Just Another Manic Saturday

Saturday is our Sabbath. Seventh Day Adventists, you ask? Well, no, but the picture of St. Anne probably gave that away already. I didn't pick her for vanity's sake, by the way, she's the patron saint of homemakers and pregnant women. Since I've been one or the both of those for most of my married life, I think she's a good patron saint for me and for our homeschool. But I'm getting totally off topic, so I'll come back now.

I was doing really well this morning. I'd gotten up and dressed, gotten kids dressed. I'd even made breakfast. No, not just cereal, an actual breakfast! I was so proud. I was sitting reading my bible (since my only "chores" on our Sabbath are bible and prayer) when Dominic called from California. I'm supposed to be there too, but couldn't be which I'll explain later. He wanted to remind me about going back to work, because there's rent due at the end of the month. Mundane, right? Sure, unless your wife is insane!

I had a nearly full blown panic attack over the rent. Then I got angry that I had to worry about something like that. I mean, who the heck cares about rent, anyway? Sarah's gone! Then Piper came. She'd started out the day whiney and cranky. She's not a morning girl. Acutally I'm not sure why she gets like that, but I'm pretty sure just being 2 is reason enough for her. Piper's my own little grumpy girl. Sometimes the sun rising without her permission is reason enough to be in a foul mood. She makes up for it, however, by being incredibly cute and smiling at me when I'm starting to get really annoyed. Anyway, she got into my bottles of pills by my bed for the third time, and threw a fit for the fourth time and I just lost it. I screamed at her. She cried. Then I cried. Of course I don't have Sarah. I SUCK at being the mom!

I held her and appologized. When she was okay I went in my room and cried. And I cried. And when I was done with that I cried some more. Then I stared out the window for a while. Where were my children, you ask? Well, if I were a good mother I could probably have told you, but I have no idea. Trouble would make noise, though, right? Yet, for the only time during the day they weren't in to see me. I stared out the window and thought. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. I felt lost and unsure. I wanted someone to come and handle me. I wanted someone to give me instructions.

But no one came, because I'm the adult now. Deeply frightening, I know, especially to those who have known me for years. So I called Heather. We were crazy teens together, and now she's about to finish all her stuff to become a marriage and family therapist. She must know what I should do, right? Well, not exactly. She was right in the middle of something and told me to lie down and she'd call me back. And she really would! But I couldn't lie down.

So I called Jennifer. She's been on this roller coaster of loss herself, and she had some good insights. At least I felt less insane after talking to her. And that's important, in my opinion. Heather did call back, but I could talk anymore. I just couldn't go back there. I should call her and let her know I'm okay. Good think she loves me a lot, huh?

After naptime (for the girls, not me) I managed to get us all to Mass. That was a feat. Not because my spirit wasn't willing, but my body was not on board. For the same reasons I cancelled California at the last minute. First, I started bleeding again and ended up back on the methergine. It seems bleeding is the first and last problem from my pregnancy. Second, I have a NASTY cold. And third, well, today especially I was exhausted from grieving. So I DRAGGED our butts to church.

I was glad I did. The gospel was Jesus raising Lazerus from the dead. I was reminded of a talk I'd had with Jennifer. I was frustrated by my grief. I mean, I know I'll see her again one day. She reminded me that Jesus wept before Lazerus' tomb even though He was about to raise Lazerus from the dead. It's okay to grieve over death. And the homily reminded me that Jesus has promised to bring us out, too. It was a good homily.

Then there was this moment in the service where I was getting lost in my own stuff again and Bridget (who was in the pouch sling) grabbed my face and looked up at me with her big blue eyes and began making funny noises. I looked at Piper playing on the floor, and Reagan sitting next to me, and suddenly there was light.

If it's true that as wives and mother's we can find holiness in our domestic lives, then this was one of those moments. I knew there was a light at the end of this tunnel I'm in presently. And one day I hope those moments will outnumber the bad ones.

In the meantime my days are measured out in hours. And most of them are very busy. I mean, the universe dealt me a huge blow and I think I've been running around looking so that I can catch the other shoe before it drops. But I'm just running in circles, because how could I possibly anticipate what the future holds? And in doing so, I've avoided feeling almost anything but incredibly anxiety. It's scary. What if it's too big and it swallows me? What if I let it out and it's gone, and really, so is Sarah? I really only allow myself a couple of outlets.

Something else made me smile. Someone who came here from Cecily's blog figured out who the evil doula was. Apperantly the evil doula (henceforth referred to as ED) was posting on another e-group about me. She told people things that were untrue about us and this nice lady got so angry at ED that she offered me the posts to add in to my complaint with DONA. I'm still a little off on the idea of ever having a doula, though I know most of them are probably awesome. I'd still be all for sending ED those fleas or the coptic mange referred to by a commenter. Things like this make me miss being a heathen a bit. Then I could just be spiteful, but now I have to forgive. Forgiving is WAY harder. But I'm working on it. Really. :-)