The Great McDonald's Debate

This morning started with great expectations!  Didn't quite go as planned but trying to stay positive.  (Positive that the day seems to be going downhill...)  Kidding, of course, but goodness - sometimes parenting is tough.  Can I get an Amen?!

Braxton asked if we could go to the park today, and since we haven't been in awhile and I've been unable to do much with them over the past week due to having gallbladder surgery, I decided it was time for a trip to the park.  (By the way, does anyone else find that certain parts of your body are becoming more and more unneccessary with age or is it just me??  First the tonsils, now the gallbladder.  What's next?  Nevermind - don't answer that.)    Before we left the house, I got down on one knee and looked my boy straight in his sparkling blue eyes and said "There will be NO arguing whatsoever when it's time to leave the park...do we have a deal?"  He agreed, "Deal!" and we shook on it. 

We made the short drive to the park and I was proud of myself that I got out of the house and was doing something fun with them just 1 week after surgery.  I was even plotting to take them to McDonald's afterwards for a special lunch.  We stayed long enough for Brax to break the new world record for swing-heighth and for Sadie to try and eat sand 3.2 times and for all of us to have red, sweaty faces, when I announced (after several time-countdown warnings) that it was time for us to leave the park.  And what is that I hear?  No, surely that is not my beloved son going back on his word and arguing...surely not!  We shook on it!  Do handshakes mean nothing anymore??!  I did my best to not respond in anger and to continue walking towards the van when I saw my son heading toward the fence to try to go under it instead of walking around it.  I told him not to go under it.  He did anyway.  He fell and got hurt and there were tears.  Still, I kept my cool.  Atleast until the van doors were securely shut and we were safely inside a mostly soundproof vehicle.  "I cannot believe you argued with me after the talk we had before we left the house!  When will you learn not to argue and to be thankful when someone does something nice for you?!  Do you know that some kids don't ever get to go to the park??!"  (Ok, yeah that last one was a little weak, but it seemed like a good thing to say at the time)  His reply:  "I'm sorry, mommy.  Can we go to McDonald's now?"  Oooooh someone hold me back...  At that point I was glad I was driving and forced to remain calm and keep both hands on the wheel.  "Jesus, give me strength!"  After counting to ten, I calmly informed my firstborn that we were going to drive through McDonalds, but that only Sadie and I were getting our lunch there.  That we would go home and I would fix his lunch at home.  More tears.  "But mommy, I didn't understand what arguing meant!"  ---Stay strong, Kali, stay strong---  "Mommy, I didn't mean to make those bad choices!"  ---you can do this, Kali, don't give in!---  It got harder and harder the closer we got to those golden arches.  Pulling up to that drive thru was pure torture as the voice inside the sign said "Will that happy meal be for a boy or for a girl?"  Why did I feel like I was somehow being unfair??!  His tears were piercing straight through to my heart and I so badly wanted to say "ok, we'll get you a happy meal too, but don't do it again, ok?"  But would he really learn the lesson that way?

I get it now, that feeling my own parents used to express to me when I was being punished.  The classic "this hurts me way more than it hurts you" line?  Turns out it's true.  Huh.  And yet if we don't follow through with what we say, our children will learn that they cannot trust us.  The truth is, I want to give my kids everything that they need AND everything that they want.  But is it best for them?  Or is it better for them to learn at an early age that our behavior and the way that we choose to treat others makes a big difference in the blessings we receive in this life.  (I know some adults who never learned that lesson!)  So we must stay strong in the trenches, and pray that the end result will be children that grow up to serve God, be humble, be respectful, work hard, and love others with all of their hearts.  So basically, perfection.  Or as close to it as possible.  That's not too much to expect, right?? 

So we drove through McDonald's and came home with only one happy meal.  Brax had an at-home lunch and he survived it, and so did I.  One battle down.  Several thousand more to go.

Birth Story #1

The end of September of 2006 had come and I completed my final days of working at the bank in wealth management. My maternity leave (which turned out to be a permanent leave) began and I had two solid weeks at home before our lives would be changed forever. I felt at least 53 months pregnant and was an emotional basket case. I stocked up on groceries and toiletries (we had enough toilet paper to last us 6 months), washed and hung all of the baby clothes, cleaned, scrubbed, and bleached every square inch of the house...and that was just day 1 of my leave. I quickly found myself bored out of my mind, so I began obsessively watching A Baby Story on TLC and freaking myself out with horrible labor & delivery scenarios. If I knew then what I know now, I would've spent that time SLEEPING!

The month of October began to slowly tick by. I inched closer and closer to my due date but felt no sign of baby Braxton making his grand entrance. Wednesday evening, October 11th, we went to our Life Group and had dinner with friends. When we got home, I began scrubbing a spot on our carpet in the bedroom, which turned in to scrubbing spots on the carpet throughout the entire house. (I probably would've began cleaning our neighbor's homes if they would've let me).  An hour and a half later, it was past midnight and I finally climbed (or waddled) into bed. 30 minutes later, I was up again with what might be contractions (I wasn't sure) and I appeared to be leaking some fluid of some sort (sorry for the gruesomeness!). I woke Matt up and called the doctor. Doc told us to wait a bit and time the contractions. As we sat there in our bed, our hearts pumping with excitement that maybe this was it, I suddenly became incredibly hungry. So Matt dutifully went to the kitchen and a few minutes later, came back with a pot full of steaming macaroni and cheese. No bowl necessary...the man brought me the entire pot with a spoon; my luxurious, final meal before I became a mom.

A couple of hours later, it became evident that this was the day, and we loaded up and made our way to Vanderbilt Hospital. The morning was filled with a lot of poking and prodding, pitocin and epidurals, and waiting. It was midday on Thursday, October 12th and the doctor had told us with much certainty that it would be Friday before I gave birth. I prayed that this would not be true because I did not want to be in labor on Friday the 13th!  Much of the day had been quite boring.  They had given me an epidural early on, so I wasn't feeling much, except for the blood pressure cuff continuously squeezing the blood out of my arm every 30 seconds.  Late in the afternoon that same day, the nurse checked me and with a slightly alarmed look on her face said "It's time".  I watched the flurry of activity and began hyperventilating as our hospital room suddenly came alive with movement and lights.  I looked at Matt for encouragement and then yelled at him seconds later for touching my leg (it was numb from the epidural and his touch felt like pins and needles).  Poor guy. 

Now, for those of you who had horrible labor and delivery experiences, you might want to stop reading here.  It was time to push (even though the doctor wasn't in the room yet - pretty sure he was out watching an old Friends episode or something).  Matt set up the video camera at a PG13 angle and hit play on the CD player (a worship CD we made for the occasion).  A peace came over the room and I began to push.  Precisely 21 minutes later on that Thursday in October, Braxton Riley Skar was born - fist first!  The doctor barely made it into the room in time to catch him!  The nurses placed him on my chest, goop and all, and this screaming little baby boy and I looked at each other for the first time.  By the look on his face, he was thinking "What are you gonna do with me??" and at the same time I was thinking "What do I do with you now??" 

We called our families to tell them the news.  I spoke to my Grandmother and told her "He looks just like Matt!" to which she replied, "Awww, well that's ok." 

The first night in the hospital was glorious.  I looooved getting up with him in the night, learning how to change his diaper, rocking him and feeding him.  He slept a lot and I drifted in and out between sleeping and staring at our precious new life born from our love.  I bragged to everyone about what a good sleeper he was, and how he really didn't cry much at all!  Such a low-maintenance baby!  Then night #2 happened.  If we hadn't been on the 4th floor I would've jumped out the window.  Why won't he go to sleep?  Why is he still crying??  Does he not know that I need a minimum of 8 hours of sleep in order to function properly???  How is Matt sleeping through this????  Little did I know that I would be asking these same questions for the next 4 years...   

Half a Home

So there we were, 5 months pregnant, broke as a joke, with no clue as to what we were doing.  We were learning how to be a married couple, and at the same dealing with the stress of a lawsuit, a baby on the way, and my obsession with the need to buy a house before I went in to labor.  That summer, we took a trip with my family to the Dominican Republic where I discovered the meaning of pregnancy brain.  I managed to lose a $100 bill, and later in the week, an entire bag of souvenirs that I had purchased earlier in the day.  (Both were eventually recovered).     

When we returned from our trip, we hit the ground running with house hunting and decided pretty quickly that we really couldn't afford anything decent inside the city limits.  We looked at 3 or 4 houses before we finally found a brand new construction waaaaay outside the city limits.  It was situated on a lot that was basically forgotten about, so the builder decided to squeeze a house in there.  It made for a humorous address:  934 1/2 Jordan Circle.  Yep, we were 1/2 of a home (literally - the space was 990 square feet), but boy did I fall in love with it, despite Matt's 45 minute commute to work.  There's just something about your first home and the place where you bring your first child home. 

We moved in to our new digs in the heat of August, less than 2 months before my due date.  The day before we moved, I was out on our apartment deck spray painting a bathroom wall shelf when I unknowingly disturbed a nest of wasps (note: wasps do NOT like spray paint).  Painful experience and did not help my already paralyzing fear of all flying insects.  That night, Matt and I decided to spend the first night in our new house on the floor (since the actual move wasn't until the next day).  That was a fun evening!  Matt hung curtains while I forced him to listen to Nick Lachey's new album (I think he secretly liked it), and I learned just how hard our new floor was.  The next day was grueling.  Lots of sweat in the 100 degree August weather, but we got all of our stuff into that tiny house even though it left us barely enough room to walk.  At least we had our bed put together though!  I'll never forget how good our bed felt as we climbed in to it that night.  We said goodnight, turned out the lights, and as we drifted off to sleep, everything came crashing down.  Literally.  Our bed collapsed.  Apparently the movers failed to put all of the support rails in place.  Either that, or I was just entirely too pregnant.   

We decorated Braxton's room in a couple of different shades of blue with a chair rail and our wedding-gift crib.  It was beautiful.  I remember sitting in the rocking chair in his nursery while he was still in my belly, listening to the quiet and longing to hold him in my arms.  And swelling.  Ooooh, the swelling.  If I had only known then what I know now, I would have done a LOT more sleeping during those last few weeks of pregnancy.  I had no idea what awaited me...

     

GuitarGuys and Sedatives

Looking back on previous posts and remembering that first year of marriage with all of its ups and downs, I'm reminded about lucky and blessed I am to have found my husband, my best friend.  I have never wanted to live this life alone.  I'm much better with my man by my side!  However, I do wish that when I was in my twenties, I hadn't worried about being single so much.  I spent a lot of time dating the wrong guys and giving away pieces of my heart.

Let's see, there was GuitarGuy #1 whose really only ambition in life was to eat, sleep and play guitar.  Then there was GuitarGuy #2 whose really only ambition in life was to eat, sleep and play guitar.  (You'd think I'd learn, right?)  There was CanadaGuy who affectionately dumped me via email.  (But hey, atleast he wasn't another GuitarGuy!  Progress!)  Then there was PianoGuy, a slight variation from GuitarGuys #1 and #2, for old time's sake.  Throw in GunGuy - a guy I met in my concealed weapons class who informed me, on our first date, that he had 3 different kids with 3 different women and wanted to have more.  (We never spoke again).  And then I gave up looking. 

It was somewhere between GuitarGuy #2 and CanadaGuy that I slipped in to a very deep depression.  I was actually engaged to GuitarGuy for about 7 months.  We broke up a few months before the wedding day.  This was one of the most painful and humiliating experiences of my life.  I had already bought the wedding dress.  We had already booked the honeymoon.  The invitations were printed and sitting on my counter.  I had all of these reminders around me, not to mention the fact that the guy I had spent almost every waking moment with over the past year was gone and I felt very, very alone.  This experience triggered a chemical imbalance in my brain that I struggled to keep under control for almost a year.  I eventually lost that battle and one evening in November of 2001, I swallowed 28 sleeping pills and passed out in my apartment on the floor.

The next few days are foggy in my memory.  I drifted in and out of consciousness in the hospital bed.  The doctors opted not to pump my stomach because of the damage that it can do to a patient's vocal chords.  Instead they had me drink a charcoal-type liquid that helped me pass the medication through my system, but the side effect was that I stayed pretty drugged for a few days.  I remember friends coming to visit and the psychologist trying to interview me while I was still under the influence of the sedatives (totally not fair - of course I sounded crazy!)  I remember waking up honestly thinking that I had sat on the sharp end of a pencil (that would be the catheter that I was feeling...good times).  In the end, I was ok and I was able to leave the hospital after a few days, with scheduled counseling sessions and prescription "happy pills", of course.

It was this experience that really changed me and - oddly - brought about a lot of good things in my life.  For one, going through something like this shows you who your true friends are.  My roommate at the time (and the one who called 911 and saved my life), stuck with me through those hard times.  She never made me feel like I was a burden.  And to this day, almost 10 years later, she is still one of my closest friends in the world.  The youth pastor's wife at the church I attended at the time never left my side while I was in the hospital, and she had two young kids of her own.  True friendship.  This also brought about a reconciliation and a much closer relationship with my Dad, something that brought tremendous healing and restored confidence to my heart and mind.  Now - don't get me wrong - I do NOT recommend anyone trying this at home!  There was another end to this story that could have easily been told. 

So I was blessed to be given another chance, and after two or three more "frogs", I finally fell in love with my best friend, my prince!  And after almost 6 years of marriage, I can honestly say that we are more in love than we have ever been.

True story.

And to think, I could've missed out on these guys...

      

Joplin Hope

This is a video my husband and I created after our visit to Joplin last weekend.  Thought you might like to see what we saw.