It has been at least eight months since I've gone for a haircut. We can't technically afford it, but when the math ceases to work out and you rely on God for every single morsel, you honestly begin to believe he'll provide.
For instance, we can't afford a whole month of food either, and yet so far we've not gone hungry. Our van, our only vehicle, is twelve years old and has 156,000 miles on it. Buying a new, used van isn't an option, nor is repairing the one we've got, should it break down. I've worried about this over the past year, but now I've come to assume that God has a plan for our transportation needs. He knows Don can't work or get to school without a vehicle, and that we can't get to church without one. He knows our needs, before we pray about them.
Back to my hair. Assessing it this morning, I saw that the last four inches looked very unhealthy. I wanted to cry at the mess staring back at me.
I told my husband, "I've waited at least eight months. Do you think I can go get a quick, cheap haircut?"
My husband, whether good or bad, is beyond thinking we have any control over anything, so he just responded, "Sure."
So off I went on a mini retreat to the local Best Cuts, praying for a seasoned stylist, rather than one just out of school.
I sat for twenty-five minutes waiting for my turn. Relaxing doesn't begin to describe my experience there. As Anna's sleep issues worsen by the week, I have less and less time to unwind. My temper is often short, and I feel like I don't have control over anything. Or at least, control over the things that make up my agenda.
Today, I'm humbly reminded that
only His agenda matters.
Timothy, now six, was also an awful sleeper, leaving me little time during the day or evenings to accomplish anything. But, that kid is unquestionably a bit of a genius, so the all-night/day breastmilk diner just might have a purpose. I'm willing to go through it for another year, just in case. I think. Having at least two kids who practically homeschool themselves could benefit me for years--not to mention them. It just might be part of God's plan for my future sanity.
Anyhow, back to Best Cuts, and my mini retreat. After watching a very kind stylist cut an elderly gentleman's hair, smiling at him numerous times all the while, I thought, what a very gentle, sweet person she must be. She seemed to genuinely enjoy serving others. Not at all like cranky old me, who only wishes in my wildest dreams that I look that kind and gentle, as I serve others.
Finally, the gentleman left, and she cleaned up her area and made a personal-business phone call, prolonging my retreat. As she did these things, I just kept asking God for help. Help with my discouragement, help with my depression regarding aging, help with my motley crew of hyperactive children--lovable though they are, and help loving my over-studied, under-slept, extremely stressed out, cranky husband--lovable though he is.
In the next thirty minutes, as she cut my hair, she was like an angel in my midst. She told me how pretty my hair was (it's not), how healthy it was, and how 43 is not so old (it is). Can you tell my love language is affirming words?
Her oldest child, nearly 20, ventured out on his own, and is working on buying a house--one street away from her. She had him when she was 18, and what a wonderful job she did! You know you've done a good job when they want to live one street away!
I don't know much more of her story. She has a boyfriend and another son, aged fourteen. She is 38, and looks like my twin, only younger.
She was a friend to me, for those thirty minutes. I left encouraged, happier, less burdened, and less alone (somehow). It doesn't make sense, but that's how I felt. And when she gave me her card, I saw that she was the store manager. Thank you, God! LOL I got the best! She gave a great haircut, and she gave me tips on eventually buying a semi-permanent color, over-the-counter, to cover my white hairs.
Thank you God, for the angel of a person you put in my midst. Thank you for the gift of a haircut. Thank you for the lift in my spirits. Thank you for the friend. Thank you for allowing me the time away to be encouraged, so I can, in turn, encourage my children and my husband.
Thank you for always being there. For always providing. Everything.
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
growing old gracefully
Not long ago I was at the thrift store trying on clothes. We don't have any mirrored closet doors, or full length mirrors in our house. There was one once, in the hall, but the kids' shopping cart clobbered it. I've yet to get my husband to buy another and hang it elsewhere.
There are around thirty regular readers of this blog, but I only know a few things about a handful of you. You're a young lot, compared to me. Anything I say about aging will be foreign to you, no doubt, but bare with me as I try coming to terms with this cruelty.
I used to have a 33-23-33 figure, which was too skinny by some accounts. Now, skinnier then I've ever been due to the recent illness, my body measures differently at the waist (25.5), but pretty much the same elsewhere. That said, my current shape doesn't resemble what I lived with for my first 35 years. Each pregnancy, including the miscarriages, changed it, even though the numbers on a tape measure aren't remarkably different.
As I stared at the body I hadn't seen for a long while, I was shocked. Varicose veins rendered my once good-looking legs a total disaster. After this last pregnancy, I even have varicosities high on one of my inner thighs. No stretch marks, but I'd gladly trade them for the bulging, sometimes-painful veins.
The calf-muscle tone I once enjoyed from frequent gym visits is all but gone. Walking is my exercise of choice, but it doesn't build or maintain muscle, unless one can do it daily.
There are sun spots, freckles and wrinkles on my arms and hands. I now have some idea why my 72-year-old aunt never wears short sleeves.
My once perky breasts, full of milk, no longer stand at attention. They sag, and when the milk is gone, they will be a vision of deflated, wrinkled ugliness. It isn't nursing that causes the unsightly sag--it's pregnancy itself.
My behind, once high, now hints that it will eventually become part of my thigh. Perhaps it too sags due to pregnancy, as well as to aging.
My children are absolutely worth every sag, every bulging vein--don't get me wrong. I don't mean to convey that I got a raw deal. My heart is full of gratitude that God gave me motherhood. The gratitude is so deep I can't begin to describe it.
Nevertheless, the image staring back at me was foreign and scary. I knew it was the tip of the iceberg. It will get far, far worse in just a decade.
What does it matter? Why be so vain? If I felt as old as I look, I wouldn't mind nearly so much. But I don't feel any different--I have the same energy and strength. Recently, my aunt told me she felt good all the way up to age 70, at which time she noticed less strength and energy.
As I glance at my young, taut-bodied children, with their beautiful, flawless skin, it feels as though we're somehow transferring our youth to them. That is how it must be, but how will I hide my jealousy from them, when I glance longingly at their curvy waists and smooth skin? And how will I avoid hating my own image in the mirror--wanting to run from it?
Husbands are visual. They can still manage to pour out the complements while we're in our forties, but what about our fifties and sixties? Will they want to turn away too? We can lift weights together perhaps, hoping to make the best of what's left?
All is not lost. During our wrinkled, sagging-skin years, we have our wisdom. It seldom shows up before then. We can think we are wise in our youth, but more years will prove we were wrong. Somehow, I'll need to befriend this scary body, and be thankful for any wisdom that comes my way.
Growing old gracefully, with joy, humor and lack of regret, is high on my to-do list. I haven't a clue how I'll manage it, but I must.
There are around thirty regular readers of this blog, but I only know a few things about a handful of you. You're a young lot, compared to me. Anything I say about aging will be foreign to you, no doubt, but bare with me as I try coming to terms with this cruelty.
I used to have a 33-23-33 figure, which was too skinny by some accounts. Now, skinnier then I've ever been due to the recent illness, my body measures differently at the waist (25.5), but pretty much the same elsewhere. That said, my current shape doesn't resemble what I lived with for my first 35 years. Each pregnancy, including the miscarriages, changed it, even though the numbers on a tape measure aren't remarkably different.
As I stared at the body I hadn't seen for a long while, I was shocked. Varicose veins rendered my once good-looking legs a total disaster. After this last pregnancy, I even have varicosities high on one of my inner thighs. No stretch marks, but I'd gladly trade them for the bulging, sometimes-painful veins.
The calf-muscle tone I once enjoyed from frequent gym visits is all but gone. Walking is my exercise of choice, but it doesn't build or maintain muscle, unless one can do it daily.
There are sun spots, freckles and wrinkles on my arms and hands. I now have some idea why my 72-year-old aunt never wears short sleeves.
My once perky breasts, full of milk, no longer stand at attention. They sag, and when the milk is gone, they will be a vision of deflated, wrinkled ugliness. It isn't nursing that causes the unsightly sag--it's pregnancy itself.
My behind, once high, now hints that it will eventually become part of my thigh. Perhaps it too sags due to pregnancy, as well as to aging.
My children are absolutely worth every sag, every bulging vein--don't get me wrong. I don't mean to convey that I got a raw deal. My heart is full of gratitude that God gave me motherhood. The gratitude is so deep I can't begin to describe it.
Nevertheless, the image staring back at me was foreign and scary. I knew it was the tip of the iceberg. It will get far, far worse in just a decade.
What does it matter? Why be so vain? If I felt as old as I look, I wouldn't mind nearly so much. But I don't feel any different--I have the same energy and strength. Recently, my aunt told me she felt good all the way up to age 70, at which time she noticed less strength and energy.
As I glance at my young, taut-bodied children, with their beautiful, flawless skin, it feels as though we're somehow transferring our youth to them. That is how it must be, but how will I hide my jealousy from them, when I glance longingly at their curvy waists and smooth skin? And how will I avoid hating my own image in the mirror--wanting to run from it?
Husbands are visual. They can still manage to pour out the complements while we're in our forties, but what about our fifties and sixties? Will they want to turn away too? We can lift weights together perhaps, hoping to make the best of what's left?
All is not lost. During our wrinkled, sagging-skin years, we have our wisdom. It seldom shows up before then. We can think we are wise in our youth, but more years will prove we were wrong. Somehow, I'll need to befriend this scary body, and be thankful for any wisdom that comes my way.
Growing old gracefully, with joy, humor and lack of regret, is high on my to-do list. I haven't a clue how I'll manage it, but I must.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Flashes Are On
I wanted to think these perimenopausal symptoms were more likely just signs that I'm sleep deprived, due to Anna's teething and frequent night nursing. However, last night confirmation came--I had my first hot flash.
Actually, it wasn't my first, come to think of it. When I was in my teens and twenties I had very painful periods and asked an OBGYN if it could be endometriosis--something my sister had. He thought it likely and did a laparoscopy to look for and clean out any lesions. He found mild to moderate endometriosis, removed it, and afterwards prescribed a drug that simulates menopause, so that the endometriosis would stop growing and my fertility could be preserved until marriage. I took the pills for three months and then gave up on them, due to the hot flashes. I had so many I had to bring a fan into my first grade classroom and stand in front of it in the middle of lessons. That didn't work for me (LOL), so the OBGYN gave me birth control pills and had me keep taking them all month to avoid having a period. It is the monthly bleeding that causes more endometriosis to grow and attach to the female organs--eventually causing infertility. The birth control pills worsened my migraines, so I quit taking them after a year. I got married a few years later and conceived our first son on our first anniversary (whom I miscarried at 21 weeks).
The endometriosis was kept at bay during the rest of my thirties by frequent pregnancies and prolonged nursing. I've had few periods during the last nine years.
Anyhow--after that long digression--I'm reflecting today on how hard it is to grow old in a youth-obsessed culture. I am committed to growing old gracefully, but some things I WILL fight hard against. My hair will be dyed when it becomes necessary, and I'll give up chocolate and exercise like a fiend before submitting to weight gain. Otherwise, I'll go with the flow. But clearly, I see that managing it all gracefully may be the second greatest challenge of my life.
The GREATEST challenge--you've probably guessed--has been and is still, raising an ADHD child.
Holly - thank you for the hormone-cream tip! I will look into it.
Actually, it wasn't my first, come to think of it. When I was in my teens and twenties I had very painful periods and asked an OBGYN if it could be endometriosis--something my sister had. He thought it likely and did a laparoscopy to look for and clean out any lesions. He found mild to moderate endometriosis, removed it, and afterwards prescribed a drug that simulates menopause, so that the endometriosis would stop growing and my fertility could be preserved until marriage. I took the pills for three months and then gave up on them, due to the hot flashes. I had so many I had to bring a fan into my first grade classroom and stand in front of it in the middle of lessons. That didn't work for me (LOL), so the OBGYN gave me birth control pills and had me keep taking them all month to avoid having a period. It is the monthly bleeding that causes more endometriosis to grow and attach to the female organs--eventually causing infertility. The birth control pills worsened my migraines, so I quit taking them after a year. I got married a few years later and conceived our first son on our first anniversary (whom I miscarried at 21 weeks).
The endometriosis was kept at bay during the rest of my thirties by frequent pregnancies and prolonged nursing. I've had few periods during the last nine years.
Anyhow--after that long digression--I'm reflecting today on how hard it is to grow old in a youth-obsessed culture. I am committed to growing old gracefully, but some things I WILL fight hard against. My hair will be dyed when it becomes necessary, and I'll give up chocolate and exercise like a fiend before submitting to weight gain. Otherwise, I'll go with the flow. But clearly, I see that managing it all gracefully may be the second greatest challenge of my life.
The GREATEST challenge--you've probably guessed--has been and is still, raising an ADHD child.
Holly - thank you for the hormone-cream tip! I will look into it.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
How do YOU lean?
Some of the blogs I read are like slices of life. They illustrate blessings regularly, but they also give glimpses of messiness, of upheaval, and of suffering. To live is to experience both. Some people don't care to air difficulties on their blogs. They are more reserved. Well I admire reserved people for their self-discipline, I can look back and see that I've never had a satisfying relationship with a single reserved person. They don't allow one to get too close. And without closeness, there is only superficial relating. They may welcome confessions from others, but THEY never want to confess. Eventually I stop trying to have closeness with them, and stick with only superficial topics myself, which is okay...as long as we have both types of people in our lives.
If you've been reading long, you know I believe in talking about both blessing and suffering. Put more simply--I'm a whiner. It just feels better to get it out there. Perhaps because I am less able to put it in perspective, when I hold it in?
Something new has come into my life....moodiness. Before I was a basically happy person, even in the midst of trial. Now, no matter what I might do, I can't control the effects of hormones. They are chemicals, created by God. Last night I read a comment from Liz, which suggested that maybe I'm feeling the effects of mild post-partum depression, mixed with perimenopause.
Being the problem solver I am, I looked up perimenopause. WebMD had the following to say about perimenopause:
How Long Does Perimenopause Last?
The average length of perimenopause is four years, but for some women this stage may last only a few months or continue for 10 years. Perimenopause ends the first year after menopause (when a woman has gone 12 months without having her period).
What Are the Signs of Perimenopause?
You will know you are transitioning into menopause when you begin experiencing some or all of the following symptoms:
* Hot flashes
* Breast tenderness
* Worsening of premenstrual syndrome
* Decreased libido (sex drive)
* Fatigue
* Irregular periods
* Vaginal dryness; discomfort during sex
* Urine leakage when coughing or sneezing
* Urinary urgency (a pressing need to urinate more frequently)
* Mood swings
* Difficulty sleeping
After reading all that, I thought to myself--WHAT! Just shoot me if this is what life will entail for the next fifteen to twenty years--until I'm done with both peri and full menopause! God certainly punished us women for Eve's sin. This all sounds like part of the "pain in childbearing" curse, if you ask me. That curse goes far beyond labor pains, in my humble opinion. Premenstrual syndrome (I rarely got that), hormone headaches, painful periods, miscarriage, infertility, hormonally-induced insomnia, perimenopause, and finally, menopause. They can all be tied up neatly as part of the female-hormone sin curse.
Why do some women get all of them, and others none? Why do some women get them only briefly, while others get them chronically? Only our Creator knows. Should we be one of the sufferers, what is the answer?
The Michael Jackson tragedy drove something home for me. As a chronic headache sufferer, I've taken Excedrin nearly everyday for the past twelve years. Usually only two a day are needed, so my liver is probably fine; I am extremely careful about mixing medicines. But what about the days I've had to take more, even while still following the dosing on the package? Will my liver give out one day?
When one deals with chronic pain, taking something becomes a knee-jerk reaction. Then when another type of pain or suffering comes along, we are more likely to reach for a pill for that as well, simply because reaching for a pill has become second nature. I feel that is what happened to Michael Jackson, as well as the countless others who have become addicted to prescription medicines.
While I navigate the waters of perimenopause, or simply the hormonal blues, I have to watch my tendency to reach for something. Life will throw even more things at me--that is sure. God often doesn't take away physical suffering. I can't pray this away; I've tried that with the headaches. He has answered in the sense that I don't need strong drugs to deal with my migraines, like some people do. The Excedrin works within 30 minutes about 80% of the time. But he hasn't healed the headaches, or the ADHD, or the chronic, face-changing eczema Emily has. She will grow out of it around five or six, most likely, but in the meantime it is hard to deal with. Daniel may grow out of some of the ADHD, but in the meantime it is a huge, life-altering problem for all of us. And I will likely grow out of hormonally-induced moodiness, but in the meantime it is a problem for all of us.
The answer then, is not healing. It is leaning. On Him. Year by year, month by month, week by week, day by day, moment by moment.
I'm learning that each person doesn't lean on God in the same way. For some, reading the Bible is the best leaning. For others, praying is the best leaning. Recently I've come to realize that for me, listening to praise and worship music is the best leaning. I ALWAYS feel better after worshipping through song. I SOMETIMES feel better after praying or reading Scripture. Certainly, I need to do all of them to experience all that God has for me. But when I need to reach for a perimenopause "pill" , it will be praise and worship music.
And yes, I'll check into Primrose, too, Liz! Thank you! An acquaintance from church, who also gave birth in her forties, said last night that her OB told her the moods were a combination of post-partum effects and perimenopausal effects. You are right! Count it all joy! Hopefully my hubby doesn't shoot me before it's done. A high percentage of marriages go sour during this time--or so I read. Maybe that's why I recently ran into that marriage blog? You know, the one that posts the "positions of the week"? LOL
If you've been reading long, you know I believe in talking about both blessing and suffering. Put more simply--I'm a whiner. It just feels better to get it out there. Perhaps because I am less able to put it in perspective, when I hold it in?
Something new has come into my life....moodiness. Before I was a basically happy person, even in the midst of trial. Now, no matter what I might do, I can't control the effects of hormones. They are chemicals, created by God. Last night I read a comment from Liz, which suggested that maybe I'm feeling the effects of mild post-partum depression, mixed with perimenopause.
Being the problem solver I am, I looked up perimenopause. WebMD had the following to say about perimenopause:
How Long Does Perimenopause Last?
The average length of perimenopause is four years, but for some women this stage may last only a few months or continue for 10 years. Perimenopause ends the first year after menopause (when a woman has gone 12 months without having her period).
What Are the Signs of Perimenopause?
You will know you are transitioning into menopause when you begin experiencing some or all of the following symptoms:
* Hot flashes
* Breast tenderness
* Worsening of premenstrual syndrome
* Decreased libido (sex drive)
* Fatigue
* Irregular periods
* Vaginal dryness; discomfort during sex
* Urine leakage when coughing or sneezing
* Urinary urgency (a pressing need to urinate more frequently)
* Mood swings
* Difficulty sleeping
After reading all that, I thought to myself--WHAT! Just shoot me if this is what life will entail for the next fifteen to twenty years--until I'm done with both peri and full menopause! God certainly punished us women for Eve's sin. This all sounds like part of the "pain in childbearing" curse, if you ask me. That curse goes far beyond labor pains, in my humble opinion. Premenstrual syndrome (I rarely got that), hormone headaches, painful periods, miscarriage, infertility, hormonally-induced insomnia, perimenopause, and finally, menopause. They can all be tied up neatly as part of the female-hormone sin curse.
Why do some women get all of them, and others none? Why do some women get them only briefly, while others get them chronically? Only our Creator knows. Should we be one of the sufferers, what is the answer?
The Michael Jackson tragedy drove something home for me. As a chronic headache sufferer, I've taken Excedrin nearly everyday for the past twelve years. Usually only two a day are needed, so my liver is probably fine; I am extremely careful about mixing medicines. But what about the days I've had to take more, even while still following the dosing on the package? Will my liver give out one day?
When one deals with chronic pain, taking something becomes a knee-jerk reaction. Then when another type of pain or suffering comes along, we are more likely to reach for a pill for that as well, simply because reaching for a pill has become second nature. I feel that is what happened to Michael Jackson, as well as the countless others who have become addicted to prescription medicines.
While I navigate the waters of perimenopause, or simply the hormonal blues, I have to watch my tendency to reach for something. Life will throw even more things at me--that is sure. God often doesn't take away physical suffering. I can't pray this away; I've tried that with the headaches. He has answered in the sense that I don't need strong drugs to deal with my migraines, like some people do. The Excedrin works within 30 minutes about 80% of the time. But he hasn't healed the headaches, or the ADHD, or the chronic, face-changing eczema Emily has. She will grow out of it around five or six, most likely, but in the meantime it is hard to deal with. Daniel may grow out of some of the ADHD, but in the meantime it is a huge, life-altering problem for all of us. And I will likely grow out of hormonally-induced moodiness, but in the meantime it is a problem for all of us.
The answer then, is not healing. It is leaning. On Him. Year by year, month by month, week by week, day by day, moment by moment.
I'm learning that each person doesn't lean on God in the same way. For some, reading the Bible is the best leaning. For others, praying is the best leaning. Recently I've come to realize that for me, listening to praise and worship music is the best leaning. I ALWAYS feel better after worshipping through song. I SOMETIMES feel better after praying or reading Scripture. Certainly, I need to do all of them to experience all that God has for me. But when I need to reach for a perimenopause "pill" , it will be praise and worship music.
And yes, I'll check into Primrose, too, Liz! Thank you! An acquaintance from church, who also gave birth in her forties, said last night that her OB told her the moods were a combination of post-partum effects and perimenopausal effects. You are right! Count it all joy! Hopefully my hubby doesn't shoot me before it's done. A high percentage of marriages go sour during this time--or so I read. Maybe that's why I recently ran into that marriage blog? You know, the one that posts the "positions of the week"? LOL
Monday, April 20, 2009
Aging
This aging thing stinks. Thanks Adam and Eve! It's all your fault. God never intended for us to watch ourselves shrivel up and then die.
My Netscape AOL news ticker just showed a pic of Brooke Shields, who happens to share my birth year - 1966. Her level of wrinkles is about like mine, minus the acne scars, which make one look even older.
I saw a glimpse of my arms this weekend, in florescent light. Horror. The skin is sun-damaged, as is that on my hands. Ladies in your twenties and thirties - use sunscreen on your arms, hands, face and neck! They see the most sun in your lifetime, and give away your age easily, if you let them. You will lament less when you reach your forties if you exercise caution now.
A little friendly advice, from shriveled up me.
In other sad news, I researched this not-so-flat, post-C-section stomach of mine. Things were pretty good abdominally after the other three children - no stretch marks, relative flatness. Now, I hate my stomach. Still no stretch marks - have varicose veins on my legs instead, which is the raw end of the deal, given that they're not easily hidden in the summer - but there's still that bit of bloatedness I told you about right above the incision scar. Turns out, it can be common for C-section tummies to never return to their previous glory.
Swell.
At least I can still pluck out my white hairs. I started that at 32, and so far they're not getting ahead of me.
Really, I'm trying to be positive about physical decline. After all, we all get our turn at youth. However, I can think of few things as horrible as watching the shriveling of one's outer body. The whole thing feels a little more glum when baby hasn't slept well in several days, and Mommy's overtired and cranky.
Sunscreen, Ladies. It's your best friend.
My Netscape AOL news ticker just showed a pic of Brooke Shields, who happens to share my birth year - 1966. Her level of wrinkles is about like mine, minus the acne scars, which make one look even older.
I saw a glimpse of my arms this weekend, in florescent light. Horror. The skin is sun-damaged, as is that on my hands. Ladies in your twenties and thirties - use sunscreen on your arms, hands, face and neck! They see the most sun in your lifetime, and give away your age easily, if you let them. You will lament less when you reach your forties if you exercise caution now.
A little friendly advice, from shriveled up me.
In other sad news, I researched this not-so-flat, post-C-section stomach of mine. Things were pretty good abdominally after the other three children - no stretch marks, relative flatness. Now, I hate my stomach. Still no stretch marks - have varicose veins on my legs instead, which is the raw end of the deal, given that they're not easily hidden in the summer - but there's still that bit of bloatedness I told you about right above the incision scar. Turns out, it can be common for C-section tummies to never return to their previous glory.
Swell.
At least I can still pluck out my white hairs. I started that at 32, and so far they're not getting ahead of me.
Really, I'm trying to be positive about physical decline. After all, we all get our turn at youth. However, I can think of few things as horrible as watching the shriveling of one's outer body. The whole thing feels a little more glum when baby hasn't slept well in several days, and Mommy's overtired and cranky.
Sunscreen, Ladies. It's your best friend.
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