Thank you, Lord. Blessed Triduum, everyone.
HT to Megan.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Agony in the Garden
I share last year's post with you all, and a happy update: My friend gave birth to her second son, and now is the happy mother of a healthy and growing baby. Please remember all mothers suffering hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) in your Easter prayers, especially those who are considering abortion or who have aborted due to this terrible disease.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it. I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
I love Easter, and that love has very little to do with all the chocolate (yes, I adore the chocolate, too -- especially the Lindt bunnies Mom sends. Thanks, Mom!)
Easter is the time of year when I get to take the time to really, really think about my faith, the central core of what I believe about Jesus and why I believe it. I believe He died for our sins. I believe He rose from the dead. I believe He was and is God, never created and always begotten.
Most of all, though, I believe in Gethsemane. What he did in Gethsemane.
Jesus went to the gardens of Gethsemane the night before the Crucifixion. He wept and prayed and begged the Father to change his mind, to stop the Crucifixion, to protect His Son. He was frightened. He was weak. He was trembling.Then He got up and faced his captors and accusers calmly and peacefully, accepting what was going to happen.
I spent months in Gethsemane. And the only reason I came out of the Garden was that Jesus was there, and He walked out with me.
My illness during my last pregnancy started in my second trimester. It was at its very worst during weeks 16 to 18. No eating or drinking without violent vomiting. Vomiting bile and blood. Dehydration. Drugs and IV fluids and more drugs.
I used to drag myself into the bathroom, lie on the floor with my head on the toilet seat, and beg God to let me die. Or to take the baby. Or both of us. Just take this cup. Take it, take it.
There was one day when I thought about aborting my baby all day and night, incessantly. My 16-week old baby who was kicking me so hard The Hubby could feel it when he touched my belly.
I was thinking of this time during Mass on Palm Sunday, holding Baby N. in my arms, my reward for enduring The Agony in the Garden. And all I could do was thank Jesus for having gone to Gethsemane first, for truly understanding.
Jesus in the Garden tells us pain and fear and suffering are real. They are terrible. But they are temporary and surmountable.
I have a good, in real life friend who is enduring the Agony in the Garden right now. She is a private person, so all I will say is please pray for her and her baby, as well as the rest of her family.
"There can be no greater love, than to lay down your life for a friend." -- John 15:13
May you soon pick it back up again, my friend, with your child in your arms.
Have a blessed Holy Week, everyone.
Quick recap
The children were hospitalized again last week. The boys this time. They were in the hospital at night, Hubby was at sea and I was at home with Toddler N.
I looked into their empty room with its empty beds. I thought about my brave little men, alone except for each other. I couldn't enter that empty room.
I sobbed for hours. I wanted my boys safe at home.
I raced into the hospital the next day, running through the halls to get to their room.
My boys were sitting up in their beds, groggy from sleep but looking much better than the night before.
"Wook, Mommy!" I. said. "There's bunnies out the window!"
Sure enough, two black bunnies were hopping about.
I never expected their first night outside the family would be in hospital beds.
They are fully recovered, but I just keep waiting for the next illness to hit. What a winter.
I looked into their empty room with its empty beds. I thought about my brave little men, alone except for each other. I couldn't enter that empty room.
I sobbed for hours. I wanted my boys safe at home.
I raced into the hospital the next day, running through the halls to get to their room.
My boys were sitting up in their beds, groggy from sleep but looking much better than the night before.
"Wook, Mommy!" I. said. "There's bunnies out the window!"
Sure enough, two black bunnies were hopping about.
I never expected their first night outside the family would be in hospital beds.
They are fully recovered, but I just keep waiting for the next illness to hit. What a winter.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Day One: A new solo adventure
The Hubby left this morning for his first sail, a ten-day trip around Vancouver Island. He packed yesterday afternoon, alternately excited and worried, while I desperately tried to get the house in some kind of order. I won't have his help for the next two weeks, so I can't just leave supper and clean up to him in the late afternoons.
The fact he'll be gone for awhile made me think about how far we've come in a month on the whole division of labour in the home front. My husband is not a sexist, but he does hate housework, and he will take whatever action necessary to only do what absolutely must be done around here. What ends up happening is I pick up the slack, so he has had a false impression of how much must be done to keep a place borderline clean.
But now I am working, and he is the first adult in the door most evenings. He is learning dishes left in the sink or crumbs left on the floor in the morning metastasize into a full-out disaster in the eight hours we're away from the house each day.
"Can you believe the mess on the floor?" he'll grumble, fetching the broom. "That was never there before!"
No, honey, it wasn't. That's because I was here cleaning it up.
He cleaned the bathroom this weekend without reminding (i.e. nagging.) He just did it!
I am appreciative to him learning to haul his own weight. But now I am hauling it myself for a little while, plus working full-time.
I know I can handle the time with the kids, no sweat. Ten days is nothing compared to five months. But can I handle the housework and the job? We'll see.
As for the rest of life, things are still a bit insane here. A. is struggling with day care. He is angry a lot of the time, has developed a saucy mouth and has hit other children from time to time. All of this leads to time-outs and groundings, of course, but also lots of time with my big boy just sitting in my lap. He often says he wishes I wasn't working. It breaks my heart, but I need to work, both for the money and for my sanity.
Little I. is a bit clingy but is adjusting well to the new sitter. Toddler N. is very happy at K.'s place. That's great, but the child should have been named Typhoid Mary, because this is the third time she's been sick this month. First the hospitalization, then a head cold, then she got food poisoning this weekend from a supper out. At the hospital, the doctor discovered she also has an ear infection. We two are home today so she can start recovering.
The boys also caught that cold, and Little I. just finished a round of antibiotics for an ear infection. Since I started my new job six weeks ago, I have missed 4.5 days due to child illness. I'm starting to understand why some bosses are reluctant to hire mothers of young children. My boss has been great, but I still worry about the impression I'm making.
Off to catch a quick nap with the girlie.
The fact he'll be gone for awhile made me think about how far we've come in a month on the whole division of labour in the home front. My husband is not a sexist, but he does hate housework, and he will take whatever action necessary to only do what absolutely must be done around here. What ends up happening is I pick up the slack, so he has had a false impression of how much must be done to keep a place borderline clean.
But now I am working, and he is the first adult in the door most evenings. He is learning dishes left in the sink or crumbs left on the floor in the morning metastasize into a full-out disaster in the eight hours we're away from the house each day.
"Can you believe the mess on the floor?" he'll grumble, fetching the broom. "That was never there before!"
No, honey, it wasn't. That's because I was here cleaning it up.
He cleaned the bathroom this weekend without reminding (i.e. nagging.) He just did it!
I am appreciative to him learning to haul his own weight. But now I am hauling it myself for a little while, plus working full-time.
I know I can handle the time with the kids, no sweat. Ten days is nothing compared to five months. But can I handle the housework and the job? We'll see.
As for the rest of life, things are still a bit insane here. A. is struggling with day care. He is angry a lot of the time, has developed a saucy mouth and has hit other children from time to time. All of this leads to time-outs and groundings, of course, but also lots of time with my big boy just sitting in my lap. He often says he wishes I wasn't working. It breaks my heart, but I need to work, both for the money and for my sanity.
Little I. is a bit clingy but is adjusting well to the new sitter. Toddler N. is very happy at K.'s place. That's great, but the child should have been named Typhoid Mary, because this is the third time she's been sick this month. First the hospitalization, then a head cold, then she got food poisoning this weekend from a supper out. At the hospital, the doctor discovered she also has an ear infection. We two are home today so she can start recovering.
The boys also caught that cold, and Little I. just finished a round of antibiotics for an ear infection. Since I started my new job six weeks ago, I have missed 4.5 days due to child illness. I'm starting to understand why some bosses are reluctant to hire mothers of young children. My boss has been great, but I still worry about the impression I'm making.
Off to catch a quick nap with the girlie.
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