Author: jenzug

Things That Make Me Feel Gross

The other night I was sorting digital photos on our computer and I came across a bunch of “skinny” pictures of myself. Only, the Me I was jealous of was eight months pregnant with Ruthie. Isn’t that crazy? That I would give anything to look as good as when I was pregnant?

After Ruthie was born I lost all but ten pounds of my pregnancy weight. But after Thomas? I lost nothing. I gained forty pounds and didn’t lose anything. Not one. And I nursed, so don’t tell me nursing does wonders for losing pregnancy weight.

It was difficult to look at those pictures knowing that, at the time, I was unhappy with my body. Just before I got pregnant with Ruthie I was losing weight – about ten pounds before I had to stop dieting (due to pregnant puking and the urge to eat only oatmeal, peanut butter, tomato soup, and nachos).

I want to be content and not wish to be something else. Yet, I also want to feel good about myself, be active, and have energy. And sadly, the way I feel and look about myself now makes me not want to get pregnant again, and we had always been open to having lots of children.

I’ve been taking steps to lose weight. Not just for vanity’s sake – though I definitely want to look better – but also because I want to be healthy again. I’m taking vitamins, exercising, and trying to get more sleep. I hope weaning off the Zoloft will also speed things up for me. But mostly, I need discipline. I’ve developed bad habits of snacking lots and eating late at night.

This post is mostly about lamenting. But also, I want to remember this. I want to be reminded and stay motivated. I want to see these pictures pop up every now and then as I surf through old posts.

Basement Remodel Saga: Part II

Taking out the old chimney

THAR SHE BLOWS! This is one of our framers. His boss took it upon himself to tell me all of this guy’s personal business, which at first made me uncomfortable. But then, when they gave him the job of tearing down the chimney to let off some steam, I was in on the har-de-har-har.

We now have walls – sort of. We have framed walls you can see here. The sheet rock will come after the electrician finishes fixing all the crazy homespun work done by other people. It’s never as easy as you think it’s going to be – especially in these old houses where many upgrades have been made over the years.

When the electrician showed up at my door this morning my faced turned red he was so cute. I was thinking that if I was still single I’d be needing a lot of rewiring done!

Lovely Words

I only have a couple minutes to post because the season finale of The Shield is about to start. Last week when Bryan was gone, I had a particularly lonely and depressed-ish afternoon. I sent Bryan a quick email that said something like, ‘Can you write me a lovely note? I need to hear something encouraging from you. Kind of an overwhelming day.’ His response was to write me this poem, and I just want you all to remember that HE’S MINE and you can’t have him!

Grace sneaks in
——————–

Every hour, on the hour
I think of you and
All that we are building together
In the midst of
Screaming children
The barking dog
Spilling milk
And I think to myself
These dents are adding up in
The way that hugging you
Tightly in our kitchen
(amidst those stressful moments)
Adds up to a something that
Is bigger than both you and I
Like those times when,
Seemingly undone,
We hug,
Only to find
Ruthie climbing to join us
In a third way

This is how Grace sneaks in

Reading: Drunkard’s Prayer

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The church I attend places a high value on art, creativity, and congregational participation in the worship experience. There are many opportunities for our members to share original poetry, responsive readings, essays, and songs during the course of the service.

Today I read the following personal essay prior to the sermon as a part of our worship service.

Drunkard’s Prayer (6/15/05; edited 3/10/06)

Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist of the band Over the Rhine canceled their national tour a couple years ago because the stress of their working relationship was taking a toll on their marriage. They stated in the liner notes of their most recent album, Drunkard’s Prayer, that they needed time to figure out if being together was something they were still committed to.

“When we came home from the tour,” they wrote, “we bought two cases of wine and decided we were going to put a bottle on the kitchen table every evening and start talking until nothing was left. The idea was not to get plowed, but to talk face to face deep into the night.”

After a long hiatus from this album, I discovered it again and played it in the car during a long drive to a friend’s house North of Seattle. It had been a long, difficult day, and I almost canceled my time with her. As I listened, I felt the tension of my stress receding into the tenderness of melody and song, and for the first time I actually heard the words being sung. To the untrained ear they sound like beautiful love songs – lyrics like “I want you to be my love,” or “I’m gonna learn to love without fear.” But when you listen closely, the songs speak of commitment, redemption, and steadfastness in the midst of struggle.

But then again, perhaps I’m moved so much because I’ve been there.

Several weeks ago in a fit of bitter anger, I told my husband I didn’t want to be married to him anymore. I said it with hurtful vengeance; with my rigid finger thrust into his face. I knew the words would sting, that they would tear him down into a defeated mess of weakness. I knew, because it was not the first time he’d heard those words. Bryan had been married before, and those words were very familiar to him. I had cut him in the soft place where his armor could not protect him.

What is it about hurting that makes us want the others around us to hurt as well?

I think of a cup of water that, as it’s filled, reaches the top and spills over the edge. Water is non-discriminatory – it soaks into whatever is lying around it. As my cup of bitterness overflowed, it deteriorated and dissolved the relationships closest to me.

I think also of the verse in James about the tongue being a small rudder that steers a very large ship, and I know that my words nearly ran my family’s ship aground.

In just a few short weeks I have had the ugliness of my sin exposed, and I saw the bitterness that spurned my hurtful words. And then, Christ washed it away. He covered my sin with his blood so all I see now is the hope of joy and reconciliation – and this is what I find beautiful about Believing.

Religion says God will fix us, but Christ says I am arrogant and stubborn and must let go of my anger.

Religion says God will make me feel better, but Christ says I need to humble myself and ask Bryan to forgive me.

Religion says I deserve to be happy, but Christ says we are children of grace who have been given a new voice to praise the Most High God.

In my ‘religion’ I expected Bryan to be perfect, which is why I love the words to this OTR song titled, Who Will Guard the Door.

You were the hand that I tried to take
You’re the decision that I could not make
You’re the religion that I should forsake
[chorus]
You were the story I tried to tell
You were the savior that tripped and fell
Beautiful dancing infidel

Happy F***ing St. Patty’s Day.

No love for adoring fans.

Before I poured my coffee, before I served up the Life Cereal, before I even went PEE for cryin’ out loud, Ruthie threw the mother of all fits that lasted, oh, about 45 minutes. It all happened over something I asked her to do – something that, after the first 15 minutes of her writhing on the floor I wondered if my request was even worth this much drama, but by then there was no turning back. You can’t cave in to a three year old just because she’s throwing a fit because then you might as well hand over the check book and the car keys now.

Amazingly, I kept my cool. I kept my cool even without caffeine and Zoloft in my system. I kept my cool even though it was Ruthie who woke me up at 6:30 by poking her finger in my cheek telling me she wanted breakfast. I kept my cool despite this being the WORST start I could ever imagine to a very busy day.

When Ruthie was finally able to concede that she did not have a “happy heart” (don’t laugh, I have a hard enough time speaking Toddler without you mocking me), she confessed her sin to me and apologized for throwing a fit. Then, we prayed together to Jesus. Repeating after me, she confessed her sin of disobeying mama, then asked Jesus to forgive her. And then? She was the sweetest thing ever and wanted nothing but to snuggle.

Being a parent is EXHAUSTING.

Basement Remodel Saga: Part I of Many

NW Corner - before framing

My afternoon sort of fell apart on me when the contractor called to tell me his crew would be over at 8:30 in the morning to start framing the basement. We still had two large computer desks left in the space, plus a bunch of odds and ends that have no place, rhyme, or reason. My sanity flashed before my eyes and the muscles around my spine tensed.

I have to give a big shout out to my friend Greg who literally came at a moment’s notice to help me move the furniture – as in, I called at 3:30 asking for help, and he was here by 4:30. It’s nice to know I’m taken care of even when Bryan is out of town.

So for posterity, here are photos of the madness we hope will never return, and here is what the space looks like tonight before the framers come in the morning. Someday soon this will be Bryan’s new office with actual walls and an actual door he can close while he works from home. In the meantime I feel like roller skating.

After Greg left I pulled it together and realized the amount of work left was not all that overwhelming, and I was reminded how easily I become paralyzed. But even now late at night, with my house cleaned up a bit, two loads of laundry done, and everything moved out of the area to be framed, I am at peace with what I’ve done today and I have no anxiety left for tomorrow.

Note to Self: Life Must Go On.

Ruthie sharing peanuts with her daddy over video Skype.

Bryan has been in San Jose all week launching a new project at a new job, and I think I over scheduled the kids and I in an attempt to keep busy while he is gone. I have been so out of my routine that I haven’t bought groceries, cleaned, or done any laundry, and he comes home tomorrow. I really don’t want him coming home to clutter, dust bunnies, and an empty refrigerator, so I need to somehow find the oomph to get into gear.

On a positive note, I was anticipating a rough week of long days and impatience with the kids, but we have had a great time.

I also returned to The Greatest Chiropractor in the World who fixed my twisted spine of stress. I have been waking up around 5:00 or 6:00 each morning in excruciating pain and stiffness from the night. I had seen a different chiropractor for this condition for a couple months back in November, but I always came home still feeling pain and stiffness. One session with The Greatest Chiropractor in the World and I am feeling much better, and this morning I slept until 7:30! So he is worth the effort to get to his office in another town.

Princess or Tyrant?

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This morning, while on the elliptical machine at the gym, I prayed for my daughter Ruthie. I think she’s a bully.

At first I thought her antics were cute. When she was younger she would take Scout’s ball and hide it in the microwave of her play kitchen and giggle as Scout tried to get it out. But now it’s just getting ridiculous. For Ruthie, taking toys away from other kids has gone way beyond the usual toddler center-of-the-universe behavior – she’s actually rather torturous about it. She’ll grab something from a kid’s hands, toss it behind the sofa (or the piano, or down the stairs), then observe the meltdown as if watching pay-per-view.

In general I don’t let her get away with this behavior, but I feel as if my line of discipline has not been effective. I’ve lectured, I’ve given time outs, I’ve even spanked (please don’t send me hate mail), and she always has to apologize, but none of this seems to faze her. It’s beginning to occur to me that I’m no longer dealing with behavior modification, but rather it’s an issue of her heart: she MEANS to hurt her friends. She does these things intentionally to get a reaction.

This is territory that scares the hell out of me. I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend thinks everyone else has a Manual and she’s the only clueless one, but I am reassuring her right now on the internet that I, too, HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING. No clue.

So that’s why I was praying. I’ve made a habit of trying to figure these things out on my own, but it’s pretty apparent to me that relying on my own understanding is not a wise parenting style. You’d think I’d learn, but I’m stubborn and it takes me awhile. NOT relying on my own understanding changed my anger problem and my marriage, so you’d think I’d be smart enough to relinquish control of my children as well.

I still have no answers. I was not struck with the lightening bolt of God’s revelation. But I DID reach out in prayer in an attempt to not rely on my own understanding.

That’s something.

Things That Keep Me Guessing

Ruthie’s friend, Indi, is over today while his parents paint walls and refinish floors at their new house. We have our own project going on today, and figured a friend would help distract Ruthie away from needing us as much. This plan has executed fairly smoothly, except for the shouting match over whether Mufasa was really hurt in the stampede.

“He’s sad.”

“No! He’s NOT sad!

“He’s sad!”

“NO! He’s NOT sad!

“HE’S SAD!”

“NO, HE’S NOT SAD!”

And so on.

You might have guessed, but Ruthie was the one in touch with Mufasa’s true state of mind at the time of his death.

Indi and Ruthie are only three days apart. There are times we think they will one day be married, and there are times we think they’ll never speak to each other again.

At one point when I checked on them watching a movie, I couldn’t see Ruthie anywhere. As I came around the corner I found that she was hidden by Indi as they snuggled together on the couch. Their love for each other waxes and wanes by the minute.

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State of the Union in Zugland

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I owe a large part of my recent bout with sanity to Bryan. It was during our recent trip to Portland when I realized how much influence he has had on my level of peace during the last few months.

I think the biggest thing for me was his taking over the bulk of the finances. I lack the time and discipline to stay on top of everything, so now the only thing I maintain is updating the bank downloads and paying the regular bills. He takes care of all the budgeting and organizing, and just tells me what to do so I don’t have to think about anything.

Bad things happened when I controlled the finances. I have a tendency to avoid anything that cannot be done quickly or easily, but lacked the organization to make sure it didn’t slip through the cracks altogether. On more than one occasion a big ball was dropped, and instead of owning up to it to Bryan, I covered up the evidence CSI style and pretended nothing happened. Yeah, I really just said that out loud. Feel better, now, about all your fuck-ups?

That was a dark time in our marriage. Most of our fighting was over financial issues – how things should be done, how things were NOT getting done, expectations that were not being met, feeling that expectations were too high, etc. I think this has changed. For the better. For both of us. I’m learning more about what makes me hide things from the people I love. He’s learning how to be a safe person to confess fuck-ups to.

I also think he’s beginning to understand the overwhelming nature of my life: the constant interruptions whenever I do anything; the chaos of chatter and the disciplining of toddlers; the unpredictable arrival of depressive days that render me useless; the difficulty of catching up whenever I lose one step. He seems more compassionate, more patient, and takes more initiative to help out when he sees me falling behind. This alone makes me cry (the good kind) because I do enough to beat myself up for being a failure. When he shows his patience and compassion when I can’t seem to Get It Done, I feel loved and supported.

I, like many people, avoid the stuff of life that is not fun. If I have a choice between paying bills and reading my rss feeds? You guessed it, I would rather read your blog (but who wouldn’t? It’s so entertaining!). The challenge for me is sorting out the times when I am dropping into a black hole of depression or when I am just being lazy. I expect a lot of grace to be given me in the first scenario, but if I’m just being lazy that is not cool. The last thing I want to do is take advantage of Bryan’s generosity in helping out more at home, so I continue to work on being diligent when I have the mental faculties to do so.

It may be too early to really assess the effects of my new vitamin regimen as it relates to my depression, but I know I’m feeling more energy and focus all throughout the day, and I last longer into the evening. Because of this, I can let up on my schedule during the day and spend more time just Being with Ruthie and get my stuff done after she goes to bed. Just last night I caught up on a pile ‘o’ crap that needed to be filed while Bryan dismantled his labyrinth of computer equipment and moved it to its temporary location.

Despite this being a busy week of celebrating Ruthie’s birthday, preparing our basement for remodeling, and getting Bryan ready for his new position (more on that later), I have not been irritable with the kids nor have I felt overwhelmed. Bryan and I have even worked through disagreements quickly and rationally.

All this to say, I think the general state of Zugland is improving. I am continually being reminded that when dark circumstances overwhelm our lives – whether self-inflicted or thrust upon us – somewhere there is Hope to be found.

Things That Make Me Go, “Awwwww….”

The Good Dog

This is our dog, Scout. Each morning when the kids begin to stir and their voices come through the monitor in my kitchen, Scout perks up and scratches at the door leading upstairs to the bedrooms. When I take a shower, she meanders into the bathroom to lay on the bath mat. When I sit down to read a book or work on the computer, she gets up from her slumber to come lay at my feet. How can you not love loyalty like that?