Crossing the Line

I'm about to do something I said I wouldn't do post last September, but this time I can't help it.  I have to share this with all of you.  If you're as angry as I am over this whole Obamacare debacle, please consider getting involved in some form or fashion in your local political circles. 

Most of you know that I've been working on a local County Council race for the last 6 months.  Being a Republican in Maryland is difficult in it of itself, especially when you're attempting to replace a Democrat seat with a Republican.  However, I have to say that I've never felt so invigorated.  I was so tired of yelling at the TV when those dopes in Washington said this or passed that.  Finally, I feel like I can actually make a difference in my own community.  I know that most of the people that read this blog aren't actually from my area, and many of you might consider yourselves apolitical, but regardless of where you are, whether it's a red state, blue state, or truly purple state, there is always something that can be done. 


I just posted a blog entry on the PVRC site that I would love each of you to read.  If you're interested in getting involved, whether it's in Maryland or wherever you live, just send me an email and I'll hook you up. 

Thanks for putting up with me. 

Spring Flinging; No Bitterness Lingering.

I've spent the better part of the day clearing, cleaning, and organizing. Slowly, I'm digging through the muck of winter and changing over to Spring. It's freeing, almost, being able to let go of "too smalls" or the "too bigs" or even the "too uglys". The more I clean though, the more there is to do. It really is an endless cycle. Honestly, I can't wait for our annual Yard Sale, coming up on May 1. Finally I'll have the use of two closets that have been taken over by unwanted stuff. If I wasn't so selfish and greedy, I'd just donate it all to charity. Of course, that's where most of it will end up after all is said and done, but I'd like to have some kind of return on investment.

I've been setting up an office in one of our spare rooms in the basement, reclaiming it from the boys. It's so nice to have a place to gather the four corners of my life, campaign, church, mom's group, and neighborhood association.

In the process, I've also been digging through old picture frames. Keep this, chuck that, hang this...pause, who's that handsome man in that photo embracing that fabulously young and rather skinny girl? Oh yeah, it's my Dad. I love that picture, taken just months before Neil and I relocated to Maryland. All was well then. No one was sick or hurting. That picture now hangs on the wall next to my desk, along with a montage of old and new friends, early pics of Neil and me, and even my Dad's first magazine cover. I feel surrounded by love and good memories.

I have to say that for the better part of two years, I've been hiding my Dad. Anything and everything that reminded me of him, I placed inside a box. It was just too painful to look at. And even today, as I glanced upon his face, tears would fall, but it felt different...peaceful. I smiled. I chuckled to myself as I remembered that very day at my sister's house. Maybe the bitter times have passed and I can now remember him for who he was...my Dad, who once again hangs on my wall, greeting me as I pass by, reminding me that I'm his little girl. I truly think he would be proud.

Pee Pee in the Potty

After months of hinting and begging and all but forcing Blake to go potty, it finally clicked. The boy apparently just needed his Daddy. While I was away Saturday, working on the campaign, Blake decided it was time to transcend into boyhood. By lunch he had put his pee pees in the potty three times. Like any parent, I was prepared for this to be a fluke, an accident of pee pee proportions. Or maybe Neil was the magic key? Would his return to work signal a reversal? Low and behold with the exception of a few minor accidents, mostly my fault, and of course #2, Blake has been in underwear all week long.

For those of you without kids, you must know, on some level, that this, my friend, is no minor feat. Potty training, in it of itself, is a full time job, and I already have several of those. You have to plan more time into everything, especially when venturing out. As I found out yesterday, there is no such thing as a quick run to the store before picking up Owen. In other words, I set Blake up for failure. You simply can't tell a 2 year old, who a few days ago peed at will, to hold it, even if it is just for a few moments. Yes, yes, I've been through this before, but that was a year and a half ago. I can barely remember what I did last week.

The good news is that I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Having two potty trained children means being able to go to Ikea and letting them play in the Smaland while Madison and I wander aimlessly through the store with Katy and Bekah. Yep, that actually happened. I'm thinking that Ikea might become a weekly trip for us. But probably not...like I have time.

Why Is Everybody Always Picking On Me???

It seems that my high school bully has reincarnated herself in the form of three monsters named, Owen, Blake and Madison. Seriously, you don't believe me? Honestly, it's actually fairly genius. In fact, I could make a fortune if I could market this strategy to high school bullies everywhere. Or better yet, maybe I was a bully to someone else and this is my payback. Regardless, I have a whole gang of bullies living under my roof and I have become their target.

What? You can't see how such sweet and innocent children can torture me so? Let's start with a for instance. Earlier this morning, I'm sitting in my reclining chair attempting to read my Bible when Blake comes pummeling towards me, throws himself into my lap and tosses my Bible onto the floor. Moments later, I hear Madison screeching from inside the confines of her lair. I carefully remove my first leech and head into her room with a smile plastered on my face. As soon as I open the door, I'm greeted with another ear piercing screech and a stuffed animal flying towards my face. At this point, I realize I am under attack. I duck and roll towards the crib and spring up. I grab the bully baby, sweep her into my arms, and head towards the kitchen. Bullies are always a bit nicer when they've had a bite to eat.

As I round the corner, I find Thing 1 and Thing 2 hovering over a box of donut holes. When they see me, their eyes widen like deer caught in headlights, mouths lined in white powder. Owen smiles coyly. "Hi Mommy," he mutters while drooling crumbs onto the floor. A quick "mom" look from me and the two scatter, fleeing to the table, where Owen asks, "Mommy, may I can I have a donut please?" There I stand surrounded and completely speechless.

I little while later, I ask Owen to get dressed and Blake to pick up the toys he'd just dumped all over the floor. Guess how long it took them to accomplish said tasks? I'll let you know when they finish.

Maybe I'm over exaggerating a bit, and maybe the events of this morning weren't as extreme a picture as I've painted. Maybe my kids are just kids and I'm border lining on conspiracy theorist, but sometimes I swear it's a calculated take down of the "Mommy."

Could there be some sort of underground school where children go and learn just what buttons to push? I'm quite positive there is and that it is taught my high school bullies.

Disclaimer: I, in no way, feel that my children are in fact monsters. I love them dearly.

Standing By Strangers

Every once in a while, someone posts a comment on my Dad's blog.  Normally though they're just spam, but today I got a post that literally broke my heart.  I've been thinking about Dad a lot lately, being reminded of him in the whispers of life, but this was more of a slap in the face (and not in a bad way).  We're coming up on two years, you know?  That just seems unbelievable.  I honestly think that the more time passes, the more I miss him, the harder it is to imagine he's gone.  Maybe I never really dealt.  Maybe I just avoided and put off the pain.  Either way, a loss is a loss is a loss.

Here's what Jeanette wrote to me on the his blog:

"You probably weren't thinking this blog would ever get checked again but I wanted to say thanks to you, your mother, and your father for sharing your journey. My father was diagnosed with terminal kidney cancer 4 days ago and I'm learning everything I can, everywhere I can.  Some people prefer ignorance.  For myself, if this disease is going to take my father, I am going to know every last stinking detail about it and read every story I can.  Your father was a special man.  God Bless all of you.  Jeanette"

And here is what I felt compelled to write to her.  I hope you, as my friends and confidantes, will keep Jeanette and her father in your prayers.  It is not an experience I would wish on anyone. 

Jeanette,

I’d like to say that I can’t imagine the horror you must be feeling right now, but I still vividly remember the day my Dad told me he had cancer.  I was at lunch with a pseudo-friend, someone I knew but wouldn’t necessarily lean on.  Seeing as my Dad rarely called, I simply had to answer.  I could tell immediately that something was wrong.  Dad certainly tried to cover his pain and confusion with a few light hearted jokes and heavy sarcasm, but it wasn’t working.  At first we had no idea how serious it was.  They didn’t even know what type of cancer he had, but they were thinking it might have been lung. 

He went to see the radiologist on the same day my husband and I were scheduled to find out the sex of our baby.  I can’t tell you how surreal it was to walk into the Radiology Department knowing that I was getting good news and he was getting bad.  A few hours later, he called to tell me that it was Stage 4 Renal Cell Cancer.  I didn’t even know what a renal cell was, much less that it would take my Dad away from me.

Dad lived for just over three years post diagnosis, and I was there was the last 5 weeks.  If you’d like you can go to my blog, www.hillsofchaos.blogspot.com, click on Dad under the Tags, and follow along my journey.  I didn’t even start blogging until that February 08, just a couple months before he passed, but I chronicled my time with him up until the end.  I don’t know if it will bring your solace or not. 

I would also suggest befriending Manual Lopez on Facebook.  He is a warrior in this great battle and was a good friend of my Dad’s though they never actually met.  There is a great network of people out there waiting to support you and your Dad.  Please let me know if you need anything.

Hillary

Sometimes we're called to embrace strangers, to stand together, to support one another, to lift one another up.  Who needs you today?  Who could use a hug?  Or a prayer?  Or a hot cup of coffee?  

Pajama Day

Sometimes you just need a day to lounge around in your PJ's.  Apparently this is going to be one of those days. Of course, I didn't plan it that way.  Who does?  Right now, I should be leaving to take Owen to school and then it would be all about running errands, some real and some contrived, until it was time to pick him up.  Once again, it would have been a jam packed day ending with a rushed sweep of the house to prepare for yet another evening of guests.  Apparently, God had a different plan.  Yesterday, as I was returning from a busy morning, I cut the corner too close, hit the wall in my driveway, and popped the tire.  Consequently, Neil had to take the van to work this morning so he could get new tires put on the car.  I made a small effort to get Owen to school, but then just decided to declare this Pajama Day.

As I type this, Owen, Blake and Madison are sliding down a make shift slide made out of an old sturdy shelf and the ottoman, each of them donning their PJ's.  Funny, but they don't seem a bit concerned about my daily agenda put on hold.  At this moment, neither do I.  In fact, I'm seeing it as a blessing, an expensive one, but a blessing none the less.  Sometimes I need to stop, take pause, and just enjoy the freedom I've been given.

This has been an insane week.  Sometimes I don't even know how I do it.  With three kids, a husband and a dog, More than Moms, the Whisler campaign, the Neighborhood association, and Fusion, I'm never sure how I manage it all.  But somehow God gets me through, and I know that hidden beneath the surface is a purpose, to glorify my Maker.  Somehow, all of these things are intertwined.  Sometimes it feel like a game of Connect the Dots, and I've so enjoyed the process.  I would have never put myself here, not in a million years, but I love every minute of it, and it's never, ever boring.  But I do need to take a break sometimes, even if it's forced, to be still and know that He is God (NOT ME).

I'm thankful that I've had the opportunity this week, more like made the opportunity, to spend time with God each morning. It's been a while since I've had more than one quiet time in a week, much less in a row.  I've been going through this book that my friend, Clare, gave me last week called Praying for Purpose.  Each day covers a new topic and surprisingly (why I'm surprised by God, I don't know) it's been just what I needed to hear.  I've noticed my patience level go up, my awareness of what God's doing around me increase, and the chaos within me calm.  Why don't I do this more often? Seriously!

On a lighter note, I just found out that our friends, Noe and Amanda, are moving back to the States from Africa.  They were the ones that we bought our house from and became good friends of ours over the next year.  They've decided that it would be best for them to come home.  They can continue to run the ministry from the States and this way, they can adopt a 4th child.  I hope you guys with join me in praying for their transition back to the States.  For more information, read their Newsletter.

Writer's Block

For a while now, I've literally come to complete stop when I think about updating my blog.  I vividly remember the days when I'd write 5-7 blogs in a week.  Of course I do, it was like 6 months ago.  Ever since my life turned upside down and split off into 14 different directions, it's been more and more difficult for me to find the words to put here.  On a day to day basis, I am a wife and a mom, a community activist and a connection point for other moms, a friend and a church planter.  Obviously, a completely inactive, boring life, right?  To be honest, I'm still trying to find that balance.  Most of the time I'm flying from one thing to the next without a second to slow down and get a quick whiff of the coffee. 

This week alone, we have meetings in our house every single night (except Friday & then it's prayer meeting at Sarah's).  Last night was the Whisler cabinet meeting, today is playgroup, and then tonight is our street rep social for our neighborhood.  Tomorrow is the Whisler communications meeting and Thursday is Bible study.  Don't get me wrong, I love every second of it, and happen to have the most supportive husband who allows it all to occur.  What would I do without him?

Even with all this commotion, I still can't find a single thing to write about.  Right now, I want to backspace to the beginning and start over.  Where is my mojo?  Normally I sit down and start typing and it just all comes together.  But maybe with the lack of direction comes a lack of motivation.  The reason I haven't been updating often is that I'm not really inspired to write anything.  And when I am, I suddenly get really busy, time passes, and then it just doesn't seem so inspiring after all.  Have you guys ever been there?

I thought maybe this would get me over the hump.  You know, like when you work out.  You dread it, make excuses, eat cake instead.  Then finally, you force yourself into your gym shorts and onto the Elliptical (or the Expresso Recumbent Bike Experience in my case) and you just do it.  At the end, you feel invigorated, energized, and ready  to go again.  That's what this entry is about for me; I'm pushing through hoping that at the end, I will feel invigorated, energized and ready to go again.

Difficult Day

It never ceases to amaze me that I can be online several hours a day, checking my email, updating political blogs and websites, working on More than Moms stuff, and still neglect my own personal blog.  I wonder if it's because I try to keep my personal stuff here, segregated from the politics and such.  However, after I've written a sarcastic and opinionated piece for the PVRC and a couple deals and steals for More than Moms, there really isn't much more to talk about...or I'm too pooped from the rest of my life (you know, the three kids, husband, and a dog). 

But today, I've hit a wall and need to vent.  It's been one of those days.  You know of what I speak, right?  One of those days you wish you could replay over and over again until you got it right.  That's the day I've had.  It would have worked better for the blog's sake if this day had actually happened yesterday since it was Groundhog Day, then I could pun off the movie.(If you don't know what movie I speak of then you're most likely under 25 and are not up on your 80's classics...sorry) 

It's not like the week started great though either.  I spent most of Sunday and all day Monday feeling completely awful.  I'd prepared myself for a full out onslaught of goop and gunk, but yesterday morning, I woke up feeling...well, better.  Aunt Flo had come to town (if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you're a guy), and the first day she's here is just bleh.  So I decided we'd stay home and chill out.  Next time I have that bright idea, someone please throw a pie at me.  Three kids cooped up in a house all day plus "bleh" mom equals breakdown.  Thankfully it was Chick-fil-a night which brightened my spirits.  The kids went down easy for bed, and then Neil and I enjoyed 2 full hours of Lost bliss. 

So I wake up this morning to 5 inches of snow and Owen's school canceled, which I was mostly prepared for since it was snowing all night.   I decided to have a different attitude than normal, a good one.  I pulled out my journal and Bible and spent some good time with God, for the first time in at least a week.  So far, so good.  Then I encountered a certain email that just set the tone for my day, an email from a difficult person who operates like a thorn in my side.  From that point on, I chose to allow this person's remarks to shape my day.  Of course the events themselves could not have been avoided, but my reaction to them could have. 

Let's start with my plan.  With it being a snow day, I thought it best to get the kids out of the house.  Why not the gym?  They can play and I get a break. So we get there, I drop off the kids, and go to change.  Not even 2 minutes after I walked out of the locker room, one of the child watcher's came to me and said Blake had a runny nose and I had to come get him.  A couple of deep breaths later, I walked back into the locker room, changed clothes, and went back to pick up my kids.  Okay, plan B.  Owen needed a new coat since he'd lost 2 this season.  Why not head to BJ's?  I'm sure they have a jacket at a reasonable price.  I'll pop in, get the kids a hot dog, pick up a couple minor things, get the jacket and be home by 1.  Yeah, not so much.  I should have known better though.  Who can really pop in and pop out of BJ's, especially not with so many great coupons available?  Needless to say, I was there for nearly 2 hours, and the kids started breaking down around the 1.5 hour mark, and I still needed to get the jacket.  Really, I do this crap to myself.  Then after I checked out, I realized that the jacket I picked was in the wrong place and was $10 more than I thought it was.  By this point. I'm ready to pull out my hair.  Blake is literally climbing on top of the car cart.  Owen is hanging out the side.  Madison is simply fed up, and I can't see straight.  But still I trudge to the clothing section to save a few bucks, and get the heck out of there.  In the process, I learn that my business cards for Team Whisler actually won't be ready until Monday...even though I was told 3-4 business days which would have been today or tomorrow.  I get a response from my difficult person of the day and it was even more petty and trite than before.  By this point, I'd forgotten all that had come from my deep and focused time with God.  I was done, at the end of my rope.  After I loaded the kids in the car, I just prayed for quietness for the ride home.  Thankfully, I got it.  Deep breath. Deep breath.  You would think that in those moments of silence, I'd regroup, spend time praying for my day and the people I'd encountered, but no, I chose to wallow in it.  Am I any better off now?  Not so much. 

I'm thankful that God doesn't just toss me to the way side when I neglect Him, that His mercy and grace have no expiration date.  I can always come back to the right path, make the right choice, the one that will glorify Him,  Granted, there are still earthly consequences to my actions, like I might have to apologize to my kids for losing my mind, or I've wasted precious time on ridiculous junk that I can't get back.  It's so easy to point fingers, to play the blame game, to throw a pity party, but what good are these things?  What do I stand to gain from them? 

At this moment, I chose to filter the rest of my day through God's eyes. 

On a side note: Could you all pray that the snow holds off this weekend? (maybe not entirely, but just long enough to not mess with the Women's Breakfast planned for Saturday morning) Thanks!

I Dove In and Survived!

I can't tell how you scary it is to put the first drop of dye on your hair.  Never before have I dyed my hair a shade darker than my natural color.  I figured it was time for a change.  It is Winter, right?  A time when brunette's shine and blonde's dull.  Don't be offended blondes, I am in fact, one of you at heart, which was precisely the problem.  An hour ago, my hair was all naturale, no dye, no highlights, no nada, and it was absolutely driving me crazy.  And even productless, I still had roots.  So I decided.  I was going to make a change, one way or the other.  Now, given my lack of confidence and self-esteem, I had to poll my audience.  They chose brown.  Of course, I was already leaning that way anyways.  I think I just wanted to make sure I wasn't about to ruin the next 8 weeks of my life, at least cosmetically.  The rest follows in typical Hillary suit, went to Target, picked out a color, bought it, brought it home, put whatever kids would take a nap down, and dove in.  For the entire the 25 minutes that I had to wait, I mouthed various obscenities under my breath.  "What was I thinking? No turning back now.  Holy Camoli!" (The PG version).

But as I was about to step into the shower to rinse it all out, I thought to myself, "this is what I do."  I get tired of the norm and I change it.  I'm not an idle person.  I thrive under stress.  I'm most productive when I'm busy.  If something's not being done, I do it myself.  In other areas of my life, I seem to dive in without fear, so why should I care about the color of my hair?  

Regardless, it's done.  I can't change it, at least not now.  And bottom line, I don't hate it.  If you hate it, just don't tell me. 

Lovable or Terrible? Or in my case, both?

Disclaimer:  I love all of my children deeply.

I have three children, two boys and a girl.  My middle child, Blake, is 2 1/2 going on 6 months.  If I wasn't losing all of my hair from postpartum hormones, I'd be pulling it out in chunks.  Scratch that, I'd already be bald.  It's almost as if he was born knowing he'd be the middle child. The incessant whining coupled with the bull headed resistance would be enough to drive any mother (and father, for that matter) insane, but with Blake, I get the added bonus of the absolute sweetest smile in the world.  No matter how mad I get, he flips the switch and I find myself falling for his charm every time (well, almost).  It's like an endless cycle.  Oh please, let it come to an end soon. 

As much as I want to cherish these moments, to hold onto their youth, by 5 pm every day, I'm at my wits end.  I catch myself often saying, "if only I could get him past this stage, I'd be good."  But is that really the truth?  Doesn't "if only" get us into more trouble in the end?  We build up expectations that are doomed to disappoint us.  You know, the grass is always greener on the other side.  The problem in the this situation is that Blake has an older brother, and I've seen the 3's...not too much better than the 2's.  Trust me.  Right now, he's learning to communicate better, or at least more, and certainly repetitively.  Next he'll be testing boundaries and asserting his independence.  By four, it will all be about defiance, or at least attempted defiance.  Of course, we all know he gets all of this from his dad.  They all do. :)!

Today, Blake started swim lessons.  Now this is a Mommy & me class.  He can't be on his own until he's at least 3.  Trust me, he would have done much better if I were not there.  What is that about?  Since when did I become a hindrance to my own child?  Regardless, I've learned several lessons, the first being to not tell him what we're doing until we do it.  From the second he woke up, all he could talk about was swimming (or should I say whine about.)  "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, I waaaant to go swimming.  Mommy, I waaaannaaa go swimming.  Mommy, MOMMY, I wannnnnaaaaaa go swimming.  I waaaaannntttt juice. Mommy, I waaaannnnaaaa go swimming." You get my point, right?  It didn't matter how many times I gave him the agenda for the morning, it literally felt like I was listening to a broken record of nails on a chalkboard.  It's just flat out incessant.

Then we walk into the pool area, equipped with swimsuits and towels.  The boy freaks out.  "MOMMY, I don't waaannnnaaaa swim.  I don't wannnaaannnaaannnaaannnaanann swim.  Mommy, MOMMY! No!"  Of course he's saying all of this as he's walking closer and closer to the pool. 

At this point, I figure it's best to just get it.  Sure, we're a little early, so we'll use the time to adjust.  So I don't sound like a broken record myself, keep in mind that he's continuing to tell me how much he doesn't want to swim.  He steps on the first step, freaks out, then steps on the second step.  Then he wants "up," to which I said, "If you take one more step, I'll pick you up."  Insert whining here.  He steps down onto the third step.  This pretty much went on for the entire 30 minutes.  He basically was a stellar student, kicking, jumping, going under, and even cracking a smile.  The only problem was that he never stopped whining.  When it was all over, we climbed out of the pool and wrapped ourselves in our towel.  Then he starts up again, "Mommy, I'mmmm cold.  Mommy, I'm cold.  MOMMY, I wannaa go swimming. Mommy, I wanna goooooo swimming."  And so on and so forth.  Hence is the story of my life, all day long, everyday. 

It's not like I give into him.  I don't.  He doesn't get what he wants unless he asks for it.  The whining doesn't work with me, and he knows it.  It's almost like he does it just because he knows I don't like it, almost as if he doesn't really want anything except to annoy me.  Of course, I understand that a 2 year old doesn't have the capability to scheme like that, or at least I hope not. 

Hopefully, he'll learn that it doesn't work and move on soon.  I honestly think I deal better with defiance then whining.  Although I will say that it's already starting to kick in.  Try asking Blake to go potty.  Oh man, that's a whole other can of worms, one that will most assuredly drive me to baldness.