Author: jenzug

The Post About Poop

Sadly, when you raise a child from the time he or she is a baby, the subject matter of your conversations often revolve around poop.

I wish I could say I was NOT one of those parents, but that I was a cool and hip mom with manicured nails and a regular bridge game where we talked about politics. But alas, I have fallen into the UNcool mom category where I discuss my children’s poop regularly with others.

It starts at the hospital, really. We wait on pins and needles for the icky black tar-like substance to turn creamy and yellowish green. Then when solid foods come we laugh at the whole, undigested raisins that come out and we run into the other room to show the dad how funny the poop looks.

Moms compare notes on pooping schedules. As in, Mine poops every afternoon following her nap, or Mine poops every morning after breakfast. Ruthie usually poops after her coffee kicks in.

Then there’s the toddler phase. Last week Ruthie swallowed a penny, and when it came out the other end we all celebrated and Ruthie told everyone she met that she found a penny in her poop.

Now that I have a boy coming through the ranks of poopdome, I find myself quite tired of poop. Thomas wakes up almost every morning with poop oozing from his diaper and down his leg and up his back. His poop is nasty. I recognize that poop, by definition, is nasty, but Thomas’ poop is DOUBLE DUTCH nasty.

I just want a vacation from poop. That’s all.

They Say It’s the Little Things That Hurt the Most

I just finished addressing all my Christmas cards. This year I went low maintenance and BOUGHT cards, rather than made them. Life is too short to be Martha Stewart.

It was sad coming to mom’s card, after having addressed envelopes to The Smith Family, or Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I didn’t know how to address hers. It just seemed foreign to say ‘Marge Pearson’ on the envelope of her Christmas card, yet ‘Pearson Family’ sounded awkward, as did ‘The Pearsons.’ Maybe I should have written ‘Mrs. Gordon Pearson.’

I don’t know.

Seems like any which way I write it he’s still not REALLY on the envelope.

Another Goodbye

Last year around this time I experienced the loss of a loved one after his battle with cancer. I had time to prepare for this loss, to say my goodbyes.

This weekend my family experienced another loss. This time there was no warning, and I am reminded of how quickly everything about this life can change, and how little control I have over anything.

My cousin’s daughters were in a car accident on Friday night. Hannah, age 14, died, and her sister Bethany, age 16, is traumatically injured. Bethany’s eye socket is smashed, she has several skull fractures, her jaw is broken, and she suffered a deep gash that severed facial nerves. She has already undergone 14 hours of surgery to repair the damage.

As my sister, Jody, and I talked last night when she called to tell me the news, we lamented at the reality of grieving the loss of one while holding onto the hope of another. How do you make such critical medical decisions, how do you interpret all the information being given to you, how do you let go of one while at the same time fighting to save another? How does one grieve when still faced with so many uncertainties?

I often have nightmares of losing my children – mostly of losing my Ruthie. I wake up with a feeling of dread, horrified for a moment that it may have actually happened. Even after I’m fully awake I still fixate on the possibility of losing her, and the fear of such a loss knocks the wind out of me.

Please pray for my cousin, Bruce, his wife, Sharon, their daughter in recovery, Bethany, and their son, Ben, as Bethany recovers and as they mourn the loss of Hannah.

I’ve been absent from posting again.

It’s a busy time of year, but mostly it’s because I have a lot on my mind that I’m not ready to talk about yet.

My mother gets worried about me when I stop returning phone calls or emails. Now that I’m not posting consistently I bet she’s REALLY in a tizzy.

I’M OKAY MOM, SO DON’T WORRY. AND IF YOU NEED TO CALL MY FRIENDS FOR PROOF, THEN BE MY GUEST.

It’s Not My Fault I’m This Way… right?

“It is a terrible catastrophe when I am rejected, treated unfairly, and things aren’t as I would like them.”

Also known as The Victim Mindset, which I scored 9 out of a possible 10 on a ‘beliefs inventory’ questionnaire given by our marriage counselor, making me a champion of victims.

Yes, we are seeing a marriage counselor, and I am not ashamed to say so. Bryan and I have such vast ways of communicating, showing love, and receiving love, that some serious intervention was needed. I recommend it for everyone who struggles with communication in their marriage – it has been a lifesaver for us.

Back to me.

I think most people, when he or she seeks a mediator to bring clarity to a relationship, expects that mediator to straighten out the dolt he or she is married to. Why don’t we ever learn that this is rarely how the scenario plays out? For me, it was eye opening to learn how my tendency to blame all the circumstances in my arsenal for why I didn’t get X, Y, or Z done was making Bryan want to pull his hair out.

Not that his behavior is my fault, or that my behavior is his fault, but that we are both responsible for how we love each other. I’m trying to focus more on my own issues, rather than focus on how to change Bryan.

I was just talking to a friend this morning about how self-righteous we can be when our husbands get sick. When they puke, they get to skip work and lie in bed all day and have their chicken broth spoon fed to them by a loving and doting wife. When a stay at home mom gets the pukes we lay on the couch, half dead, ignoring our children as they watch movie after movie and eat potato chips for every meal, and they’re lucky if we don’t beat them out of sheer frustration in the process.

How does THAT happen? My inner victim begins to tell me that life is SO unfair, and why the hell don’t *I* get a day off when I’m puking???

I don’t have any answers, nor do I know how I’m supposed to respond (hence the counseling). I just know that I’m not supposed to act like a victim.

One of the scripture verses suggested to me in contemplating my victim mentality is Matthew 5:11 “Blessed are you when men cast insults at you, and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely, on account of Me (Christ).”

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t find this verse very helpful to my situation. For one thing, I’m not an ACTUAL victim (i.e. the receiver of insults or persecution), but largely a PERCEIVED victim (one that just doesn’t like to take responsibility). Secondly, it’s just not realistic that I would feel blessed in any victimizing situation, whether real or perceived. Sometimes the Bible just doesn’t make sense to me.

Once Upon a Time There Was a Little Girl Who Wanted PEENK Socks.

“I want PEENK socks, mama!”

“You want pink socks? Here’s some pink socks.”

“NO! I want PEENK socks!”

“These ARE pink socks, Ruthie.”

“NOOO! I want do self!”

“OHHH! You want to PICK socks.”

“YEAH!”

“Okay, here’s the basket.”

[Looks in basket] “Oh no! I want PEENK socks!”

“Go ahead, you can pick whatever socks you want.”

“Where’s PEENK socks, mama?”

“The pink socks are right here…”

“NOOO! I WANT PEENK SOCKS!”

“Ruthie, these ARE pink socks, and you can PICK them yourself!”

[Dumps basket of socks on the floor] “OH LOOK, mama! PEENK socks!”

[Laughing & peeing in my pants] “OH! You want the PIG socks!”

“YEAH!”

Nothing cures judgementalism like having children

Oh, the silly, wicked things that have crossed my mind.

I can’t remember when or where I read this (or maybe she was on Oprah), but I remember a story about a mom who went back to work when her children were still small because she felt it would help her appreciate her children more if she wasn’t around them all day.

My eyes rolled. My lips pursed. My head rocked back and forth.

I thought, of ALL the excuses available to this woman, she chose THIS one as the reason to abandon her children into someone else’s care? PAH-lease.

Judgment was oozing from me.

So last night when Bryan and I needed to go in separate directions I asked if he could take both of the kids home or if he wanted me to take Ruthie. He thought about the question, then said, “I didn’t really see Ruthie last night because I was gone, and I kind of feel like snuggling with her.”

In that moment I was completely jealous that he had the capacity to miss his children; that he was apart from them so much he actually looked forward to seeing them while I searched daily for ways to give myself time away from them.

Then it was like Emeril was inside my head with his enthusiastic “BAM!” and suddenly I could empathize with the woman who just wanted to be able to love her children more and was trying to make that happen as best as she could.

How prideful we can be as stay-at-home-moms, believing that we have chosen the righteous path when in our hearts lies the same seed of self-deception as all women because we are together daughters of Eve.

I realize the slippery slope I am inching toward as I entertain such blaring discontent with my life. I don’t want to be discontent – especially not with such significant choices we’ve made together as a family. Discontentment breeds bitterness, and bitterness spreads like a virus. Ruthie senses everything like a tracker in the jungle, and she will learn discontentment through her keen observation of the nuances around her. She doesn’t need the obvious – she sees the subtle.

I pray I learn to model well.

Reason #42 Why We Should Not Let Our Children Watch TV

Last night I snuggled in bed with the kids while I nursed Thomas, and by habit I turned on the television. I was giddy to discover the nostalgic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was just beginning, and revved Ruthie up to share in this moment of bonding with her dear old mom.

First let me say that, having not seen the show since I was a kid, I was astounded by the 1960’s era political incorrectness and was very surprised to see it still airing. Seems like some sort of feminist group, or Sons Against Overbearing and Berating Dads group, or Workers Unite Against Unfair Work Practices group would ban the airing of such a show.

I mean, really: Donner telling his reindeer wife she can’t help look for her son because it’s Man’s Work? Obviously this portrayal of women came long before the Jodie Fosters of the world kicked ass rescuing their children from safe rooms and airplane cargo holds.

Poor Rudolph. I’m sure that, were a sequel created, it would have followed Rudolph through his young adult years as he struggled with alcohol, sexual identity, obesity, and perfectionism.

But I digress.

This morning Ruthie woke up at 6am crying that she was scared. I went into her room and she said the Snowman (‘snow-tan’) was in her bed.

I KNEW that would get her, which is why I turned off the show half way through at the scary part. But I guess I was too late. The big scary snowman with the crazy eyes and jagged teeth haunted my daughter in her dreams.

Chalk another one up to the stupid things moms do.

6 Trips x 6 Garments = 36 Clothing changes (Does this count as a cardio workout?)

Oh, really. Why do I continue to do this to myself?

Today I went shopping for an outfit to wear to a holiday party we are attending on Saturday. A holiday party in which I will be meeting EVERYONE for the first time. A holiday party I am really looking forward to except that I feel fat, frumpy, AND my highlights have all grown out.

Did I mention that this holiday party is the Superbowl of First Impressions?

Anyhow, I figured that since it was a holiday party, and since I would be meeting people for the first time, and since I haven’t been to a fun holiday party in several years, I should find something to wear besides my usual jeans and sweat pants.

I started at Marshall’s because I needed some new tights to fit my post partum ass, and I can get designer tights there for five bucks.

I knew better than to search for new pants. We’ve already established there are no petite length fat pants. So I started in on the skirts. Long skirts. Long bushy skirts to hide my entire body.

I entered the dressing room no less than six times in one hour, and still came away with just ONE skirt that’s more appropriate for a hippie-theme party than a holiday party.

My problem is that I’m STILL the fat girl who pictures herself as thin. I am WAY in denial.

Reading: Crooked Wanderings

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.

Our pastor has been preaching through the book of Hebrews, and yesterday’s passage was Hebrews 4:11-13. I read the following personal essay prior to the sermon, as a part of our worship service.

Crooked Wanderings (11/21/05)

I’ve been moving slow lately. My daughter, Ruthie, and I spend a lot of time in our pajamas.

It seems I’m becoming That Wife who lets herself go, wearing raggedy sweat pants, bed head, no make-up, and a spit-up stained shirt. I’m waiting for someone to turn me in to that TLC show “What Not to Wear.” Or worse, maybe I’ll end up on Oprah.

I’ve become listless and unmotivated again, and don’t even look forward to play dates with friends anymore. I just want to sit in my pajamas, alone, in front of the t.v. and eat chocolate chip cookies and drink lots of wine. I’m wondering if I’m depressed again, or maybe I’m just using depression as an excuse to be lazy.

How does one figure these things out?

A doctor once told me that I carry my stress in the muscles of my upper back, and that if the stress became too great the muscles would actually pull my spine out of alignment.

I’ve been to the chiropractor three days a week for the last two months, so you do the math.

What has me so stressed, you ask?

I could list it all out for you – my daily schedule, my personal struggles, the emotions weighing me down, the stories of my two-year-old’s antics – but what would be the point? To justify? To convince? Maybe even a little self-indulging drama about how bad I’ve got it?

No. That is not necessary. We all have stress, don’t we? What do you feel overwhelmed by right now? What is that stress doing to your body? Do you get headaches? Are you a teeth grinder? Do you quit eating?

I am convinced that my twisted spine of stress is a physical affliction I have brought on myself, that in my search for clarity in the midst of great confusion I have lost sight of the one who speaks the truth into my life.

I have searched for answers in the advice of my friends, in the written pages of books, in a bowl of cereal, and even in spending money.

In my deepest confusion and pain, I have searched for answers in things that turn to dust.

“But the word of God is living and active… and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12).

I have not been a people of history. I have fixed my eyes on false summits. And because of this I have not entered the rest Christ offers, and I have created a twisted spine of stress.

The Lord comforted Paul as he struggled with his own physical affliction, a condition he felt humbled his prideful ways. God said to him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (II Corinthians 12:9).

My heart is awakening to Christ’s sufficiency, and my spine is responding to treatment; though neither one is happening magically, nor at the rate of speed I would prefer.

But I realize now that for the last fifteen years my twisted spine of stress has been the thorn God has used to remind me of his sufficiency.

I pray I don’t forget this epiphany and wander around another 25 years trying to break the Israelites’ record.