Monday, May 19, 2014

Remembering

Last night, I was watching "Call the Midwife" on PBS. For those of you who follow the show, one of the midwives, Chummy, is caring for her terminally ill Mother in her home. Her Mother mentions how much she'd like a pedicure, but since her relationship with her mother is minimal, Chummy cannot bring herself to do it. Sr. Monica Joan (who often converses using long excerpts from poetry) reminds Chummy using a poem from John Keats:

"Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?"

It's obviously difficult, but Chummy finds some hand cream, massages it into her mother's hands, files her 
nails and paints them a pretty pink color. At one point, Lady Browne reaches up and tenderly touches her 
daughter's face. 

Chummy says, 

"You've never done that before. 


Lady Browne replies, 

"Yes, I have. When you were very tiny."

At that point, Chummy cannot hold herself together anymore, and breaks down...crying unashamedly while sitting next to her mother in the bed. 

Only a few hours later, Lady Browne passes from earth, and Chummy was there, lying by her side until the end, holding her hand. 

I don't know why this scene touched me so much. Probably because I relate to Chummy so much. My relationship with my mother was never a tactile one, and she was not a nurturer by nature. I only recall once in my whole life that she held me when I was upset about something as a teenager. The rest of the times she touched me...

Sigh...

Was in anger. My mother hit me, bit me, slapped me, punched me, and kicked me. More than once. More than several times. Many times. I even remember her knocking me over and then hauling me up by my hair to hit me again. She was always angry it seemed. 

I wish like Chummy I could recall a time my mother touched me with love. 

But I can't. 

Friday, May 9, 2014

What I Want Most

Last night, David and I went out to watch the NFL draft at our favorite Aggie-owned watering hole in The Woodlands, The Refuge Bar and Bistro. Honestly, it's one of the nicest places I've ever sipped a glass of merlot in. The food is good too...we split a salad last night, fried green tomatoes, topped with crab and bacon...delicious! I only wished the plate was bigger! 

On the way home, we were talking about how I'll be working this fall at the homeschool hybrid program, and how I wistfully still would prefer to stay home instead of being up at the church 2 days a week. But right now, I feel called to teach again, if only for the tuition discount and for the girls' sake...since they LOVE Regina Caeli Academy. If it were't for the reduced costs working there provides, we truly could not afford it. 

Somehow, the conversation turned to money. I was teasing David about how he's never going to buy me diamond earrings, but I'd settle for a second refrigerator since we're bursting at the seams trying to keep our one fridge stocked while feeding 5 animals children. We were holding hands, and I thought I heard a tiny catch in my husband's voice.

He said, "Well, I just can't make enough money right now. "

I turned to look at him, and indeed, he looked a little regretful. I quickly said, 


"Sweetheart, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I'm sorry."

David assured me he was fine, but I just knew he wasn't. It wasn't really what I'd said, it was that he felt like HE wasn't enough.

"David...you need to know you are ALWAYS enough for me and the kids. I wouldn't trade that for all the money in the world."

My husband smiled, and we continued to drive home. I wanted to say something more, but I kept quiet for a few minutes. And then, like an overflowing cup, my emotions spilled out.

"Honestly, what I want most right now is to be there for you while you finish up the CPA and start school again this summer.  I know we are in it for the long haul for the next 3.5 years while you get your MBA. If you can go to school and work full time, then I can work part time to help. I want to be as strong as I can, and help you as much as possible. In the end, I don't want to be angry and resentful. I don't want to be weak or complain that I can't pick up where you leave off. I want to do this together, because I know we can't do it apart. I don't care what anyone else does or what anyone else thinks. The only thing I want is for you to be proud of me."

My husband reached over and squeezed my hand while I tried my darndest to stop crying. The tears flowed fast and furiously...which is so not me. 

He said, "I am proud of you honey, and I love you very much."

"I love you too" I said while quickly wiped my tears away. I've tried so hard to NOT cry in front of my husband these days, because he's got enough to do without me being a weepy mess. Seriously.

The rest of the drive home was just small talk, but oh...I was so glad I told my husband what was truly on my heart. I know his words were straight from his heart. I just pray we both have the endurance to make it though the next few years. I pray we don't worry about where the money will come from, how we'll survive on little sleep, and how we'll have enough time for the kids. God's got this...He's in control. Let's just give Him the wheel and let Him drive, shall we? :-)