Diary of a Colonoscopy

(Excerpts from a diary of a colonoscopy by Kailan. Dated April 2-4th, 2016)

Day 1: Saturday
5:00pm- I’m nervous. A little freaked out that I won’t be eating anything solid until Monday night. But mostly just nervous. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I know it's wrong to self talk that way, but I'm unable to change it right now! What will the drink taste like? Will it be poisonous? Will the procedure hurt? What if I wake up? So many questions!

6:23pm- Oh man. Dinner smells good….. But luckily I was smart enough to eat a very late lunch so that I wouldn’t be starving quite yet. So…. The smell is only mildly tempting. ((sigh))

7:41pm- I had my first liquid meal of jello. Green was alright. Orange left a weird chemical taste in my mouth. Ew. Red and purple are my favorite but I can't have those colors with this procedure. Nerve pain is trying to creep in. Hope it stays at bay.

9:16pm- I’m hungry! I want food! ……. And more jello goes in…

11:02pm- My stomach is talking crazy. My anxiety is a little high. Lord, help me not to feel how hungry I am in the morning. Nervous about drinking that stuff tomorrow.

Day 2: Sunday 
7:30am- Shit! I just started my period. That’s a nice little nugget of SITUATION!!! Lord, give me strength. Lord, give me strength.

8:36am- Tried to drink broth. Yuck! Now I feel like I’m legit sick and need “the sick diet.” Maybe that’s a good thing? Ugh. This is going to be a long day. Can you live off jello? I don’t feel well. Nerves are starting to rise. Must find my happy place. Therapist’s orders.

10:06am- Skipped church and started “X-Files” marathon. Watching for the first time. Eating more jello and drinking ginger ale. Oh…. I love you ginger ale.

2:55pm - Must have taken a little nap. Had to get up from bed and break from my marathon to go to my family’s Easter dinner….. This ought to be fun. (and the universe’s way to playing a cruel joke on me) Feeling weak and tired. My fatigue is setting in majorly. Tinge headache still. I’m crossing over from hungry to a little nauseous already.

3:40pm- Distractions galore!! The house smells heavenly of roast and potatoes and carrots. Baby cuddles with my nephews. Seeing faces I haven’t seen in so long due to distance and me being so sick all the time. Glad I dragged my butt out for this. My mom hid chocolate bunnies around the house for all of us. She hid jello jigglers for me though. Thanks momma. It was great. They were good.

6:31pm- Heading back home to the “Devil’s drink” and no, I’m not talking about sweet liquor. Although I wish I was. I’m talking about the stuff that’s gonna make me poo until I’m all cleaned out and can’t poo anymore. I think I’m more nervous about getting all that down than anything.

7:00pm- I did it! 8 ounces of the stuff. Little salty and a touch of milk of magnesium taste to it. It’s unflavored. Not as awful as I thought it would be. Phew! Ok. I can do this. 8 ounces down and the rest of the 4 liters to go!

7:30pm- Second 8 ounces down!

7:32pm- SHIIIIIKSTER!!! I just pooped my pants!!! This stuff is going straight through me!! Holy cow!!! Glad I’m home!! :/

7:45pm- Thanks to a “gag cake” made out of Depends for my father-in-law’s birthday, I now have diapers to wear! They aren’t very comfortable but now I feel a whole lot safer!

8:00-8:40pm- Chilling in the bathroom. It was like sporadically turning a faucet on and off. Ugh.. Pure liquid going in and coming out.

8:45pm- Back to bed, continuing with the X-Files marathon. On edge for when I have to jump back up to the bathroom. Headache meds kicking in though. That’s good.

Day 3: Monday- 
1:00am – woke up. Need to poop again!

7:16am- To the bathroom. I had a decent sleep. Thanks to my antihistamine I take. Feeling drained... pun intended.

8:18am- Back to “the drink.” It's what's for “Breakfast!” Ugh.. Bon appetite!

11:15am- More pooping liquid and officially done drinking anything. On an official fast from everything before the procedure, even water and "the drink." My bottom is sooooo sore and I’m still going to the bathroom. I need this part to be done.

1:17pm- Starving!!! But thankfully, the pooping has slowed way down. Phew!

1:54pm- On the way to the hospital. Husband is talking to me. I have no idea what he’s talking about because my head is all about this procedure. He’s like an energizer bunny. Crap. I just nodded as if I’m paying attention. I’m a horrible bitch wife.

2:15pm- All checked in. You gotta be kidding me?! They want me to pee because they need confirmation I’m not pregnant. I’m so dehydrated. And so angry at this ridiculous principle.

2:30pm- IV started. Warm blankets. Watched Reba on TV. I love her. Then finally I was able to pee for them. We had a mini celebration about that. Oh….. and I’m not pregnant. Smh.

3ish- Cold. Scary. O.R. room. Laid down on my back with tons of warm blankets. Oxygen in my nose. All these wires and leads on me. Big scary equipment all around. I keep wondering what they are going to use on me and what they will do to me! I was shaking so bad and I couldn’t stop. Talked with the doctor who is going to put a hose up my butt. He explained what was going to happen, you know... how he was going to put a hose up my butt. And we talked about my history with my dad dying of colon cancer at age 39. (Ah! All the emotional trauma is welling up inside me!) Chrohns disease on my mom’s side. The nurse came to me as I started getting teary eyed. I told her I was just so nervous and scared and that all of this was so intimidating. She said I should feel the drugs kick in soon.

Then I woke up! And my husband was right beside me. I was completely relaxed and warm. The shakes were completely gone, it was like I was floating on a cloud. Aaahhhhhh……
The doc came in and gave us the good news of no Chrohn’s or polyps or cancer. And everything looked really healthy! I heard the words, "pink." So relieved!!! I wasn’t forced to fart (apparently that's due to a recent change in what they give you during the procedure), so the nurse unhooked everything and I was wheeled out because my body was not quite in my control yet from the sedation.

4:50pm I stepped into my home and sighed a relief that I am healthy down/in there and I did it and it’s done!! It’s done!!! Thank you Lord!!

4:45pm Stuffing my face with leftover Easter dinner!!! And it was good! And still feeling pretty relaxed and great! My butt's not even sore! It's like they didn't do a thing!

.... or did they?

Elora, The Therapy Puppy

 If you follow me on facebook, you know that my puppy broke her hip. If you don't, now you know my puppy broke her hip. I have not officially introduced my puppy to my actual blog, so I will do so now.

We had decided 6 months ago that I needed a therapy dog. Being chronically ill and having chronic pain can be very isolating. I also deal with depression, anxiety and PTSD that I takes meds and am in therapy for. Having a therapy dog brings joy to those that are hurting, no matter the hurt. So it's been on our radar to keep our eyes open for a dog once we settled in our new house this last spring.

My sister's dog had puppies. Thee cutest puppies you've ever seen. She spotted one especially that she wanted our family to have. She was near and dear to my sister, but also very sweet. At first, I was hesitant because everyone knows puppies are work! But I do have 5 kids at home to help out when I can't do it, so I tested them with the job of helping me potty train my 2 and 4 year old and well.... by the time the puppy was 8 weeks and ready for a home, she came home to us and now I don't have to buy nearly as many diapers! woohoo!

Elora Dannon (Wing)

We named our puppy Elora Dannon (Wing). (for all the cool folks, that names from Willow. It's so fun to call out, "Elora.... Elora Dannon!" and have this sweet little puppy come running to you) She had so much energy, we thought she'd favor the kids. Not so! She's so attached to me. She goes where ever I go, unless there's paper products on the floor to get to, of course. I'm in pain in some kind of way every day, so to have her next to me, or on me cuddling close, or curled around my head at night, I've been brought so much joy by her presence. Her and I have bonded quicker than I thought was possible and she has been a great therapy puppy.

Well. Yesterday afternoon, my 2 year Ruth (-less Honey Badger), was carrying her around and fell. Ruth is fine, but Elora was not. I knew something was terribly wrong with the way she wouldn't stop crying and then limping off a particular leg. We took her into the Pet ER and xrays showed that her hip has a clean break! My heart sunk and I started bawling even more. (I had of course, been crying on and off this whole time) He said that if we didn't have the surgery, she would have life-long severe chronic pain, with the possibility of losing her leg eventually. He said, with surgery, she wouldn't be 100% but she would be almost that, learn to walk on her leg again and live a long happy life. I remember hearing the words, "She won't ever be 100% but she will be close" and thinking... 'What two peas in a pod her and I are now. Both unable to achieve 100% but can get as close as we can.'

This is her right hind hip that has a clean break. 

How much for the surgery? $2000! I heard the words surgery and knew it was gonna be bad. We are a one income family, so you can imagine the impossibility for us to have that kind of money, let alone spend it on a pet. But Elora was so special and she is such a perfect little therapy dog for me, my husband right away declared, "We are not giving up on her!" I was so happy to hear those words, but how were we gonna do it? The sweet receptionists at the pet hospital encouraged us to start a "Go Fund Me" page for her surgery. With all the more serious things I've gone through in life, I felt so silly doing a "go fund me" page for a puppy. My heart was so torn and I couldn't stop crying, even in front of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist said, "You gotta swallow your pride and try." So we went home with pain meds to keep her comfortable, to give us a couple days to come up with the money and started a "Go Fund Me" page. In less than 24 hours, we are just a couple hundred dollars away from meeting that goal to afford her surgery. All these people came together for Elora and for me and my family, to be able to give her a good life, and allow me to keep my therapy dog.

I can't even begin to explain how humbled and grateful I am that so many care enough to help and that with many people doing just a little bit (some of you a lot!), it makes the greatest impact. I am overwhelmed.

Although I am so glad to be able to get this surgery done for her, I am still broken about how much pain she has and that this happened at all. My heart hurts for her. We are able to keep her comfortable in the mean time, but it just rips at my heart. It has taken a big toll on me emotionally, which effects my CFS/fibro. Her spirit, though, has lifted me still even with her own broken hip. She still wags her tail when she sees someone she wants attention from. She still gives kisses to everyone, even the Ruth-less Honey Badger who got her into this mess. She still rolls over on her belly to have it rubbed. Her spirit has been motivating and inspiring to me, to say the least. It's amazing what these therapy dogs do for people in need of them. They are so noble and loyal. If you suffer with any form of sickness or pain, especially mental illnesses too, consider a therapy dog. They are so healing in so many ways.

Now I commence cute pictures of her below! Enjoy! And Thank you again, for those that have contributed to our fund for her surgery. Tears in my eyes, thank you so much!

(if you wish to help us with the last bit of our goal go to our page here and donate!)

Yoga with Elora. 

My 6 year old has a favored calm spirit. 

Every night and morning. At my head. 

Ruth-less Honey Badger with Elora. They do love each other. 

I wake up every morning with her next to my head. Every. Morning. Love it.

Bad morning. Loving puppy cuddles. 

She lets us cradle her often. Such a baby. :) 

follows me everywhere. 

Me, passed out on the couch with a mother migraine. Her passed out next to me. 

More migraines, the cuddles never stop. Seriously love her. 

Depression: I stopped making my bed...

I stopped making my bed...



Depression.

An old friend. Sometimes she visits when I expect her to. A situation may call for her and she’ll be there, faithfully by my side. And I’m okay that.

Then there’s the times when I’m feeling okay for the most part. Everything is as well as to be expected. I’m not having a horrible day, but then I can’t quite peg why it’s not necessarily a good day either. I call it a funk. But it’s her. She’s there. Depression.

I can’t answer why. She’s just there. Doesn’t even knock to come in. She just walks through the door. Most times, I don’t even hear her come in. She’s pretty sly.

But when she does come, she’s the only company I can handle. There’s the lucky lucky few that can dwell in my bubble when she’s with me. The words that go through my mind when she’s around are:

Small. Burden. Unworthy. Unloved. Despair. Alone. Out of Control. Ghost. Unable. Cold. Numb. Self-directed anger. Anxiety. Conspiracies. Forgotten. 

The other night I went to bed fully aware I was depressed. Then in my despair, I noticed my blankets. I then realized it had been so many days since I stopped making my bed. It snuck up on me. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal. For the most part it IS truly a small thing. But what it translated to me was that little red flag that she was stepping over that threshold from my mind (something I can't control) to my heart (something I'm able to control better). A while ago, I started making my bed. It became a goal, that thing in the morning I could do. No matter my pain or fatigue, I could make my bed. It gave me that little piece of my humanity back; to get me through the day. So when I went back to bed completely drained and in pain, fatigued or feeling horrible and defeated (no matter the time of day), my bed was still made. I had done that with my own hands. “Kailan was here,” it whispers to me. And it comforts me.

So when I realized my bed had been neglected, I resolved to make sure that I make my bed in the morning. And I did. I took that piece back.

It doesn’t make the depression go away. She’s much too stubborn, I can't stop her from coming. But she understands she is not wanted. 

And that’s where I want her.

"I have no promise of tomorrow."

Matthew 6:34  "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Proverbs 27:1 "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring."

"I have no promise of tomorrow."

I say that all the time these days. Usually when I say it, I mean: "I'm feeling ok right now, and I may wake up tomorrow feeling debilitated. So if we are going to do this, we need to do it today." 

Of course this mentality only gets me so far when I must force myself to pace because I can only go so far and use so much energy. But God knows I try to do many things I shouldn't. I pay for it in the end, but I pay for it regardless. I boom and bust (good days and bad days) no matter my tactics for trying to ease off the extremes. Trying to create a balance that's more like the Lady Bug kiddie roller coaster, and UN-like the Dragon. But I'm kinda stuck on that Dragon right now. 

Those verses at the top have been a natural presence that drives my decisions about my life these days. I used to not have to think about these verses. I knew of them, and always thought they were nice verses, but now? Now, whether or not I'm going to embrace this moment of health with my children and husband or friends and family, or go out and get [this] done hangs on the balance of this very rationale. "I have no promise of tomorrow." "I don't know what tomorrow is going to be like."

It's amazing how different I see things; now that I'm ill. I watched a documentary that's on Netflix called Beautiful Broken Mind.  Lotje Sodderland, talking about her experience after having a stroke, said that she now has all this pain and frustration with having to relearn certain things she could do easily before, but then she explains that she experiences a whole other side to the world that she couldn't even hardly explain how beautiful it was. 

When I was listening to her speak about it, even though our stories are very different, I could relate to what she was explaining. 

That paradox. 

It sucks that I'm in pain most of the time. It sucks that so many of my days are spent on the couch or in bed because I can't do anything else. The quantity of mommy time and wife/husband time is diminished. I have lost friends, even though they mean well, I'm just a hard friend to have around right now. It sucks that I don't have any promise of tomorrow. 

But...

It's beautiful that I am forced to live in today. Most of the time, I can't even see past today because I can't process it. And that's ok with me. I'm sure it drives everyone around me crazy (Ha). And when I am "here" and have my good days, they are my GREAT days with my kids and husband (who get the best of me) and friends and family. I feel a high from being well enough to do things like walk through a store or do some housework or get behind the wheel of our minivan!! (that's a rare moment for sure!)

It's a very euphoric feeling. Feeling human. But enjoying being human

IN THIS DAY. 

I wish I could explain it better, 

but I can't. 

When I Fell and Couldn't Get Back Up: Chronic Illness

How do I explain what's happening to me?

Last July (2014), I fell sick. And never recovered. How do I convey to you, the hell I'm going through?

I lay in bed most days, most hours and watch the world go by.... without me. How do I explain my grief?

Sometimes the pressure and pain and the heavy fatigue is so great that I stare off, listening to my heart pounding and the sound of my breathing, waiting for my last breath to take me away from it all. How do I put into words my despair?

This has changed me. It's changed my husband. Planning things is like trying to write on wet paper. There's a dry piece with Plan B on it. How do I explain my guilt?

I watch my husband come home from his stressful job to taking care of our 5 kids at home, cooking, cleaning.... things that were my job. I am so dependent on him. How do I explain this helplessness?

I'm fortunate to have found a doctor that believes me, even though when I tell him my concerns for worsening symptoms, his response is "unfortunately, this is part of the disease." No answers. Not enough research out there to tell me why I'm, all of the sudden, living in this hell when I was a healthy young woman, excited about turning 30. I'm trapped in a young body that is giving out like an elderly person. How do I say how lost and alone I feel?

I am also fortunate to have friends and family that will lay next to me when they know I can't come to them. Every time I look at my husband, I cry because my dad was right.... I have never felt more loved than I do right now. Those that take me seriously, when they are near me, I hear God whispering in my ear, "See? I haven't left you."  How can I begin to explain that kind of comfort?

But when people look at me, they don't always see a sick person. They hear me speak somewhat coherently and hear me lecture my kids, and flirt with my husband and laugh at jokes, assuming that I'm not sick. They say my 5 kids at home is the answer to my "tiredness." How do I even begin to rant about how offensive and suffocating that can be?

I've had to give up so many things. Things I can't physically or mentally do anymore. My kids watch me in disappointment, too young to be satisfied with my best efforts to care for and love them. I can only hope they will grow up someday, remembering all the times I still held them when they cried and understand that I tried my best to be there and maybe they'll excuse me and forgive the disease.   Injustice. It's like a thief, it has stolen a presence.

I have been diagnosed with SEID (systemic exertion intolerance disease, formerly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and Fibromyalgia. The most recent diagnosis is Hashimoto's (auto-immune) Disease. Everyone is unique in their symptoms, diagnosis cocktail, and finding their recoveries, that is if they ever do find it. No two are alike. But it's still good company to talk with someone that's going through hell similar to my own. Not a day goes by without thinking about my illness. It's like a chain that's always making my skin bleed, never allowing me even a full day to heal.

I can't even cry my eyes out without pain and pressure shooting through my head.



It is very hard to focus enough to write, so you won't be hearing as much from me here as often as I used to write. I've been put on pause, for the most part, until we can figure out a recovery plan that works for me, if there is one out there. If you know someone with "a chronic illness that you can't see", hug them gently and take them seriously. Talk with them. Respect the boundaries of their disease and help any way you can. Those are the characteristics of the most helpful, supportive people in my life right now.

Value is in the Heart of the Beholder

With spring around the corner, I got this itch to get ahead on some spring cleaning. Leaning along the wall in my bedroom, in vertical stacks, are old frames that I've kept safe for years. I finally decided to move them. Looking at each picture made me reminisce about old times, good times. Then I found "the Jesus picture." Normally, I'm creeped out by "Jesus pictures" but not this one. Since I was a little girl, I've always loved this one. Simple. Drawn with pencil or charcoal, I could never tell. It was always calming to me because the face reminded me of my dad. In fact, when I was little, I remember asking him if it was him. There wasn't a time where I'd pass this picture and not gaze at it and appreciate the artist. Even if it was just seconds, my eyes would lock on it all the time. My mom told me that the picture (with the frame) were bought at a garage sale in Dallas Center 40+ years ago, by my grandparents.

 Wiping away the dust off this old frame that I've kept for my mom the last few years, I picked it up. And in one fell swoop, the back came off, the picture and glass starting falling out as well, and here I was trying to piece it all back together. "Who's bright idea was it to tape the back of this frame?" I thought.

back of the frame. Yep. That's paneling taped to the back.  

I didn't think anything of the blank extra paper that was in there, assuming it was a typical backing piece of paper for the integrity of the picture. But then, the color struck me. "That looks old... really old." I thought.

the "old paper" I first saw. 

My curiosity, as always, got the better of me. I wanted to pick it up, touch it, and see what kind of design may have been on the other side, if anything at all.

I carefully fished it out of the framing. I quickly saw the other side was a type of document. I read the words at the top, "Guthrie County High School at Panora, IA"

"Cool! It's local!" I thought to myself. I saw the name "Mary E. Whisler." It was a high school diploma. I didn't recognize the name at all, but then my eyes scrolled down the document and then I locked in on the date.

"May 13th, of 1887"

Can we just take a moment and do this?....        "!!!!!!!!!"

"Guthrie County High School, at Panora, Iowa. To the Friends of Public Education, Greeting:
Be it known, that Mary E. Whisler has completed the Classical Course of Study prescribed for the Guthrie County High School, and is therefore certified to receive this Diploma. In Testimony, Whereof, the names of the Offices of the Board of Trustees, and the name of the Principal of the Guthrie County High School are hereunto subscribed this 13 day of May 1887." Signed Principal Ray and two Trustees (that I can't for sure make out there names). 

Almost instantly, my fingers were tingling with excitement, very aware of the sensation of aged paper. I've never held paper this old in my hands before. I put it back down carefully and yelled for my husband who was in the shower. He couldn't hear me. My children came into my room wondering what all the excitement was about. I explained to them this precious document, trying to help them understand how old it was. I told them, "America was only 100 years old when this diploma was made!" My ten year old son's eye grew wide, matching my excitement. Then I couldn't wait any longer, "Joshua! (my husband) Get out of the shower! You've got to see what I found!" Oh, the sweet man. He got out quickly and I watched as his face brightened with enthusiasm. We all dolled over the document, taking in all it's age. My husband got to work on the internet to find the name. I contacted my mom and aunt to see if they knew the name. They didn't but called all sorts of family/friends to help figure it out. I remember sitting there with the document laid out before me, just staring at it. Touching it delicately, like you would a painting. And then, I bent down and yes.... I smelled it. Several times. That old rich scent of wood and paper surged through my senses, making my imagination go wild with what life was like for Mary E. Whisler to achieve her high school diploma, likely dressed in those huge beautiful dresses I see in the old Jane Austen movies. This was exciting.

But I didn't know what to do with it. Surely there was a family or a museum that would love a document like this. It survived so well in this old frame with the back taped. (seriously, who's idea was that?)

I found another big frame, in much better shape, and re-framed the diploma to keep it safe. I gave it to my mom and we agreed her the task of finding out where it would best be given. A former boss of my mom's,  Lynnea Andersen, who is originally from Panora, helped Mom find more information. Lynnea called her dad and he gave them names and numbers of the family members of Mary E. Whisler. Mom talked to the only 2 living relatives of Mary and it was agreed that the best place for the diploma was at the Panora Museum.

I can't wait to visit the museum and see that very document that I found, and held, and yes, even sniffed, waiting for the world to enjoy it.


Special thanks to: (my mom) Linda Ruppert, (my aunt) Carmen Cratty, Lynnea Andersen, her father, Mary E. Whisler's family members, and the Panora Museum for taking special care of it from here on out.

My "Lost" Girl

photo by Tesh, my 5 year old

I was doing some yard work this last weekend.... I know.... shocker.... anywho... it was finally nice outside and a lovely city animal helped itself to our trash can, breaking open a trash bag and making it rain trash all over the yard. While the hubs was gone running, I decided it would be good to get out of the house and pick up some trash! :D Yay!

Only 2 kids came outside with me. My 3 and 5 year old. They were having a blast! (and by blast I mean, bickering every 2 min. over the swings and something about where the umbrella was on the slide.... I quit listening to specifics after a while... anywho... ) As they played in the back yard, I was minding my own drama free business, with my gorgeous grocery sack in hand, picking up glorious amounts of trash around the yard. This animal must have been taking some anger out with all this trash. Good night! I walked around the house, slipping out of sight, looking for stragglers from the wind blown consequences and faithfully found more. I could hear the laughter and bickering and laughter and bickering coming from the backyard, all pleasant noises telling me exactly what they are doing, where they are in the yard, all that good stuff. I moved to the front, still being able to hear them and determined to get this yard clean. Thankfully, there wasn't too much in the front... how embarrassing right? (let's keep all that in the back... shall we? at least the animal had that much respect ;)

So I come around to the other side of the house, still out of sight, all the same playful bliss noise coming from the back. As I scrape across the driveway, inching my way back to the original crime scene where our garbage cans are I'm thinking, "Man! We use a lot of paper towels." Then I hear my 5 year old yelling,

"Mom? Mom?!.... Mom!! ... Mom!!" I stepped back into sight, "Hey sweetie! I'm here!"

"We were lost! We were lost and I couldn't find you. We were lost!" she exclaimed.

"You weren't lost, silly girl!" Yes, I chuckled, we have a small yard and there's no way to get lost. "You never were lost." I tried to explain, she cut me off -

"No, we were lost! We were!"

 "I knew where you were this whole time. I just went around the house. You couldn't see me, but I heard you the whole time, and came to you because I knew right where you were. That is not lost. You were just scared because you couldn't see me."

the "lost" girl

She finally conceded.... I think... she at least dropped the argument anyway. So when she's 16 and she tells the world that I "lost" her when she was 5, She is totally lying!!! ehem... misunderstood... moving on...

But that made me think. That whole encounter. Her brain fascinates me, but is it not true of us as adults when we think about God and whether or not He's absent based on our feelings/fears/confidence/etc.? I wonder if God chuckles when we argue are "lost-ness" or their lost-ness. (when I say my made up word "lost-ness", it reminds me of the Loch Ness monster which has nothing to do with this post.)

Why do we even use that word when speaking about such things?    "lost"

Maybe I'm arguing semantics but I know when I feel "lost", I'm swelled with fear and anxiety. I know God cares for me, and that He loves me and that I am His...But I can't "see" Him. I can't always feel Him....  But I do know He'll always know right where I am. He never does lose me.  

It's simply impossible. 

Snow White is Right!

Corrodi-Schneewittli 1866/67

Our family has been binge watching Once Upon a Time, TV series. If you don't know what binge watching is, it's when you have Netflix and you wait forever for your favorite series of shows to appear for instant streaming (a whole season) and when it does, you eat, sleep, and breathe that series until it's over. It's a little sad, I admit, but most, if not all Netflix consumers do it.

There was a particular episode that stood out to me that a little voice inside my head said, "Yes. You need to write about that." It was so encouraging. Even my husband who must have been creeping on my face said, "The look on your face is priceless." -meaning... I had the cheesy, feel good smile on my face as I watched Snow White talk to her Prince Charming. Snow White said,

"How could I bring something good into a world when there was always something bad out there.... But Regina (the evil queen) will always be a problem. If not her, there will be someone or something else. There will always be something else. We can't let it define us. We have to find the good moments in between all the bad ones." 

Preach it, girl!

It is so easy to look at all the bad things in life and make that your center focus of "how your life goes." I sat with my counselor last week and listed off all the things I've been through. I spoke mostly on the bad stuff, (which is essentially part of why I'm there) but I barely mentioned the good stuff. You know... the fact that I have the best husband in the world, or about each and every one of my successful birthing stories, or that I'm blessed to be able to be home and home school, none of that. I mean, I mentioned them quickly, "Yeah, I have 5 kids at home and home school.... but but but... then THIS happened.." and the list went on.

It's so easy to get so boggled down with all the bad stuff and let it paralyze you. (and yes, I'm talking to myself now as well) It reminds me of the story of the elephant with the string wrapped around it's ankle. When they are babies, their trainers will chain them to a post strong enough to hold them. They'll struggle and struggle to get away and can't. Then as they grow, the chain slowly evolves into a simple string. All it takes is to feel that material around their ankle when they move to remind them that they are stuck and they give up, when in fact, it will take the slightest effort for them to break away.

That's what I mean by paralyzed. By fear of all the bad things that keep happening, there comes a point where one just gives up and gives in to it. "I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears." * It wraps you up like a blanket, ailing you further as times go on without your awesomeness.

When will it stop? When you choose to listen to Snow White.

Yes. Bad things happen to all people, good and bad. We all have a rough go of it. But the beauty that you are truly defined by lies within those moments in between. Counting the blessings you do have. Nurturing the friendships you do have. Raising the children you do have. Serving the community you do have. Breathing while you have breath. Speaking while you have words. Loving because you are human.

If you are waiting for your life to stop having bad moments in order to start enjoying the good things, you are missing the point. You must steal back your time. Seek out the good. Even if it's just for a moment depending on the season, seek it out. It does not come easy to do this. It's hard for some of us. Ask your closest lighthearted friend to help you. But you must walk, when you can because you can.

And because you. are. awesome.






* Psalm 6:6

Oh The Thinks We Can Think: Heed, Allow, or Die.

When I was a teenager, there was this really bad snow storm. I was new to the driving world at the ripe age of 16. I had my 14 year old brothers in the car with me too. Everyone who knows me knows that I’m a timid driver. As a public service, I actually stay off the roads when it snows. However, this particular day, I had no choice. School wouldn’t cancel. I drove slowly that morning and got there safely. As the day progressed the storm got worse and schools finally started letting students out early. “Beautiful” I thought, “How caring of them to let us go home during the worst part of the storm!”

There is a main road just outside of the school. The speed limit was 55 but I went as slow as I desired. I couldn’t see all that well either with the wind blowing so hard. The stop light up ahead was shining red with a couple cars in front of me, so I started braking to slow down to a stop.

My car didn’t stop. I think it went faster. Within seconds, my eyes wide, I approached the car in front of me.

I slammed into that SUV with my little Dodge Shadow and the air bag slapped my cold face. I could taste that awful dust that was flying through the air as I tried to regain composure. I wanted to cry, but I looked at my scared brothers to see if they were ok so I tried to stay calm. I think I remember us arguing a little about what just happened.

A teacher jumped out of that SUV. “Oh great!” I thought. “I hit a teacher!”

As she marched over to me, I could see from behind me the cop car from the school security pulling over. Through the rear view mirror, I watched him step out of his car, slam the door shut, and slip on the ice. He held on to his car for support. That actually made me feel better. I wasn’t alone in the turmoils of this storm.

I finally got out of the car, carefully of course. There was still traffic trying to navigate it’s way through the intersection. We all stood on the other side of our cars, away from the road, while I retold my story about what happened. I was in shock as I looked at my car that was clearly totaled. 

Within minutes there was another car that started skidding on the ice towards the stop light. I remember seeing the driver who was this elderly lady with this desperate look on her face. At this point, my hearing went deaf and everything seemed to go in slow motion. I remember watching her try to regain control of her vehicle when a semi-truck started coming in from behind her. You could tell he was trying to slow down, trying not to hit her. As he tried to slow, he started to skid, bringing the back end cargo sliding closer to my car. I stood there. My jaw dropped and I froze. The cargo got closer and closer to me and then finally I realized people are screaming. But I didn’t know what they were screaming. I remained frozen, eyes fixed on the cargo, and my hearing remained muffled with shock. Then out of nowhere, the very teacher I hit with my car, grabbed me from behind and pulled me back several feet, “Get out of the way!” I could finally hear her clearly.

Thankfully, the cargo stopped just a couple feet away from my car. No one got hurt. They all sorted out and drove on. Crazy.

I don’t even remember details right after that. I don’t remember how I got home. I just know I got home with my brothers, safe and sound, my face still red from that airbag. And oh the stories we were telling Mom when we saw her. (this was, of course, before everyone had cell phones)


Have you ever had times in your life, when everything comes to an abrupt stop. It leaves you vulnerable. No one can tell what’s going on in your head. Are you ok? Are you hurt? Can you hear? See? Do you even know your own condition? The dominos could fall just right that could end you. Maybe you can hear the whispers of warning. Maybe not. Maybe then is when another person, another soul, comes and grabs you from behind in haste and pulls you away from danger, shouting your name.

That is humanity at it’s finest.

That is the hand of the Almighty working through the church.

But one of three things will happen in these scenarios:

1. You will heed the whispers and get help for yourself.

2. You will ignore the whispers, but allow the force of a friend (or many) to help you get help. And then you will look back and remember, “oh yeah… there were whispers….”

3. Death. Either physical or mental, but if mentally, the physical is always around the corner.

*If you are reading this and you have witnessed someone go down number 3, as I have witnessed many times, know that it’s not your fault. It is not your failure. You are not and have never been in control of another person. There is hope here still. There is always hope. The hope is they are now resting in His arms. You will always remember them, you will always feel the pain when you think of them, but it makes your force that much stronger.



I’ll have to ask my brothers how we got home that day. Cuz now it’s buggin me.

Tattooing Grace

I haven't been able to go to church in a while. Either because of sickness or because I have another headache, or simply because I don't feel like dragging all the kids out. I love the church we are at. It holds sweet and kind people in it. I don't think I've ever been to a place where there were so many thinkers, artists of all kinds, and introverts in one room! Good night! I love how the sermons are Love driven, giving us things to think about and the kind of church we need to be. The focus is grace in it's truest form.

But as I sit at home, missing out on it, sunday after sunday, small group after small group... I start to disconnect. And that's...... bad for me. Really bad. Insecurities creep in. My introverish behavior worsens and then I ultimately feel defeated. Displaced. Why?

I can only root it back to the pain. A pain that my heart has carried for a few years now about church. Some very specific moments, along with some very general perspectives. I've tried to come up with a million reasons why it got to me so bad and how things are so wrong, and how I need to "let that go". But you know? It's hard. To let go. (oh yes... Let It Go is now running through my head... dang it.) Anywho.

I had yet another set back recently that, as always, brought me to tears about these past hurts and I remember telling my husband this, "Why can't I just heal faster?!"

Have you ever felt such pain that you just want it to finally stop? You want it to leave you be? My guard is up so high right now, but at the same time, I'm so desperate for the fellowship. So desperate to smile at a stranger when we pass one another and make it a real smile. Desperate to know the people that surround me and laugh with them and cry with them. I've barely given them a chance. Such sweet people that have wronged me in no way and still fear remains in my heart, nudging me out the door.

I know the truth. I know we are all human and make mistakes. I know that I can't expect any kind of perfection out of anyone, especially myself, because the mess is what makes the fellowship that much more beautiful. Or as Momastery likes to put it, "brutiful".  

The church (in the global sense) is moving. I can feel it and have felt it for quite some time, but never has it been more evident to me as it is now. So many hurtful doctrines and leadership, creating a growing group of outcasts. The more people I talk to about this very concept, the more that come forward about how they've had a painful experience with church too. And a lot of it, if not all of it, screams legalism. Churches that take their rules and regs too far, to the letter of the law, and then preach about grace. I believe the church is dividing more and more, between legalism and grace (but I'll write about that some other time).

Now I admit I'm not a very graceful person. I'm working on it. But I tell you, with the pain I carry and then when reaching up for some kind of comfort, some kind of reasoning, some kind of answer..... Grace is the name I'm given.

Jesus gave Grace.

But it's not just about giving grace to those who hurt me, but it's also about wearing grace for those that I may hurt in the future if I don't. Giving grace because I know what it feels like to feel outcast. And I must not forget myself, giving myself grace enough to show up. With all my mess.... just show up. 

Finding these people that have been hurt too brings both hope and sadness. Because some have found the gems (churches) where they have found graceful fellowship again and that's a great thing! (Yes, they are out there!) But some... haven't been able to find it yet. Or they don't want to find it. And I have to allow them their process, just as I'm allowed mine.

I know the pain will stop in the end, but I'm not at the end and neither are you. I feel I will quite probably carry this pain with me everywhere I go. Like a scar. But I have my whole life to live and so do you. So what do I do with this pain and this scar?

See it as a "brutiful" tattoo and....

Look at it and Remember.

Remember Grace. 

Remember to give it AND to receive it. 

Because it's one of the most important things you can do for yourself and for others.

Pain forces us to remember where we've been, so then maybe we can find where we need to go from here.

Staycation Turns into Staycrashstation... How Spontaneous Are You Feeling Today?

So my little family did a staycation.... meaning = we had no money, we have tons of children, hubby has some vacations days and viola! You have the ever so creative "staycation!" We decided to hit several parks here in Des Moines and picnic at each one. (and the added perk.... we sleep in our own beds... ahhh.... )

At first it was really really fun. The kids were having a blast going to all these places they've never been before (that are only like... 5-15 minutes away from home... I know... sad).  They LOVED the idea of picnicing at the parks. Most of the mornings... er... days... we wouldn't get out of the house till noon, but still, my children insisted on a picnic! Insisted!! So there I was, packing everything up so we could picnic. We even made it to the Capitol. They were in stars. I loved watching their faces light up at the awe of the place. Then later, a couple days in, came the interruptions and the tantrums... everything started caving in on our staycation; people finding us, work emergencies, and eventually my carefree staycation was put to a halt.

A good friend of mine messaged me while I was throwing an adult sized tantrum in the privacy of my own home and simply said, "How spontaneous are you feeling today?" Bless her heart, she had no idea I was throwing my fit, and she knows KNOWS I'm not your spontaneous person. Surprises are usually NOT a good thing. Romance can't even have at it. I'd be nervous the whole time thinking I need to be doing something or that I forgot something. Girls gotta mentally prepare, you know? Anywho.

I was taken back by her simple message. I looked at the hubs who was in a quiet state as I tried to collect myself and told him what the message said. "How spontaneous are you feeling today?" We both laughed about it. It was like... crazy laughter. I mean, how ironic is it that things like this happen when someone pops into your day and accidentally slaps you with a 'grace' stick or a 'get over yourself' stick, or in my case at that point, a 'calm the frick down' stick.

"How spontaneous are you feeling today?"

If fact, her spontaneous message was the spontaneity that I needed. I did inquire further as to what she meant and of course I had to slap her back with a big fat N.O. and she understood, but that phrase was still lingering in my heart. Resentment crept in with anyone that interrupted our little family staycation, even towards my own husband who couldn't help it, even towards our kids that made us feel even guiltier for plans not being carried out. I turned into one hot mess.

So while all that was simmering, we still had time to do one last little picnic. So as I stood at the counter in my kitchen, cutting away at meats and cheeses, my son comes to me and says, "Is there someone to blame?" oh geezz... here we go. (mind you, my husband is still quiet because he knows I'm still simmering)

I replied to my son, "That isn't the point. Life just sucks."
"Life sucks?"
"Yep, life just sucks."
My husband just walked passed us as I said that and gave me a quiet lecture on how I'm responding.
Ok, fine I'll try a little harder... "So things happen in life that suck all the time. Plans get changed, people change their minds, people die, disasters happen. There's nothing we can do about it, they just happen. All we can do is try to spin it for the better. We have to find ways that we can spread love even in the suckiness and then... maybe it won't suck so bad." Ugh.. yes. I know. I'm talking to myself too.

At that moment, my son started helping me without my needing to ask for it. He stopped complaining about the plans that got totally derailed and his countenance lifted. You could tell he was trying. Now it was my turn to mirror that.

"How spontaneous are you feeling today?"

So we tried to make the most of our day, and by that afternoon, I was kissing my husband good-bye. And trying not to kiss our staycation good-bye, we ate junkfood, watched "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" (their first time) and I beat them righteously at the game Othello. Over and over. :) We pulled the couch-bed out and passed out.

And repeat the next day.

And ya know? Even though it didn't turn out the way I wanted it too, there's some really great memories that will be brought up for years to come. Enjoy the pictures below, of just a few of the places we were!

This was an egg shaped structure in Clare and Miles Mill Rose Gardens. It was pretty neat. 

Isaiah working on a painting project. He picked his favorite roses to paint. 

Eve and Tesh are working on their paintings, while baby Ruth finds leaves most interesting. 

How could we NOT do this!!! :D During this moment our 4 yr old was behind us (you can't see her)
throwing a fit. Eve was trying to trying to calm the 2 yr old in the stroller, and the baby is eating more leaves. Our 9 year old took the picture :) 

Ah! All of them. How lovely! I actually got a better picture, I just thought this one was share worthy.
Who wants to look at all the nice ones, right? 

A playground with no plastic playground equipment at Sargent Park. Nature's playground! They loved this one!
Me? lots of hiding places. I told Josh that if we were teens, this would be a good make out spot. Ha! 

The Capitol Building! Isaiah's words, "This is the best day of my life!" 

Ahh... their eyes just sparkled with all sorts of wonder. :) 

Of course we hit up Granny's Sweet Freeze Shoppe to cap it off! 

One big surviving family! 

 How spontaneous are you feeling today?

My progress is my own progress. Can't take that away from me.

You remember last year when I was complaining about how the grass is always greener on the other side? (not just a metaphor, the grass is literally greener on the other side of the fence..... oh that's right... because they have GRASS!)

I didn't even know potato plants had blossoms.

So I've been slaving away at this garden of mine, studying up on what works and what obviously doesn't. I've been learning so much about our yard, the dirt, the trees, the bugs, the poison ivy infested mulch! (how lovely) 

Any time I talk to anyone about gardening, they all start going on about how big everything has gotten in their own gardens. How the garden is being overtaken by certain (edible) plants. OVERTAKEN!!! I look over to the "grass is greener" yard (why do I do this to myself?) and see an even greener pasture. "Oh look.... how cute... they have a garden now too.... " Why don't they just post a neon sign pointing to my yard that says, "Black thumb of death! Come and take a peek! 5 cents! Beware of her temper!" .....  wait... 5 cents? I'm worth more than that?! 

No really, I'm happy for them. They are finally putting that beautiful green yard to good use. 

But I stand at my garden. Having slaved over it. Mostly on my own, because you may also remember my genius husband that thought he could parkour and broke his wrist during spring time when it was time to put the garden together. (he's lucky he's cute) All my work, all my toil and trial, ever so slowly creeping it's green way up, high up to the sky.... or up 6 inches from the ground, but let's not worry about those minute details. The point is, it IS growing. Just not at the rate that everyone-else's gardens are growing. And I need to be ok with that. I need to give myself grace and allow my garden it's process. It's still in toddler stages, but this is farther than I've ever gotten with a garden in my yard!! And for that, I'm proud of myself. Even with all the trials of the bajillion trees in my yard, I'm making things grow. My kids are learning so much watching me toil over this. My son is so perceptive that even he is helping me come up with solutions to various problems. And in fact, their pumpkin vine is a hecka lot bigger than mine! I'm so proud and jealous and proud! They do deserve to win our pumpkin contest.  

My kids' pumpkin vine, 3 times bigger than mine.

My 6 year old daughter wants to read so bad. We've been working on it hard core this summer, but she makes it harder on herself. She doesn't have the best memory, but also, she's so very impatient with herself that she stunts her progress. She gives up feeling frustrated that she can't do it. Or that she's not doing it RIGHT NOW. I can only hope she learns this summer that with hard work, and perseverance, she will learn to read well. But she has to allow herself her process. Everyone goes at a different pace. Some read when they are 4. Others read when they are 10. And that's ok. The end result is still the same. They are reading! 

I need to allow myself the same process. I may not be as fast as everyone else. Or have the knowledge about having a nice green thumb and not the black thumb of death. But... when I keep my eyes focused on my own progress and how far I've come, I look at my thumbs and see a glimmer of a different color appearing. I can stand in my meager garden and see the truth. 

It is growing. 

Very first official harvest from seed I planted in the ground. Yay! Love me some lettuce!

30th Birthday Week. :)

photo credit: Emily Crall Photography

Yep! The BIG 30! I'm actually pretty excited about this birthday and I don't get excited over birthdays....

My reasons for this excitement is pretty sad though, really. People that know me well, and who have walked with me most my life, have told us that we have lived so much life. In fact, I've already started writing a book about it! Ridiculous. However.... people that don't know me as well, or have just met me, they ask my age. I say, "twenty (something)" and they do the head tilt back, sometimes even with the hand pat in the air directed towards me and say, "Oh! You're so young!" (as in ... "oh...you'll learn") I've wanted to punch a many people for treating me this way. They don't even realize how depressing it is to be reminded that, 'Yes... I'm young and I have my whole freaking life of suffering more still ahead of me. Can you just lock me in an insane asylum now?'

You know the famous verse, "Let no one look down on your youthfulness, but rather in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity, show yourself an example of those who believe." (1 Timothy 4:12) This is a great motivator for all young people, but let's be honest here, I don't think old(er) people have as easy of a time heeding to a secondary point here of NOT being the one that's doing the looking down.

But there's something about thirty. Glorious thirty. With thirty (something) I can be taken maybe a little more seriously? I know... I told you it's sad. But I'm over the top, glad with all my heart to be thirty finally. I'm not worried about "getting old" right now. I don't mind my "silver hairs" that have already started taking up residence on my head almost a decade ago. I've always had an old soul.

So my family actually surprised me (first. time. ever.) with a birthday party that we were all assembled for anyway for the 4th of July. How convenient! So I pulled the birthday card in order to make everyone play Squeeze (card game) with me that I'm kickass at (and nobody ever wants to play with me, so this was really a dream come true) and of course.... the queen of the party wins. It was fabulous.

So here's to finally... finally being 30. Not so dirty, not so flirty, but certainly thriving. ... or at least... I hope I can continue thriving as the next chapter of my life unfolds into 5 growing kids and a husband who hopefully has learned his lessons to keep his feet on the ground.

Ha, who am I kidding? Here's to not dying! Cheers!

Yep. Rain makes it perfect. 

Too Many Irons In The Fire

It has been storming and raining for days. Today there was a good sized storm. Flooding and damage is occurring all around. And where am I? 

- sitting on the couch, playing Free Cell (I'm trying to beat my percentage of wins... I'm at 39%), eating snacks, and letting the kids watch TV. Usually Monday involves cleaning the faithful chaos that the weekends ensue, but today I feel like crap and it's raining.... so it's all good. 

I have been so busy (um... that may just mean away from my home) that I've had little time to enjoy all the storms. But today I sit in all it's beautiful gloom and let it wash over me. 

My wonderful Uncle called over the weekend. His timing is impeccable sometimes. He's a counselor so he knows all the right questions to ask and then I become like a fire hydrant. By the end of the conversation, I realized.... 

I've got issues. 

Ok, well.... I knew this, BUT the chronic stress in my life is catching up to me in a way that's changing my outlook on life. I've lost control over the way I deal with stress. I've become overwhelmed way too easily, most times over trivial things. 

Yes, I have 5 kids at home. That's hard. It's so hard. I'm home with them all. the. time. I love having been home with them, but being home with them is a different story. And frankly, they've been getting in the way of what I want or need to do. Yep. I admit it. That's how pitiful I sound about now. I told you, I've got issues. 

But I'm not totally crazy. Every woman in my shoes prays for a moment of peace to sit down to herself, to eat a snack without being attacked with begging, to take a bath, or better yet, go to the bathroom without playing referee.

But still I need to take care of me. My husband kindly pointed out one night of tears that I have too many irons in the fire. He said that this IS just a season and that I can take an iron out for now, but not have to keep it out forever. 

So... that's what I'm doing to help in the "Kailan's got issues" effort. I'm taking some iron's out. For now. So when I'm done with this season of life, I can put those irons back in because there will be room. So now my task is choosing wisely, which irons get to stay in and which ones need to come out? 

My hope in doing this is to bring some life back into me so I can quit feeling worthless because of my exhaustion. So I can make room for the little people that DO matter. So I can make more efficient room for myself.  

Do you have any irons you need to take out for now? 

 

"I will learn to love the skies I'm under." Mumford & Sons