Something Was Not Right

I was grateful my husband had Mother's Day off. I was really appreciative that he cooked me dinner and mowed the lawn and overall just had a servant's heart toward me today. After good food and great friends and family, we were preparing to drop off a couple of college kids (2 young gentlemen Husband is spiritually mentoring) back at their apartment. I knew this was going to be a cooky night because just before leaving home, I realized I left my purse in a friend's car and had to go in the opposite direction of our college-aged friends apartment. Yes the purse was an inconvenience to fetch but ever so often I tend to leave very important things in very inconvenient places. It happens. 

So, after picking up my purse, we stopped to get some gas and used a gift card to put $20 in the tank. We made our way toward the college student's apartment when we see down the road a ways, a woman pushing and steering her disabled car. Naturally, my husband pulls over to assist. Our 2 friends helped also. After pushing her car around a corner, Husband talked to her. She was quite upset; and shared she needed gas for her car. 

She produced a gas can and we took her and her gas can to the gas station just around the corner. I would not encourage anyone to do what we did but seeing as she was outnumbered 4-1, the odds of her successfully doing something stupid were close to nil.
She was very quiet and when she spoke, it was in near inaudible whispers. She didn't have a place to stay and had run out of gas. She said she pushed her car almost 2 miles by herself. She had no phone. It was quite sad. I gave her my business card but scratched out my personal number. Something told me to do that; not to divulge that information to her. But I did write all of our church's info on the back. She took the card almost reluctantly and I truly felt bad for her situation. Husband came to the car door and told me there's a zero balance on the gift card. Well crap. I realized at that moment that the previous gas station must have put a hold on the card. I thought gas stations stopped doing that though......... I pulled out another card; our bank card with less than $10 on it and in faith, give it to Husband to pay for this stranger's gas. Husband got in the car with the gas and we drove back to Stranger's car. The fumes from the gas can were nauseating. I usually really love the smell of gas. It's a dangerous smell but that evening, the fumes tangoed with the dull headache that was beginning to swirl around my temple causing a dizzying effect.

We returned to her car and Husband got out to put the gas in her car. As she got out, I asked if there's anything we can pray for her about. She said, "Only if you can make food fall out of the sky!" and abruptly left. I watched through the tinted back window of our minivan as this woman did a 180 on my husband and began to snap off on him. She doesn't want the gas and "me and my children will suffer together!" Husband put the gas can down and walks back to the van. Another car stopped to try and help her. We drove off. And as we drive off, we pray for her. Something was not right. We just wanted to help.

We dropped friends off and drove back the way we came. We decided it would be a good idea to call the police because this woman was potentially going to cause an accident and get herself or someone else killed by her erratic actions. As we passed by where Stranger was again, she was on her 3rd set of helpful people, I heard the screech of tires on wet pavement. The car barely missed everyone. We called 911. Weird. Just plain old weird. What else can I say.

Oh......I Music Video Referenced Paula Abdul :(

I really appreciate the support my husband gives me in all of my musical endeavors. I'm starting up a private lesson business (voice and piano), I am the worship director at the church we attend, and I've started writing songs. I could have never done any of this without his blessing and support and I am forever grateful for the support system he's been for me. I need time to practice for Sunday mornings, write, and prepare for lessons. He's been more than gracious about the time I need to devote to these huge aspects of my life. He also keeps my artsy fartsy head out of the creative clouds when I need to and should be focusing on our family. 

His career has facilitated the opportunity for me to pursue aspects of my musicianship I would've never been able to tap had I continued my typical 40+hr/wk teaching career. I am in the summer of my creativity. I am writing songs, and essays and blog posts and reading books and playing music and painting canvases and doodling pictures on the sketchbook app on my phone. I feel more vibrant than I have in 6 years (that's when we started having children). 

One of my doodles. I call it "Swirls"

It's difficult for artsy-fartsys to maintain a healthy and viable family life. Our craft can be so self-centered and our choice in spouse is one that can empower or destroy a family. I am also not oblivious to the fact the divorce rate is significantly increased among firemen. So, our marriage is something we try to keep in focus and consistently strive (and sometimes fight) to maintain healthy lines of communication amongst each other. This is something we are presently learning to do (fyi, we are nearing year 8 of marriage) but have yet to master.  

My husband is not an artsy-fartsy. He loves working out and fighting fires and playing basketball. He barbecues (he indoor cooks also) and drinks beer and cooks with beer :) He's a man's man. And I love it! I deliberately decided to not choose a spouse who was a fellow musician. I wanted someone different from me in every way. I wanted someone who would fill in my gaps and I the same. He's the cherry on top of my sundae and I like to think I'm the peppery watercress in his way too healthy salad. 

My husband is your typical Type-A personality; very regimented and disciplined. He wakes up at the same time each morning. Everything has its place. Disorder frustrates him.  For me, everything can go in any place. He makes the bed and I mess the bed and leave it. His side of the closet is compartmentalized by length of sleeve. All short sleeves together, all long sleeves together. Pants stay with pants, sweaters are folded and placed on the top shelf. His sock drawer is truly a sock drawer. 
My sock drawer, is anything but a sock drawer. Hell, if we're being honest with each other, I don't need a sock drawer, because I can never find a match so usually I go sock-less. My side of the closet..........looks like the clothes dryer projectile vomited my wardrobe from floor to ceiling. When he was in basic training, he had a side job ironing fellow soliders' uniforms. Irons are agains my religion. 

But, I truly appreciate my husband because he is my gentle reminder that the clothes dryer cannot projectile vomit all over the bedroom and that going sock-less usually makes for corn-chip smelling feet. He encourages me that practicing music is a valuable skill but so is cooking and eating the food that's cooked. My children cannot live on corn flakes alone (I saw a Bizzare ER about a toddler whose parents only fed him oatmeal. It wasn't good. There was weak legs and mouth sores involved......). 
My husband makes me better and he's told me I do the same. 

We ain't perfect that's for sure! We have our share of troubles and woes. I don't want to ever give the impression that I'm trying to put on airs. We argue about dumb stuff and have made poor parenting decisions and poor financial choices. I just pray we haven't yet made childhood wounds that will require our children to seek counseling sessions in the future. I've been nasty more times to my husband that I'd like to admit and he'd agree. But I can say this: we attempt to love more than we choose to lash each other with our tongues. We try to support rather than frustrate; talk (even when it's hard) rather than zip our lips and turn our backs. We try to be intimate rather than have make-up sex. Sometimes we're gainfully successful in these endeavors and sometimes I feel like that Paula Abdul music video with that animated Cheetos lookalike cat.............you know- 2 steps forward, 2 steps back. I think it's time to stop; seeing as I just referenced Paula Abdul.      

Waaaaay Too Long Prayers and Thousand-Leggers

Sooo, today was a rough day and by rough I mean, it truly wasn’t rough at all; more interesting than anything. It’s hard not to take my cue from all the other firewife blogs I’ve read and believe that everything bad will happen when your spouse is on duty. Well, my husband was indeed on duty on my “rough” day.

The morning started out with my 6yr old waking up at 6:45am telling my husband he peed the bed. I was still sleeping but heard the exchange between him and my hubby.

Hubby: ok bud, take your clothes off so I can put you in the shower. You smell like pee.
Son: Ok Daddy
5 min later
Hubby: Ok son, brush your teeth and put your clothes on.
Son: Ok Daddy
Hubby: Where’s your book order form? Wife, where’s his book order form?
Wife: Huh? Afoadfncjnifnjdsna.
Hubby: Ok.....
Son: Good morning mommy!!!!!!
Wife: Huh? Asofmsofmasonfsf.
Hubby: Wife, the little one soaked through his pull-up. I took his clothes off.
The Little One: (he somehow made it to my lap) Hi mommy.
Wife: Huh? Hi little one. Where are your clothes?
The Little One: I peed in the bed. 

Son: (with a smile) I peed in the bed too!

And so my day began.....Let the dog out in the back yard. She’s in heat. We were supposed to get her fixed last week but there was a schedule blunder at the vet’s and in one week’s time, yup, blood on the floor. Really?!? Penicillin,Honey Bunches of Oats, Apple Cinnamon Oatmeal, Amoxicillin. Milk and socks and toothbrushes and poopy underwear. I’m sorry’s, rubber band bracelets, lunches and backpacks. It’s not yet 8:30 but we make it into the van and to Oldest Son’s school by 9:02. Whew.

It’s raining but I’m trying to get the word out about my business. So here I am dodging raindrops with the little one, tacking up business advertisements in my local area shops.  I was excited to do that. I wouldn’t put that in my “rough day” category. Aside from the rain, it was exhilarating. Starting up a business, much less a music business, is tough stuff but exciting. Right now I’m five months in and have 2 customers. I have faith more will come; the wait is just excruciating!

We get home and the little one keeps asking for his medicine.
The Little One: Mama, I need my medicine.
Mama: You had your medicine.
The Little One: I need my medicine.
Mama: You had it. This morning. You cannot have it again until bedtime.
The Little One: (through tears) I have to take my medicine.

I’m through. The Little One was diagnosed with a form of Sickle Cell Disease at birth. He’s never had any pain crises (Thank You God!) but takes Penicillin twice daily to back up his immune system. Just to bring you back from toddler-dom, he did indeed have his medicine in the morning and I don’t know why he was so insistent on taking another dose. Then it dawned upon me. It was time for a nap. The tears and illogical requests made perfect sense.

Naptime came and I got this genius idea to change the face of Facebook with an insightful post. Not worth repeating. Ummmm......in retrospect I don’t know how insightful it was, but you gotta have a good laugh at yourself and Facebook said 179 people saw my post.

The rest of the afternoon went fine. Homework, bow and arrows, running, running, running in my house. Disney channel. Pee right in front of the potty. Dirty dishes, crying dog, crying son, crying little one consecutively. Pizza dough. Kneading pizza dough. Mozzarella cheese on the floor. Pineapples, slices of ham, and jalepenos. Mmmmmm. Baths, more penicillin, more amoxicillin (Older Son’s strep) and then I heard a crack. I looked out onto our back patio to see the wind had taken the table and cracked the umbrella my husband left open the other night. I couldn’t leave it out there so I had to figure out how to close a broke patio umbrella. Not rocket science, but all I wanted to do was sit down. My fix involved snapping metal and using a wrench that I didn’t use as a wrench. Bedtime was postponed and Older Son helped me out. Thank you son! OK. 8:30 bedtime for real. Prayer. The little one insists on inventorying his entire day to God. The first 2 minutes are always cute then I’m trying to fit in a closer.

Mama: in Jesus name! .....
The Little One: Mommy! I’m not done! (pause) Jesus thank you for my friends........
Mama: in Jesus name......
The Little One: Wait! I didn’t pray for brother!
Mama: Yes you did.
Son: (rubbing my arm consoling me)
The Little One: OK. In Jesus name. A-men!

Kisses all around and I'm just glad no one asked to speak to Mr. Finger (I'll fill you in about him later). My hubby and I texted back and forth. I really love him! His night has been quiet and I’m thankful. That’s a blessing even though he wants to work. And I sat to write this. I let the dog lay next to me (on top of an old crappy blanket) on the couch. She seemed to appreciate that. She laid her head in my lap seemingly exhausted. Maybe I’m just projecting my own crappy feelings on this dog. She cracks me up when she farts. She farts then looks at her butt, surprised it escaped her. Oh my. And finally, I just killed a thousand-legger. I beat it with my shoe and then finished this sentence. Goodnight.

    Fiery Wife

Broken Rings and Ladders to the Head

No doubt. My husband's job is dangerous. But I can say, I haven't really had much anxiety about his job. I know a lot of wives talk about being fearful or worried when their husbands are on shift (And rightfully so. I definitely don't want to diminish the validity of their feelings) but I've gratefully been void of that emotion. My husband's first "accident" happened while hopping on the truck to go on a run.

He placed his hand on a railing in the truck and as it was pulling off, said he heard a pop. He looked down at his left hand when he felt some pressure on the inside of his palm. The top of the hand was ok. He turned the same hand palm up and realized that his wedding band had snapped and the broken and stretched band was pressing into his finger. No blood. His lieutenant asked him what happened and my husband showed him the busted ring. That's when my husband learned about the nine finger club and the many fireman who hadn't been as fortunate to keep all ten of their digits. Disaster averted. Whew! A couple weeks later we went to a tattoo shop and he had a black band tattooed on his ring finger. I like all 10 of my husband's fingers. 

The second incident happened the eve of my birthday. A friend of mine took me out to a posh little Thai restaurant downtown and we had a great time. Being only five minutes away from my husband's firehouse, I was going to call him and see if we could come visit him. Before I could dial his number, my phone rang and it was his voice on the other end.

Husband- "I just wanna let you know, I'm OK."
Fiery Wife- "OK....... What happened?"
Husband- "A ladder fell on my head. We had a basement fire and I was outside when a strong gust of wind took a 30ft ladder and blew it off the building. I was wearing my helmet."
FW- "A ladder?!? Are you going to the hospital?"
Husband- "Yeah, a ladder....."

I couldn't help but giggle a little. He seemed to be in good spirits so I truly wasn't afraid.

Husband-"I'm on my way there. They're making me go."

I'm thinking, of course they're making him go.... This is the man who got in a car accident three years ago; and dazed and bloodied, refused ambulance services and preached a sermon eight hours later, lucid as a lightbulb. I forced him to go to the ER after he preached (That was our agreement. I never agreed with the ambulance refusal.)So, back to the the whole ladder situation.....

FW- "Is your head split open?"
H- "No. But it dazed me."
FW- "Do you think you have a concussion"
H- "No. But I have to go."
FW- "Are they taking you to the downtown hospital?"
H- "Yeah, but you don't have to come."
FW- "Uhhhhhhh, we're coming."
H- "No seriously don't come. I'll call you and let you know what's going on."

5 minutes later Friend and I were at the hospital. There's no way that I wasn't going to show up. The security guard at the E.R. entrance told us the wrong room and I totally walked into room 37 and was met by a very confused and sick older woman. Not my husband. As I apologetically backed out of 37 and walked into room 30 (the correct room) I saw my husband, sitting on the hospital gurney looking cute as can be; a hospital gown on his torso with his fire pants (I don't know what they're called...) and boots still on.

Husband, Friend, and I laughed and cracked jokes and met the attending E.R. physician who was also a believer. We waited too long and texted and cracked even more jokes. We met some of the other firemen who also fell victim to this vicious ladder. I was happy to see my husband on his 24-on. I was happy the degree of his injury was a sore back the next day. I thought he may come home, but he's new and excited about his career, so we drove him back to his station and he finished out the rest of his shift. I was happy to see him the next morning tired but in tact. I was grateful.

Critters in the Attic

Ohhhh. There's a critter in the attic. The pest control people came, quoted us $250 to put 2 cages on our roof and check them every day for 5 days then take the critters alive "off site" to sneak into someone else's attic. What a waste! The soffits need to be fixed and our land lady has been dragging her feet on getting them replaced. I nagged a new roof out of her and was absolutely exhausted afterward. I had to tell her the ceiling was going to crumble into the house before she began searching for a roofer. She ended up cutting corners and hiring someone who would do it for cheap (just like all the other "upgrades" in the home).

They're not so cute when they're jackin' up your attic! 

 Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be living in a house (I've lived in apartments all my life) and usually I can look upon these things as adding character to the house just like a good scar on the forehead. The squeaky floors- sound character, the water logged ceiling with the flaking popcorn stucco- visual character, the missing kitchen cabinet door- shabby chic :) With all the charm and trouble this house has been, I don't want to move again. 

Almost 4 years ago we moved from Chicago to Columbus. We heard the call to ministry and we moved. I was 5 months pregnant; had just made tenure at my Chicagoland teaching job (I was going to be a "lifer") and my husband had a great job at a local hospital. Combined, we were almost earning 6 figures. We left it all, except our clothes and beds and moved to Columbus for the Lord. We lived with friends for a year, had our second son, and endured through his Sickle Cell Disease diagnosis at birth. We moved into our own apartment, My husband took the fire fighter test and we waited and waited and waited. 

I took a 50% pay cut to work at a Christian school (it was that important to me) and was hired to be the Worship Director at our church. We waited some more. My husband started the background process with the fire department and we waited some more. 2 years from the beginning of the process, he got into the academy! Woo hoo! I quit my job to better focus on our family, and we invited my mother to come live with us forever once she retired from her job in Chicago. We moved to this lovely house; she moved in a month later, and I started a private music lesson business. I'm tired of movement and transition. 

I truly don't care that there are critters in the attic (I know I should) or that the soffits need to be replaced. I just want to be somewhere long enough to get tired of the paint color on the walls. I want to know each divot in the lawn of our back yard. I want to know where the groundhogs live and grow a bigger garden. I want to dig my toes in the carpet and hide under a blanket on my couch over and over and over again and still be doing that habitual movement in the same place 10 years from now. I want to be still like a sycamore and grow deep gnarly roots. I know pruning needs to happen (even to sycamores) and maybe this is my season of being cut back but I pray there is a season of stillness somewhere near cause then maybe, I'll have time to worry about critters in the attic. 

Fiery Wife