When it Thunders

The other night there was some crazy windy weather here in TN and it got me to thinking.  The way the wind was blowing it sounding almost as if it were howling and all the hurt I carry within me felt the recognition of sorrow in the sound the wind was making and I was comforted in thinking that the weather was expressing the emotions I was not.  This made me wonder if our Heavenly Father ever used the weather as a manifestation of his feelings, which then made me question if the emotions we feel on Earth have the same magnitude once we become divinities.  After we are resurrected, we will still have our body which leads me to believe that we will still experience emotions in a similar manner.  I assume we will have better control over our emotions but does mean we will still experience pain that will cut at our very being?  The idea of being a deity is romanticized I feel.  Life is HARD and this is just to prepare us for the job of being Gods and Goddesses.  I bet the pain we experience on this earth is nothing compared to what we have in store for us when our sons or daughters murder, defile and choose their own path.  Her on Earth our families are relatively small that my mind has a hard time comprehending the magnitude of billions of sons and daughters.  I can almost guarantee we will still feel the pain, which brings me back to my original thought.  Do you think Heavenly Father ever has it rain just to share the pain h feels?  Mind you I am no deity, but if I could, I would.

So much frustration

I am open to advice on how to view this, but I am really having a hard time with my husband’s choice to smoke cigarettes.  Obviously smoking is an addiction and an unhealthy one at that. I understand addictions are hard to stop, and Josh had made the decision to stop smoking before, but now he justifies his choices by claiming that it helps him.  I have gone over and over the risk factors and how that isn’t fair to me or our family if something should happen to him due to these (in my opinion) selfish choices.  I also fail to see how an addiction is helpful.  To those who know my background, I had a struggle getting off my pain medications after my car accident.  I very easily could have continued in taking the narcotics claiming they helped me deal with the pain, but in truth I was aware of the addiction and fought to lose its control on me.  I know I shouldn’t but I have a hard time not being judgmental as I know he could cut the addiction if he really wanted as he has done so before.  I feel that his dependence on the cigarettes is a weakness and he refuses my help in quitting his habit that I silently despise his choices and take them as a personal offence that he chooses the comfort of his addiction over the health of himself and his family.  I have been begging him for the last year to show me affection and when he finally does I have a hard time returning the intimate touches or kisses when I smell the smoke on his clothes and breath.  I feel like every day I have been betrayed because he is choosing himself over the greater good.  I especially feel it is not fair in this sense:  for the last three years I have been pregnant or breastfeeding meaning I am super conscious of what I am taking into my body as it affects the child I am carrying or nursing.  Just because Josh does not carry a child inside him, does not mean he should not have that same sort of caution.  He is teaching habits and if I can smell the smoke on him, so can our kids.  Even just breathing in the smell is considered dangerous, especially around newborns.  He is considerate in that he doesn’t come home just reeking of smoke, but there is no hiding such an icky habit.  I don’t know how to get over feeling it as a personal attack as obviously I feel it affects me and the children.  He has cut back, but at the moment seems to refuse quitting.  I feel it is especially unfair as before we were married I was very clear about making sure this would never be allowed in my home, and although he doesn’t smoke at home, it still comes home with him.  Any advice?

Copy and paste

My son is two years and three months and he has hit the stage where he feels the need to repeat everything I say.  I tell you there is nothing like a little child repeating what you say to make you question the appropriateness of your remarks.  This made me think of things in a more eternal perspective.  Our children copy us because they understand at that age that we are the teachers.  They have faith in us to point them to what is true and right.  Although they may disagree, our children still know to listen to our guidance and encouragement.  Their faith in us is astounding.  They don’t question our ability to be a mom or a dad like we do; they simply know our roles and try to respect our teachings.  If only we had the same easy in following our Father in Heaven’s orders.  My son is currently in the temper throwing stage and I have been having a hard time with his outburst and refusals as of late and I realized in God’s eyes that probably the same frustrating stage I am in, in my eternal progression.  How often have I ignored his advice and teachings in order to do the things I please?  I know it is in my best interest to read my scriptures and pray daily, to attend church every week and to do all things in the name of the Lord.  However, this freedom of choice and the carnal body often times takes over the common sense and peace of the teachings I know in my heart and I feel foolish after my tantrums or refusal.  I can’t help but compare my son’s refusal to go to bed with my same refusal to get on my knees every morning.  He justifies his late hours by claiming he need to continue multiple trips to the bathroom as I justify my need to get things done over the importance of those sacred thirty minutes or more to let go of myself and think of my Father.  I wish it was as simple as just simply repeating what my Father in Heaven has taught, that I might be like Moroni or other great prophets who had such power as their desires were in tune with the Lord.  I had always felt comfortable with my level of faith in that I never questioned God or the church despite all the trials in my life, but oh how much more faith is there left for me to acquire.  I tell you, there is nothing like a two year old to teach you about room for growth!

Ahhh busy, busy, busy

I feel bad because every night I have a great idea for a blog post, but am too spent to sit down and catalog my day.  I know my posts have been hit or miss, but I plan on trying to make this a daily habit as I once did.  On that note I figured I would share some of the funny potty training moments we have experienced.  To encourage my son to “pee pee and poo poo” on the potty we have been gushing enthusiasm and encouragement, something Dorian now comes to expect every time he does his business.  I have a three month old baby at home, which as you can imagine means a lot of breastfeeding to keep my little girl growing and there have been several times my son’s potty trips and her feeding times have overlapped.  Once such time he indicated he had to go pee pee and went running off.  He came back into the room soon later squealing with delight at his success.  I congratulated him and finished off my daughters meal before I went in to empty out his potty when I realized he hadn’t gone pee pee, he had gone poo poo and in his excitement for my encouragement had come running through the play room and living room dropping defecation off his un-wiped bottom.  I cleaned up his mess and he came proudly into the bathroom pointing at his BIG accomplishment yelling over and over “mine, MINE!”  I thought it hilarious that he felt the need to claim his poop, but continued to reward him with the encouragement he was seeking.  Let’s be honest about this, I still know some grown men who take pride out of the size of their defecation as I have heard the banter about it before.  Later that evening I was on the phone telling my sister of his accomplishments when I saw my son bring something in to my husband.  I watched distractedly as my husband tried to figure out what my son had brought him.  I continued with my conversation until my husband jumped up out of his seat in a loud voice exclaiming “EWWWWWW, this is poop.  POOP.  Where and why did you give me poop?!”  I was laughing so hard.  I knew I must have missed some of his excited poop dropping but couldn’t stop laughing to explain where the elusive poop came from.  My son must have heard me talking about his success and saw a piece of it and wanted to share with his daddy.

Boob Sweat

So as many of you know I had an incident with my breast a couple weeks ago.  I though going into the doctor was pointless until I got a phone call telling me that the culture they took came back positive with staph infection.  As you can imagine I was horrified and glad I had started taking the antibiotics to kill the infection.  I was talking to a friend and asked how I could have developed an infection so quickly.  My friend asked her mom (a nurse) and I found out A LOT of useful information I wanted to pass along.  Staph infections live on your skin, especially in areas that tend to stay moist (i.e. boob sweat).  This is something I have always been self conscious about and had even gotten to the point of sticking a folded up piece of tissue or cloth between my bosoms in hopes of keeping them dry.  Although this limited the moisture it did not alleviate it.  This nurse suggested using baking soda.  She said it cut down on the moisture and keeps Staph from growing.  She said that if Staph is growing (say under the bosoms or other rolls of skin), it starts to develop a smell.

I have to admit I felt a little silly powdering myself with baking soda and couldn’t help thinking of baking as I powdered my plump white dough looking bosoms.  I have to tell you though I am impressed with how well it worked.  Now because I am heftier and have more than most I needed a freshening powder up mid day, but was so relieved when I didn’t have to peel my boobs apart like two stickers laid together.  So for all you well endowed women and even for those who tend to glisten more than others, I recommend this simple solution!  Haha…hope you don’t have trouble looking me in the face after you read this J

 

 

 pic was taken off of pinterst, it is not my own and I give full credit to the artist and distributer

Gender trait or personality trait?

A couple weeks ago my husband had a friend over and he commented on how he would eat just about anything the way it came and then made a side comment about how women tend to save the best part for last, where he preferred to just eat something as it came.  I knew exactly what he was talking about as I am one of those who will nibble around something and leave the best bite for last so as that is the last taste in my mouth.  I had never before considered this to be a male/female indicator.  Yet, while thinking on it I came to a similar conclusion.  The people I know who eat their food in this way are women.  Then my mind skipped a step and it led me to wonder, who decided the order on which we eat ie appetizer, entrée, desert?  After all, Isn’t that like saving the best for last? 

I know this is a short post, but I am working on a story at the moment and am focusing my time on that for the moment.  I would love to hear input on this though!

Crying.  Just crying, overwhelmed as usual.  A grumpy, angry husband all weekend, a sick two year old and for the last three hours straight, a screaming infant.  I am empty.  So empty.  Do people see my emptiness?  Can they feel my emptiness, my crumbling outside shell?  Lately I have more bad days than good.  Am I losing hope?  Am I just as depressed as I claim my husband to be?  Am I just not strong enough? 

“This too shall pass”  I just didn’t realize that sometimes it takes an entire lifetime before the trial passes.  What progress am I making when I give away more than I receive?  But may the Lord bless you sweet souls so do fill me with what you do.  By letting me vent and expose my emptiness.  By giving me hugs and whispering words of encouragement and validation.  By recognizing how difficult life is for me at the moment because even though there is no fuel left, I somehow am inching along as you pull me in your support. 

The screaming infant is finally asleep and the rambunctious two year old concerned for his mothers tears brought me his used tissues prompting me to “wipe, wipe” and patting my back in consolation.  I guess I can make it through today.  I guess I can.

11:30 I am exhausted yet cannot sleep.  My kitchen is now immaculate and I am tempted to dust and vacuum, but the fear of waking my two year old halts my angry cleaning, leading me to this post.  Why am I angry you ask?  Oh just the same old thing.  I guess once again I set my expectations too high and I am disappointed yet again with my relationship with my husband.  Maybe I am not being empathetic or understanding.  Maybe I am over reacting.  But come on, is one and a half hours of genuine conversation posed as a date night really too much to ask?  The excuse was that he was tired and had, had a stressful week making it hard to give anything else as he was already depleted.  Isn’t that the exact same thing I have been complaining of for the last year; and yet still I am trying to make an effort.  There will always be stresses and he is always tired, meaning we will never have a successful date night as he is always within his own head and once again I take the side lines, another obligation to get to.  I don’t know how to make him love me more.  I don’t know how else to approach our relationship as I have tried EVERYTHING! I am just tired of fighting for something I feel I am the only one fighting for.  It makes my stomach curl when I remember the way he used to look at me: like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  He showed me respect, attention and affection and I could hear his love beating as he thought the feelings so strongly.  He always had an excuse to hold my hand or caress my cheek and I miss so much that love that brought me to life because now that it is gone I ache all the time for the strength, empowerment and just pure bliss is gave me. 

He swears over and over that he loves me, but words mean so little to me now.  I want the flutter of butterflies to overwhelm me because I am so proud to be kissing this man.  I want the love we used to have and I don’t know if we will ever have that again.  There are days were I wake up and I do not love my husband because the actions he made swarm my head in a painful gyre that I must fight so as not to become hateful.  I do not hate him these days, but I do not love him either.  I feel like we are only a machine: fulfilling our actions that keep the device moving, but that is all.  I want so badly to be in love again and more than anything else I want to be on love with him.  I try, I feel I am always trying. The hurt is still just so deep.

Facial hair: a man’s second penis

OK, don’t let the title scare you off, but think about it.  In my experience with men, I have yet to come across a man who was blasé about his facial hair.  Most men are incredibly attached and protective of its image, as if it is a statement of manhood: thus the comparison.  I understand that I am generalizing but I have found this to be the common response.  I bring this up because over the holidays my husband was able to grow facial hair (something that is not permitted while he is on active duty).  My husband is a hairy man and able to grow hair quickly and after a week he already had a very decent size beard.  I found it humorous at how frequently he would stoke the hair on his face without even realizing what he was doing an it reminded me of a small child finding their privets for the first time: always touching and curious of the feel.  I have also observed he need to brag of the lusciousness, or length or even the ease of his beard to his male counterparts the same way I have been told men’s locker room talk tends to veer.  On top of all of this, he became attached very quickly and I would even use the word protective of his facial hair, meaning he refused to shave it off and would become offended if others said anything negative about his hair growth.  I have observed this same behavior in friends and other males I know to assume this is more than just a quirk of my husbands.   For some reason facial hair seems to be imbedded into their minds as a masculine trait, as if the bushier the beard the more masculine one is.  I would love to hear your input and maybe some stories that support this theory J

 

Making the Best of it

As you know we were trying to shorten Josh’s contract in order to get out of the Army and move to Colorado where he has a job waiting for him.  We just found out that this will not be possible as we had been led to believe.  That means we will be here until June 8^th which is my husband’s ETS (End time in service) date.  As you can imagine at first I was really disappointed and upset because the job for my husband is now and we have no guarantee it will be held until June.  He can easily get a lower paying possession in June, but this was the opportunity we really thought to be best.  Plus, it is hard to feel like it won’t be wasted time where my husband goes to work doing jobs that are not his own, just waiting out time until we can finally move.  However, once I had a chance to take a step back I was able to feel the calm and peace that I receive when I know a situation or answer is the right one and I had a couple of idea flow into my mind.

As you all know, Josh has been struggling with severe depression, possible PTSD, and possible bi-polar.  He is currently seeing someone for all of this and although slowly, he is making small steps of progress.  He made a strong trusting connection with his counselor, something that does not come easily for Josh, making her an ideal resource to helping our situation.  A resource that could very easily shape the future of our marriage and a reason I am more than willing to stay for.

Also, for those of you who read my last post I have been having issues with my breast.  Josh and I have been discussing a breast reduction for years, but know that things have come to a head the seriousness of the problem has propelled me into action.  As of February 1 I will be enrolled in Tricare prime (I had gone off for my pregnancy) at which point I plan on meeting with doctors to start getting referrals so that I can show the medical necessity of a reduction.  IN order to have a breast reduction I have to stop breast feeding for at least six months (so in June).  We will be insured for an additional 90 days after June 8^th, making this a real possibility.  I hate that I may have to stop breast feeding, but relieved at the thought that I might finally have an answer to the problems that have been plaguing me.  I will know about the possibilities of this after my first meeting with the doctor, so now that is the new information I am waiting for.

So although this is not the situation I was hoping for, I still know it is the right situation.  I love you all and all your support!

Disgusted

              So for those of you who have been following me for a while you know these facts: 1. I have always hated my breast. 2. I have always wanted a breast reduction. 3. While breast feeding, I am at a size J.  Well all of this horror came to a point last night and I am horrified and disgusted and to tell you the truth very timid about posting this, but I am going to ask for no comments as I still try and deal with this without taking it out on myself.

              Since I have begun breast feeding I have started seeing several stretch marks on my breast as it is growing as my breasts engorge.  I was frustrated that I had to deal with the unsightly and sore inconvenience since this was not my first time breast feeding.  This meant that if possible, my breasts are even larger with this child than it was with my last.  The stretch marks have gotten so bad I have had to wear a bra 24-7 just to make sure the situation didn’t worsen, but unfortunately things did worsen.  Last night as I was pulling a breast out to feed my daughter I felt my finger push through the think stretch area.  My skin literally separated due to the size of my breasts.  I now have a huge laceration under my breast which is extremely painful due to the raw exposed skin.  Josh insisted we go to urgent care today to check it out.  I agreed and after several hours and a $50 co-pay I was told it was a laceration and there was nothing I could do to prevent it from happening again.  I was told to care for it the way I had been and was sent on my way.

              Already I hate my breasts and then to add the embarrassment of this on top of it all is just mortifying.  I feel disgusting and can’t help but think that if I wasn’t as heavy as I am then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  I know that even when I was at a healthy weight (the goal weight for my height) I still had size DD breasts, but I feel like I have only made the situation worse.  I feel my body hates me as I am always dealing with its ailments and pains and in return, I hate it back.  Josh is aware of these negative self image issues and has been trying to comfort me all day.  I appreciate his efforts and I am really trying to just deal with this, but really I mean come on, who does this happen to?  I didn’t even know it could happen.  I am so embarrassed.