She is Loved

Time with my daughter, Lauren is precious. She will roll her 14 year old eyes when she reads this and insist that I am being “weird”. I don’t care about the eye roll. It is guaranteed to happen and I would worry if it did not. 

This weekend, we are at Trivia Weekend in Stevens Point-kind of a big deal if you are into that sort of that thing and Lauren came along armed with her swimsuit for hot tub time, several changes of outfits, her blanket, her IPAD, her homework and all of her hair and makeup products.

Right before we were supposed to hit the road, Lauren seemed to hear for the first time, that we were staying in Stevens Point until Sunday. Clearly she wasn’t happy. She claims to have not heard me state this fact earlier and I know that I have, but choose not to argue about it. It is wise to pick my battles. I mentally note that it would have been an even bigger bag of outfits had she known about the extra day. I quietly listened to her sigh and grown about being away for so long. Secretly, I was happy because that means that I have a whole weekend with my daughter.

There are a lot of people that come up to Joe and Lisa’s for trivia. I don’t know most of them, but I know her. I know that she will sit next to me with her cute outfit on and her perfectly brushed hair and smelling like a flower and she will be the one that I enjoy the most. I watch her play with her IPAD. I watch her take pictures. I watch her do homework and I am proud. She is sitting next to me and I can study her-the way she holds her pencil, so different then the way that I hold my own. I watch her take pride in writing her notes for her homework. I know that I was the same. I know that I too loved the way, when I was doing homework, how the pencil felt brushing across the fresh clean paper. I too loved how pretty the words were on my paper with the special loops and circles and care that only a 14 year old can give to homework.

I watch Lauren carefully. I know that I won’t get any of this time back. I want to wrap it all up in a carefully wrapped gift and set it under a Christmas tree that I keep out all year long and when I am feeling sad, or overwhelmed, I can open one of the little packages up and know that it will bring me an immediate smile. She does that, without knowing the power of her words, her smile, her giggle, her words and all I know is that I want her to only be surrounded with people who will protect and cherish all those things about her. I know this isn’t possible, but as a mother, I can’t help but pray that this is truly what happens.

There are people that fill this house this weekend that won’t know that she loves to dance and she is fantastic at it. How one moves their body like that I will never understand and it is effortless. These strangers (friends for the weekend) won’t know about how she likes to write, that she likes to organize, that she loves to surround herself with pretty things but still loves getting down right dirty. They won’t know that she loves to take care of people, especially me. She gives from the very depths of her heart, without being told to. She is love.

I know that she would rather be with her friends. I know that she would rather not be driving two hours to hang out with strangers, searching the internet for random stuff that matters to know one but everyone playing trivia this weekend. I am so happy that she is here. She is loved. 

$4.98 Grilled Cheese

Everyone has that diner/restaurant in their hometown-you know the one-the one where they are still wearing the uniforms you remember them wearing when you were a kid. I am not talking the same exact ones, but a diner that prefers to go to the stand by uniform that has worked for years.

Everyone has that diner/restaurant where you gather and the coffee still costs a few coins that you leave on the table. The waitresses have been there since the beginning and won’t quit there until they are no longer with us on this earth.

Everyone has that diner/restaurant where you feel warm inside when you walk in the door and you know you will be greeted with a smile-always.

I hadn’t visited our local diner/restaurant in quite some time. Lunch choices led me to pick the restaurant with a smile, thinking about the warmth and the comfort that would surround me when I stepped in.

I met my friend at the restaurant and was immediately taken back to a different time/place. The glitter purple eye shadow on the greeter with the 80’s hair, the fresh baked goodies in the display and the Halloween decorations where ever the eye could see. I was home.

The chatter between the two best kind of girl friends erupted and the menus lay unopened on the table. Several visits from the waitress encouraged us to make a decision. I knew what I wanted. A grilled cheese sandwich-one that only could bring more comfort and warmth to me and make the lunch even more special…no fries… just the sandwich.

The laughter and banter continued. The sandwich came with two hamburger pickle slices-a simple sandwich.

Suddenly lunch was over. It always happens that way. Time runs away and gives no warning. That is when the bill came. Not a cross thought came to mind as I picked up the bill. Never once did I think I was about to be robbed. My heart stopped. $4.98 for a plain grilled cheese sandwich?! No fancy bread. No fancy cheese. No extra toppings. Nothing but a stinking grilled cheese sandwich. Do I share with my friend my disgust?! My family diner/restaurant had basically just kicked me in the stomach.

I do the lean in and let my friend know that I had been robbed. The stunned look on her face confirmed that I had, indeed been robbed. I began to look around at the old booths, the old tables and chairs, the originals by the looks of it, the cheesy Halloween decorations taunting me. What just happened? When did the diner become so dismal and overpriced?!

I went to the check out with a heavy heart. No dessert for me. No treats to bring home to my family. My grilled cheese sandwich gave me a heavy heart. Times are changing and I realized that someday, I will tell my grandchildren that a grilled cheese used to cost $4.98 and it will seem like  a deal. 

Birth Certificate

Today was a milestone. Today, I applied for a marriage license. Second time, however it is the first time in my memory. The real first time is missing in action…lost somewhere in the recesses of my mind, for reasons unbeknownst to me.

Today: Best day of my life. More powerful than receiving the ring and the question even-not sure why. My life was lying out on a desk in front of me at the clerk of courts. Birth certificate. Driver’s license. Passport. Divorce decree. $70. Beside me, the man that has captured my heart and my soul…is signing at the dotted line, saying that he promises to marry me.

“Please check everything in this paperwork and make sure that it is correct.” Eyes swimming over the words-I know that they should say something-I just am feeling very emotional and that emotion is clouding my ability to read, like fog on the windshield…I want to see through, but I can’t.

William Thomas Johnson is marrying Michelle Lee Kaping.

Eight words that have changed me beyond what I can put into words. HOPE. Eight words surround me with comfort, warmth and excitement all at once.

I look over. I can hardly breathe. The clouds of emotion clear and I read through the paperwork. I pick up the pen and have never been so sure of anything in my entire life.

William Thomas Johnson has given me a new birthday. My life is beginning again because he showed me it could. I feel like I should lean over and thank him for introducing me to myself. I have been missing “me” my entire life. I am so excited. I want to get to know me. I am so grateful for the love without strings that he has given me. Unconditional…beautiful…true…love forever and ever no matter what.

The pen slides over the paper…my name appears on the line. The clerk tells me the license will be in the mail on August 23^rd and then tells us to have a good day. She has no idea she should be filling out the birth certificate as from this day forward, I truly feel alive for the first time.  

I Don't Sleep

“In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep, Through the desert of truth,To the river so deep
We all end in the ocean, We all start in the streams, We're all carried along, By the river of dreams
In the middle of the night.”

-Billy Joel-River of Dreams

I love the song, River of Dreams, by Billy Joel. Catchy tune, catchy lyrics and yet I have to admit that it strikes a bad chord in me as well because I don’t sleep. I want a river of dreams to wash over me and drown me, at least for one 8-10 hour period.

At the end of this month, it will be three years since I have “slept through the night”-not by choice. I want to sleep. I spend a good percentage of my waking hours thinking about sleeping. I obsess. Sleep has become an out of reach dream.

I have three teenage children who have no problem sleeping. They seem to sleep all the time…taunting me with their numerous hours in a row of uninterrupted, carefree slumber. I am marrying a man that can fall asleep sitting up even. He can have night terrors; wake up screaming and yelling and instantly fall back to sleep- calm, peaceful, deep sleep. Sometimes, I stare at them, in the middle of the night and the envy is so thick that a knife could not begin to cut through it. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy that they can sleep. It is a gift to be treasured and they all need it. I need it. It isn’t happening for me.

I don’t know what I would do if I would sleep. I get so many things covered when I lay awake thinking. I have been using that time to think about all that is wrong and I should be using it to think about what’s right! I have time to dream while being awake and I haven’t been using that as an asset. If I could get my thoughts more focused on the positive during my quiet night, I truly could change my life faster. There is a reason I haven’t been sleeping, I just wasn’t seeing it.  

Strength

Strength

If I’m afraid, it doesn’t mean that I’m not brave.
And if I doubt, it doesn’t mean that I’ve lost faith.
And if I fall, if doesn’t mean I can’t go on.
And if I cry, it doesn’t mean that I’m not strong.”
- Jana Stanfield and Karen Taylor-Good, Doesn’t Mean That I’m Not Strong from the CD, Brave Faith

The last line of this quote: “And if I cry, it doesn’t mean that I’m not strong,” resonates through me. I have always been a crier-ever since I could remember, whenever I was feeling any sort of emotion about anything, the tears would come.

In grade school, I never seem to fit in-at least I thought I didn’t. “I didn’t get girls”, is more what it was all about. I thought there was something wrong with me as someone was always mad at me. I didn’t feel like I could trust and as I grew older, I thought it was because I lacked strength…the strength to stand up for myself, the strength to not care what others thought about me. In hindsight, it wasn’t about strength; it was about girls being girls…and me just not going along with the game playing which made me strong. When confronted with someone “being mad at me”, or not wanting to be my friend any more, I would get tears-not necessarily tears because I was sad, but tears because I didn’t understand. Frustration would come in the form of a tissue and some running mascara and some swollen eyes.

In high school, tears came mainly because of my parents. Their strictness was something I didn’t understand. I felt like the rules were stifling me and not allowing me to breathe and I just wanted to be me. I just wanted to have some freedom to find out who I was and to have fun. The strictness was all the way from what I could wear to not being able to talk on the phone to not watching television to having a 10pm curfew no matter what age I was and no matter what day of the week it was. The tears came when I was trying to explain myself and I felt like no matter what, no one was listening. 

Tears came at my wedding. Not happy. Not sad. Just resolved that this situation was better than what I was currently in.

Tears at the birth of my children-I did this! What an amazing, life altering experience! Tears continue to come with raising children. So many peaks and valleys-all the firsts brought tears…and the pride I feel from the very bottom of my soul through every breath I take…the kids know, tears will come-it is just my love for them pouring out of me. 

I have had it pointed out to me on numerous occasions that I am “too emotional”. I get any kind of news and more than likely, there will be tears. When I am beyond angry…there are tears. This “too emotional” comment has made me feel weak. Without being able to explain why I am the way I am, I struggle. 

It wasn’t until recently that I realized that I am stronger than I thought. It took strength to move thousands of miles away with my small children and a husband that worked all the time and make a home away from my home. It took strength to battle skin cancer and other ailments that have come my way. 

It took strength to start saying “no” to all the people that were used to me saying, “Yes” all the time. It took strength to walk away from a marriage that was slowly taking all the life out of me and to finally stand up for myself. I AM important.

Finally, it took strength to start a new relationship-to open my heart to love and trust again…strength that I didn’t know was in me all this time. This strength within is healing me.

Handbag Hang-up

I am not sure when I acquired a hang-up with handbags.

Hang-up (noun) hang-up (hang-ups)

1.     Continuing anxiety about something

a.     A psychological or emotional problem or fixation about something

2.     Cause of problems

a.     A persistent impediment or source of delay

                                                                         i.      Bureaucratic inefficiency was the main hang-up.

My anxiety about my handbags started when I worked at a department store. I, at the time, called them, “purses”, and had to work hard to start to call them “handbags” as “handbag” was the required term for them at the department store. They called to me, no matter what name you gave them; they had my name on them. Rows and rows of handbags- All sizes-All shapes- All colors. 

The anxiety began when I got my first paycheck and had to decide which one really needed to come home with me. It didn’t matter the size, the extent of what I carried was as follows: lip gloss, keys and money. I was 16 and fabulous without much gear. Size, in this particular case, didn’t matter. 

The next hang-up came when I wanted the next one. 1. How would I justify to my mother that a new handbag was a need and not a want?! (I still lived at home and had to answer to my mother). 2. What would my first handbag think of me cheating on it? The thought did cross my mind. There was nothing wrong with the first one. It wasn’t worn out, it wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t out of style- I was just bored. I wanted excitement, so I decided to cheat and get handbag #2. This dirty little secret of mine continued well into college. 

Then I got married. The handbags were now like big beacons in the night sky…daring my husband to ask me the big question: “Why so many handbags?” Was it that I didn’t trust him to understand that I needed these bags? I was attached? In love? I did my best to hide the handbags, but that became more difficult as I also liked to change my handbags with whatever I was going to wear. There was a constant shuffling through the inventory for just the right one. 

The handbag fixation has continued through several moves (where professional movers had to pack my handbag inventory and more than likely made comments over coffee during their breaks about my obsession) and a divorce. 

While the things I have carried in my handbag have changed over the years (my handbags have also doubled as baby bags, party bags, overnight bags, carry-on bags and so much more), my handbag hang-up has not changed. My affair with my handbags has brought me much joy and pleasure. How could it not?   

Thank You Elizabeth Edwards

Today, I was really pondering things, yet again, about how cancer just seems to steal someone right out from under us. With the passing of Elizabeth Edwards yesterday, and her goodbyes uttered throughout different medias, I wonder what would I do in her shoes.

I had skin cancer. I never had to go through chemo or radiation, just the series of surgeries to remove the cancer. I never considered myself a cancer survivor because I have not had chemo or radiation. I have filed it in the back of my mind/head and have glossed over how lucky I was that it never got more serious.

When I go down the series of events in my mind that took place that got me to that cancer diagnosis, I was very very lucky that I had high blood pressure. I was going in regularly to get my blood pressure taken and my Doctor (when lifting up my shirt to listen to my heart after  taking my blood pressure) noticed a spot that just kept changing over time. He said he thought it was nothing, but thought we should check. In the process, I mentioned that a birth mark on my leg had recently changed as well. I went through the process of them shaving the sample and sending it in. I went on without any other thought of the outcome of the tests because I knew it was nothing.

The call came. It was something. So, I went through all of the steps to deal with the "something". I went through the body scans, the surgeries to remove the top of my ear lobe, a spot on the side of my head, five places on my back, and the worst of them, my inner upper thigh that was the birthmark that just started changing.

None of it seemed real.

Looking back on it, I really feel like it happened to someone else. I went through the motions. I did what I was supposed to, but I never celebrated how lucky I was that things never went further.

Today I celebrated. In my mind, I was thankful that my high blood pressure saved my life. I am thankful, that because my Doctor was aggressive and attentive I never had to deal with anything but the discomfort of surgeries and then the more painful part that seemed to be the waiting and not the surgeries themselves.

I don't want anyone to go through any of it. That is why I Relay for Life. For everyone's stories that I read of survival and loss, I Relay.

Today, I celebrate that I am making a difference in this world and I celebrate that I am still here with my precious family and friends.

I did survive so that I could Relay.

I will leave you with this:
"I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful." Elizabeth Edwards.