Eyes on Me

On the plane ride to Hawaii, Chris and I couldn't speak about anything except to continually repeat "This is beyond crazy" and "How in the world are we on this plane?"

The comparisons to our last trip to Maui were loud.  Deafening even.  This trip, Chris and I both felt the heavy presence of God, knowing intimately to the very core of ourselves that He brought us here.  I mean honestly.  If you ever want to know if God is moving, try going on an all expense paid trip to Maui with 5 dollars in your bank account, while you owe over 500 bucks to your children's preschool.  It drips of irony.  (And it's heavy in grace, but more on that later.)  At that point, there is no need for humility.  It's provided for you.

And do you know what's crazy?  (For the record, everything I'm saying sounds crazy, so I'll give you that.)

I know the answer.

I could write about this answer forever.  Maybe someday I will.  But the answer is essentially this;

He became a Savior because He loves us.  Simply, He's my Savior because He loves me.  I could have said these words a thousand times and had utterly no idea what it really meant.  After all, I said the prayer at 15 years old, so I get it, right?  Wrong. 

My brain understands this, but my heart was so very far behind.  I look at my kids and see it in them a little bit.  They know I love them, but they will never actually understand that particular love until it's tested, or until they have experienced that love themselves from a similar perspective, like as a parent.  Do they know that I would literally die for them?  No.  They know that I would make them a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and they know that I'll chase them down with a tissue to wipe their faces.  They also know I'm the lady with the kisses for owies.  Of course they have no idea.

He brought Chris and I to Hawaii so we could renew our wedding vows every single morning. 
He brought Chris and I to Hawaii so we could see that He can do it too ("it" being provide).  And not in the way where we suffer for every blessing, but in big ways.  Full of grace. 
But more than anything:
He brought Chris and I to Hawaii for the exact same reason that I take the boys to the park, for the same reason that I dream of taking the kids to Disneyland.  Our joy actually makes Him happy.  We are literally created for His joy.

That's truly crazy.  I said that to Him often. 
My prayers went a little like this:

Me: You love me? 
God: Of course.  See the sunset?  That's for you.
Me: But what about all the other people?
God:  I love them too.  But we are talking about you.
Me: There are a billion people who should be here instead of me.
God: I love you.
Me: I'm nothing.
God: Not to me.
Me: Why did I get to come here to understand this?
God: I love you.
Me: Really?
God: Read my book.  Look at my ocean.  See my flowers.  Feel the sun.  Really.
Me: (weeping.)
God: Oh, and Jess?  Just one more thing.  Now that you know this, I'm going to want more from you.  Much more.
Me: Oh. Kay.  I....am... ridiculously finite. 
God: I made you.  I love you just the way you are.  Still work to be done, but you'll do just fine.  Just stay on this rock and keep your eyes on Me. 
Me:  I can barely do that though.
God: Well I hung on a cross, so I think you can try. 
Me: Yes, I can do that.
God: Eyes on Me.
Me: Eyes on You.



Maui was simply an enormous gift from a loving Father who delights in His children.

How I Ruined My Boys

Don't read this.  I'm serious.

This is less about sharing blessings, and more about preparing the reader for the next encounter they have with my boys.  Be prepared.  And please, give me an opportunity to explain before you call DHS. 

I ruined them.  I can explain. 

See, I have worked with several (hundred?) children over the course of many years who have been abused in a variety of ways.  My adorable children have the benefit of my ability to rule out many types of abuse (i.e. physical, emotional, and trauma so far...thank you God.)  But the mental health field has broken my brain.  I'm always treating my kids.  Sometimes it seriously backfires.

Exhibit A.
Last night I decided that I needed to establish some boundaries for my 4-year-old boy (and subsequent 2 -year- old boy) with respect to their private region.  I can't remember where I learned this, but I believe it was from a police detective who works with Liberty House.  Anyway, his method for assisting his children in warding off sexual abuse was to establish the boundary that "nobody touches your private area except you and your mommy".  Except, he doesn't use the word *private*, but rather uses the correct biological term to further establish that there is nothing embarrassing or shameful when talking about that body part.  I loved this boundary and idea, and tucked it in my memory to use with my own kids when they grew up to an age they could understand. 

I could not bring myself to use the correct word that we spoke about, so I've used the term "private area".  However, to fully appreciate how horrifying this conversation was, please understand that we used the actual word.  AND SO DID JUSTIN. 

So.  The opportunity arises where both boys are changing into their jammies, and, not wanting to make a big deal of it, I suddenly stated (shocking myself as the words exited my mouth) "boys, nobody touches your private area except for you, mommy or daddy.  Nobody."  Justin immediately starts yelling "I can touch my private area!" and running all around.  Naked.
Chase appears horrified, as if he'd love to crawl under the bed. 
I can't stop talking.  I can hear myself talking, I see the facial expression on Chris' face, but I can't make my face stop moving.  Why can't I stop talking? 
"Nobody touches you there.  Got it?"
Chase laughs and says "got it."
Justin starts running around the room, trying to touch Chase and Chris in the private area and yelling "I'm touching you private area!!!"
Chris looks at me like I've completely lost my mind. 
"NO Justin! We don't touch other people's private area, and we don't touch each other's private area!"
Justin yells "I'm touching you private area.  I'm touching everybody's private area!"
They then run around the house dancing and giggling.
I'm not sure that really worked out. 

And I'm pretty confidant that I'm going to be getting a phone call from preschool on Monday. 
My bad. 

The Pink Eye Plague

Q: What could possibly bring a mother of three kids under the age of 4 to actually practice self care?
A: The repeated shock filled gasp of co-workers and patients in the ER who can't bare to make eye contact any longer because of the nauseating appearance of said mother. 

It is very difficult to successfully treat suicidal people as well as those suffering from visual hallucinations/psychosis when your appearance is so shocking and disturbing that the conversation quickly turns to "(gasp!) What happened to your eye?!?" 

It took me 6 hours at work today with an eye that felt like sandpaper before I actually thought to myself "maybe I should just go home."  Six hours.  Six hours of people diverting their eyes, running quickly over to the hand sanitizer and looking at me as if I were a leper. 

It is truly perplexing to me how remarkably different children respond to a mother in contrast to the rest of humanity.  I literally could be spewing blood all over the kitchen with a missing limb, and Justin would barely notice as he requested juice or questioned me on the sandwich I am making him for lunch.  Chase is fully capable of quizzing me on "Do you know what 'nuts' mean?  Do you, mom?  It means 'you're freakin me out" without pausing a single moment to wonder if my eye ball is fluorescent red for some reason. 

It's even more perplexing to me how quickly a mother accepts this role and starts to engage in the same behavior.  Adelai has a runny nose?  Sound the alarms. She's had a runny nose for 12.5 hours, no temp, 3 wet diapers and slightly more fussy than normal.

I can barely even give information to doctors about me because, honestly, I literally cannot remember what has happened with me.  When talking to doctors, I sound defiant/non-compliant/difficult because I can barely answer the most basic of questions.

MD: How long has it been like this? 
Me: Uhhh, I'm not sure.
MD: When was the last time it bothered you? 
Me; Sorry, I'm not sure.  But I can tell you the color of my daughter's poop three weeks ago.  That's not helpful though, is it.
MD: Not at all.  Well did it bother you this morning? 
Me: Maybe.  I guess so. 

Ultimately, what actually makes me laugh about this situation is that this is not my first problem since becoming a mother of three.  I've had mastitis, pain, seizures, more pain, ear infections, the stomach flu, etc in the last 9 months.  Nothing made me skip work.  However, you mess with my appearance and make me look like a freak?  You have my attention. 

You do not have the attention of my kids, but you have mine.  An hour and a half of rest, here I come. 
And note to self;  the next time these petri dishes of infection children give me pink eye, It's an awesome idea to throw away the mascara afterwards.

Lessons every day.  And no, I'm not posting a picture of my eye because I'm sure some of you plan on eating in the next 12 hours.  You are welcome.

Why I'm Preparing for a Mental Breakdown

I never thought sacrificial love would actually happen to me...or rather from me.  I knew I would love my kids, but I also loved a bunch of stuff and I figured it wouldn't be a big deal.  I love coffee, volleyball, chocolate, ice cream, and basically anything dunked in sugar.  Oh, and I have seriously loved a cat.  In a creepy way.  That's a different story.  One that determines whether or not we'll be friends based on if you think I'm insane or not.  Let's avoid it all together. Moving on.

But now I love three little kids so much it hurts to breath sometimes.  They determine every moment of my day, every thought of my day, every goal I have.  And I'm supposed to fly to Hawaii pretty soon without any of them. 

When these kids have a runny nose, the depth of my mommy-ness imagines pneumonia/aspiration/scarlet fever/chicken pox/meningitis. Simultaneously.  I'm the mom with the pediatrician on speed dial ready to pounce on the first triage nurse that gives me grief.  I'm practicing CPR/the Heimlich maneuver (makes sense at the time) and running a zillion scenarios through my head about all the ways I'm going to discover the bizarre deadly illness they've come down with.  It's all going to be discovered because I was prepared, diligent and relentless.  (My pediatrician loves this about me...I'm sure.)

I'm going to be in a chair in a plane flying a billion miles above the ocean to a tiny island.  Thousands of miles away from my babies.  Even if the plane gently landed in the ocean in an emergency, I'd die instantaneously.  Why you ask?  Well you haven't seen me try to swim yet, have you.  I swim in an effort not to die.  It only works about 20% of the time and it usually causes my husband to almost drown because he's laughing too hard.  This is not good for my babies. 

So as the time that we depart approaches (and I'm not divulging the date to the Internet, lest you try to come to my house and steal all our super awesome crap), I can't help but imagine gruesome details of my death/gruesome death. This is a great way to become crazy very quickly. 

So back to sacrificial love....seems remarkably unrelated.  However, my point is really just that being a wife and a mother at the same time means that everybody gets a piece of sacrificial love.  These kids get 150% of me every hour of every day.  I guess I can relent for a few days to relax with my husband.  I think the shock might kill me. 

If it does kill me, would everybody please promise the following?

• Don't tell my kids how scared I was of water.  This will prove something to Chase that he'll never forget.  He'll be the kid dressed in head to toe sunscreen with a helmet on, etc.  Not good.
• Also, please tell the boys that they will never EVER get a wife if they continue to wet the bed every single night.
• Please tell Adelai that boys are stupid until she is 22 and she should never speak to a single one until that date.  And also, if she wants to be a nun, please support this whole heartedly.
• Justin really needs to know that jail = bad, and being called "rude" is not a compliment.  (They're working on that at preschool.  He doesn't get it yet.)
• Also, the boys need to know that girls don't have boy parts.  I'm struggling with this.  Good luck.
• The boys have been told that they can't drink soda until they are 30.  Justin may not drive a motorcycle until he's 35.   
• Justin needs a car with 2 cylinders.  Preferably a car that barely moves.  Chase needs a car that is a tank so he doesn't get scared all the time.
• Have I mentioned that Adelai is not allowed to date?  She should be 30.  I know I said 22 earlier, but that was rediculous.  She should pay back all her student loans and complete nun school before she dates.  
• Don't flip Chase around.  He does NOT like that. 
• Adelai may not date any boys ever until she is a hundred years old.  Seriously. 
• Let Chase speak until he's finished.  He has much to say and the end part is usually the best. 
• Be patient with Justin.  If you wait a few minutes, he ends up being the sweetest boy ever.
• Adelai is so sweet.  She should not date.  Ever. 

Oh my gosh, how I love them. 

And most of all, if I die, make sure they know it was all Chris' idea.  I wanted to stay locked up in the house, cuddling all of them with a death grip until I died of exhaustion.  Chris is the one that is laying down the law.  I guess he might be right.  Don't tell him I said that though. 

I'm having hysterics. 

He Has a Sense of Humor?

Once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy who were ridiculously stupid with money.  They married, had children and worked incredibly hard...sacrificing time with their children in order to overflow their checking accounts with money.  They ate out all the time, and one of them worked so hard that it actually created a permanent medical condition forever altering the pattern of brain waves (or whatever.  I almost bored myself to tears as I wrote that sentence). 

Anyway.  They were wealthy.  And grumpy.  And tired.  And irritable.  And full of regrets, but unwilling to release the grip of "comfort" with respect to finances.  Instead of actually track the money, why not work hard to just fill up the accounts until it doesn't matter? 

After 6 months, the couple was desperate for a vacation.  The stress and the pressure were overwhelming.  They felt unhappy, and they attributed it to "not enough time together".  So, fittingly, they spontaneously decided to go to Hawaii.  They stayed in Maui and it was a taste of heaven on earth.  It was so amazing that they later actually named their daughter after this place (Makena beach).  It kept them going for at least 18 more months as they continued along the same path.  It served as an anchor in their marriage. 
Remember when we were happy in Maui? 
I can get through anything. 
Remember the hammock?  Remember the warm breeze?  Remember snorkeling with turtles?
Yes I do! Anybody can poop on anything, and I can handle it. 

Work hard, avoid any hint of what's not working, and believe that all good things are a result of hard work.  My work?  My money.  Money in the account?  Happy boy, happy girl.  Sad kids who miss their mother and spend too much time with exhausted parents?  Problematic but not as stressful as wondering about money.  Medical conditions popping up?  Hesitation....but you'd never catch them saying "I can't do this".  I can and will do anything.  My success is a direct result of my hard work.

To make a long horrible story short, it all came to a screeching halt.  The medical condition established it's place, permanently limiting the ability of one to work overtime and "make it happen".  Other variables began to vary, and it all came crashing down.  For greater than 14 months now, nothing (and I do mean NOTHING) has come together financially.  No ability to create peace.  The boy and the girl could only sit back, watching things crumble and hang together by a thread. 

Blessings everywhere.  Money nowhere to be found. 

So why am I telling the Internet all of this?  Mostly because I just want to announce that God has an excellent sense of humor.  Maybe it's irony?  Regardless, He is hysterical.  (I like this guy a lot.)  Several times a month Chris and I hold our breath to see if it comes together.  For the better part of 14 months, the answer is overwhelmingly negative.  But it's becoming our new normal, and it's okay.  It's teaching us a lot, and we hope we'll never be the same as we were.  There are times in this struggle where it feels like we can almost reach out and touch God because He is so near.  We are stressed, but desperation in where God hangs out. 

So anyway, what's my point?  We are broke. 

And we are headed to Maui.

Not joking.  SAME HOTEL.  SAME EVERYTHING.  Chris qualified for this all-expenses paid trip to Maui to the exact location that we stayed when we were literally insane with greed.  We are going to Maui and the trip just drips with irony.  Our kids are staying with people who have lent us money. We are just full of shock and confusion, as well as several ounces of guilt.  But we'll go all the same.  It's just crazy.  Why did State Farm pick our favorite place with the exact hotel that we love? 

I just picture a loving God with a twinkle in his eye saying "Don't count me out yet, lady."

"Put the Brick Down, Jess..."

Let's imagine that there is a competition for best mom for 2011. 

Let me go ahead and just announce that I'm already in the toilet bowl.  I made it until January 3rd at 4:30 before I was booted out of the running.  This isn't even counting the fact that my son Justin just ran out of his room, announced that he pooped his pull-up that he's had on for 23 seconds, and I ignored him.  Geez.  A girl can not get a flippin break around here. 

I locked my children in the car with the engine running.  We don't have a spare key.  Because apparently that's just the way it goes.  Here's the story.  Enjoy.  (And Chris, you may commence the mockery.)

So it's Monday afternoon, and Justin has been preparing to "go pick up Chase" since the moment Chase left for school at 8am.  The promise that we will go pick up Chase from school can make Justin do anything.  He takes great naps, he lets me wipe his buns without much fight, and he cuddles all day long (whispering "Mom, let's go pick up Chase" the whole time).  He's a completely different child on Mondays.  Normally, I wouldn't much mind locking this kid in the car, but on Mondays?  Heartbreaking. 

So on this day, both Justin and my sweet little love Adelai are sick.  Snot, fever...the full gambit.  I have had my hands full all day and Adie-girl is obviously not feeling well.  She slept very little, ate little, cried a lot and is generally just not feeling great.  She's instantly upset that I've put her in the car seat.  She dreams of being plastered to my hip 24/7 while in this state.  I'm planning to drop her off at Daddy's office so that she doesn't have to hang out in her car seat too long.  Because it would be torture to be sick and stuck in your car seat, for oh...I don't know...28 minutes.  So as I exit the house, I'm carrying a diaper bag, a gym bag, a purse and a backpack, as well as carrying the car seat and holding Justin's hand.  This sounds like a lot, but after a few years of juggling, somehow it just works. 

I throw my bags up front.  I situate Adelai in the car, and then I turn and work on Justin, who must be instructed in no uncertain terms that it's time to stop running in circles, jumping off the curb and squealing.  Luckily, "let's go get Chase" fixes everything.  He's full of glee.  All smiles.  All dimples.  As I'm strapping him into the chair, I remember that yesterday he squirmed out of the seat straps and freaked me out on the freeway.  I pull extra hard on the strap and think to myself "there is absolutely no way he's getting out of this.  Winner me."  I climb into the front seat, turn on the car and turn up the heater full blast because it's unbelievably cold.  I'm sitting there rubbing my cold hands together when I see our cat bound out of the trees and sprint as fast as she can to the garage that is closing.  She looks cold.  I think to myself that I could take a second and help her out.  I get out of the Expedition and shut the door.  She freaks out from the sound of the car door shutting and runs back into the trees.  I turn to get back in the car, and it's locked.

Who locked the door?  No big deal.  I'll just open Justin's door.  Wait.  What?  It's at this moment that I realize what I've done.  All doors are locked.  And then, a plastered smile (for the benefit of Justin) comes out as I frantically attempt to look calm on the outside while I'm freaked on the inside.  This now looks like I'm suddenly psychotic.  Internal hysterics, almost giddy and joyful on the outside.  I think I did some sort of dance move just to reassure Justin.  Picture the moonwalk without any rhythm.

The following is my thoughts as I'm having hysterics:
I should call Chris before I use his driver club thing to bust a hole through the passenger side window.  I bet that's what considerate spouses would do in this situation.  I'm going Tiger Woods all over this car's ass exterior.  I open the garage to pick out my golf club as the phone is ringing. 
He doesn't answer.  Redial. 
Scanning the garage for a better weapon.  He doesn't answer.  Redial.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see some extra tile from the roof. 
It looks heavy.  It's got girth.  Perfect. 
He doesn't answer.  Redial.
I look inside the car to see how the babies are handling it.  The windows are tinted, but initially it looks like Adelai has the biggest smile on her face I've ever seen! This strikes me as strange, considering the day we've had, so I smash my psychotic face up against the glass to see more clearly.  I realize that she isn't smiling so much as she is actually screaming so hard that she is having a hard time catching her breath.  Justin is looking at me, pointing at the drivers side chair and saying "Mom, go get Chase! Get in the car".

Brick/roof tile thing it is. I pick up the tile thinger and walk to the car, trying to figure out a good grip.  Chris finally picks up the phone.  He starts by saying "Honey, I'm on the phone with a client.  Can I call you right back?"
J: "Yep, just wanted to let you know that I locked the babies in the car with the keys inside, the engine running and I'm going to throw a roof tile brick thinger through the window.  Call me back?"
C: "Whaaaaaaaat???  Say it again?"
J: "I locked the babies in the car, and we don't have a spare key, so I'm going to bust them out.  We're going to need a new window."
C" Put the brick down, Jess.....put it down..."
J: "Adelai's upset."
C: "Have you the called the tow company yet?"

Folks? I had not even considered calling somebody for help. This is where I smile at Justin, turn my back to the car and become outwardly hysterical.  "I cannot call the tow company because I have to get my baby out now and I don't have their number and I can't wait for them and I give up!!!!"  Chris tells me that he will call them and call me back.  He then says the two words I hate most in the whole world. 

"Be patient."

My immediate response is "No, YOU BE PATIENT."  Super adult-like, super mature.  Super awesome. 
He hangs up and I get to stare at Justin.  I start doing hand motions to him, motioning all the things he should be doing to try and get out of the car seat.  He smiles back, confused and points to the seat he wants me to sit in.  It is about 26 degrees outside and I'm getting really cold, but I can't go inside because I suck and sucky moms stand outside.

Chris calls and notifies me that they will be here in 10 minutes...that it's considered emergent since there are children inside.  I'm still hysterical, so Chris decides he'll come home.  He's probably worried about his driver.  He should be.

I continue to dance outside in the cold while my daughter is crying so hard that she's doing the breathing thing where she can't catch her breath.  Justin is laughing, though he appears bewildered over my antics.  It's safe to say he doesn't see me doing interpretive dances very often. They didn't come for 28 minutes.  Then Chris took the kids because I was so tired all I could do was go to a staff meeting and sit quietly, listening about the details of how our team of mental health evaluators will help the psychotic/crazy people.

If they only knew.

The story of Us

You may be surprised at how Chris and I met. 

In retrospect, I am.  It's an odd story, really.  We celebrate 7 years of marriage in a week and if we are counting blessings, well then this would be the first one; the foundation of all the blessings I've received. 
In order to tell this story, I have to embarrass myself beyond recognition.  I need only to return to this memory in order to humble myself.  But here goes. 

Chris and I met when I was a junior and he was a sophomore in college at the University of Puget Sound.  He played football and I played volleyball.  It was the fall season and both of us found ourselves at the Hawaiian party on campus.  I had just come home from Eastern Washington and I was exhausted.  But I went to the party and ended up sitting on the porch.  A few minutes in, a male friend of mine put his arm around me.  His big, muscle-filled, slimy arm. 

He put his arms around a lot of girls.  I wasn't ever hoping to be one of them.

I was not a fan of this.  But he was my friend, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.  So I sat there and quietly panicked.  I decided to speak to whomever was in front of me and potentially find my way out of this situation by distraction. (This is just about 1000 ft outside of my comfort zone, FYI.)  I looked up, and there leaning against the wall was a boy.  He had a hat on, and he couldn't have been more uninterested in what I had to say.  It took a few minutes for him to actually interact with me, but he told me his full name (Chris Garland) and I found out that he was the son of the coach that I worked for as part of the work study program.  I don't remember anything he said.  My heart was pounding.  What I do remember is that he was nice, and he didn't try anything shady, even when I eventually was freed of the arm of my friend.  I went home early, but found myself seeking Chris out to say good-bye.  He barely looked up.

Two weeks later, my good friend complained that there weren't any nice boys around.  I remembered Chris and replied that I had met one (literally just one).  It was in this moment that I impulsively chose to call security on campus and find his number.  Before I could change my mind, I called and left a message with his roommate...something to the tune of "Hi.  Can you tell Chris to call me?  I'm Jess Davis and we met at the Hawaiian party a few weeks ago.  He won't remember me, but have him call me."  He didn't call.

Can you believe that?  Also, another kicker to this story is that I couldn't remember what he looked like.  He wore a hat, and essentially I walked around campus wondering if I was standing next to somebody that I was looking for.  Very bizarre. 

Then September 11, 2001 came.  My volleyball team was scheduled to travel to Missouri, but travel was canceled.  The next day, as I was running through my house to get ready for practice, my roommate briefly mentioned that "some guy called for you." She couldn't remember his name.  She didn't get his number.  After some badgering, she agreed that "it could have been Chris Garland".  I went to practice, got sweaty and earned myself a very unattractive sweaty hairdo, and went to dinner at the campus cafeteria.  I had finished my meal when I recognized Chris walking by.  I couldn't help myself.  I leaped out of my chair and followed him out into the parking lot.

I heard myself yell "Chris!" and ran to catch him.  He stopped, turned around and I caught up to him.  Then I was speechless.  I just stared at him.  (Seriously.) I don't do this...probably for this exact reason.  Shyness steals my words and I end up looking ridiculous.  Luckily, he filled the awkwardness of the situation.

Chris: "I called you.  You're Jess, right?"
Jess: "Yes.  Right.  That's me. (4 hour pause..okay, more like 15 seconds)  Ummm...I was wondering if you would like to hang out or something someday.  Or whatever.  Or not.  Or I just...you know."
Chris (with a breezy tone, as if  he doesn't recognize my awkwardness): "Sure.  How about tonight?"

And literally, we've been together ever since. 

Literally.  More than a few times, I thought to myself early on that I could not end up with this boy because this story could not live on for eternity.  But now, I have three lovely children and a life built on impulsive action and finding my soul mate amongst craziness. 

Don't judge.  Nobody likes a judger. 










I'm a lucky girl.