I know it isn't me she criticizes. It's her. She can't stand who she is. She hates being in her own skin. So, of course, what does she do? She lashes out at the easiest target. I just happen to be the one that she became accustomed to targeting over the years. I'm not sure she knows what to do now that I don't engage in that way. (It's kind of funny, really.)

So.. that brings me to yesterday. My beloved sinister (scab) sends me an email loaded with the news that my mom has now received her second notice of foreclosure. On September 20th, they will start charging her 9% per day on the $13K she owes on the the failure to pay her property taxes for the last 4 or 5 years. My initial response was, well... that's no shock. We saw that coming 5 years ago.

But then I got alone and quiet and the thought popped into my head that I've been praying about ever since and that is, true to form, I wouldn't have expected anything less, but now that she got herself into this pickle, which she knew would happen, she will expect that her kids bail her out. Let me make this clear, in a couple of months, my mother will be homeless. She's going through chemo for the probably last time (I honestly don't know how she will make it through this one, but I've seen God perform miracles in her before). She is absolutely broke. She refuses to sell the paintings. So, instead of being responsible EVER, she will likely lose everything. Everything. That means, whatever is in her home at the time will be seized. Including the paintings that she has hoarded for all these years.

I'm pissed because once again it is somehow our fault that this has happened. "She can't get anyone to help", "I call and no one calls me back", "I'm just going to burn the paintings"... blah blah blah. All bullshit.

That's my rant for the morning.

Jesus, change my heart and help me to see this situation the way that you see it.

The Weirdness of the PacNW

Since I wrote my last blog, I've had some interesting conversations. Most of them started because the few who know me fairly well could tell something was different when we returned from Chicago. Usually I would answer "I'm doing great" when someone would ask how I was doing. (And it isn't a lie. I really AM doing great... Just extremely homesick and friendsick... if that is even a word.) But.. there was one who wouldn't take that as the "real" answer and kept pressing. Then the tears started. That was enough. She sat in my office and just listened as I unloaded.

Then she said that she felt exactly the same way. She has lived in Oregon for 26 years and STILL doesn't have any close friends.

Disclaimer: My last entry and this isn't meant to be hurtful to anyone. It is just me trying to put words to my sadness.

It's kinda funny (not in a haha way, but a peculiar, "sad clown" sort of way) living back in the Pacific NW. I couldn't put my finger on it for such a long time... What is it about this place that doesn't make it feel like home? Well... after numerous conversations with those who have moved here from other places, we all came to the same conclusion. Hospitality. Very few people here are hospitable. Sure, people have you over for a BBQ and a few laughs, but it isn't the same. In the midwest, people welcome you into their home as if you are just part of the family. They look into your eyes when you speak as if hanging on your every word. They intently listen, not to just the words you speak, but to your breath, your posture, all the stuff that happens in between words. It's hard to explain unless you've felt it, too. I grew up here and wouldn't have felt this way if it weren't for the last 15 years spent in other states. And then coming back isn't the "homecoming" I thought it would be. I'm not sure what I expected... I don't think I really expected anything other than to just do life with other people - whether in a similar life place or not. I've never had such a hard time trying to make friends! I've had to work REALLY hard. It's exhausting. Truly exhausting. And I don't understand why it has to be such a chore to walk alongside people.

The people that I've spoke to on this subject have all had the exact same experience. God created us to be in fellowship and community with other people, so it's no wonder we all have that desire to know and be known.
Scott and I have wrestled with our attitudes this last week. My fallen side says to hell with trying. We'll see who our real friends are when we stop being the first to make contact... We'll see who comes around... Isn't that awful??? I refuse to submit to the enemy that way. That is seriously a lie from the pit of hell, literally. So, we'll keep plugging away. We'll be hospitable in an unhospitable city. We praised God and dedicated our home to Him when we first moved in almost 4 years ago. We prayed that this would be a place where ministry and friendships would happen; that this would be a place that would be peaceful, kind and accepting. A lot of people have come through our doors. We praise God for that. We are commited to keeping this ministry alive for as long as we're here - however long that may be. And while we are desperately lonely for deep friendships, we will be engaging. A light in the world. Something other than status quo. God has called us to be nothing less.

Since June 18th (the day we left for Chicago), Jeffrey took his first steps. He ate his first filet mignon. He took his first boat ride. He took his first plane ride. He saw lightening bugs for the first time. His lungs and sinuses cleared up. (No green boogies for the first time since November!) A lot has happened in 3 weeks. Hardly anyone knows it. It breaks my heart to think that he might not know what having deep friendships looks like.

I just don't know what to think about it all. It's depressing to say the least. It might sound like I'm having a pity party, but really I'm not. I know we're here for a reason. I kind of like being in this place of unfamiliar because this is when God moves. I like hanging on His perfect word knowing that nothing is in vain. We may never see how God has used us to touch the lives of others. I have my guesses as to why we were brought back here - I won't be sharing those today... or maybe ever. But I know that God has more in store for us. Whether it's here in Salem (yipes) or elsewhere will remain to be seen. I'll go (or stay) wherever He wants us. I'm just grateful that I am beginning to understand what I couldn't put words to. That emptiness just leaves more room for Jesus. I can't think of anything I'd rather be filled with.

Unsettled...

I think God has us here for a season, but I think he'll be leading us away from here at some point. (Who knows when?) We just don't fit in…. Some people love it here and call it home. For us, it's just a place we've stopped on the way to "home". Ever since we've moved to Oregon (6 years ago) we haven't had any truly, deep friendships or a committed community of "family". I don't know why… It isn't for a lack of commitment, investment or effort on our part. The only way we know how to love is deeply. But for some reason, most of what we've encountered here are people who go to a certain level, and then they back off (as if it goes too deep for them); or people who just are very busy with other things and don't have time. Maybe it's us… maybe it's them. I don't know. (This isn't true in all cases. We've made a few pretty close friends, but nothing like we had in California, Montana or Illinois.) I long to know the heart of people, and I long for them to really know me. We're not interested in surface-level chit chats.

I've been really struggling for the last couple of years… Same thing – new friends, new community, new everything…. It finally dawned on me about a week before we left for Chicago. Scott and I stayed up into the wee hours of the night just talking, crying, sharing, listening…. Then everything I realized was confirmed while we were there. We connected with our family and friends, and BOOM – there was our community. We've forgotten what it was like…. And then in God's perfect timing, my old accountability partner from Montana called out of the blue last week – she said just to hear my voice. (God did that, I'm sure of it.) It just confirmed in my heart what I've been dealing with these last couple of years. It's been a lonely road.

Why we're in Oregon, I don't know. For a season... For a reason... Oregon isn't home to me. Never has been. I doubt it ever will be. We lean into God's leading. Perhaps we'll find our way home one of these days.

Photo Op

Our photographer came down from Portland today to take Jeffrey’s pictures. Murphy’s Law.... My sweet, giggly, incessantly happy boy was cranky and fussy almost the whole time! Sheesh! We got some great shots, but he just pooped out right when we were taking the last family photos, so we didn’t get any of those. Kind of a bummer. Cindy is so patient...

We got some fun pics of his little bottom and him peeking over his shoulder. Oh my gosh, his chubby little tushy is so cute!!!! She’ll send us the slide show in about 2 1/2 weeks. I’m looking forward to seeing how they turned out.
He just tuckered out when Cindy left. I think he slept for over an hour. We should have called Gramma over. He always gets giggly when she’s around. (We’re actually at Gramma’s as I type this. And, true to form, they are all playing in the other room. Music to my ears!)

My friend ate catfood by accident the other day. (You know who you are!) She wrote, "p.s. can i just tell you that i accidentally ate cat food this morning? well, you know how when you’re pregnant, food starts to catch on your belly a lot? Well, this morning, I was eating oatmeal, and it was kinda dark, and I thought oatmeal fell on my belly. So, not really thinking twice about it, I picked it up with my finger and put it right back in my mouth (i can’t let food go to waste!) and as it was on my tongue I realized, this is CAT FOOD!!! I ran to the sink and started spitting, rinsing my mouth, hoping it wouldn’t reach my taste buds. Well, that pretty much ruined my appetite for food and I got instant gag reflex. Then, I couldn’t stop smelling cat food. I rinsed my shirt, that didn’t work. I used the tide pen, and I thought that helped. But as I’m driving to work, I start to smell it again, and lo and behold, my shirt STILL smells like cat food. So, I’ve pretty much tried to wash my entire shirt without taking it off, but the smell is forever in my nose now. And that’s how my morning has begun. In Jesus name, Amen."

Friggen hilarious. I wrote her back, "I completely sympathize. That’s like that time I was sneaking into the bedroom on my hands and knees in the hopes of scaring Scott, but he saw me, so I was trying to act like I was doing something else. There was a little rock (pebble size) on the carpet, so I got real close and smelled it. It wasn’t a rock. It was poo. It must have fallen off the cat’s paw as one of them jumped out of the cat box. Gross!!!!! I just looked up at Scott, who was amused at the fact that I would even smell something on the carpet, and said, ’I think that’s poo.’ Which then got huge laughter. And I’ve been made fun of ever since. God said it was good. And it was so."

And so goes my life. Funny stuff happens to me all the time.

I’m so full I’m about to ass-plode. (Gotta love Outback.) After Cindy left, we were watching Throwndown with Bobby Flay. That was the wrong thing to watch after you haven’t eaten since breakfast. BBQ ribs and Jerk Steak. Mmmmm. So... you can see the natural progression. Thus, Outback. ("Mum, mum, mum.... Mum’s the word and so the word is mum, mum. She will forever be your mum, mum...")

Everything’s great... everything’s groovy. It’s a great day....

I think I have steak coming out of my ears.

Hyacinth smells awesome. I have two plants on my dining table, along with a cute hurricane (candle holder) filled with Easter candy.

And can I just say that I LOVE my new dining table? It’s huge. I have to keep both leaves out in order to fit nicely in my current dining room, but it extends (2 leaves) to 8 feet. It can easily seat 10. Perfect! My dream table, really. It’s just beautiful, too. It took us over 2 years to find it. I feel all grown up now. (Especially after having toted around a hand-me-down table from my old boss in Billings, MT. That table was older than me. We gave it to Scott’s mom. A lot of Speed Uno rounds will be remembered.)

It would be great to move.... We tried selling the house a year ago, but after the lending fell through for the folks that wanted to buy our home, we pulled it from the market. I was 8 1/2 months pregnant. I didn’t want to move when I was 9 months... or with a brand new baby. We’re getting ready to put it back on the market - hopefully this summer. It’d be nice to have more room. Our cozy home seems awfully small with a baby, and hopefully one on the way (soon, not yet).

The picklebean calls me. He loves his mama.

Peace out.