It's a little late for Resolutions...

There are no New Year’s Resolutions in the Cooley household.

There are thoughts, sure—like, are we ever going to lose weight or actually work out?—that are generally followed with “Dear LORD, where would we EVER find the time?!?”

There are hopes—“I can resist raiding the box of cookies!”—followed by “Where are the $%*(% cookies!!!?????”—followed by guilt-wracked wails of “Why did I buy the %*(%* cookies?!?!?”

There are dreams—“I’m keeping those jeans—I may fit back into them someday!”—followed by the handing of said jeans over to my mother, because I’ve just ripped them, and I don’t know how to sew.

But really?

I’m struggling with self-acceptance.

I’m struggling with not caring about my weight anymore.

I’m struggling with just giving up…

But maybe that’s where I need to be?

All of that aside (and that’s a LOT), there are just no resolutions in our household. I’m not promising to get anything done. David and I are trying to re-organize some things (our little house was just fine for the two of us, but with an increasingly-mobile little one, we have to move some furniture around!), and we’re learning about what life with a soon-to-be toddler means.

It means smiles and tears…new discoveries (toilets are AWESOME drums!)…It means falls, and learning to climb over everything (before he’s walking, he’s climbing everywhere. Nothing is safe). It means learning new words (mostly that Mommy says “no!” a lot!!!), and making new sounds.

It means that everything is new for JD…and everything is new for me. Everything is new for this Mommy role that I’ve stepped into, that I’ve dreamt about my entire life.

JD breaks every barricade that I set up for him—is this indicative of his personality later on? Will he be my boundary pusher? Will I have the patience for it, or will I throw up my hands in frustration? Will I be the kind of parent that learns to channel that risk-taking into Kingdom living?

I take everything so seriously—shouldn’t I?

That’s not to say that I don’t have some fun with it—my little guy is a riot. Nothing’s funnier than his laugh, and nothing makes stop in my tracks and praise God, like hearing it come from that sweet soul. He’s hilarious, he’s challenging, he’s everything I’ve ever hoped for!!!!! 

He has 7 teeth, and they were hard-fought battles. Going to sleep is a challenge in his crib; I’ve spent a few nights crying to my husband that I’m afraid he’s going to think I’m a terrible mommy for abandoning him in the nursery I tried so hard to make inviting. It’s getting better…but I’m not going to lie: When he starts crying at 2:30 in the morning, I go and get him. I bring him to bed, where he lays on my arm and snuggles…and I feel complete, with my little family snuggled under the covers (Holly is on the floor—but she’s in the room, so she counts).

These are the happiest days of my life.

I do the most writing when I’m struggling, and when I need to vent….but I don’t really want to vent. The times I’ve needed to blow off some steam have been unprintable; even though there are areas I’m struggling in, they’re nothing new, and it all feels redundant. Yep—we’re still broke. Yep—I’m still a working mom (although I had a PHENOMENAL holiday break). Yep—I’m still fat. The things I typically complain about haven’t changed, so why bother?  Every day is a trial of finding ways to improve various situations.

My biggest struggles have been with anxiety and fear….again, something that just hasn't changed.

Someday, fear will die, and anxiety will go away. I hope it happens for me in this lifetime, because when it gets out of control, it robs me of the happiness I've been given. 

I worry that if anything happened to me, does David know that I love him more than life itself? Does Jericho know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, to see him have his very best life? Does my family know how much I thank God for them, for their love and support? Do they know I couldn’t breathe without them?

Have I said the things I need to, to the people I need to say them to?  I hope so.

Life is short, but love is long. And the love that I pour into today will make an eternal impact for someone…

Maybe that’s my New Year’s Resolution: To tell the people I love every day, that I love them with all of my heart. To make sure I don’t go to sleep without thanking God for putting them into my life. To make sure that above all, Jesus knows that I cannot live my life without knowing He is the Reason and the Center of it all, in spite of my fears and failures.

The things that need to change, will change on their own. Our finances will eventually get figured out; I will eventually get my weight under control. These are not things I should waste my time worrying about—really, I’m done. It’s exhausting, worrying about all of this crap. That’s not to say I’m having a free-for-all; I just don’t want to stress over it anymore. And for the love of God, if one more person trolls my Facebook site with weight-loss information, I’m going to smack them in the face with a bag of Oreos!!!!!

I just want to love my son and my husband. I want to enjoy my life, and close my eyes at the end of the day, knowing that I’ve done just that. And I do.

I like my life.

Can I stay in this moment forever?

Christmas...A New Understanding

Christmas…

It’s always been my favorite time of the year.

When my parents were blessed with their house, one of my childhood dreams was fulfilled: A fireplace! With the fireplace crackling, and the snow falling outside of the picture window, every Christmas imagination I’d ever had, came true…We had an enormous Christmas tree full of sparkling things, and the world was absolutely perfect.

Christmas with my family is a gift from God.

I remember the first Christmas after Hannah died; as much as it hurts me to think about those memories, it serves to put Christmas in the light it’s meant to be seen through.  Jesus, the Son of Man…the Man Who wept at Lazarus’ grave…

His arms were around me that day, and I know He cried, too…

I cried myself to sleep that day, as my family helplessly stood by…

So many tears were shed in that first…second…third year…

I spent as many nights as possible in our family room, just staring at the fireplace, wishing I were anywhere but in the life that I had. 

David and I had nothing left…

Of course, we had a family that loved us; we had a roof over our heads, and I had a job. The lights stayed on, the cars stayed running, and life carried on

With a huge, missing chunk and an ugly hole in our hearts…

Time keeps ticking, though, and the years have gone by.  I’ve never forgotten that Christmas, though-the Christmas where the grief was so tangible, where the feeling of being abandoned, but of being held, was so strong…It’s very easy for me to go back to that place, and to remember that intensity.

If I could go back to that grieving mother…to that grieving family…and say anything

I don’t think I would.

We were all shaped that Christmas; we were all molded. From the grandmother that felt as if she were watching her children in a burning building of pain; to the mother that felt like her heart had been ripped out; to the father who didn’t know how to handle his wife or his own grief, and only knew to be strong arms; to the sister who saw it all spin helplessly out of control; to the grandfather who had let down his walls to fall in love with a tiny baby, only to see her fly away…

We were all molded and shaped.

We’re all missing that little puzzle piece.

The greatest gift, and the worst gift, I received that Christmas was a pair of earrings that said “#1 Mom.” I literally buried them in my jewelry box.

I wore them on Mother’s Day this year for what I believe is the first time.

Why would I bring this up?

Just as the snow is falling; just as the trees are being lit?

Why would I reintroduce such a sad memory?

Because it’s with me every Christmas.

Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t appreciate.

Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t compare to the most heartbreaking Christmas of my life;

Every time I do, I will rejoice and be thankful that those are days I never have to go through, again.

Every time I think about the Worst Christmas, I will celebrate The Best Christmases of My Life…which is pretty much every one I’ll have from this point, on.

I reminded my mom of my Best Christmas Ever: I was incredibly sick; I’d been sick in my bedroom, and I was miserable. I came down our stairs to find an enormous Sylvester, and a full set of furniture for my dolls. I grabbed Sylvester (and Tweety, naturally); curled up on the couch, and went to sleep.

The site of those amazing toys made me so happy; I still remember the intensity of that emotion, even though it had to be almost 30 years ago.  I can jump right back into that memory, and it still makes me smile….

Because of the hardest Christmas ever, I am afraid to hope for this Christmas. I’m afraid that once I verbalize my dream, it will be snatched away. It’s a struggle I’ve had since before Bug was born. Although I’ve not held back any emotion or love from him, it’s made me not want to verbalize my hopes and dreams for certain things. It’s also made me stomp my foot, stand my ground, and make myself say it anyways. I don’t know how long he has; I don’t know how long I have. I’m increasingly aware that we’re all on a countdown, and God alone knows when it stops. Rather than hide under the fear that keeps us from declaring and from going forward, I’d rather set my face and take my chances…even when I’m scared to death to put my heart out there.

I want to embrace the excitement.

What does he think of this season? I want to see it how he sees it…He laughs as we drive home in the dark, when we pass the houses with all of their lights. He’s fascinated by the sequined tree skirt, by how it catches the light. He wants to touch everything, to feel the textures…and of course, he wants to put EVERYTHING in his mouth.

He’s incredibly active, crawling, touching, standing, picking up, reaching, smacking, slobbering, and the sweetest of all—he’s hugging. The days when I pick him up at the babysitter’s are when it hits me the most, how much he’s grown: He crawls toward me with a big smile, clapping to see my face. This week, he grabbed my ears and pulled my face close to his, so he could bite my nose.

It’s the most beautiful moment of my day.

How could I hold back?

How could I let fear stop me from embracing these moments?

From hoping for a future?

From believing for His plan, for His hope, for His destiny for me? For my child?

How could I let the fear and pain of Christmases past, cloud any of the joy in Christmas today?

I can’t.

I won’t.

I will celebrate this Christmas; I will embrace this season…I AM embracing this season.

I’m finding that like last Christmas (only amplified), that songs about The Child are affecting me deeply. I can’t imagine what Mary went through—no clean hospital, no knowledgeable staff or medications; no ERs or nurses, or even her mother to hold her hand…no sterilization, no clean towels…

Not even a bed, to lay her Newborn in.

“Away in a Manger” has never made me cry before…I can’t even listen to it this year.

How could He bring Himself into this world? “No crib for a bed?”

My son relies on my husband and I for everything—food, shelter, water, love…clean diapers, toys, health.

The Son of God needed someone to change His diaper, to rock Him to sleep…

Did she understand?

He had to learn to walk…to fall down, and bump His head…

To cry…

To be hungry…

To be broken…

How great is our salvation?

I think about my son, and I think about The Son, and I’m stunned…why, oh why, did He do that? How could He? How can He see us as worthy?

How can He see our broken hearts, and our broken messes in life, yet find us worthy of such sacrifice? How can He see our pain, and cry with us? How can He see our joy (compared to what He knows), and laugh with us? How, and why, can He love us?

He became like us…one of us…He knows us from the inside out, and still redeems us…He still gives us hope. He still has faith in us, which is amazing…

It’s the time of year when the whole world sparkles; it’s a season of hope, yet our news is full of people in pain and in sadness.  Celebrating the season doesn’t make the darkness go away…it does remind people of family and tradition, of stories and of imagination, even in the secular world.

For me, it reminds me of childhood…of deep and painful memories…of healing, and most of all, of hope…

My son will most likely not remember his first Christmas.

I, for one, will never, ever forget it…

I have never been more thankful for my Savior, than when I see Him reflected in my own child…I have never appreciated His sacrifice like I do in this moment. This Christmas feels like MY first Christmas…it feels like I’m seeing it through a completely different set of lenses. The emotion of this season is overwhelming…I want to shake people, to ask them if THEY GET IT. Do they SEE it? Do they feel it? When they hear “a Child, a Child, shivers in the cold; let us bring Him silver and gold,” do their hearts break for a King that became helpless? For a King Who cried when He needed His mother’s touch?

He became we…

I know this blog is long…I know I’ve gone on for a long time, but I’m entrenched in this…

It’s not just about Christmas…

It’s about motherhood…about being His Child…about seeing Him in my child…about seeing Him with new eyes, and with a new heart….It’s about realizing His true humility, and the reality of what He did at the beginning of His story on earth…

It’s about rediscovering joy in the midst of heartache, about finding the new with respect to the old…

It’s about believing in the possibility of the unexpected…about declaring that the formerly-impossible is happening.

It’s about the gift of the present…the Presence…

It’s about the celebration of the Sacrifice…how it gives us such Hope, Peace, Joy, Happiness…

Christ is Christmas…no amount of pain or joy can change that.

May this season be one of eyes being opened to the Truth of the holiday…of hearts being broken for Him, and repaired by His love…of Hope for the future, and of Destiny in His grace…May you celebrate The Child and the Sacrifice with true understanding…

May you have the ultimate Joy this season…

Thankful...('Tis the Season?)

Oh, the "thankfulness" trend that strikes Facebook every November! It's almost as if to say, "I'll find something to be thankful for this month...but the other 11 months of the year, I'm using Facebook as my personal barf bag of whine."
(Cynical, Cass? Sheesh, that's sarcastic even for me!)
I'm kidding...mostly! I've been listening to the Bobby Bones show on The Bull, in the morning. It's hilarious-it's a far cry from the political garbage I had been assaulting my brain with, and it keeps me entertained while I'm on the long drive. This morning, he was talking about weird things that people whine about on Facebook, and I so understood!
Disclaimer: I have bronchitis, and I was griping about it yesterday on Facebook. So, I'm totally guilty of this from time-to-time. I'm willing to admit that I will occasionally use Facebook as a soapbox in my pity party. I'm sorry, and I will try to do better.
Bobby Bones talked about how he blocks the chronic complainers, and I had to wonder if that's me? How often do I complain on social media? Even if it's a little bit, it needs to change, right? Especially as a Christian:  "Yeah, everybody! Find Jesus like I did--isn't my life AWESOME?!?!?"
Um, NO.
Fail.
This doesn't mean I'm relinquishing my love of Grumpy Cat...but it definitely means I will be rethinking my posts even more than I already do. And he has me thinking about blocking the feed of the chronic complainers that I know on Facebook...You know, the ones who never say anything good or happy...the ones that criticize everything...the ones that rain on everyone else's parade? It's too awkward to unfriend them, because I know they'd know...So, thanks to Mr. Bones, I'm going to start blocking people that I find depressing. And I'm going to determine more than ever to be the opposite of that. You should WANT to be my friend on Facebook. You should find me uplifting, amusing, and some kind of a testimony, no matter how broken I am. Even broken things can be used as vessels for something.
I usually try to keep it humorous on Facebook, as a rule, because no matter what, life is funny. There's ALWAYS something to laugh at....you just have to look really, really hard to find it, sometimes.
In this season of thankfulness, though, I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. You see, this just might be my favorite holiday (besides Christmas) in spite of the sad memories that go along with it. Thanksgiving, 11/28, marks 7 years since my beautiful princess Hannah passed away. It's been 7 years since we said goodbye, and those memories are never far from my brain.
This Thanksgiving will be the first truly Happy Thanksgiving we've had ever since, and I am so excited to celebrate it. My in-laws throw the conventional celebration (with the best stuffing and Fried Turkey that you could EVER dream of), with too many people in too small of a house...with paper plates, and loud noises, and lots of family. It will be crowded, sweaty, and fun, and I will be chasing my little guy all over the place (he's mobile, and there are stairs).
My  mother will serve an incredible, beautiful feast of Lord-only-knows what. I'm always both shocked and impressed at what makes its way onto her Thanksgiving table...It might be her super-cheesy broccoli noodles, or Hawaiian bread, or Chinese cole slaw--who knows? What stays the same every year is that it is a lovely gathering of the ones who I hold most dear in my life...And I will be chasing my little guy all over the place, in a much larger house that offers many more shiny things for him to crawl toward.
I can't wait to make these memories. I'm so thankful for my families...for my Mom, who takes care of my little guy several days a week...who always takes care of me...who drives me crazy in the best and worst of ways, and who always points me to Jesus...who has taught me more about serving than anyone on this planet...I'm thankful for my Dad, and for his gruffness...for teaching me to stand up for myself, and that you can do anything you set your mind to, if you have the right tools (what are those?!?). I'm thankful for my in-laws, and for their kindness in helping us through difficult financial times...for their willingness to share their blessings with all of their kids, and for never shaming us when we've had to ask for help.
I'm looking forward to this Thanksgiving with such hope and such happiness...there is more to be thankful for in this season than most people know. David and I are changing directions in how we look at need....what do we really "need," and what do we we really "want?" It's a frustrating transition, but it's a necessary one. I'm thankful to have our needs met, and that our wants are honestly, few. We have each other; we have our little miracle guy. We have electricity, running water, and a refrigerator that's full.
Most of all, we have a Lord that has blessed us with His love...with His grace, which is so sufficient. He's blessed us with things like forgiveness, for when we take our griping to a public forum--of course we should do the same (and more often!) with our thankfulness!
I'm so thankful for my family. I'm thankful for the time I get to spend with all of them, and for a little bit of time off of work.
I'm thankful that we are creating new, happy memories to offset some very sad ones...but even those very sad memories have moments of brightness that I still recall, and that I'm grateful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all...I am grateful for my friends who remind me, one way or another, that every day deserves a laugh...
Proverbs 31: "She can laugh at the days to come."
That's true....but sometimes I think there's just as much value in being able to laugh at the days past...

Croup.

I’m totally drowning in ADD today, which should serve as your warning to NOT expect cohesive thoughts in this blog. In fact, I think I’m writing this strictly because I need to get linear.

We had our first illness with JD this week.

For all of the haters out there that expected me to fall apart at the first sign of illness, take a leap. I did just fine. I didn’t overreact and rush my son to the ER; I didn’t hyperventilate or start a prayer chain at 2:00 am. I didn’t even really have too much of an issue with flashbacks.

I’m kind of proud of myself—I embraced the grace, and got it done. I did my “Mom” thing (with a LOT of help from my Mom, who is officially The Wizard).

He started wheezing at 10; I asked David if we should do something. “What would we do?!? Go to bed,” was the groggy response. By midnight, my son was making this horrible, cat-like cry with a barking gasp for air.

Croup.

I googled it at first, because it’s what I thought it was; I took him outside, praying all the while that the cool, night air would help. Nope.

I called the doctor’s exchange, and was connected to the nurse hotline. A very kind, compassionate nurse could hear my poor boy over the phone, and dispatched us to the Emergency Room, where the official diagnosis was given, followed by breathing treatments and steroids. I texted my mother; she and my dad drove the 45 minutes to meet us at the hospital.

I think my parents saved our lives; at the least, they saved our sanity, because we needed them. Everything was starting to feel reminiscent—the ER, the mask, the horrible breathing—my thoughts were becoming attackers, and I needed my mom and dad to reground me.

JD was there for over 4 hours, for observation (they had to watch for reactions to the medication); he was released around 6 am, and we all went back to my house to grab some sleep.

I had my own medical plans for the day; as my appointment that afternoon drew closer, I noticed that Bug’s breathing was starting to sound bad again, so I called the pediatrician. They recommended us to Cardinal Glennon…and that’s where I lost it. Totally.

David was at work; my mom was napping, and it was just me and Dad in the living room. One mention of “Cardinal Glennon,” and my fragile psyche crumbled. I pulled it together when nurse said I could take him to a different hospital that was closer—that was fine; I could handle that. After a second round of a stronger steroid, JD responded incredibly well, and we came home to baby that was much more like my little guy.  He’s still raspy; we have 5 days before this virus gets out of his system. But, he’s playing, eating, and doing what he’s supposed to do, so I’m happy with that…

Anyway, while my mom stayed with us a few days, he did really well; last night, I think he had a bad night, and it took me hours to get him back to sleep. As I write this from my sleep-deprived-and-Starbucks-fueled brain, I can’t help but reflect on the sheer panic that went through me at the mention of Glennon. I mean, it wasn’t even rational; it was a total flashback/PTSD moment that was crippling. Seeing your child so miserable really does rip your heart out. It’s a terrible, horrible feeling of helpless hell.

I know we aren’t guaranteed a perfect life. We will encounter illness, owies, bumps, bruises, and potentially, breaks (with a boy, that’s pretty much guaranteed). I don’t think that JD is the one who’s going to need to toughen up…

Pretty sure that’s going to be me.

Christmas Catalogs and Margaritas...

This blog started as a reflection of how I spent my late daughter’s birthday, but as I started to write it, it transitioned. 

I’m not going to lie—I’ve been struggling lately. Church is the last place I want to be, even though I really like it. I don’t want to hug, or smile, or act like I’m fine; in fact, if you want the God-honest truth, what I really want is a night out with some girlfriends and some margaritas (and a cab). It’s not like me to want a drink…okay, multiple drinks…But lately, it’s not too far from my mind. I’m feeling overwhelmed, and a little misunderstood by those closest to me. It’s okay—they don’t have to understand me. I feel more alone than I should, but that’s because I’m not telling key people how I really feel. And it’s not like I want to dissolve into tears or anything (I can neither confirm nor deny that’s happened over the past few days) I don’t WANT to share how I feel…I want to hide in a corner—but I can’t, and that’s a good thing.

I have work to do…

And I have smiles waiting for me when I get home, that make me get my game face on and do what needs to be done.

After all—I’m a woman. Isn’t that what we always do?

The world can fall apart, but we will put our makeup on, and put our high heels forward. Our backs hurt; our feet hurt, and our head is splitting, but darn it, our kids are clean, the laundry’s done, and there’s money in the checking account (although Lord knows it’s not there for long). 

I have so much respect for my mother—she did it all, and she had to feel like she was stuck in the middle of a tornado.

I know I do.

How it’s possible, to have such joy co-habitating in my heart with such temporary sadness, I don’t know. I know that I don’t focus on the sad parts too much; going to the cemetery on Hannah’s birthday was certainly a help, but it’s not easy.

There is more in this world that tells you you’re a terrible parent, than tells you you’re a wonderful parent…which just means there’s more in this world for me to ignore, because I’m doing my best.

Looking at the toy catalogs for this this year, I looked at Bug and shook my head: How in the world can I possibly give him his best life, when I know good and darn well that he’s going to grow up on Aldis and Target?!?

For just a few minutes, the room started to spin; then my Mama put me back in my place.

No, I can’t afford the fancy diapers or the name-brand formula.

Yes, I have mostly-second-hand cloth diapers that I use in conjunction with off-brand diapers and off-brand formula on my child that is dressed in clothes from Goodwill (as am I).

Yes, I drive a 15-year old car that has more cosmetic damage than I do.

No, I don’t go to fancy restaurants or even to the movies.

No, I don’t have cable.

My child will not be growing up with a Playstation or his own smartphone.  Our world is not one of organic, grass-fed Whole Foods steaks…Our world is one of Wal-Mart discounts and coupons, and maybe if you’re lucky, breakfast at Bread Co. or lunch at Crazy Bowls ($6! Yeah!).

As much as I want to give my son the world on a silver platter, it’s going to be a simple life..  

He’s not the only one that has to be happy with that—I have to be happy with that. Not only do I have to be happy with that; I have to be at peace with knowing that I am a good parent even though my child doesn’t have his own iPad (Heck, I don’t even have my own iPad! Full disclaimer: I have a Nook.). I’m not giving a toddler a $600 piece of electronic equipment to call his own, and I am not afraid to sit here and call that foolishness. JD is going to have to be happy with the toys that he has, and I am going to have to be happy believing that it’s not the toys that help him learn; it’s my interaction with him.

My fear is that our not buying him the coolest electronic toys will cause him to not be as technologically advanced as other kids his age, when he starts school…but I have to think that those kids that are exposed to that level of neuro-affecting electronics are probably at a higher risk of ADHD, so I’m probably on the right track.

I have to take every fear I have—even the silly ones—and give them to the Lord. I have to counter the fears and falsehoods with His truth and His reality. I have to take the sad moments, the moments when I look at our life with JD, and wonder how Hannah would have changed it, and I have to give those moments to Him before they wreck my world. I can’t sit here and dwell on them, because then I will become just as stuck as Lot’s wife.

I have to trust God.

I have to trust Him with everything from our dwindling bank accounts, to JD’s education and future, to my marriage, my car, and my job. I have to do what I do for Him, because I trust Him to take it and make it into something beautiful.

This is not the life I planned for me, but this is the life that I have.

And this is the life that I love.

I’m in a rough patch (man, those margaritas sound awesome), and even at its worst, I know it’s only temporary. I’ll be on the other side of it soon.

But even if it takes me a while to cross through, I know it will be okay.

God is still God; I am still not; and the world is so much better for that…

When I walk in my front door, I know that a few things will happen, no matter how awful the moment/day/week: JD will smile his beautiful, teething grin when he sees me. The dog will bounce and wag her tail, in a showing of total happiness.

The roof will still be over our heads, and the lights will still be on; there will still be food in the refrigerator, and the fact that it’s not name-brand organic food will not stop it from being delicious.

My son will drink his non-name-brand formula, and my dog will eat her name-brand dog food; I will wear my 5 year-old nightgown and drink water instead of wine.

We’ll watch Netflix  instead of cable, and we’ll enjoy one of the few expenses we  haven’t cut: wi-fi. We’ll talk about our day, and we’ll chase our son, and when we go to bed, we’ll thank the Lord that we’ve survived another work week.

And in my home that will never keep up with the Jones,’ we will fall asleep in a house that is rooted in Christ, and is full of love.

That, my friends, is happiness.