What is Christmas all about?

Yes, I know it's a rhetorical question. Of course it's all about the presents... wait... I mean it's all about Christ... and... presents...? Please be laughing now. I'm trying a bit of humor.

Christmas is all about Christ and his birth. His coming and making himself human and sacrificing himself so that we could be saved is the best present of all.

Okay, now as a parent, one can get really excited when a child gets it. At this time, I have nine year old twins, Lisa & Ben, and a 2 1/2 year old, Nathan. One of my love languages is gift giving. So, it's natural to assume that I really like Christmas. The closer it gets, the more excited I get. I have to force myself to not give my presents early. I love watching people open presents. Whenever, there is a get together, I watch everyone open their presents before I even touch mine. Oh, I like getting gifts, but I can honestly say "It is better to give than receive."

I've been rambling. Anyway, we (Lisa and I) were out shopping earlier in the season before Thanksgiving and we came across a toddler table with the top made into a dry erase board material. Lisa says "Oh, I think Nate would really like this." I agreed with her, but I told her that I was basically done shopping for him. A few weeks later, I was passing out allowance money. (L & B get $3 a week to basically clean up after Nate.) Lisa counted her money and she had $22. She got really excited. "Mom, I have enough money to go and buy that table for Nate. Can I buy it for him for Christmas?"

And my answer was "Yes". Come on, really, could I have really told her no? I think not. She really wanted to go down and get this table for him. So, I took her down to the stuff-mart to get it. We went straight back to where they'd been displayed and they weren't there. Her heart fell, but I am not one to give up. It is my duty to teach my child how to hunt. Long story, short: we found them a few aisles over.

As, we made our way back up to the registers, Lisa saw a stuffed rabbit that she had been eying for herself. It was $10. She looked at the rabbit for a moment and I could see she was doing calculations in her head. I pleasantly reminded her that she really didn't have to get Nate the table, it was her money and she could spend it anyway she wanted. She held her chin up and replied, "No, I really think Nathan will like this. I'm going to get him the table." She turned away from the stuffed bunny and we went up to the register. She proudly put her money on the counter and paid.

Like me, she could barely wait the week to give it to him. Finally, I said she could. Honestly, I don't think she has even thought twice about her decision. The table cost $18 and if you can do division, you know it took her six weeks to save up that much money. $18 may seem like a small sacrifice to you, but it was huge to her and worth ever penny as she sat for about an hour playing with her little brother on his new dry erase table.

Hang In There

Ever since I was 13 and my brother read my diary to a couple of his friends, one of which was heavily written about among the private reverie, I've always had the feeling that no matter what is written it can always be read and therefore if you are going to take the time to write expect it to be read. This was all to say that whenever someone highly encouraged me to journal my thoughts and feelings I would always inwardly grown. I hate to journal for the above mentioned reason. Now even when I journal I still edit highly. I don't think anyone really wants to swim in the chaotic turmoil that I call my mind.
With that being said, I think I might blog about the journey I am currently on. My counselor thinks that someday it might help someone else. I surely hope so, because I don't want to think I'm trudging through this muck for nothing.

One day I woke up with nagging feeling that I had forgotten something. I desperately tried to recall what needed to be remembered but it was not to be so. Then entered the dread and panic. If I don't remember what it is I have forgot then something terribly, horribly, awful is going to happen. Yes, this was the beginning on-set of what many in the psych community call Pure O or a.k.a. as Pure Obsession a form of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). Now the average person might be okay with this, thinking, "well now I have a name to call it." But, no I can't be held to the average standard. I must achieve to go above and beyond that of any normal mortal. I have to go "O" about it. ??? Yes, I began to obsess about the fact that I was obsessive.

The actual true beginning probably started while I was still in high school, but I was able to deal to some degree with the anxiety that not being in total control can bring. In 2006, a traumatic humiliating experience occurred, that intensified the "O" and within the next year social anxiety began to emerge. I think I may understand why Emily Dickinson decided to stay in her house.

For those of you who are close to my family, you may recall a series of events that began in the spring of 2008. Starting with my falling down my steps and breaking my ankle (being laid up for at least six weeks with a small toddler running around is not good), then my cat of 12 years died, then the next week I almost fall off a two story building, (that could have been disastrous, thankfully I only pulled the muscles in my other foot), then three days later, my son gets pulled under a heavy and old merry-go-round that didn't end so merry when he broke is femur and we had to spend the next week or so in a Tennessee hospital (I have nothing against Tennessee hospitals except for the fact that they are two states away from my current residence) and then..., and then..., and as of yet there still seems to be no end of the continuing drama that I currently call my life. (let us stop and take a breath) [take a deep breath in and slowly let it out to the count of five, repeat if necessary].

Stress is second nature to us now. But, stress can take its toll, not just mentally, but physically. I have also dealt with headaches and migraines that make me stop everything and nothing can get done, which adds more work to my already overworked hubby. I've said all this to say this: I have become unreliable. It's true and this makes me sad. I'm finally on a new medication that at least doesn't seem to feed the migraine, but it has it's own side affects. I deal with the feelings of uselessness. The great thing is my home support system. I have my partner and coach constantly reassuring me that this is just a season in life and even now this new med is better than the last. We just needs some fine tuning.

I know if you've made it this far through this drawn out tale you may be wondering a variety of many things, one of which may be, but not limited to, "Wow, that sucks!" To be honest, I have no clue what you may be thinking right now. I've learned that I tend not to think like the average non-OCD person. But this above all else should at least bring you some hope.

When I start to think that I'm the most worthless mom and human being on earth, I get a random note from my child which reads: Dear Mom, I'm so glad your my mom, I love you so much that I want to live with you forever. Love, ____ P.S. Your a wonderful mom (heart)

Okay if that's not God's way of saying "hang in there" then I don't know what is. Have a hope filled day! =)Bek