I am PMS'ing. I have only PMS'd two to three times in the last year. As to why, well you need to read A Scrape, A Burn, 6 incisions, 4 units of blood, and a Little Heart Shaped Surprise . So we are in the process of moving. Well, sort of. There's a catch you see, we actually haven't started. Moving that is. I started. And it sucks. After having gone all but one month in the last eight, without the womanly curse, Mrs. O'Hara if you please, she is so not welcome back. Especially now, when I need to be busting my booty putting away all the Christmas everything, and then packing to move. By the end of the month. Mrs. O'Hara came to visit the day before yesterday while mini-vacationing at my dad's house in WV. The visit was planned, but I extended it a couple of days, to avoid the inevitable packing and moving. Ugh. My hubbie came up to spend the night with myself and the 4yo at my daddy's. It's like after having been apart for five days, my one remaining ovary, which is no longer connected to anything, said, "whoa, hold up, I can still party like a rockstar! I smell the hub testosterone! I smeeeeellllllll it!" Creak, groan, pinch, cramp, smoke emitting forth out of the hoochie girl, and whamm-o, it's kicking again. I'll be damned. Everytime I mention being gloriously rid of Mrs. O'Hara, bam! It's like she hears me! She says," Oh no my dearie, your not done yet! You thought you were done? Oh sorry! HATE to be an inconvenience(insert wicked grin and evil laugh here)!" So while I don't feel like doing anything but laying in bed, I have been running errands. For the last six days. Ugh. And I have been a little sensitive. I am sure my MIL is reading this going,"you call that sensitive?" Sorry MIL, love you!
So anyway, while at the father's, we had a 4yo puking incident. As soon as we fell asleep. I woke up to a cough. Not just any cough, THE cough. The one that means, here it comes, the big one! And it was one of those lovely ginormous ones. The kind where the child's dinner was not digested. Yup big ol' non digested cheese globs. Yummy. All over the sheets, the comforter ,pink and white jammies, four pillows, three blankets, two afghans, and all over the brand new pink pillow pet. ( Feel free to sing along to the tune of the Twelve Days of Christmas!) So needless to say, Dad and I did not get any sleep that night! We were up washing everything off and out in the sinks, and the dreaded stench of the inside of my child's stomach invaded my nostrils and stayed there. Ugh.
So the rest of the night, I am reliving washing the puke out of my child's clothes. No sleep for dear old mom. Every time she coughed or made a noise, I was right there, under her face with a peach trash can. I did not want puke all over, well... everywhere again. Plus we were running out of blankets! I decided to go through my mother's books, while I was on yak detail. My mother's bookshelf is right beside her bed. She passed away a year ago to the day on Thanksgiving Day, of last year. My mother had a habit of putting tissues to mark her page in a book, when she was out of bookmarks. So I decided I was ready to look at the last things my mother had been reading. Several books were about love, several about health, some she had started and never finished, and there were many containing poetry and verse, which she loved. And then there was her green bible. I opened her bible, curious as to what I might find. I found all of the usual things, obituaries of long gone relatives, programs from wakes past, and my grandfather's funeral program. Then as I was flipping through to where the pages fell open, the book fell open to the twenty second and twenty third Psalm.
There was a blood stain on the left hand side, where the twenty second Psalm was located. There was an elongated strip of dried blood starting at the top, and one single dot at the bottom. Tears just started silently falling from my eyes. I knew my mother had been here and read these pages before she died. I later discussed it with my dad, and we decided she had probably been reading her bible one day, ad had a nose bleed. I cannot describe the feeling I had had as I read the words that my mother had been reading. I knew instantly what she was feeling. Here is an excerpt from that page;
|The Holy Bible: King James Version. 2000.|
A Cry of Anguish and Song of Praise
|1||My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Mt. 27.46 · Mk. 15.34|
|2||O my God, I cry in the daytime, but thou hearest not;|
My mother was the strongest person I have ever known. She was so very strong throughout all of her many years of multiple illnesses. She always had a kind word, love in her heart, and her firm foundation in faith. Even as she herself knew her health was progressively getting worse. I knew she had been having a weak moment in all that she went through, and was asking God why. But even in her weakest of moments, she turned to him. The tears just kept rolling, as they are running down my cheeks again, as I write this. This was a rare peak into my mother's private pain and inner struggle with her health, which was her cross to bear throughout this life. I cannot begin to tell you everything that was wrong with her. She was a walking medical miracle. My dad should write a journal on her. Then on the next page of her bible;
The LORD Is My Shepherd
|1||The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.|
|2||He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:|
|3||He restoreth my soul:|
|4||Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,|
|5||Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:|
|6||Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:|
This is the scripture that had to have been comforting to her, as she railed against God asking why. My mother was a state president of a fraternal service organization, The Order of The Eastern Star. It was a huge honor to get elected to hold the offices up to and including president. When she visited each chapter, of close to one hundred in number statewide, during her year as president, in her speeches to the local chapters, she always spoke of God. She always incorporated scriptures into her speeches, and love. Many times people were moved to tears by her speeches. She was a very Godly woman, and liked to spread his word as often as she could. She was a very good public speaker. She always did for others, before herself. She was a state director of the youth group of OES, the International Order of Rainbow for Girls. She held many offices, and was actively involved in the District level of the organization as well. She was the Mother Advisor for our local assembly before, during, and after I was old enough to be a member. She helped and touched many girls lives during the course of her forty plus years involved with the organization, starting with her own time as a Rainbow Girl.
So, needless to say I wasn't expecting to find that little surprise. I am glad that I did, but it made me sad, and I hurt for my mother, knowing what she went through, and so very heartbroken for what she had to endure. But also glad that when she found herself doubting, weak and at a crossroads, she turned to her lord and savior. And he comforted her. She was a living example in everything she preached! So it was an exhausting and emotional, sleepless night!
So when I went to my MIL's, I took the pukey laundry and sheets to wash for my dad. Long story, don't ask, it is another post entirely. But basically Dad and I have grown so much closer over the last year bonding over laundry every two weeks. So after I washed his towels, all still my mother's signature color of purple, I found myself fondly remembering another family tradition, so to speak, regarding the towels. I wrote about one such family tradition in Squeaky Clean Enough, and here is another .
I was sitting on my MIL's couch folding my daddy's towels, and started fondly remembering my mother and the first time she taught me to fold towels. She was very patient and showed me which way to fold the first fold, and the second, and then to fold it in half. She also taught me which way to fold the hand towels and wash rags. There were several towel folding sessions, each time my mother was as patient as the first time. The hand towels had to be folded in half long ways, then in half again. The wash rags had to be folded the same way. If I folded one incorrectly, she would patiently help me to fold it again, until I got the hang of it.
Then after my freshman year in college, my parents bought a new house, that was more conducive to my mother's health needs. The towel folding changed. My parents no longer had a six foot long towel and storage closet, they had a towel rack over the toilet. So the need arose to fold the towels differently. So I remember the new towel instruction period. Now we had to fold the towels in half long ways and then tri fold the towels, so that they fit on the new towel rack. I remembered the many times we folded towels together over my lifetime, and the many times I folded her towels for her, because she was too sick to do it herself. I remember and cherish the towel folding conversations, each and every one. I loved to chat about nothing in particular with my mother, my best friend. As I sat on that couch and folded my daddy's towels, her towels, it made me smile to go back and pull these memories out. It made me smile as I folded each and every towel the way she had taught me. It made me smile to think of the look on my daddy's face, when he saw that I had remembered and folded towels mommy's way, just for him! I was right it made him smile, when I took his towels to him!
So as I have been trying to write this post for a week and a half now, but in the meantime my page views just hit 3000! Whoopie! So thank you dear readers for hanging in there with me, and enjoying my writing, and my crazy life! Thanks a bunch! Here's to another 3000! (And we did get started packing and moving, since I started this entry...which is why I haven't been writing as often lately. Packing, moving, driving an hour plus each way from KY to WV and vice versa...Ugh! But that is a whole 'nother post! So I promise to be more active in February!)