Friday, December 6, 2013
Baby Jesus, the Potato
It began with an errant ball, flung by an errant five year old, which tore through my childhood nativity set with a vengeance. (This happened during a piano lesson, of course.)
Bits of Precious Moments porcelain scattered over the carpet, and Joseph was declared dead at the scene. One wise man was rushed to the crazy glue, and is expected to make a full recovery.
My mother heard the news, and said, "Oh! I know exactly which nativity scene you need!"
That's how a collection of plastic vegetables in bathrobes came to be in our home. Veggie Tales has made a nativity set, featuring Larry as wise man, Jerry Gourd as a cow, Laura Carrot as Mary - you get the idea. I would cry blasphemy, but my children have been very pleased with it. They move the french peas dressed as sheep all around the little stable, and are happy to talk about the Christmas story.
Which is how I found myself, at the end of a long day, being faced with the following:
"Mommy! Look!" my son cried, pointing to the scene he had carefully created. "Look! Everyone is standing around Baby Jesus, the potato!"
Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Idaho Russet.
Oh, Glory.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Say the Crazy Out Loud
It has been a while.
I haven't posted in over a month. Not because we led lives of complete monotony in the interim (you must know us better than that), but because I'm a coward. Sometimes, the Tired sets in, and Life stops being funny. And I'm too afraid to admit it out loud.
As the great philosopher Lucy says, "The mere fact that you realize you need help indicates that you are not too far gone". So here I am, back at the empty blog page, wondering what I should say to oust the demon of terror and vulnerability.
I know! I will tell you the most embarrassing thing that's happened since the hysterectomy surgery in July.
It started with a complication. Another doctor's appointment, another exam, another "Uh, that shouldn't happen", another "We fixed it this time. Really". SO much fun.
But it was worse than usual, because when they scheduled the first available appointment, they scheduled me with the cute doctor. The young doctor, who is too handsome and kind for OB work. And through no fault of his very professional exam, I realized that my young life was over.
I was old. I was having hot flashes.
And broken. I couldn't have any more babies.
And ugly. I couldn't seem to lose the surgery weight.
No one would ever flirt with me again. Ever.
I drove home thinking, "I don't want random people to flirt with me anyway. Yeah. So there."
I went back to my chores thinking, "Besides, beauty is on the inside. That's what they say!... to ugly people. Yeah."
And I spent a whole week in silent battle against Self-Pity, Self-Loathing, and all around Self. I fully admit that Self was the evil, and Self was the problem. It's amazing how easy it is to become Self-absorbed. But that's for another time.
This time, I want to mention the importance of saying the crazy out loud. I want to confess that when I try to conquer the inner fears by myself, I almost always fail. I should have told my husband that I needed a kiss and a pep talk. But I didn't. Because I'm too cool, and too spiritual, and too strong to ask for help.
So I waded about in the Slough of Despond for a bit.
The following Friday, my dear husband took me out to dinner while the kids played at Grandma's. I put on makeup, and a dress, and painted my toenails. I was as pretty as a post operative woman can be, I suppose. But as I sat in Jason's Deli, smiling at my amazing husband, all I could think was:
- I really hate myself. How can he stand to be seen with me?
- Smile. That will cover some of the flaws.
- I should just tell him how I feel. Communication is good. I should talk to him.
- No! are you crazy? It's a date! You finally have a date! Don't ruin it!
- But I hate myself.
- I hate you too! But you don't want him to think you're crazy!
- I'm not crazy.
- You're talking to me, so you're certifiable.
- We'll just sit here and feel old and ugly and gross, then?
- You'd better believe it. We're fine. Now shut up. He's going to notice you're talking to yourself.
I went back to my root beer and smiled.
And then - I'm not kidding - my OBGYN walked through the door of the restaurant. Straight past me at my table in the random little deli twelve miles from the doctor's office. The cute, young doctor, with his cute, young wife, and their cute, young kids. The whole family trooped right by.
My dear husband was startled by my nearly spitting root beer out my nose, and more startled by the following whisper: "We have to talk. We have to talk right now. I don't always believe in signs from God, but this is the weirdest one I've ever gotten, so we're going to talk right now and I need you to hear me.
"I might be going crazy, but I need you to know that sometimes - I hate myself. And I can't imagine how you could love me anymore because I had a hysterectomy and now I'm so old and ugly. And I feel useless every time I see someone with more than two babies, and I know that's crazy because I'm grateful for the two babies we have, but I'm just trying to get the crazy out in the open because... because.... uh... I... see..."
Then I had to explain about the cute doctor, how much I never, ever, EVER wanted to see a doctor who has seen my unmentionables in public. I really didn't want to see him while I was on a date. And I really didn't understand the cosmic injustice that had brought that particular doctor to this particular deli on this particular night.
Except that it made me say all the horrible things I'd had stuck in my head all week. It sounds simple, but it was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. In my husband's praise, I must say that he didn't flee the scene. He blinked a lot and said, "Oh," several times, which I consider the work of a very courageous man in the face of so much root-beer-spilling craziness.
Interestingly enough, saying all the scary bits took the teeth out of the beast. When I heard all the terrors named, they started to lose their power. Not because they weren't valid, but because they weren't true. And they would never be really true unless I gave them the power to wander unchecked through my head.
I won't lie to you, you readers who have followed so much and laughed along with me, because the plain facts are that I sometimes still fight those fears. But I'm guessing that many of you do too. Those fears will always have power while we fight them alone. So I encourage you to run to your spouse, or your best friend, or your mentor, or someone safe - and tell them the Crazy out loud.
Because no one, I mean no one, should have to see their OBGYN in a deli.
I haven't posted in over a month. Not because we led lives of complete monotony in the interim (you must know us better than that), but because I'm a coward. Sometimes, the Tired sets in, and Life stops being funny. And I'm too afraid to admit it out loud.
As the great philosopher Lucy says, "The mere fact that you realize you need help indicates that you are not too far gone". So here I am, back at the empty blog page, wondering what I should say to oust the demon of terror and vulnerability.
I know! I will tell you the most embarrassing thing that's happened since the hysterectomy surgery in July.
It started with a complication. Another doctor's appointment, another exam, another "Uh, that shouldn't happen", another "We fixed it this time. Really". SO much fun.
But it was worse than usual, because when they scheduled the first available appointment, they scheduled me with the cute doctor. The young doctor, who is too handsome and kind for OB work. And through no fault of his very professional exam, I realized that my young life was over.
I was old. I was having hot flashes.
And broken. I couldn't have any more babies.
And ugly. I couldn't seem to lose the surgery weight.
No one would ever flirt with me again. Ever.
I drove home thinking, "I don't want random people to flirt with me anyway. Yeah. So there."
I went back to my chores thinking, "Besides, beauty is on the inside. That's what they say!... to ugly people. Yeah."
And I spent a whole week in silent battle against Self-Pity, Self-Loathing, and all around Self. I fully admit that Self was the evil, and Self was the problem. It's amazing how easy it is to become Self-absorbed. But that's for another time.
This time, I want to mention the importance of saying the crazy out loud. I want to confess that when I try to conquer the inner fears by myself, I almost always fail. I should have told my husband that I needed a kiss and a pep talk. But I didn't. Because I'm too cool, and too spiritual, and too strong to ask for help.
So I waded about in the Slough of Despond for a bit.
The following Friday, my dear husband took me out to dinner while the kids played at Grandma's. I put on makeup, and a dress, and painted my toenails. I was as pretty as a post operative woman can be, I suppose. But as I sat in Jason's Deli, smiling at my amazing husband, all I could think was:
- I really hate myself. How can he stand to be seen with me?
- Smile. That will cover some of the flaws.
- I should just tell him how I feel. Communication is good. I should talk to him.
- No! are you crazy? It's a date! You finally have a date! Don't ruin it!
- But I hate myself.
- I hate you too! But you don't want him to think you're crazy!
- I'm not crazy.
- You're talking to me, so you're certifiable.
- We'll just sit here and feel old and ugly and gross, then?
- You'd better believe it. We're fine. Now shut up. He's going to notice you're talking to yourself.
I went back to my root beer and smiled.
And then - I'm not kidding - my OBGYN walked through the door of the restaurant. Straight past me at my table in the random little deli twelve miles from the doctor's office. The cute, young doctor, with his cute, young wife, and their cute, young kids. The whole family trooped right by.
My dear husband was startled by my nearly spitting root beer out my nose, and more startled by the following whisper: "We have to talk. We have to talk right now. I don't always believe in signs from God, but this is the weirdest one I've ever gotten, so we're going to talk right now and I need you to hear me.
"I might be going crazy, but I need you to know that sometimes - I hate myself. And I can't imagine how you could love me anymore because I had a hysterectomy and now I'm so old and ugly. And I feel useless every time I see someone with more than two babies, and I know that's crazy because I'm grateful for the two babies we have, but I'm just trying to get the crazy out in the open because... because.... uh... I... see..."
Then I had to explain about the cute doctor, how much I never, ever, EVER wanted to see a doctor who has seen my unmentionables in public. I really didn't want to see him while I was on a date. And I really didn't understand the cosmic injustice that had brought that particular doctor to this particular deli on this particular night.
Except that it made me say all the horrible things I'd had stuck in my head all week. It sounds simple, but it was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. In my husband's praise, I must say that he didn't flee the scene. He blinked a lot and said, "Oh," several times, which I consider the work of a very courageous man in the face of so much root-beer-spilling craziness.
Interestingly enough, saying all the scary bits took the teeth out of the beast. When I heard all the terrors named, they started to lose their power. Not because they weren't valid, but because they weren't true. And they would never be really true unless I gave them the power to wander unchecked through my head.
I won't lie to you, you readers who have followed so much and laughed along with me, because the plain facts are that I sometimes still fight those fears. But I'm guessing that many of you do too. Those fears will always have power while we fight them alone. So I encourage you to run to your spouse, or your best friend, or your mentor, or someone safe - and tell them the Crazy out loud.
Because no one, I mean no one, should have to see their OBGYN in a deli.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)