He's Not Broken- Just Dented

If my husband were a car, he would be dented, not broken. The body is a bit shot, with a lot of dings in it, but the engine is still going strong. He can take in fuel, the exhaust system works, and so does the horn. All the rest is just surface damage.

People expected me to be devastated. I expected me to be devastated! I over-react to everything, so why would something major like this accident be any different? After all, this a lot worse than the small stuff...right?

The only answer could be God. He was keeping me sane and serene through it all. Yes, I did cry. Yes, I did worry if my husband was all right. But it wasn't the same anymore- it was like God came along and put His hand on my shoulder and said 'I got this.' The rest was easy.

Recovery is faster than expected, but slow when it  comes to the release date from the hospital. We have a lot to do- he needs to be busy healing, while I am taking care of the house and kids, managing visits and packing the house to move- we are moving at the end of October. I think his job is harder.

And if you've been reading this blog, you know I would have cracked by now. I'd probably be in a corner nursing on a chocolate and cream ring-ding and be humming show-tunes. But God had other plans. He hid my ring-dings and gave me the strength to move forward. 

I can't help but smile when I see my husband. He is alive and well (if dented), and in very good spirits. And when the docs are done fussing over him, he's coming back to me. That's all that matters.

God might have to give me a little more strength when he gets home because I'll probably have to hold my husband down just to keep him from trying to go back to work!

Yes, he's a nut, but he's my nut- cracked as he is.

We're not out of the woods yet, but I can see daylight. And it gets brighter every day. God is indeed good!

When Superman Cannot Fly

It's hard to think of our heroes getting hurt. They are our protectors, our support, and help us through the bad times. But yesterday my hero fell from the sky.

My husband works with a chemical called caustic soda. The mixture reacted and splattered over his body. He now lies in a hospital bed with second and third degree acid burns on 35% of his body. 

And they are still flushing out his eyes with saline. It's been almost twenty-four hours since the accident.

I won't go into too many details, but he will need skin grafting and a lot of time to heal.

So what happens when your hero falls? You become his heroine.

You pick him up. You nurture him. You feed him, give him something to drink, and say things to make him smile. You never let him see you cry- at least in the beginning.

Yesterday I was the damsel in distress and he would come and save me from the kids, the repairman, and computer viruses. Today he's the one who needs me, and I will be there for him.

Yesterday he was my hero, Today I am his. And when we're through this, we will both be wearing capes.

The Cleaning Pause That Lasted Years!

There I stood amongst the debris of my life, wondering how things could have gotten so out of control. Of course, not having cleaned the house in forever didn't help- when was it anyway? Last week? Last year? A decade? From the coating of dust, it could be the latter- unless my cats decided to shed all at once and are running around naked.

I like clean and neatness, I just don't do clean and neatness. It's not my gift. It's not even in my vocabulary. At least until we decided to buy our very first house.

Moving does something to people. At least to us people here in Clutterville. We dream of a better, neater life where no clutter or junk drawer exists, and every bad habit we have will be eradicated the second we step into the new digs. But then I look at all the things surrounding me and wonder, "Who buys all this stuff anyway?" and I have no one else to blame but myself- and my husband. It's his fault for letting me have a bank card.

I know I cleaned this place before, I just don't remember when. There was a vague wisp of a memory about two years back, and something about cleaning maintenance, but that wisp escaped me when I saw I had email. Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars of life insurance for only a dollar a week was worth looking into, after all! If I died, my family would have the funds to pay someone else to go through all this stuff!

But nooooo, I didn't get the insurance, and I didn't die. I have to put on my Big Girl pants- if I can find them- and get to work.

I started picking up the mess, dust motes flying about me like clouds of angry gnats, making me sneeze as I breathed them in. The cats (who weren't naked, after all) shot me looks of resentment as I removed things that made great kitty hiding places, as well as kitty obstacle courses. I'll miss their little antics, like falling off a pile of books when they misjudged a leap, or the surprised swipe of a paw from a concealed overturned box as his fuzzy brother walked by. Fun time was over, and it was time to get to work. The Cleaning Pause That Lasted Many Years was now over.  

I just hope I can get rid of most of this stuff before the move!             

Homemaker- The Household Warrior

Back in the fifties, the homemaker was a mandatory job whenever a woman married. She bore children, took care of the house, and made sure her husband was fed and taken care of. Homemakers became anathema during the sixties, and were looked down upon until the turn of the century. 

Now? It's a mixed bag of nuts- some people admire or envy us homemakers for what we do, and some look at us with disdain and contempt for 'wasting' our talents on home and family.

I don't see it as a waste of our God-given talents. We sacrifice when we have to, use our skills to make the most of what we do have, and spend our time in growing a family instead of a bank account. Does that sound wasteful to you?

But what about the money? I hear some ask. Don't you want to live better?

Money won't keep me company when I'm old, it doesn't help me lick the frosting off the beaters, and it certainly doesn't hug me when I'm feeling a bit run-down. Money doesn't love me back- that kind of love is a one-way street.

This is the essence of a Homemaker:

Home

Organization

Mentor

Establishing

Moral

Attributes

Knocking-out

Everyday

Responsibilities

We are Household Warriors. We are the pretend monsters to test our children's bravery when they bear swords made of vacuum cleaner parts. We are the healers of Great Wounds made by rogue bicycles, falls, and renegade children. We are the feeders of the masses, pulling sweet and savory delights from the fiery ovens so that hungry mouths are sated and bellies are filled. 

Our battles are not just in the kitchen. We fight the everyday invasion of dust bunnies and their musty ilk, ward off Great Beasts like spiders and other creepy-crawlies- sometimes uttering battle-cries when one of them dares land on us. Don't let those shrieks fool you- that is the cry of a true Warrior; courage is when you face your biggest fears- Even if the critter is the size of a gnat.

Gifted with senses beyond the norm, we know when our children are in danger, and when they are the cause of the danger. We sense trouble in the silence, or when the tone of a cry changes from want to desperation of services needed. We can tell if an injury warrants a kiss or serious tending, and can usually render that tending if need be. We are the sleuths of Great Mysteries, and are able to define any item in the house, no matter how small. And we know who took the last cookie in the cookie jar.

I am a Homemaker, tried and true. I am blessed to be home for my husband and children, and blessed to be able to provide good nutrition for my family, keep the house in order, and still able to use my talents to bless others. Being a homemaker is a gift, and a greatly appreciated one.

I am a Homemaker. I am a Household Warrior. And when the kids go back to school, I am a woman who needs a nap!