In Which My Forgetfulness Leads to Feline Vandalism

My brain has gone on strike. It lets me walk out the door for a 5-hour zoo excursion without bringing the dog inside and putting her in her crate. It laughs when I leave lights on, music blaring, ovens heating, and perishable foods out when running kids to and from lessons. It taunts when I return home from errands without the one thing I really truly needed.

Today, I went grocery shopping for the rest of the month of November. Stop laughing. I know it's November 11 and I just told you my brain went on strike. Seriously, I have a menu plan based on what I actually saw in my freezer and pantry this morning when I made my list. It is written down. I'm not sure where it is at this exact moment, but that's beside the point.

So, my shopping list was relatively short. Perishables like fruits and veggies. A few staples we were out of. I threw two bags of all-purpose unbleached flour in the cart because it was 60% off. A few boxes of convenience foods because of my children's penchant for blood sugar crashes.

We moved quickly through the store to a human checkout (as opposed to the automated one where I always get stuck with an unusual produce item missing a sticker and have to wait for 5 minutes while a teenager who's never seen a vegetable in her life tries to find it and the required code for me). The woman working the register offered to bag for me as she scanned. I took her up on it so I could concentrate on keeping Little Boy from disappearing into the women's bathroom or inside the rack of high-school shirts and sweats.

I put our bags in the cart, paid, and rescued Little Girl, who was perched nearly on top of the plastic car mounted to the front of te cart and was being pushed who-knows-where by Little Boy. We hurried out to the car and raced home (but only at legal speeds) to fix a quick lunch. We had just a few minutes before  Little Girl needed to be at preschool.

I put groceries away while the kids ate. I kept looking for the new bag of apples since I wanted to slice one for the kids. Soon all my grocery bags were empty. No apples.

I went back to the van and looked under the rear bench, in the cabin, in the front seat. No apples.

I shuffled through all my grocery bags, fished out the receipt, and scanned to the bottom. "Gala Apples. Clementines. Baby Bellas." I hadn't put away any of those.

I called the store and miraculously reached the guy who'd just marked my items down on a list titled, "Paid for and left." He said he'd keep them at the customer service desk for me.

So the kids ate grapes and we ran out the door. No time for lunch cleanup.

After dropping Little Girl off at preschool, we drove back to the store, retrieved the offending produce, and returned home where I snuck a snoozing toddler out of his carseat and into his bed. In the kitchen, as I put items away, I found this:

That can only be the work of one being in our house. Jazz. Who clearly prizes chicken wieners over her special hairball-prevention cat food.

Being Present

Last week, I took down my Facebook page. I needed to step back. It had overtaken too much of my life, and disabling it was the only way I could successfully set it aside. (I've tried not logging on for a set number of days but cheated every time.) I hope to go back when I'm able to use it with more control and in a more edifying way.

Since Friday, I've seen just how all-consuming I'd allowed my social networks to become. Part of me was always slightly detached, watching life unfold as an audience member instead of actively participating, sneaking moments to read up on everyone else's lives. I was distracted.

This weekend I discovered anew how refreshing it is to soak myself thoroughly in a beautiful, unseasonably-warm November morning as my children bounce on a trampoline.

To bask in their giggles and join them giggling at static electricity.

To take in how they interact, play, make each other laugh, and struggle to put others first.

As their mother, I realized how much I need to be present for them. I need to actively participate in the laughter, the bickering (not as a bicker-er but as a mediator and guide), the turn-taking, and the sheer joy of jumping.

I gave something up and received such a tremendous gift in return. The gift of being present.

I Can So Relate

Numerous people have sent me links over the past few weeks, and I wanted to share a few that really resonated with me.

Marybeth Chapman, mother to Maria and wife of Stephen Curtis Chapman, on the 17 months since they lost Maria in a tragic accident.

Carrien at "She Laughs At the Days," mother of several young children. She wrote "Confessions" very aptly describing the wrestling match between a mother's exhausted body and the irresistible passage of time.

Another by Carrien entitled "Bra Shopping 101 with Toddler" -- hilarious, especially since I've had several similar experiences lately.

This series of posts by Jennifer, aka "McMama," on her current situation with Stellan, a one-year-old born with a lethal heart rhythm problem, currently in  Boston for a very risky procedure. Read "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" first, then read "Cyclical" -- this is so typical of me in a stressful time.

The Saturday Evening Blog Post, Vol 1 Issue 3

On the first Saturday of each month bloggers meet to share their latest and greatest blog posts. This month we're featuring posts from
October 2009.

Come check out the other great submissions.

I really wrestled with which post to link to this month. It was a tie between "I Know I'm Not Supposed To, But..." about wrestling with God over my circumstances and wanting effortless change in my life, and examining our new lives on the first anniversary of my daughter Elli's passing in "One Year Ago."

So, I basically flipped a coin in my head (and included a link to the other one in my comment on Elizabeth Esther's blog!).

Job's Patience

My mom gave me a book a couple of weeks ago, written by a woman whose son was killed in a car accident just a few short weeks after he turned 16. I'm nearly halfway through it. It's refreshing, heart-breaking, honest. Already, I know that I will recommend it to others who are grieving.

I read this passage tonight. It's from the author's journal in an entry written just ten days after her son's death. No cliches, no glossing over things, no easy-believism here. Just aching honesty. She describes exactly where I am now.

"July 16. Please help me trust you again. You are leading me to the story of Job.

"Job 1:1-5 Job's family was obviously a close one. They often had each other over. Job prayed for his children regularly because he feared they may have had sin in their hearts.

"Job 1:20 With your [God's] permission, Satan takes everything from Job, including his ten children. Job falls to the ground and worships.

"Job 2:20 After Job's wife urges him to curse God and die, Job asks, "Shall we accept good from God and not trouble [also]?

"We hear so much about the patience of Job, but I don't see it. What I see is a broken-hearted man striving to trust the One who is sovereign over every detail of his life, the One who could have stopped these horrific events from stripping Job of everything and everyone. After describing some of the mysteries and pains of life, he exclaims the very words that express my own soul: "What I feared has come upon me. What I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil. (Job 3:25-26)

"Thank you, Job, for your honest response to horrific circumstances."

Excerpted from "Treasures in Darkness: A Grieving Mother Shares Her Heart" by Sharon Betters, chapter 6.