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Tag Archives: Grateful Heart
Sing a Song
Back in the early days of my first blog, 38 and Growing, I wrote about how much the Karen Carpenter song, “Sing a Song” meant to me. Well, Sunday, at the Sesame Street Live event, they ended the show with this sweet song. As I was singing along, this is the beauty that I saw.
Looking at her, I was struck. “Don’t worry that it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear/Just sing. Sing a song…” One of my heroes as a teenager was Whitney Houston. I wanted to be a singer and she had the greatest voice that I had ever heard. At her funeral, Kevin Costner spoke eloquently of the insecurities that plagued her. It was astounding to me that someone who was so beautiful and so blessed with talent could feel that she wasn’t enough. How does that happen?
I have struggled with insecurities myself and as I looked at my daughter who loves to sing so much, I wanted to protect from all these fears. I want her to know that she is good enough. I am realizing that I can tell her that she’s wonderful day and night but to teach her that she is enough, I have to live it.
She looks up to me. She looks like me. She sings like me. If I want her to value those things in herself, I must value those things in myself. So, I pulled her into my lap and sang those lyrics into her ear as much to myself as to her. I hope she heard me. I hope I heard me.
I have spent a lot of years not singing my “song” and it is time that I start singing again. If I haven’t done it before for me than I have to start doing it for her. So, in the words of the song… I need to “sing, sing a song”.
Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud, sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad
Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last your whole life long
Don’t worry that it’s not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Just sing, sing a song
La la la la la
La la la la la la…
Sing, sing a song
Let the world sing along
Sing of love there could be
Sing for you and for me
Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last your whole life long
Don’t worry that it’s not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Just sing, sing a song
Just sing, sing a song
Just sing, sing a song
La la la la la
La la la la la la…
Do you have a song you are not singing?
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Laughter Might Be the Best Medicine
I have written a lot about my illness lately so I thought I would have a little fun with it. In honor of my favorite childhood movie, “Grease”.
“You’re the Drug That I Want”…
Tell me about it doc!
I got pills.
They’re multiplyin’.
And I’m losin’ control.
‘Cause the power
they’re supplyin’,
it’s electrifyin’!
You better shape up,
’cause I need a lot
and my heart depends on you.
I better shape up;
I gotta understand
to my meds I must be true.
Nothin’ left, nothin’ left for me to do.
Not the cure that I want.
(You’re not the one I want), bye, bye, money.
It’s health that I want.
(Health, not drugs is what I want), o, o, oo, honey.
A cure’s what I want
(That’s all that I want), o ,o, ooooo
It’s what I need.
Oh, yes indeed.
Yes, I’m filled
with affliction
I’m too tired to play
I’ll meditate, pray for direction.
Feel my way.
I better shape up,
’cause they need a mom
And I need a drug
who can keep me vertical.
I better shape up
if I’m gonna prove
I better prove
that my faith is justified.
Am I sure?
Yes, I’m sure down deep inside.
You’re the one that I want.
(you are the one I want want), o, o, oo, honey.
The one that I want.
(you are the one i want want), o, o, oo, honey.
The one that I want
(you are the one I want),o, o, oo
The one I need.
Oh, yes indeed.
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If I Didn’t Have Bad Luck…
You’ve probably heard the saying, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” It has certainly felt that way over the last two weeks. It started with a flash flood that came into my apartment. I then broke my 24 year streak of not causing any car accidents. Then, I got sick (hence my last post) and then, drum roll please… I scratched my cornea. This is the first day in four that I can read or type on a computer. I am a writer, blogger, and student with a Facebook habit. Not being able to read or type on the computer was torture! Now I could get lost in the “poor me”s and truthfully, I had a few of those moments but I will spare you that. Instead, in the spirit of a silver lining, and trying to see myself as the One-Eyed Man I wrote about, instead of the one-eyed crazy woman I felt like , I am counting my blessings. My house got flooded but very few things were damaged. It made me clean out a closet and stat purging, something I have talked about doing for a long time.
The car accident involved me and a parked car. So there is no question who was at a fault — the parked car! Okay… me. I backed into a parked car going about one MPH. In the realm of car accidents, this is nothing. Even in the realm of parking lot accidents, it was not much. Now it was a brand new Lexus and the words “brand new Lexus” are never words that I like to associate with car accident, but I have insurance and the lovely Geico man said to me, three much nicer words, “there’s no deductible”. Hallelujah!!! More importantly, no one was hurt. It was an excellent reminder to stay focused; no matter how many places I have to go in one day, no matter how loudly my daughter is singing, and no matter how tired I am. That Lexus could have been a child so boy, do I have reasons to be thankful.
Finally, my cornea! In what my husband dubbed a “Super Blonde” moment, I pulled a file folder out of a drawer, it caught for a half second and then released with a force. The corner of the folder went straight into the center of my pupil. I will spare you the words that I used but the NBC and the NFL would be arguing over who violated the FCC regulations if I were to include them in a Super Bowl Half-Time show. But I digress… I did scratch my cornea. And it hurt! (See above Super Bowl sized analogy for expletives). I could not see for two days and read for three more. But my eye did heal and I have a much better appreciation for my sight. I love these hazel eyes!
So looking at the other side of the coin, I have really good luck!
Do you feel lucky today?
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I Remember…
I remember…
Phones that actually rang. They were connected to a wall and if you were lucky they had very long cords that allowed you to walk around the corner and sit on the floor rather than standing in the kitchen next to your mom. I remember it was a big deal when we got a cordless phone. It had a giant, extend-able silver antenna but it allowed freedom while talking on the phone. I could even walk to the mailbox and still have reception! That was technology, baby!
Broadcast television that required an antenna. The TV had three knobs — On/Off, one for VHF channels (usually stronger reception) and one for the UHF channels. Within those knobs were dials that helped “adjust” the picture. There were three major networks — ABC, CBS, and NBC plus PBS. There were local stations, as well. They specialized in news or “I Love Lucy” reruns.
When we finally got cable, it consisted of a single premium channel — either HBO (known then as Home Box Office), Showtime or The Movie Channel. We still watched the local stations via the antenna. It was two more years before we got a “cable box” that gave us a whopping 32 stations. One of those was WGN from Chicago. Why we needed a local station from anothe city, I’m not sure but it introduced me to the Cubs and Bozo the Clown.
Life before recordable TV. If you missed it, it was gone until rerun season.
Life before computers — I received a typewriter for high school graduation! My family got our first computer when I was 19 and a sophomore in college. I got my first email address (AOL, of course!) when I was 26 and in grad school.
Life when we walked without looking down at an iPhone. The ultimate technology combo — cell phone and computer. I got my first cell phone at 27 and there were vast patches of the country that did not have coverage. I had “minutes” and no texting. My children are not only aware of my phone — they take photos and videos, play games, and call their dad on my phone!
And of course, I remember life before blogging. But it wasn’t as good. I remember being a lonely, frustrated SAHM in a new city. I remember thinking that I was the only one. And I remember when I learned I wasn’t. I remember getting the first comment from someone to whom I was not related (Nezzy, I am looking at you!) and learning that a long-lost IRL friend (Unknown Mami) was a fabulous blogger herself who helped me learn the ropes. I remember when each an everyone of you found time in your busy lives to stop by.
I will always remember. And I will be always be grateful.
What do you remember?
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Why I Bother
People ask me sometimes why I blog. And at times, I ask myself. Especially lately when everything is so hard and this only my third entry in the new year.
But truly I have a better answer as of late than even before. The response to my posts about my illness and my giving up on resolutions reminded me why. I don’t blog so much to write, though I do love writing, I could do that anywhere anytime; keep a journal like people have done since the beginning of the written word.
No, I bother to write in this semi-public forum because I want to connect. I want to be heard. And boy, did I feel heard. So a most heartfelt thanks from me to you.
My laptop should be back in action next week and I am slowly getting the hang of WordPress on my iPhone so hopefully my entries will be a little more regular, but in the mean, please accept my most sincere appreciation. Bloggy hugs for everyone…
You get a hug! And you get a hug! And you get a hug!
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Confessions of a Star
Catchy title, huh? Sounds like a Jackie Collins novel or something worthy of a Rubert Murdoch style tabloid. Well, if that is what you are hoping for you may find this a little lot disappointing. But it is time that I tell you the truth. I am a fraud.
Got you all excited again, didn’t I? No. This won’t be an expose on how I am really a man who has joined the glamorous and exciting world of blogging by passing as a frazzled housewife. Because how old is that story??? No, I am indeed a frazzled housewife.
But I am also ill. I haven’t talked much about it here because it’s not my personality. I am not a wallower (is that a word? spell check says no). I try to be positive and funny in my life and most especially here. And so when things are tough, I hide from my blog and even at times, my blog friends. But no more. I am here to tell you the truth. The whole truth and nothing little but the truth.
I have… something. That cleared it up for everyone, didn’t it?
I have a neurological disorder with an undiagnosed source.
That really didn’t make it any clearer, did it? If you still feel confused, join the club. On my 37th birthday, I fainted at my birthday dinner and embarked on a journey that seemingly has no end.
Basically, my nervous system stays in a fight or flight mode. It causes me to have crazy low blood pressure, be exhausted all the time, and have dizzy spells. But there is another element. I am losing feeling in my feet. We don’t know why but I have nerve damage that is worsening. The worst symptom, however, is that my nervous system can misread input causing soft touches from my children to feel almost scream worthy.
You know the phrase, “mind over matter”? Well, my mind is getting its behind kicked by whatever is the matter. It frustrates me and makes my dreams seem so much harder.
Truth is that I think I haven’t spoken of it, because I have been afraid. I have been afraid to acknowledge its impact on my life. I have been afraid that it will give it a power in my life that I’m not ready to cede. I hide how rough it is from friends. I think most of my family would be surprised to know just how much it bothers me. I finally acknowledged to my husband how much I worry.
Whatever this is, it’s not going away. It is likely to get worse over time. This is my reality and I need to stop running from it and learn to accept it.
So I am going to write about it, sometimes. Maybe I’m not alone. Do you have a secret burden that is standing between you and your vision of your life?
The truth is out. I’m not going to let this beat me and I’m not going to hide from it any more. It is part of who I am for better or worse. And that my friends is my star confession.
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Posted in Blogging, Dreams, Illness, Letting Go, New Year, Perfectionism
Tagged Grateful Heart, Illness, My Life, New Year
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Goodbye… Hello
It’s been a bit and I am missing my friends. It seems appropriate as it is New Years. The time of auld lang syne.
I am healing and able to sit at the computer for short spurts. I am starting to make my way around but in the mean, I wish you all the happiest of years for 2012. May the new year bring you and yours health, prosperity, and joy. Thank you for being my friends, as far flung as you may be. You’ve helped make 2011 a very special year and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the next.
Cheers! Salut! Mazel tov!
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
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The Best Christmas Present Ever…
Seventeen years ago, I married my dream guy, my answered prayer. Here we are — very happy, slightly tipsy, and blissfully unaware of eyebrow waxing.
We married one week before Christmas and he has been the greatest Christmas present ever. So happy anniversary, baby. And thanks for making every Christmas magical and every day Christmas.
Since then, he has answered many more including giving me two beautiful children.
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The Miracle on (30th) Street
This seems to be the Christmas of counting my blessings. Today I got an early Christmas present. It didn’t come in a box but it warms me more than a cashmere coat. It wasn’t wrapped but it sparkles more than a diamond. It didn’t come with a bow but it has more value than the new cars advertised on TV at this time of year.
Last week, I went for my first mammogram. I turned forty and it was time turn to get smooshed and smashed in the name of women’s health. It was routine but uncomfortable as my tiny (barely-A after two children) breasts were stretched and scooped to get a proper picture. I went home feeling a little sore but completely confident that I would hear nothing more than the requisite postcard.
What is that saying about “best laid plans”?
Yesterday, I got a call. Or should I say “the” call. The call that says there is a density. They need to take another look. Can I come in tomorrow?
If you guessed that I slept little last night. You guessed right. Just as my mind thought through the facts and statistics which told me that everything would be okay, my imagination ran through the images of surgery, my hair falling out and explaining to my children why Mommy was sick. In other words, I did the nightmare scenario.
I woke up this morning pretending that I wasn’t nervous. But I was. I bathed and dressed (without deodorant, just to make things a little better). My husband, who was dear enough to take the day off to hold my hand (which may or may not have been shaking), drove me to the breast center on 30th street. We went through the financials. I undressed from the waist up and put on a robe and waited.
And waited…
I watched President Clinton on the View. I watched a grown woman have a fit because they wanted her to fill out a paper. Finally, they called my name.
I was taken back and my breast was pancaked four different ways. Then the nurse took me to a different waiting room. One that was away from the general mammogram population. The lights were lower and the TV softer.
And I waited…
There was a selection of really out of date magazines. I decided on an October 2010 Vanity Fair with Lindsay Lohan on the cover. Talk about deja vu. She’s made bad mistakes but she’s not that person any longer. She’s changed. Yada yada yada.. I was two pages in when the nurse returned. They need a couple more views.
So I head back, still in my robe. This time they need my breast twisted each way before the squashing. Yes, you read that right. They literally twisted my breast to the right and then lowered the pads. Then they repeated it to the left. Fun stuff… really.
I was then ushered back to the second waiting room where I (all together now…) waited. Picked up the year old Vanity Fair and continued on with the saga of LL. And then came the really nice nurse that I was beginning to hate. They want to do an ultrasound. AARGH!!!
So I held it together with the first mammogram. And I still did okay with the second but now the nightmare scenario of the imagination really suckered punch the statistical, analytic argument and sent it reeling. I snuck out to the main lobby and touched base with my waiting husband. I must say that his face reflected what I felt… fear.
In what seemed like hours, but surely was a matter of minutes, the radiologist took me back for the third procedure. She was kind and funny but I didn’t care. I tried to read her face but I got… nothing. So she drizzled the solution (thankfully warm) and rubbed and moved and clicked and moved and so on and so forth.
And, God help me, I had to wait again. Finally, yet another nurse came in. She entered with her blue scrubs and a clipboard. She asked my full name and my birth date to confirm my identity. Then she closed the door. I felt like Samantha when she got asked back to the private office for her AIDS test results. I mean, they only close the door when it’s bad news right?!?!
Wrong. I am so blessed to say that, as soon as the door clicked, she sat down and said, “Everything is fine”. The best three words I have heard since “I love you”. “Everything is fine” might as well have been the hallelujah chorus because that is how I felt.
It seems, she told me, that I have very dense breasts. To which I responded, “Not to be dense, but what does that mean?” (I was near delirium in my relief). She laughed and explained that density reflected that my breasts were “young” and that I may have this issue for a while until my breast tissue breaks down with age. I replied that they didn’t look all that young to me but okay…
I know there are many women who walk out of that building without such words. I don’t know why I’m not among them. I do know that I am immensely thankful that I am able to share my second Christmas miracle with you.
I might not be Natalie Wood but I believe in my Miracle on 34th 30th Street.
Do you believe in miracles?
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The One Eyed Man
Now before your mind goes totally down the wrong road (and I know that allsome of your minds did) – please note that I said “man” and not snake. So now that we have cleared that up, the title probably still leaves you going, “huh?’. In other words, I’ve cleared nothing up.
My father is from small town East Texas. He often speaks in a phrase-ology reminiscent of Dr. Phil. And one of his favorite sayings is “In the world of the blind, the one-eyed man is king”. He says it whenever he wants to express a sentiment about perspective.
I can feel blind. Helen Keller blind. Blindfolded in a deep cave blind. Jodie Foster in the basement in “The Silence of the Lambs” with Buffalo Bill two feet away blind. Blind!
And as of late, I have been under the weather and truthfully feeling a little low. And tired. You know… sick and tired. So I needed a little perspective.
Recently, I got that perspective. I was faced with the burdens others carry and I was reminded how much I have. I learned of a mom who has a brain tumor. A mom with kiddos about the same age as mine. Another friend had a cancer scare and is still on a monthly watch. A mom at my son’s school just finished her last chemo treatment. Suddenly my headache and stuffed nose seem not so bad.
My husband loves me. And puts up with me (which is saying something!). I know of wives who are struggling in their marriages. My kids are healthy and go to great schools. Any morning watching the Today Show reminds me that is not true for everyone.
In other words, I am the one eyed man.
There was an email that circulated a few years ago that was a Thank You prayer. It took things that we often complain about and turned them into positive reasons to have gratitude. Things like (and I am paraphrasing here): saying thanks for paying bills because you have the money to pay. Saying thanks for going to bed tired because you have a job. Etc. Etc. That’s the prayer I want to say.
Dear God,
Thank you for my small apartment because it allows me to send my kids to a wonderful school.
Thank you for the strewn toys across my children’s room because I have two fun-loving kids that make that mess.
Thank you for my husband’s stinky socks because he works hard to provide for us thus creating VERY stinky socks.
Thank you for the mountain of laundry that I have because my children are always well-dressed. And thank you for the washing machine and dryer which saves me from trekking down to the laundromat.
Thank you for the sink full of dishes because we have had our fill of food.
Thank you for truly allowing me to be the One Eyed Man.
Amen.
Are you a One Eyed Man?
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