The Fuzzball Chronicles: the Life and Times of Curly Mommy

I love my messy, broken friends who know that I am messy and broken too. It hurts when my friends do messy, broken, stupid things. I know it hurts my friends when I do messy, broken, stupid things too. I'm honored that my friends feel safe enough with me to be honest when they do messy, broken, stupid things. I'm grateful that I am learning stop before speaking harmful words when my friends do messy, broken, stupid things. I can't ignore the stupid, messy, broken actions. I have to confront the stupid, messy, broken things my friends do, in a healthy, healing way. I want my friends to accept that their stupid, messy, broken actions hurt me. I think it is reasonable that my friends will have to work to regain my trust after hurting me with stupid, messy, broken behavior. I am willing do to my part in maintaining healthy, healing relationships with my messy, broken friends. I hope that my friends will do their part in maintaining healthy, healing relationships with me, a me...

I had errands to take care of, so I told the kids to get their shoes on and go potty. Then it began. Baby Bee climbed Little Man's toy shelf and knocked over a box of Legos. Little Man yelled. She began to cry and morphed into a lump on the floor. A few moments later, I was brushing Tater's hair and trying to explain the importance of brushing ALL of the hair, not just the the hair in the front. Baby Bee walked into the room and started touching Tater's stuff. Tater yelled at her to get out. Again, she resembled a writhing blob on the floor. Next, I attempted to gently brush and pull Baby Bee's hair up so it wouldn't be in her eyes. She screamed the entire time. When I finished, she hid under a pillow on her bed. I opened the garage and told everyone to load up. Tater loaded. Little Man loaded. Baby Bee refused to move. When I moved the pillow, I noticed that Baby Bee had removed and disposed of her ponytail holder. Her chin-length bangs covered her eyes ...

So, I called the Pulmonologist around 8:30 yesterday morning, in hopes of a same-day appointment. No such luck. The receptionist offered me a May 1 appointment and left a message for the nurse to call me back. At 10:20 I hadn't heard back from the nurse, so I called back. I was offered the same appointment and was told I could leave another message. I decided not to wait on the call and made an appointment with my primary doc. When I got to my primary, the nurse immediately gave me a breathing treatment which made a big difference in how I was feeling. I explained that I had been to Urgent Care the night before, that my pulmonologist couldn't see me, and that I needed a stronger prednisone script than the one prescribed at Urgent Care. My doctor ordered a test to check for laringopharangeal reflux (food and drink refluxing into the sinuses), wrote a script for 18 days worth of prednisone (ugh!), and ordered a home nebulizer. It seems that my doctor is really starting to listen ...

Wednesday was miserable. Along with sinus and lung problems, I was miserable with twitching, restlessness, tingling limbs, headache, dizziness, and the sense that the room was trembling, even though it know it wasn't. At 8:30 I called my doctor about the symptoms, but the receptionist failed to report it to the nurse. The nurse called be back fairly quickly after I called again around 11:30. My afternoon was spent reporting symptoms and waiting for the nurse to relay the questions to my doc then call me back. In the first of three calls she made to me, she told me that the doctor didn't think my symptoms were related to my new med and asked if I wanted a neurology referral. After I made it clear that I was not going to take the med that I felt was making me sick ever again, she said she would call a different antibiotic in to my pharmacy. Yardboy was really helpful. Even though he had a full and stressful day, he took time off to pick up Tater and Little Man. I was in no shape ...

You gotta read what my friend wrote a few days ago. Check it out: Voice in the Chasm

I sat down tonight to blog about cloth diapers. Yes, we've made the switch to cloth,and yes, we like them. However, that isn't what I need to blog about tonight. I'll save the diaper talk for another post. Friday night I went to my parents church in my hometown to read my recovery story. This is no wimpy, skim the surface testimony. This is down and dirty, warts and all testimony. I even invited several friends who aren't in recovery. I stood in front of about 100 people and shared it all. If you've read my blog at all over the last few years, you know that struggle with anger, depression, codependency, and food addiction. But there is one thing I've kept private. I've never mentioned my biggest, toughest, darkest area of recovery. Friday night I openly spoke about it, so I might as well speak of it here too. YIKES! Here goes... I'm a SURVIVOR of childhood sexual abuse. Oh my goodness, I can't believe I said it. I'm feeling quite expose...

In the ending paragraph of my last post I said, "To the surprise of some, there are United Methodists that are running toward Jesus with all of their might. I am one and I am proud to know many others." I feel like a fraud! I struggle! I am so imperfect! I want to run toward Jesus with all of my might, but I often stumble. Sometimes I just walk in His general direction. Other times I purposely walk in the opposite direction. I am working on Recovery Step 3: "Turn my life and will over to the care of God." Principle 3 is: "Consciously choose to commit all my life and will to Christ's care and control." All my life and will? Well, that would be running toward Jesus will all might, wouldn't it? That is what I want. I need God's help to run. This is the Principle 3 Prayer, changed a little to fit me: Dear God, I have tried to do it all by myself, on my own power, and I have failed. Today I want to turn my life over to You. I ask You to be my Lord ...