Money. Only Awesome If You Have Some.

Whoa. It's been over a year since I wrote here.

There is a good reason for that, albeit a sad one. This has been a place for me to stretch myself, to try to better express myself through written word; and also to share funny antidotes from life, or new truths I've discovered.

For a time, there was someone very close to me who was uncomfortable with those things. Or, who I was uncomfortable knowing these things about me. For a time, the truths of which I was becoming aware were heartbreaking. To me and to others.

There have been some huge changes in the last year since I've visited this blog.

*my address is different (although still in the same town)

*my name will soon be different

*my job is totally different

*my children are different (18 and almost 13... sigh.)

*my finances are different.

My adorable, irritating, wildly entertaining son reminded me this weekend that he goes back to school on Thursday and I promised him some new clothes, and a backpack, and perhaps even a new hat. (Can you guess the part that he cared about?? Yup. Hat and backpack.) I reminded him that I needed to check my bank account and make a budget before we could shop.

Ugh. Budget.

When I say "budget", I no longer mean "my bills are all laid out in front of me neatly and my spreadsheet has macros enabled and Dave Ramsey would be so proud". These days, it looks more like, "writing the bills I can think of that I haven't paid for a while on a post-it and crossing my fingers while I check my account that we can still eat til next payday".

I procrastinated for a while, working on house projects that I've been putting off, justifying my unwillingness to look into my finances by reassuring myself I was getting things done that I haven't made a priority. Once the morning became afternoon, Joseph was asking approximately every eleven-and-a-half minutes when we could go to the mall.

Of course, it has to be the mall. This child is no longer content with clothes from Target or Fred Meyer. And I have yet to convince him that "consignment" means "trendy vintage". He hears "other people's crap".

Finally I gave myself a talking-to and sat down to check my bank account online. As I had suspected, the money I had to last til payday was not nearly enough to pay everything required. I crossed things out, made some phone calls, looked through the refrigerator and pantry to see what we could use this coming week... and then told my beautiful, charming, annoying child the amount of money we could spend that day.

To his credit, he didn't complain. But internally, I did.

We went to the mall, we bought him some clothes, we came home and shopped online for a backpack. We stayed in the budget. We ate leftovers for dinner, I gave up the idea of getting my nails done, we did not go out for ice cream. And all the while, mentally, I was a five-year-old who was just told she couldn't get another stuffed animal at the toy store. (By the way, it's extremely attractive for a grown-ass woman to throw a mental temper tantrum about having to act like an adult.)

The next morning, while on the phone with my beautiful, amazing rock-star goddess of a sister, I was laughing at myself to her. I was describing how juvenile my attitude had been the day before, and how frustrated I was at myself for it, and how tiresome it can be to be the only grown-up in the house. (Brilliant choice of a person to whom to vent; my sissy is raising six sons and is pregnant with her seventh baby. She was, I'm sure, terribly sympathetic). As we were talking, I was half-heartedly cleaning out some boxes of things I've brought in from the car or the coffee stand and never gone through. I filed some papers, found some school supplies, threw some junk away. And found

A check for $100. Truth.

This ALWAYS happens. And I know it does. When I begin to be responsible with little, ALWAYS more is given. I am humbled by this check. A hundred dollars doesn't go far; but it means an additional bill gets paid. It means I am being provided for... even though I am the only person that brings in an income for this household. My internal feet-stomping from Saturday is embarrassing today... but the life-truth is worth the embarrassment. I am being watched over. My family is being taken care of. And I just have to be a responsible steward of what I have been given.

Today, I feel blessed. And I am wishing you an unexpected blessing today, too.

just for today

i pray for a miracle.

a changing of this life.

wrongs to be made right.

an open heart, a willing spirit.

and then, the nudge~

am i all of these things?

how can i judge and condemn?

i ask for forgiveness.

clarity.

perspective.

truth.

a blinding instant~

overwhelmed by love.

"all will be okay. I know the path you're on."

such gratitude.

such safety.

my only job is to trust.

and listen.

He holds the answers.

a quick errand

I'm finally sick.

Not the "I'm gonna lie in bed under my blankets and wait for death" sick, just the "I can't justify not working but I feel like crap" sick. Thankfully, because of some dear friends, my 14 hour shift today was reduced to a mere 6 hours, and I only had to run two quick errands on my way home.

I stopped at Trader Joe's in Kirkland to grab rice milk for the coffee stand, and threw some Luna bars into my basket on my way to check out. (Good healthy snacks for munching on during long work days).

Purely for the sake of entertainment, I shall now recreate my experience with the checker I encountered..

(Brigitte's in line at Trader Joe's. She's next to pay. When it's her turn, she puts her basket on the appropriate counter. Her eyes are puffy from sinus pressure, she has coffee stains on her new jeans, and her hair is escaping from the loosely tied ponytail at the nape of her neck. She looks like she needs a makeover, or some hot tea, or a dose of Nyquil. Obviously, this is not our heroine at her best.)

Brig (trying to be friendly even though she's longing for her bed): "Hey, how's it going?"

Checker: "Oh, you like hiking?"

(Brigitte looks around, confused)

Checker: "The Luna bars. You take them hiking, right?"

Brig: "Oh...no. I take them to work, to have as a snack when I'm too busy to eat."

(Checker smiles brightly. Then looks uncertain.)

Checker: "So...you don't like hiking?"

(Brigitte doesn't know what to say to this, so she says nothing.)

Checker: "Sometimes I just feel like a cigarette!"

(Brigitte now notices the hot-pink bright smile may be a cover for a certain amount of medication. She tries again.)

Brig: "Yeah, you guys are really busy tonight! Is this normal for a Friday at this time?"

(Checker's smile falters. She again looks unsure, confused. Brigitte takes this opportunity to grab the receipt as it prints and take her grocery bag.)

Brig: "Thank you, have a good weekend..."

Checker (as Brig is starting to leave): "What are your girlfriends doing tonight?"

Brig: "Uh...I don't know...most of us are old and boring."

(Our heroine escapes the store, and barely makes it outside before she is caught up in a fit of hysterical laughter.)

Scene.

Happy Friday! ...and watch out for the checker with the hot-pink lipstick.

A New Beginning

I always loved back-to-school time.

It wasn't because I couldn't wait to see my friends after the social exile that made up my summer, it wasn't even for the new school clothes. It wasn't for new teachers, it wasn't for new learning.
It was for a new binder. And pens that had never been used. And brand-new pencils, with an attached eraser that erased and a fresh point on the other end. And as I got older, a fresh homework planner.

Oh, I loved homework planners.

I didn't often use said planners once...oh, November hit the calendar. But I adored a whole book with blank days, just waiting to be filled.

Unlimited potential, waiting to be discovered.

We have recently celebrated a New Year. If I am to write honestly I must admit I despised 2010. The past twelve months have been full of sadness and heartbreak for me and my loved ones. There has been great pain, financial burdens, and wrestling of monsters among me and mine. Within the circle of those dear to me, I have walked through drug addiction. Death. Depression. Medication. Abuse. Court systems. Restraining orders. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Financial ruin. The loss of dreams. The loss of love. The loss of peace.

And yet, there is hope.

2011 is a new planner, with blank pages. And before I throw 2010 away with the sour milk rotting in my refrigerator, I thought a moment should be spent on the tragedy that was this last year, to glean any positives before I rejoice while looking ahead.

*This year, I became closer to my daughter than any year before. At a tender 16 years, she of course doesn't tell me everything. But she tells me a lot. And I tell her a lot. And we laugh at ridiculous things, and sometimes we cry. And although she has her own struggles and burdens, I am so very proud of her. She will go far in this life, in spite of her mama. I love her so much.
*This year, I learned I am very good at a lot of things. And not so good at some things too. It doesn't make me clutch at my chest anymore, at the ripe old age of 35, to admit that there are things that are not my strengths. I am wonderful with people...I am not so good at business. I will sacrifice business and profit when a relationship will be affected.
*This year, I learned I can only change me. I thought I knew this, after years of sitting on a therapist's couch. Apparently, although I was not trying to change or control people, I was trying to change and control my environment. My surroundings. Which, in case you didn't know, is the space within which other people reside. Whoops.
*This year, I felt God's love for me in a way I had never before experienced. I saw His hand moving in my insignificant life. I prayed more than I ever have. I grabbed on to Bible verses as a drowning person grabs on to a life raft.

That last one...well, to me, it makes 2010 worthwhile after all.

I'm closing the book on that tear-stained year, and looking forward to my fresh, clean, brand-new calendar for 2011. I have big expectations of these coming days!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11

Happy New Year!

A Sacrifice

I'm giving up processed sugar because my brother is giving up drugs.

Let me explain.

By birth, through my family lines, I have a younger sister, Kimberly. We are two years, three months apart. She is one of my favorite people in the world, and I never feel like I get enough time with her and her amazing family which also includes her dear husband and her 5 (FIVE!) boys.

And then, God gave me a "brother". John.

I met John years ago because he was dating a friend of mine, and I loved everything about my buddy Kelly; therefore I loved John right when I met him. He grandfathered right in to my circle of friends. After they had been dating a few weeks, Kelly confided in me that John was an ex-heroin addict. I was shocked, and impressed, that he had transcended that life. And, if I'm honest, I was a little proud of myself for being so open-minded as to associate with an ex-IV drug user. Aren't I bold?!

Through a long, drawn-out, Dr. Phil-show-type story, here is the bottom line: John did not stay clean for long. And he played a part in introducing Kelly to opiates. And for a while they destroyed themselves together. And it was the saddest thing I had ever seen (the bits of it I did see; drug users are really good at disappearing if they think you'll see through their lies).

If we fast-forward a year or so, we get to the part where John and Kelly go to detox, separately, but still together. They struggle. They break up. And, for some reason, my dear husband and I let John into our home, and told him he could stay with us while looking for work and a place to live.

And so began six months or so of having a roommate. One who had demons I had previously only experienced on "Intervention". One who had such a shady past that he struggled finding a job. One who didn't know anything about a normal home life, with home-cooked dinners and bickering spouses and a budget. And we loved him.

Stash, my dear husband, and I have marveled plenty of times at the twists life can take. We believe God wanted John in our lives. That we are blessed to know, and love, this man. I began calling him my brother when he moved in; he referred to me as "sis". "Brother" was easier than "my friend's ex-boyfriend who's trying to clean up" when I was introducing him. Besides, who would actually CHOOSE to have this shady individual in their life? When I say he's my brother, people get an understanding look in their eye. It usually says something like, "Yeah, don't we all have a black sheep in the family? Don't worry Brigitte, the sketchy brother won't change the way I feel about YOU."

I was always the black sheep in the family. It was weird to transfer that onto someone else.

See, I believe that John becoming my brother was God teaching me a real and big lesson. Don't we all know God loves everyone? And yet don't we all stick our noses up at someone, thinking they're not good enough for us? God loves John. He loves the drug addicts, the dirty homeless people, the crazies that talk to themselves. He loves the girls looking for love in all the wrong places, the alcoholics that try to numb themselves with their booze, the liars, the cheaters, the faithless.

Everyone. Even me. Even John.

I have had an opportunity to show my brother the way that God loves us, as imperfectly and as humanly as I can. I am privileged to have John in my life. He has shown me so many truths...and I have experienced a humanity to the addiction story that I never expected.

I'd like you to meet someone. This is my brother, John. He's 26, with a receding hairline (shhh, don't mention that!). He always offers to help with the dishes. He loves baaaaad reality TV. He takes the garbage out at the coffee stand for me anytime he's there. He can giggle for hours with Joseph playing on YouTube. He yells at Cami for snuggling with her boyfriend. He loves Mike N Ikes. He sleeps with his mouth open. He never puts his t-shirts in the dryer. He should pull his pants up when he's walking (or maybe buy a damn belt!). And he's part of my family.

John slipped up, fell off the wagon, whatever cliche means he's getting high again. I took him to detox yesterday, and he'll be doing inpatient rehab for the first time once he's done. When I was driving him to the detox unit yesterday, I told him that since he had to give something up, I would too. I'm giving up candy, sweets, processed sugar. It's my heroin. He's lived with us on and off for over a year; he knows how much I love my candy. This meant something to him. And when I crave peanut m&m's, I'll remember my brother, kicking something even harder.

Will you pray for us?

I need to go buy some fruit.

Sixteen

May 24, 1994
11:00 pm

I head for my bed in the basement of my parents' house, hoping for some sleep. As I crawl under my twin-size covers and curl up as comfortably as I'm able, turning on the TV (muted, with the close-captioning on so as not to bother my parents upstairs sound asleep) I wonder how much longer I have before I will hold the baby I've been carrying for nine months. It is late Tuesday night; this is my first week not working, since my due dates were either May 23rd or May 27th...depending on whom you asked. The Friday before had been my last day in the Medical Records office of Lake Vue Gardens, a nursing home just up the street. My mom had worked there a while; I started half way through my pregnancy. There were five of us crammed into that little office that one could only access by walking through one of the four dining rooms; we were all friends, of a sort. They had all been kind to me, and supportive of my mom, who was becoming a grandmother much before she had expected.
The baby (who I had been told on Ultrasound Day had 75% chance of being a girl...is that helpful?!) squirms, making me wince. I lay in bed on my side, with one leg thrown over the other for support, and try to rest. It would be soon...please, I want it to be soon.
My boyfriend/fiance/baby-daddy/total-stranger was in town from Idaho for the Main Event. He was trying to be enthusiastic, but even on his best day his voice betrayed how scared he was. He hadn't been around for most of the pregnancy, choosing to move to Idaho shortly after I confided my baby news to him. The story was he moved there for work; I knew even then he didn't know what to do with the responsibility. He had the pager from the hospital by his side 24 hours a day, waiting for the buzz to let him know this was It.

May 25, 1994
3:00am

Back pains wake me. I'm not sure what time I dozed off, but I think I last remember some late night talk show monologue on the screen as I closed my eyes a few short hours before. I roll over, prop my pillows a bit differently, and try to go back to sleep.
It doesn't work.
Stupid lower back. I know she (?) doesn't have much room, but I'm tired! After about a half an hour, I give up. This sleep thing is gone for now. I turn on my light, prop myself up against my white wicker headboard as best I can, and reach for my counted cross stitch. I had picked out a pattern to make for my Grandma Baer a long time before, and even though she passed away in while I was a junior in high school, two years ago, I wanted to finish it in memory of her. It required a lot of concentration, and it wasn't until 4:30 am that I realize my back pains would be there, and then they wouldn't.
This can't be labor.
When my mom gets up to get ready for work around 5:30, I am puttering around in the kitchen, wiping things, organizing things, cleaning things.
Mom: "Morning, hon! What in the world are you doing up so early?"
Me: "Well, I think that maybe the baby is coming today. And if I'm having a baby, then in a day or two we will be having a bunch of people who want to come over to visit, so I'm cleaning the kitchen."
Mom almost falls over. I can tell that she doesn't quite know what to do. After I watch fear/excitement/indecision flash across her face, she says, "Oh! Okay. Well, I think I'm going to get ready for work...?"
I agree. Yes, definitely, you should go to work, Mom. So far my back just hurts. About every 5 to 8 minutes.

May 25, 1994
3:00pm

I'm on my way to the hospital. I talked to my doctor a bit ago, and she suggested I come in to "get checked" (every pregnant girl's favorite and worst phrase). My best friend is to be my Lamaze coach, and she is now part of "Team Baby", however that plays out today. I say out loud on my way to the hospital, "Oh yeah, these contractions hurt." No, dear; not yet they don't.
I have decided to attempt natural childbirth. One of the beautiful things about becoming a teenage mother is that you have no idea of most things of which you should be scared. I didn't know what the future would hold; but neither did my friends that were finishing up their freshman year of college! I didn't know what bills were like; neither did anyone with whom I associated. I knew childbirth hurt...but had no experience to which I could compare, and neither did my circle of confidantes.
Part of my decision to try labor and delivery without painkillers was "I'll prove...(something, I don't know what)". I already had shocked so many people (Pregnant! Seventeen/Eighteen! Unwed! Captain of the cheer squad! Church attender!) that I figured, why not have the last sentence of the story be "...and I did it without drugs." I'll show them.

May 25, 1994
5:00pm to 11:18pm

Things are hazy. I say to Stacy, "I'm so tired, I'm going to take a nap and have this baby tomorrow." All I know is I keep having to climb this mountain every minute or so, and then get a minute or two before I have to climb again. It seems like I will have to do this forever. Stacy says I'm doing great, but I don't know if I am. I am pretty sure now that I am not ready to have a baby.

May 25, 1994
11:18 pm

She cries. I'm holding her. I cry. I'm irritated; why is everybody talking to me? I want to talk to Camilla. That's the name I picked when they told me it was probably a girl. I'll call her Cami. I will teach her everything I know, I will give her the world, I will protect her from all the demons and the dragons. I will prove the naysayers wrong. I will be a GREAT mom. I will love her more than anything on this planet. She will be my princess Cami. I will do anything for her. We will learn together how to navigate life.

Happy sixteenth birthday, my precious daughter.
I love you more than you can ever know.

For the Mamas

I should be writing paychecks.

As I raced home on this beautiful Friday afternoon (with the master plan of printing paychecks, flying off to Trader Joe's, running back to the stand to write paychecks, then sluggishly driving back home in rush hour traffic), I realized for the 32nd time today that Mother's Day is Sunday. All morning long, customers were asking, "What are your Mother's Day plans?", or they were wishing me a Happy Mother's Day. Every time "Mother's Day" was spoken at my window, I was surprised. (Short term memory loss on a Friday morning, I guess.)

A confession: for Many Many Many years, I hated Mother's Day. What a sham of a holiday, I thought! For this to truly be MY day, I should be able to spend it the way I want. And the "way I want" does not translate to "mediating childrens' silly arguments, cleaning up diapers/spilled milk/dinner dishes, shopping for groceries, being woken up early so I can be wished a happy DAY".

Such selfishness.

Even when I hated this holiday, I felt bad. I knew I was probably wrong...but couldn't figure out how to feel better about it. I didn't tell anyone. I would joke, on occasion, with some of my mama friends that we should get pedicures and bloody marys for it to really be OUR day...but it was always said in jest.

But I meant it.

I actually don't have any plans for Mother's Day this year. My mom hasn't mentioned it, so she's probably busy (and she's already given me a beautiful potted hanging fushia, so I'm assuming she's not expected a visit on Sunday). My mother-in-law lives in South Carolina, so the card I'm sending out today will suffice. My sister will be busy with her family of seven, my sister-in-law also lives in Charleston...so, no plans. That I know of. And, I like that.

Apparently, somewhere in the last almost sixteen years of being a mama, I grew up and became a mama. In all honesty, there is now nothing that makes me feel so blessed as being able to spend time with my beautiful children. Oh, they haven't changed...they still fight, eat the last cookie, don't share...but now it's fighting over the computer, not sharing ipods or xboxes.

They haven't changed. I have.

So on this Mother's Day, I may be awakened early, with cards, and hugs, and some flowers. And I won't begrudgingly wake up, cranky that it's supposed to be my day to sleep in; instead I'll hug them extra and tell them how much they mean to me. And twelve minutes later when Joseph is whining and Cami is bitchy, I will smile because I know now they will not be home for many more years, and I will cherish all of the moments of the day called MINE, because my children will be with me. And when Cami asks to go get her hair cut...right NOW...and Joseph asks to play with the neighbors, I will say yes, because I don't want them to feel like they have to be stuck to my side ever in this life, even on Mother's Day. And when Joseph whispers in Stash's ear to go get Blizzards from Dairy Queen as a "surprise" for me after dinner, I will act shocked when they get back, and will not care about what flavor they brought me, and I will tell Joseph how proud I am that he is so thoughtful of his mama.

Pretty sure I really can call this day MINE, this year.

I better go write paychecks.