Thoughts on Moving and What It Entails.

*I write this from the warm side of my parents guest room queen size bed. If I stretch my toes across the middle, I find cold sheets where the warmth of my husband should be. He's currently sleeping on an air mattress in Davenport, likely wishing he could just sleep in a bed.

*I have finally moved home from Iowa. It hasn't sunk in yet; right now it just feels like I'm visiting family. It's odd, knowing I won't likely cross the I-74 bridge and greet the Mississippi until Josh's graduation in February. I enjoyed living by that river; we rarely did activities that the river factored into, but something in my heart felt welcomed, warmed even, by the brown waters.

*I am thankful for tow trucks. Big, strong ones. Ones that can pull your fully loaded Uhaul truck out of mud ruts in the yard- so you can start your trip without unloading your possessions and reloading them in a different truck. (Note here: AAA does not cover Uhaul. Just a handle tidbit of information for your future life.)

*I was not raised on a farm, but they call to me. The drive to Indiana felt like coming home. I enjoyed each cow visible from the road, savored the barns and fields. Even more compelling, the symphony of fall colors in the trees lining the roads and fields. I spoke aloud as I reached the crest of a hill and saw sunlit fields embraced by the beauty of fall trees- "Oh Lord, how magnificent!"

*I am curious about people who honk their car horns at others due to impatience. I have no problems with horns and use it on the occasion another driver does not see me. It's a warning, "I am here!" At a toll booth, I was beeped at (there was also some arm waving involved) because I was going slowly. After waving apologetically as he angrily passed me, I began to wonder if the abrasive personality he was showing in his driving was who he truly is. When did it become okay to get so angry over 20 seconds of patience? When did our society become so self-obsessed that an tiny inconvenience required a physical demonstration of anger?

*God has been flooding my life with awareness of Himself. I have had to learn to trust God's plan and care for me as the knowledge I would move to IN without Josh slowly sunk in. At first I compulsively, almost maniacally, kept track of Josh's required hours and strategized plans for him to earn more. Slowly, slowly, I felt God chipping away at my self-reliance. Quietly He reminded me to trust His plan. Surrender is the road I chose long ago. I choose it again. Minute by minute. Tears ran down my face as my husband drove away today, but inside I also knew peace. Know peace. And I will rest under the watchful eye of our Almighty God.

Comin' at ya like a whirlwind

As TobyMac quite aptly put it, "Comin' at ya like a whirlwind A hundred miles an hour's where we'll begin." This keeps running through my brain. Not just because it's a classy reminder of my youth (makes me sound old to say that), but because said phrase describes the last few weeks and the coming as well. In two days, I'm taking my son and we're leaving Iowa to live with my parents. I realize that sounds like I'm leaving Josh, and I am, but it's not like that! :) Josh is coming to the end of his time at Palmer and is hoping to complete an internship in Indiana while we live with my parents in their sweet basement apartment. However, he still has some clinic requirements to complete before he can move. (The lessons God has been teaching me through all his clinic requirements, such as patience, trust, and not killing people, should be a different blog entirely.) So, we were planning on living in Iowa until he finished his requirements, BUT... our lease is up the end of October and our landlady doesn't want to do month to month. So, Malachi and I are off to Indiana and my dear, sweet, wonderful husband has to stay here and bunk with friends on a futon. And it breaks my heart. I'm a pathetic moper when Josh isn't around. Like, I go to visit family by myself but in reality I just want to be home, snuggling with my hubby or playing together with Malachi. So honestly, it will probably be good for my growth to have to miss him and live without him for a while. A good time to work on myself and my relationships with others. And for sure, it will cause spiritual growth as the Lord will be the only one I can talk to as I fall asleep in a lonely bed in a lonely basement. (I have mentioned to Josh that I may just go upstairs and crawl in bed with my parents. They have a king size- it's doable right???) SO, right now I need to go finish packing. Tonight we're having some man people stop by to help carry some of our heavy stuff (read washer, drier, deep freezer, treadmill, dressers) from the basement and 2nd floor to the garage- where it will be much easier to load from tomorrow using my not manly muscles. And tomorrow we say goodbye to our friends of the last 3 years. And then I leave the place that was Josh and my first hometown. The place we learned what marriage truly was. Where we started our family. And it would be a good thing, if only I could take my husband with me. (*Extra: If you are reading this and pity me, please go see Josh for chiro adjustments. He needs the numbers. Or pray for him to get his numbers quickly. Or do both. Yes, that's the best option.*)

Who Is That Child's Mother?!

This post starts with a confession. I didn't go to church this past Sunday. My excuse is working Saturday night and being completely EXHAUSTED. Our pastor once told us to stay home and sleep if we're going to fall asleep in church. And this past Sunday I took him at his word. Josh and Malachi still went however. (As you can tell, I have a very spiritual baby.) Before climbing into bed, I put Malachi in a short sleeved white onesie and a long sleeve button up shirt. I told Josh that Malachi's jeans were on the stairs, his bag was packed, and that he needed to come home right after church as Malachi would need to nurse. And then, ah, the bliss of slumber. Later that evening, we decided to go out on the town. I searched for Malachi's jeans, but when they were not to be found, I asked Josh where he had put them when he had removed them from Malachi. Mayhap you can guess where this tale is headed. Josh replied, "What jeans?" "The jeans he wore to church." "He didn't wear jeans to church." "What did he wear?" "The shirt you had on him." Yes. It's true. Josh took our son to church without pants. I can just imagine his little rolled thighs as he crawled around the nursery. And it was chilly too! I wonder what the nursery workers thought as Josh dropped him off in a classy button up shirt with no pants. Mortifying. And hilarious. I'm never going to the 11:00am service again. Malachi is too easy to remember with his full head of hair and unique name. Of course, I immediately called my mother and sister to share this amusing story. They were equally tickled. I hope you are as well.

Eighty-one year olds are romantic.

If you know me, you know I have an incurable crush on older men. I'm not talking Clooney. I'm talking hunched back, saggy skin and long earlobes older. They have lived. And they are so special to me.

The other night at work I was floated down to the ICU. INSTANT FEAR AND TREMBLING. I stopped being an ICU nurse for a reason and I was nervous my old cronies would want me to take a patient load. No thank you, it's been almost two years and I would likely kill whomever they were wanting me to save. Instead (thank you Jackie!) I was assigned the task of sitting with an 81 year old confused heart surgery patient who had previously tried to give himself a concussion by pulling his IV pole down on his head. I will call him Donny.

Donny was wonderful. In order to keep him from pulling out his PICC line, I asked him if I could hold his hand. And he had just the sweetest answer. "Well, I had better call your dad and ask for permission." See? Eighty-one year olds have class. I told him I didn't think my dad would mind- nor my husband. (And Josh didn't- he knows he comes first, Russell Crowe second, and all old men third.)
So Donny and I got to hold hands all night long. And sometimes he would grab my hand with both of his, and with shaking hands arms raise my hand to his mouth to kiss the back of my hand. Aww. Precious.

Now, Donny wasn't perfect. At certain points of the night he was screaming for his wife (who wasn't there), twitching like he was getting ready to knock me unconscious, or winging his SpO2 monitor cord around like a lasso. But he was also sweet enough to tell me about his kids and his time in the service and his dear wife who "was quite a looker, in his opinion."

It was an incredibly long night shift- sitting in a darkened room trying ever so hard not to get sleepy. But it was so good. The older people are the one thing I miss from the ICU. Their stories. Their wisdom. Their perspectives. They have lived life and learned lessons. They've experienced pain and heartache. And they've loved. And they are living in a time when the number of people they love are growing fewer and fewer. I can't imagine watching friends die. And having to say goodbye to a spouse of fifty years. But I have watched older people deal with life tragedy with class. And I want to learn from them. I want to reap from the harvest of their wisdom. I want to hear their stories- learn history from their perspective. I want to be a friend to them.

They need friends, you know. My heart cries for people shoved into nursing homes and forgotten by family. And that's why one day I'm going to take my kiddos to nursing homes. And let my babies begin to learn a life lesson. Older people are treasures that won't always be around. Make sure you are not missing out.

I am going to go call my Grandma.

*Disclaimer: Not all older people are wonderful and a joy to be around. In fact, some are quite perverted and should not be granted the opportunity to hold and kiss your hand. :)

Update on my Pitiful Post

So, I thought perhaps I should continue the transparency and let you know how my journey to be a far less lackluster wife is going. (I find 'less lackluster' fun to say. It's even fun to type. Try it. Your fingers get tongue-tied, if that's possible.)

Honestly, I think it's going well. Our house gets a little cleaner each day and I'm working hard to keep it that way. Dishes are done each evening (mostly), the living and dining rooms are tidied before heading upstairs to get ready for bed, and I wipe down the bathroom sink right before climbing into bed. I've even started keeping the toilet lid down (shout out to my brother-in-law, Simon. An open toilet lid is a serious no-no in the Henry household.)

I still have a crazy lot of room to improve. Our master bedroom has three overflowing baskets of clean, folded laundry to be put away. However, I'd prefer you focus on the facts. The laundry is both clean and folded. :) AND.....

The other day some friends randomly stopped by. And when the husband walked into our house, he said, "It's clean in here! You guys keep a tidy place!" And my heart found a place called Bliss.

Now, to get more consistent with my devotions (definitely) and consider a workout routine (probably not).

Confessions of a (Pitiful) Wife

Eight months.

That is how long it's taken me to start getting into the swing of things after having Malachi. Embarrassing but true. I could blame part of it on working night shift and not having a babysitter during the day when I'm badly needing sleep. I could blame part of it on a decent amount of traveling. (Not going to lie- I could also blame Hulu for hours of mindless show watching. Bad mom award, right here.) But mostly I think I just let myself off the hook.

I look at my sister (or anyone who goes home with a newborn to a house filled with other children) and wonder how in tarnation she does it. If you're wondering, she just added the sweetest baby girl, Adriah Faith, to her already impressive collection of a four year old boy, and two year old twin girls. And I'm pretty sure if I were Rachel, you would find me wandering down the side of the road in my underclothes muttering something about guns and the end of the world. But she is cool. She already had three babies, what problem could one more bring?

I'm not like that. I've always been slow at completing tasks. I can get lost for hours in fiction. I want to snuggle with Josh on the couch instead of dealing with the (never-ending) dishes all over my kitchen. And we're in deep trouble now that Olympic trials are on.

I hadn't realized how messy I'd let life become until a week ago when I made an actual dinner with an actual recipe and we actually sat at the table to eat it. (Granted, the other half of the table was covered with items needing to be put away.) And I realized I felt good about making a yummy meal for my hubby. And I wondered when having a few restful weeks after Malachi's birth had turned into eight months of being a lackluster wife and making excuses.

So here goes something, folks. (I can't rightly say "here goes nothing." Because it's not nothing. We as Christians are told to work as unto the Lord. And I daresay I would be embarrassed to have him see the state of my house right now. And yes, I know He can see it. This is not meant to be a theology lesson. It's more me making an inward decision and outward commitment to do better. Because I know I can.

So, feel free to stop by my house. Anytime. And if it's a wreck, well, I deserve to be embarassed and perhaps it will spur me on.

 Just don't judge me for the bills on the table- I'm mailing them tomorrow. :)

Adjusting to Mommy-ness

Finally. Time to sit down with my half glass of dark chocolate soy milk and Josh's computer. Time to blog while repeatedly smiling at Malachi who is busy yelling and talking and letting the universe in general know he is alive and awake. He may just throw himself out of his bouncer if I don't go rescue him from it soon.

People have often asked me how being a Mommy is. My response? It doesn't really feel like life has changed that much. And yet I know it has. I would say it's similar to getting married; everything is different and new and yet it feels like life may have been this way forever.

As much as I'd like to say things have fallen into a routine, I know there is much room for improvement. It is not yet rare for Josh to get home in the evening after a long day at school and find me still in my pj's, hair a mess, glasses repeatedly sliding down my nose as I realize I've not yet come up with dinner plans and Malachi is ready to eat again. Today is a midway successful day- I have a load of laundry in the dryer, the dish washer is running, the pots and pans are clean and Malachi got a bath. (Don't judge me for calling it successful when that's all I've accomplished). Oh, and I'm finally taking the time to write a blog. Which now falls way low on the list of priorities. Which is why this post is coming to a close. I've got more to do. My son to rescue from the bouncer, a diaper to change (if the sounds coming from Malachi's direction are any indication), bottles to wash, and it would probably be good if I made myself a little more presentable before my man comes home. Time to get moving. Oh, and dinner. I've got to stop forgetting dinner.