My Sunday
Well, we have finally waded through this final stage of selling our house. We have accepted an offer!!! It's amazing because everything was moving so slowly. Well, it seemed slow since we had our eye on the NEW house and were anxious to sell so we wouldn't miss out on it. Because frankly, its a cool house and its a good deal, so we HAVE to have it!!
Our co-op has only been on the market for 2 months. (actually a bit less) so really things have moved extremely fast. Only in this city can you sell a place that fast in this market. We feel blessed.
So we will hopefully sign that contract in the next few days and then the contract for the new place too and will be set to close Nov. 1st. Which means, we are officially moving. Well its officially, unofficial.
It's been an itchy process. Lots of waiting, and wondering and it got me to thinking how horrible it would be to do this with something that is actually important, like a child. I have wonderful friends and family who have lived through the emotional ride of adoption. I can't even imagine the pain, anxiety and frustration they must have felt. One day its on, the next day its off. What's going to happen? Why is it happening this way?? UGH!
We have both been tense these past two months and its only a stupid house!! So, kudos to you for having the strength to live your lives and add to your beautiful families.
Anyway. Just as a side note, I actually wrote in my journal last night. The first time in maybe a year. I'm horrible at writing which is partially why I started this blog. But I didn't have a blogging bone in my body last night so I jotted down a few thoughts that I could post later. And here it is, later. And here are my thoughts...
Sundays are extremely difficult for me. In fact, I hate them. Especially as of late. I'm not exactly sure why, but I have a few hunches. First off, the kids really put me through the blender on a sunday. It's a whirlwind to get ready and arrive on time. It's a whirlwind to keep them occupied for over an hour. (something new every 15 min) and discipline is difficult because the protests are always loud and you can't imagine how embarrassing it is to hear your child scream, "I am being nice!!!" through the entire chapel. (or maybe you can). Now let it be known that when Patrick is with me, all this is SO easy to deal with. I pass a child off to him every 15 min. He keeps them busy, quite and happy. But by myself, this is something I am completely incapable of doing.
All this was compounded yesterday because we have been without Patrick for a full week and I was really starting to feel it. No break = mean mommy. Also we had an open house that day, so I had to get the house clean before leaving, which is nye impossible with two toddlers running amok. Then we had to make ourselves scarce since the open house wasn't over until 2 hours after church was. So I frantically packed snacks for lunch (i.e. not a real lunch) because I was determined to not buy anything in a way to help secure guidance for our house selling/buying fiasco. (Something must have worked!)
Once we actually got to church, we hadn't even opened the door before the first hysterical tantrum started which was quickly followed by my own hysterical crying on the church steps. How absolutely embarrassing.
With the help of a friend, I pulled it together enough to actually get through the rest of the day, but found myself unable to refrain from regurgitating the day and all its emotions upon Patrcik while talking on the phone. Of course I opened a new can of worms that we didn't have time nor desire to deal with and it all ended with me feeling horrible about my place in the world as a mother, wife and follower of Christ. This is usually how most of my sundays end. (sans the yelling at my husband part).
It's absolutely exhausting and frankly it's getting quite old.
In sunday school we talked about being in a war with ourselves and what that battle is like. It seemed ironically appropriate for the state I was in. I didn't share (I didn't want to depress everybody!) and silently examined what my battle (lately) has been like.
Imagine, if you will, a war movie. You know when they have been fighting for days. Half of their platoon has been blown to pieces and the other half has low morale, little food and gangrene is starting to set in. They realize their chance of survival is slim but know they must keep fighting for their brothers. Both the ones still living and the ones that have given their lives to the cause. The final battle commences. There is a lot of yelling and screaming, bombs going off left and right. Bullets whizzing by your head. You can't see straight because of the smoke in the air and you feel sick as you see your brothers struggling with their last breath. You take a moment and with all the courage you can muster return to crawling up the hill that you must conquer in order to win this battle and hopefully with this last push of strength this bloody war will finally end. You are scraping by, trying to get through the haze and the noise. And when you finally reach the top, having killed many enemies in your way, you realize the innocence you have lost, the price people have paid and what strength it will take to keep living from day to day.
(end scene)
That is what my battle has felt like, although I can't say I have actually reached the top of the hill yet. The battle is still waging Which is good cause that means I haven't killed a lot of people (yet), but it's bad cause I still can hear the bullets whizzing by my head.
Being a woman, wife and especially a mother has been an overwhelming uphill journey and as of now I'm not sure who is winning. Or maybe I do (can we say man with horns?), since I always feel so horrible on sundays. But after a few discussions with loved ones and a few of their prayers, today I woke up with a bit more rest for the weary, more bounce in my step and a few sightings of the "nice mommy". Looks like I may make it to the top of that hill after all.
Our co-op has only been on the market for 2 months. (actually a bit less) so really things have moved extremely fast. Only in this city can you sell a place that fast in this market. We feel blessed.
So we will hopefully sign that contract in the next few days and then the contract for the new place too and will be set to close Nov. 1st. Which means, we are officially moving. Well its officially, unofficial.
It's been an itchy process. Lots of waiting, and wondering and it got me to thinking how horrible it would be to do this with something that is actually important, like a child. I have wonderful friends and family who have lived through the emotional ride of adoption. I can't even imagine the pain, anxiety and frustration they must have felt. One day its on, the next day its off. What's going to happen? Why is it happening this way?? UGH!
We have both been tense these past two months and its only a stupid house!! So, kudos to you for having the strength to live your lives and add to your beautiful families.
Anyway. Just as a side note, I actually wrote in my journal last night. The first time in maybe a year. I'm horrible at writing which is partially why I started this blog. But I didn't have a blogging bone in my body last night so I jotted down a few thoughts that I could post later. And here it is, later. And here are my thoughts...
Sundays are extremely difficult for me. In fact, I hate them. Especially as of late. I'm not exactly sure why, but I have a few hunches. First off, the kids really put me through the blender on a sunday. It's a whirlwind to get ready and arrive on time. It's a whirlwind to keep them occupied for over an hour. (something new every 15 min) and discipline is difficult because the protests are always loud and you can't imagine how embarrassing it is to hear your child scream, "I am being nice!!!" through the entire chapel. (or maybe you can). Now let it be known that when Patrick is with me, all this is SO easy to deal with. I pass a child off to him every 15 min. He keeps them busy, quite and happy. But by myself, this is something I am completely incapable of doing.
All this was compounded yesterday because we have been without Patrick for a full week and I was really starting to feel it. No break = mean mommy. Also we had an open house that day, so I had to get the house clean before leaving, which is nye impossible with two toddlers running amok. Then we had to make ourselves scarce since the open house wasn't over until 2 hours after church was. So I frantically packed snacks for lunch (i.e. not a real lunch) because I was determined to not buy anything in a way to help secure guidance for our house selling/buying fiasco. (Something must have worked!)
Once we actually got to church, we hadn't even opened the door before the first hysterical tantrum started which was quickly followed by my own hysterical crying on the church steps. How absolutely embarrassing.
With the help of a friend, I pulled it together enough to actually get through the rest of the day, but found myself unable to refrain from regurgitating the day and all its emotions upon Patrcik while talking on the phone. Of course I opened a new can of worms that we didn't have time nor desire to deal with and it all ended with me feeling horrible about my place in the world as a mother, wife and follower of Christ. This is usually how most of my sundays end. (sans the yelling at my husband part).
It's absolutely exhausting and frankly it's getting quite old.
In sunday school we talked about being in a war with ourselves and what that battle is like. It seemed ironically appropriate for the state I was in. I didn't share (I didn't want to depress everybody!) and silently examined what my battle (lately) has been like.
Imagine, if you will, a war movie. You know when they have been fighting for days. Half of their platoon has been blown to pieces and the other half has low morale, little food and gangrene is starting to set in. They realize their chance of survival is slim but know they must keep fighting for their brothers. Both the ones still living and the ones that have given their lives to the cause. The final battle commences. There is a lot of yelling and screaming, bombs going off left and right. Bullets whizzing by your head. You can't see straight because of the smoke in the air and you feel sick as you see your brothers struggling with their last breath. You take a moment and with all the courage you can muster return to crawling up the hill that you must conquer in order to win this battle and hopefully with this last push of strength this bloody war will finally end. You are scraping by, trying to get through the haze and the noise. And when you finally reach the top, having killed many enemies in your way, you realize the innocence you have lost, the price people have paid and what strength it will take to keep living from day to day.
(end scene)
That is what my battle has felt like, although I can't say I have actually reached the top of the hill yet. The battle is still waging Which is good cause that means I haven't killed a lot of people (yet), but it's bad cause I still can hear the bullets whizzing by my head.
Being a woman, wife and especially a mother has been an overwhelming uphill journey and as of now I'm not sure who is winning. Or maybe I do (can we say man with horns?), since I always feel so horrible on sundays. But after a few discussions with loved ones and a few of their prayers, today I woke up with a bit more rest for the weary, more bounce in my step and a few sightings of the "nice mommy". Looks like I may make it to the top of that hill after all.
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