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As a stay-at-home-home for the past 8.5 years, I occasionally struggle to find measurable meaning in my overwhelmingly routine existence. I understand that my reward for endless sacrifice and suffocatingly difficult days with young kids will come when they emerge as strong, loving, contributing adults, but some days it's hard to lay my head down at night with no tangible validation for all the work I put in that day.
Eons ago, back when I was in the working world, corporate speak was the norm, pantyhose were a curse and at the end of the day, I could look at a pile of projects checked off my list and feel satisfied with the day's accomplishments. I took pride in my work, had confidence in my abilities, and overall, felt that whichever company I was working for was benefiting from having me on staff.
Now, I rarely get a shower before noon. I can clean up the same mess six times in one day but, somehow, it's still there at bedtime. Dishes and laundry simply do not have a finish line. At any given point in the day, it is a safe bet that I am wiping someone's butt. I make 1,000 micro decisions per day, and have little confidence in many of them. I often wonder if anyone in the family is benefiting from having me “on staff”. Sometimes, I long for the days when I could see tangible proof of my contributions and received validation from coworkers and clients for my hard work. I miss the feeling of having something important to contribute to a project, or giving intelligent interjections at a meeting. I can work my tail off for my kids and they still say my arms are flabby, I have yellow teeth, and, most recently, John informed me I have no talent. I can laugh at those innocent proclamations, but deep down, I often long for the days when there were a few people around who respected me.
I admire my friends who are throwing together multi-million dollar corporate extravaganzas, saving lives as RNs, making a difference in a classroom or boardroom, etc. I often envy the stories they have to tell at the end of the day. My spit-up and poop debacles are hardly fodder for table talk.
In a society where one's worth is often irrevocably connected to their occupation and education, I am quite frequently presumed to hold a lower social rung on the proverbial ladder. I often find that others equate stay-at-home-mom with uneducated or incapable of achieving higher goals. While I occasionally find the misconceptions humorous, it inevitably chips away at my inner self-confidence. Fact is, I have a bachelor's degree and held positions in numerous reputable companies before I consciously chose to stay home and raise my children – a decision I do not regret.
What is regrettable, however, is how inadequate I often feel when surrounded by my husband's colleagues or other corporate-types. (A large number of my extended family all work for the same company.) I rarely have anything useful to contribute to the natural flow of conversation, and often find myself spinning one-liners or meager attempts at humor if only to feel included. Sometimes I just space out. Quite frankly, talking about investing and finance for hours on end is not my idea of a happenin’ night out. However, it's those moments of interaction with other educated, successful grown-ups when I find myself wistfully wishing that someone would turn and say, “Let's hear what Jeni has to say about this,” and genuinely care. Now, if the conversation suddenly turns to how to multi-task in the kitchen or juggle the needs of three children while simultaneously folding laundry, doing dishes, wiping snot and feeding the dog, then, heck, I've got that market cornered!
As I sign off from this entry, I am about to head upstairs to tuck my children in bed, kiss them goodnight, and then spend the next hour cleaning up the various messes they left in their wake – and then do it all again tomorrow. When I wake up, I will trade the pantyhose and heels for denim and flip flops and the most important decision I make will be what to fix for lunch. I will judge my accomplishments to be successful if I manage to get from the kitchen to the bedroom without tripping over legos. And when my husband comes home from work, he will most likely find dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, an unmade bed and a dirty diaper on Jossilyn. What he doesn't know is that I already did breakfast and lunch dishes, but then the kids ate snacks. I made the bed first thing in the morning, but then the boys built a fort out of my covers. I changed Jossilyn's diaper 10 minutes earlier, but she “did her thing” seconds before he walked in the door.
That’s my life. And I love it. I’m not contributing to world peace, forging corporate mergers or even designing a magazine ad, but my kids will go to bed knowing that Mommy will be there in the morning. And at lunch. And at dinner. And then I will trip over legos as I walk upstairs to tuck them in at night.
I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!
Well, here we are! I can hardly believe that I am ACTUALLY living in the same small, country, back-woods town where I spent my early childhood! James has known since he met me nearly 14 years ago that I dreamed of raising my children in this quiet, country environment. I love it here. The town is only 2,500 people, but we are only minutes from major shopping and a quick 20-min drive to Ft. Worth. It's truly the best of both worlds!
The move has gone smoothly. The only hiccup was a prolonged argument with AT&T in which I did prevail and I am quite sure "Jeni" is now a 4-letter-word in some segments of the company. For the most part, we are settled in and assuming a normal daily routine. Since we moved "home", the transition was an easy one. No need to stress over not having friends and family around - they're all here!!! WHOO HOOO!!!!
Let me cut to the chase… many of you have been asking - and in some cases, begging - for pictures of the new house. Here they are! Well, here are most of them, anyway. You're going to have to wait for pics of the guest room and John's room. Those were too messy to photograph. 'Nuff said.
So, let's start the tour. Here is the front and back of the house. We are nestled on just shy of 2.5 acres. I'll snap some pics of the rest of the property for you soon to give you a better idea. Click on the pics to enlarge them.
Here are some pics of the entry way and living room…
The kitchen is just off the living room…
The dining room is just off the entry way and connected to the living room. Had to have this room painted… it was pumpkin orange! Nice color for some, but not for me. =)
The game room in this house is smaller, but I like it. It's cozy and has huge windows overlooking the property.
Just off the game room is the downstairs hall which leads to Matt's room and bathroom.
The master bedroom is so nice. I truly feel like I have a retreat to go to. It's quiet back there and the views of the backyard are so peaceful. Love love love my bedroom!
Upstairs is a loooooooong hall. This was exciting to me because our last house was designed with NO hallways. Finding places to hang all my pictures was so traumatic for me. If you know me well, then you know I have an extraordinary affinity for photography. The baby gate is to keep Jossilyn from breaching John's "safe zone" and creating havoc in the guestroom.
Jossilyn's room is HUGE. It's the perfect size to accommodate the HUGE messes she makes with her toys. The decor is the same as the old house. I had to re-buy a lot of the decorations, but it was totally worth it to keep the same theme.
And that's it! For now, anyway… everything beyond the baby gate was too messy for film, which means that Jossilyn is NOT the messiest kid in our family! =)
In anticipation of moving back to Fort Worth, I have been cleansing and purging all things “junk” in my house. I tried going from room to room, but ADD kicked in, so I end up cleaning whatever part of the house happens to catch my eye at the time. The other day, the area of the house that won was my bedroom nightstand. As I riffled through the endless old receipts, magazines, and other various pieces of trash, I happened upon three photos that I had all but forgotten about and I want to share them with you now.
As most of you know, on September 16, 2004, James and I lost our second child, whom we named “Jordan” since we never learned the baby's gender. Losing my baby was the hardest thing I have ever experienced. Some women are able to bounce back quickly, but for me, it was an emotional roller coaster, and I still think about this sweet baby that's waiting for my first hug when we finally meet in Heaven.
As a Christian, I have never been one to believe in ghosts. I believe there is absolutely supernatural activity, but that activity is caused by either angels or demons. I believe that when you die, your spirit is immediately taken to Heaven, for those of us who choose to accept Christ as our personal Savior, or hell, for those that don’t. Everything we perceive to be “ghostly” activity is really just spiritual warfare or deception on the part of demons to entice us into the occult.
However, on Christmas day, 2004, three photos were taken of me that I cannot explain. I want to share them with you now and hear your explanations and opinions. That Christmas day was only three months after Jordan died and the wound was still very raw. I was relying heavily on strength from family, friends and the Lord to get me through each day.
Many people have experienced “orbs” in their photographs. There are many explanations for this phenomenon such as dust on the camera lens, spirits, refracting light, etc. Until this day, I had never experienced an orb in any of my photographs. In this first photo, please note the large orb next to my Dad as well as the fact that the television on the far right hand side of the picture is clearly off. This photo was taken with my camera.
NOTE: Even though I am a graphic designer, I give you my absolute word that I simply scanned these photos in. They have not been retouched, altered or enhanced in any way. Click on the photos to enlarge them.
This next photo is of me sitting in front of the television. It was taken with my Dad's camera just minutes after the previous photo. I am including it only to prove that the television behind me is conclusively turned OFF.
In this last and final photo, taken with my camera just a few minutes after the first two, please note the reflection in the TV screen. To the left of the TV screen, you see MY reflection, which is only visible because the TV is still turned OFF and a dark screen reflects the environment around it. However, WHAT is the reflection on the right-hand side of the TV screen??? The only blonde in the room was ME. That is NOT a picture of me. The TV was off. The only people across from the TV were my family members. There are no photos on the wall opposite the television. In fact, please note that the red power light is not on at the base of the television, further proving that it was, in fact, off. No one in my family can identify this person. It is not another photograph overlaid on this one because the strange image is confined to the parameters of the TV screen.
So you tell me.... did baby Jordan make his/her presence known that Christmas day to comfort me? Is it an angel? Or is this just a photography phenomenon that I am unfamiliar with?
Please leave your comments telling me what you think! To leave a comment here, click on "COMMENTS" at the bottom of this post, underneath the last picture of Jossilyn.
Jossilyn Sneak Peak
Can you believe it? Jossilyn just turned ONE!! This year has flown by! Here are a few of her one-year portraits. I'm a little biased, but I think she is clearly the most beautiful baby in the world!!!
There are few things I have prayed for with more diligence than my request to "get back home to Texas" when I was living in California. Specifically, to get home to Dallas/Fort Worth (DFW). I remember with vivid clarity the despair I felt that first year there and how my depression nearly smothered me like a heavy, wet blanket. I know God had many things He wanted me to work on, but I was already so perfect, I couldn't imagine what might need tweaking. (Insert stifled snickers here.) Over the four years that we were there, I gradually came to understand some of the lessons God was trying to teach me, while simultaneously wondering why He couldn't have taught me those very same lessons from the comfort of the Lone Star State. Who knows? At any rate, I prayed. James prayed. Our children prayed. Our family and friends prayed. We all wanted our family to go "home" to DFW.
In early March of 2009, that prayer was answered by way of a move to Sugar Land, Texas, outside of Houston. Okay. It wasn't Fort Worth, but I could deal. In fact, I was thrilled! Over the past couple years, James and I have come to love Sugar Land (or Candyland as I affectionately refer to it) and I began to picture raising our three children here. New dreams have replaced the old. The prayers to get back to DFW ceased. We were home.
Or so we thought.
God has a sense of humor. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Out of the blue, over the past few days, God has opened a door in James' career that would land us smack dab in the middle of Fort Worth. To our own surprise, we have become so attached to Sugar Land, that we actually had to "discuss" the idea before we unanimously agreed: DFW is, was, and always will be - home.
Therefore, it is with great excitement and anticipation that our family begins another brand new journey as we take the next step in our lives and relocate (again) to DFW. We have decided to settle in a very small, country town that I grew up in, called Aledo. It sits just 15 minutes west of Fort Worth and should be a fairly simple commute for James. I am delighted that my children will get to experience the country lifestyle that I was privy to, and I pray they form memories as fond as mine. I also pray that they don't plot to kill me when they realize that they will now have to become experts in identifying and avoiding rattlers, cotton mouths, copperheads, tarantulas, black widow spiders, and scorpions; all of which bountifully exist in Aledo.
As with all our company relos, this will happen quite quickly. James will be reporting to Fort Worth in just a matter of weeks. The kids and I will stay here so I can facilitate the sale of our home with as little interruption to the children's schooling as possible.
We covet your prayers as we make this transition and look forward to reconnecting with all of our DFW friends that we have missed so much!! To those in Candyland that we leave behind, thank you for the part you have played in our lives in the brief time that we have had the privilege of knowing you. I look forward to continuing friendships and visits! Friends we have already parted with can attest that I love company!! My door is always open!!
As a stay-at-home Mom, I tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to unexpected knocks at my door, and generally don't open it. For some reason, I made an exception to this rule when a young man knocked on my door last week.
I was busy going about my day, wrapping the many Christmas presents and finishing up my holiday to-do list when the doorbell rang, suddenly. I looked out the window to find a young, clean-cut man in his mid-twenties, wearing baggy pants and a red and white striped polo button down shirt. Against my usual precaution, I felt compelled to speak to this young man. I opened the door, just a few inches and stuck my nose through the crack. "Can I help you?" I asked, not really wanting to buy whatever he was selling, but still feeling an urge to speak with him.
"Don't worry, Ma'am," he said with a big grin that told me he had been the class clown in school, "It's just a crazy black man on your porch. Nuthin' to worry about."
I immediately liked him.
He introduced himself as "Joseph" and showed me an array of extremely over-priced cleaning products that he was peddling. I indulged him as he worked through his demonstration. Afterall, he cleaned my porch windows and some of the mold off the sidewalk. When he was finished explaining why I couldn't let him walk away without first investing nearly $200 into apparently the best cleaning products available not-on-the-market, I opened my mouth to say "no thank you" and instead asked him, "What made you want to do this for a living?"
Joseph's voice lowered, his eyes softened, and he smiled. "Ma'am, I have a two-yr-old son I need to support. I dropped out of high-school so I couldn't find a good job. I went back and got my GED, but this pays the bills for my son. I travel to 25 states a year, but I try to get back to see my baby as often as I can." He pulled out his cell phone and flipped though an array of pictures of the sweetest little curly-haired boy with chubby cheeks and a big toothy grin. There were so many pictures of Joseph and his son together, it was obvious he cared deeply for this little boy.
Curious now, I asked him if it was hard to be away from his family for so much of the year. Jospeh laughed and said, "Yes ma'am, it is, but I call him and when I can't talk to him I read my Bible. That helps keep me from being lonely."
My ears perked up at the mention of a Bible and the pastor's daughter in me kicked into high gear. Joseph did not exactly look like the Bible-thumping type. "Do you read the Bible often?" I inquired.
"I do now, ma'am. I only became a Christian a couple years ago. You see, I used to be heavy into drugs. I was a gang-banger, a member of the Bloods." He raised his sleeves to expose a mosaic of knife wounds, gang tattoos, and violent images, many of which referenced the infamous street gang. I closed the door an inch or two. Noticing my reaction, Joseph backed up a foot or so. "You don't have to worry, ma'am. My violent days are over. I was raised in southern Louisiana. My Daddy ran off and my Mama did the best she could. I got mixed up with the wrong kids and started doing drugs. The Bloods came along and made me feel like I had a family and a place to belong. I thought that was cool until my girl got pregnant. I didn't want my kid to go through what I went through."
He paused as if he had said too much. By now, I was out on the porch with him, the door closed behind me. He had such gentle mannerisms, it was difficult to imagine him as a drug-pushing, gun-toting street thug, but the physical scars were beyond proof and the emotional scars wore heavy on his face as he told me his story. "What happened to cause you to change?" I asked.
"Well ma'am, my baby mama told me I had to get right with God and get clean or she was gonna take my baby. I didn't care about her God and I didn't want to leave my 'friends'. Then, Katrina hit. The dump I was living in was completely flooded. You couldn't even see the roof because it was covered in water. I lost everything I had, which wasn't much. I decided to leave the Bloods after that." Joseph said all of this matter-of-factly as I struggled to place myself in his shoes.
"Forgive my naivete," I told him, "But you're the first gang-banger I have ever talked to. I thought you couldn't leave a gang without getting killed or having to look over your shoulder all the time." I instinctively peered down the street, as if to confirm there were no low-riding muscle cars with dark tinted windows rolling up behind us.
Joseph laughed out loud. I think he found my ignorance amusing. "Yes ma'am, that's sometimes the case, but after Katrina, all my boys just left so I left too. I Never looked back. My girl and I went up to Andover, KS, for a while. She's got family up there" We bonded for a minute over both of us having lived in central Kansas and knowing some of the same places. Jospeh continued with his story, "While we were in Kansas, my girl dragged me to church. It was some non-denominational church and I thought there would be dancing and rolling in the aisles. I did not want to go," he said with conviction, "but she said I had to get clean or lose my kid. So I went."
"What did you think," I asked him, hooked on his story.
"Well, ma'am, at first I thought they were freaks, but then something in me started listening and I started wondering about what my life might be like if I had happiness like these people. The third time I went, the pastor came up and prayed for me, put his hands on my shoulder, and told me Jesus loved me. I started to cry. Man, I felt stupid. Gangtas don't cry. But I did." He hesitated as if to see if I wanted him to continue. I did.
"That morning I asked Jesus to come into my heart," he continued, "and I got myself checked into rehab. I've been clean ever since and that was two years ago. I keep my Bible with me when I travel and I try to read it every day. I don't always understand what it says, but I try to live by it. Jesus changed my life. I have these tattoos to remind me where I'm from and the Bible to remind me where I'm going."
He was so passionate when he spoke about his salvation, I was very moved by his story. Stealing a line from a movie, I said, "I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, but I'm proud of you, Joseph. You can make a difference in someone else's life now."
"I'd like to go into ministry," Joseph said, "but I'm not real good at school and I've gotta work. I don't know how to make a difference. So I just keep on for me."
I looked at him a minute. I wanted to say the right thing. "Joseph, one day during your travels, you're going to run into another young man or woman who is at a crossroads in their life. Perhaps they will be facing the same dead-end path you were once on. You're going to be able to roll up your sleeves and show them that you have walked in their shoes. You will be able to identify with their pain. You will know exactly what to say and how to say it to reach them in the place that they're in. That's a gift. Embrace your tattoos and your scars. They are a part of who you were. Turn them into tools to use for Christ. You don't have to have a seminary degree to reach people for Jesus. In fact, you will be able to reach into much deeper, darker places than people like me ever could simply because you've been there yourself." He watched me, listening carefully. I felt we were connecting.
"Joseph," I went on, "someday, you will be to someone else what that pastor in Andover, KS, was to you. You will be the somebody that someone else credits with getting their life right with God. Cling to that and don't let opportunities pass you by."
His eyes welled up slightly, and he held out his hand to shake mine. "Thank you for saying that," he said quietly. "That gives me hope."
By now, more than 30 minutes have passed by. I fumbled for my wallet and handed him $40 for a single over-priced bottle of cleaner, which does actually work quite well. "Good luck," I said as I shook his hand. "Thank you, ma'am. It was a pleasure talking with you," he responded, politely.
With that, Joseph turned and walked down my sidewalk toward the next house, hitching up his saggy jeans and toting his bag of cleaner. He turned briefly and waved goodbye with a smile. As he turned his back to me, I noticed a small, thin black leather-covered Bible tucked safely in his back pocket.
I will probably never see Joseph again until we meet in Heaven, but I have not stopped thinking of this young man and what he has overcome. I have prayed for him several times since our meeting. I hope that some day, he will be able to use his past to help another, because in that act will come true healing for Joseph.
This is the season to reflect and be thankful, is it not? Thanksgiving and the Holiday rush is my favorite time of year. Maybe it's my age, the fact that I have children of my own, or perhaps a combination, but in the past few years I have been more reminiscent around this time of year than in years past. I have so many wonderful childhood memories of the Holidays from my youth. Most involve looooooooong road trips to Kansas City to visit my extended family. I used to look forward to those trips SO much! Mom (a health nut), never let us eat sugar. But on road trips, she would pack a paper grocery bag full of M&Ms, sugary cereals, licorice and other goodies. We could get into that bag and eat whatever we wanted to and we didn't have to ask! It was like a little slice of culinary heaven for the three of us kids.
As a mom, I can only hope that my own three will look back fondly one day and smile at memories that we are now creating for them. My family's traditions have transitioned from road trips to the lot of us gathered around the TV watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation while simultaneously quoting every punchline in unison. Good times. It's so much fun to see my kids' faces light us when we go see their grandparents for the Holidays and it's equally as entertaining to see my parents interact with my children as grandparents.
One BIG reason to be thankful this season is that we just got word back that all of John and Jossilyn's test results came back normal! Praise God! I finally got my act together and scheduled the tests, and now that is behind me. Jossilyn has been improving steadily as she has aged and seems to be normal now. We still need to get answers for John's condition, but I am so thankful that Hirschprungs and CF have been ruled out as causes.
Thank you to everyone who prayed for our family! It means so much to me.
After a five-month absence, I am returning to my blogging world. C'mon... you know you missed me! There is a lot to say and I really don't want to sit here all night typing it all, so I will begin with the most important information some of you have been wondering about and I will fill in the rest in the days to come.
What's up with my kids?
Those of you who are friends on FB have seen several postings over the past few months requesting prayer for John and Jossilyn regarding some medical testing they were to undergo. I did not elaborate on the reasons, and only a handful of you actually know. I'm ready to explain...
Loooooooooong story short, John has dealt with unexplained gastro-intestinal (GI) issues since birth which we have seen numerous doctors for over the years. Basically, he has no natural urge to stool. His body is unable to tell him when he needs to go. We have always been told that he would outgrow his difficulties or his problems were psychological (?!?). It never seemed like a huge issue to me – I mean, it's just a poop problem... right? I had planned to take him to a pediatric GI in Cali, but then we moved and it just got shuffled to the back of the list.
Then we had Jossilyn.
The day she was born, she passed her first stool while I had her diaper off and my Mom and I happened to notice that her rectum prolapsed when she pushed. I immediately said to my Mom, "She's not normal, either." As the days and weeks went on, it became painfully apparent that Jossilyn was unable to stool without assistance. I won't elaborate on that. Over the next 4-5 months, this became a daily ritual. As soon as we sensed she was becoming uncomfortable, we took her upstairs and "helped" her pass her stool. This process often took half an hour or more.
In the first few weeks of her life, James and I also noticed that Jossilyn was extremely raspy when she breathed. She always sounded congested. The pediatrician assured us that c-section babies often have residual fluid in their lungs since they don't pass through the birth canal and that raspy sound would soon clear up on it's own. It didn't. She is still quite raspy.
After several doctor visits, our pediatrician concluded that having two children in one family with similar GI issues was not a coincidence and that there was some testing needed. We finally saw a pediatric GI doctor who determined that most likely John and Jossilyn have two different issues. One possibility for John is a condition called Hirschsprungs Disease which requires a very invasive surgical fix. In Jossilyn's case, however, the specialist agreed with my pediatrician that there is a definite possibility that she has Cystic Fibrosis (CF).
I broke down. The life expectancy with CF is the late 20s. It is a life-altering, ultimately life-ending, disease that would rob my daughter of a normal life. I couldn't even let myself entertain the possibilty. So I went into defense mode. I withdrew. I stopped answering the phone, emails, and texts. I stopped blogging. I didn't put myself in any situation that would require me to talk about it because then it became real.
I know the chances of her NOT having CF are just as good, if not better, but it's gamble I'm having having trouble taking. As it stands right now, I am supposed to call the Children's Hospital in Houston and schedule both John and Jossilyn for CF and Hirschsprungs testing, but so far, I haven't made the call. I'm scared. It's hard to admit, but I'm terrified. As long as I don't make that call, I can keep on pretending that they are fine. They probably ARE fine, but something is causing their issues and I don't want that something to rob my children of their lives or of rob me of my children.
So there you have it. That's what is going on. I'm still not great at talking about it. But I have always been honest on this blog and that shouldn't change now. If you have questions, I will try and answer them, but really, I'm NOT ready to face this yet.
Want to help?
Please pray first and foremost for my children's health. Secondly, please pray for the strength for me that I need to see the testing through. I know that the sooner I have answers, the sooner we can start treating them. I know that. BUT... I waited 34 years to have a daughter and, if by chance she does have CF, I want ONE year to enjoy her without an expiration date hanging over my head. So just pray. Please.
