2016 A Year for Change

This is a quick blurb. Nothing particularly important. I'm not checking for spelling. I'm not checking grammar. If that bothers you, stop reading.

This year my husband are taking stock of our lives, what is important and what is not. We are important. Our children are important. Our family is important. Most importantly, our faith is important.

Things that will happen this year:

• My husband and I will schedule time for just us. Gaming a couple Fridays a month and a group date night with church friends.
• Time will be made for our children. Sunday's are family days. It may be spent shopping or chilling at home on the couch but we will be together. Honestly, we are waiting for it to get warmer so we can start going on walks. J3, our youngest, cannot be in cold weather for long. Also, one Saturday a month must remain unscheduled for family time as well.
• We will introduce our children to community service. Starting in February, we will be serving the hungry in the community a meal once a month. This is an activity we will be doing with our church. Yes, our children are young, four and a half, four, and one and a half. We don't care this is important to us.
• My husband and I will read a chapter from the Bible every night, even if we don't head to bed until 2 a.m.

Things we are striving for:

• For me to restart college. Hopefully, I can return and get an English degree, with the goal of moving on to grad school in order to get a religious studies degree. What are my plans for such a degree? I have no idea, but God has gotten us this for and God will continue leading us.
• Show my husband that he is capable of starting Let's Plays. This is just too complicated a topic to explain the challenges so far.
• I would like to be off of my insulin in the next couple of months. This means eating healthier and exercising. No, I did not make a new years resolution to hit the gym and stave off carbs. For the first time ever, I did not make a new years resolution list. This year, I will not set myself up for failure. This way, I can celebrate my successes and learn from my mistakes without the self judgment that comes with the idea of failure.

Hopefully, I will begin blogging more regularly ...

E. Schierschmidt

Palliative Care: Part One

            For most people, bringing a baby into this world is a miracle. Rarely, do the horrors of pregnancies going wrong hit the media. So, what happens to those parents, who suffer behind closed doors?

            First of all, my heart goes out to people who suffer in silence. I was lucky to have several communities come to my husband and my aid: our church community, friends, family, and my husband’s work. Second, we ended up at an amazing hospital where we found even more support from other families going through the same thing, most of the time, far worse.

            My pregnancy was difficult. My diabetes near impossible to control. I nearly miscarried in my second month of pregnancy. It would be a lie to say that was the scariest feeling I have ever experienced, but that is only because what was to come was downright Earth shattering. The pregnancy never felt right again. But, all pregnancies are different, right? I tried to convince myself of this, however, nothing was ever quite right. The heartbeat was always … off. We did extensive ultrasounds, I was told that nothing was out of the ordinary. Who was I to question a doctor, a medical professional? They went to school to learn their craft. I can’t even get my bachelorettes degree.

            The caesarean was scheduled for thirty-eight weeks. Thirty-six became stressful. That feeling that looms within someone who can feel something not quite right. An indescribable feeling that I will never be able to put into words. I wanted the baby out. I was worried. The doctor convinced me that the baby’s time growing inside me was more important, that there was no indication that anything was wrong. So I waited. Painfully. Stressed. Concerned.

            I couldn’t wait to see my son. All of my concerns slipped away as I prepared for the caesarean. I felt the final tug letting me know he had entered this world and I waited for the cry. I listened for any sign that things were okay. I listened for signs that something was wrong. I prayed the Lord’s Prayer when there was no sign of either. Finally, after far too many seconds passed he cried out. Tears of gratitude flooded me as I prayed out in thankfulness.

            I was overjoyed to hold my son. I was fine. I was holding my precious baby boy.

            It did not take long for the feeling of wrongness to creep back up. My precious baby boy did not want to eat. We tried breast feeding, unfortunately, he ended up on a feeding tube. It was a long eternal nightmare. The doctor insists that it is important that he sees his pediatrician within the next week when we are discharged. I keep this in mind, but I am just happy to be able to return to my other two boys. To start our new lives as a family of five.

            The next day I make the appointment for the end of the week. Not with my pediatrician, but with another one that I felt comfortable with. He hears a murmur. My heart skipped a beat. Air was expelled out of my lungs as I gasp for a grip on reality. I try to rationalize. No big deal, I was born with a murmur but I am fine. There is a whirl wind of tests, all that I believe to be a waste of money and time, but let’s be sure.

            A letter comes in a few days later. You have an appointment at Arkansas’ Children’s Hospital in Little Rock, AR.

            I missed the part where it was in Little Rock, Arkansas. Why, had we been referred to another doctor? Another hospital? I began making inquiry calls to figure out what was going on. I actually get a call from the Children’s Hospital. They have an appointment opening tomorrow, do I want it? What? No. Why is it necessary? What is going on?

            Several hours later I would feel like a horrible mother. The doctor finally calls. “There is something wrong with your son’s heart. He has been referred to the Children’s Hospital.”

            Let me sum up this experience with: I should have known. I did know. I feel like a horrible mother. I feel like I single handedly jeopardized my son’s life. How? I can’t really answer that. Why do you feel that way? Because I knew. I pushed away my concerns and moved on.

            This was a month of horror. A month after that, a friend of mine would be taking care of our older two boys, while my mother rushed up from Texas, as my husband and I drove our two month old son to the hospital for losing five ounces in one week. They call it, failure to thrive.

            This is where our story begins. All of this happened six months ago. We are coming up again as we begin our youngest son’s second round of surgeries. He will have one more after this, but this is in no way curative care. It’s palliative care.

E. Schierschmidt

Raising Opposites

J1 and J2 are my two eldest sons. They are about five months apart and while we raise them as though they were twins, they are nothing alike. Everything in our house could be color coded, red for J1 and blue for J2. J1 loves car, trucks and Legos. J2 loves dinosaurs and animals. All of these things are easy to deal with, but what happens when you have two children, one who is introverted and requires “me time” for his wellbeing, while the other is social and doesn’t understand the need for “me time” or the desire for it.

            J1, our adopted son, is a replica of my husband. He is content to curl up in his daddy’s lap in front of the computer and watch my husband play games for hours. J1 enjoys building and rebuild Lego toys for the simple joy of figuring out the options he has with a limited set of blocks. He also would prefer watching people and trying to figure out what makes them tick rather than attempt to interact with them. J1 is unable to read facial expressions which can lead to awkward and confusing moments for him. He is a loner, however, with the right person he is an affectionate cuddler. One of the highlights to my day is when he curls up in bed with me early in the morning with his blanket. He scooches back into me and pulls my arm around his waist. He lays there in the early morning light looking out the window and basks in the silence. Soon to be broken by the shrieks of the baby wanting his morning bottle and the whines of J2 wanting his milk and morning banana.

            J2 is social to say the least. I fear the days he becomes a teen boy and learns to flash that sweet, mischievous grin that never fails to get him what he wants, except from his momma. I fear that he will be the spitting image of me, able to manipulate people into doing what you want, a skill that as a child you don’t know how to use responsibly. J2 is a happy, active child, with energy to spare. Constantly on the move and demanding attention from those around him.

            To compound the issues, we are in a situation where, for the health of J3, our youngest and last, the children are being quarantined. So, what do you do? As one child demands more and more time alone and the other is needing socialization. The answer should be that I play baseball, or bowling, or soccer with him. And, one would think that this would be possible with eleven hours in my stay-at-home-mom day. Sadly, with just me and three boys, I spend my time feeding the infant, preparing breakfast, lunch, snacks and drinks (milk, V8, and sweet juice). Then there is naptime for the older boys, the baby sleeps every few hours, which leaves me with a few hours to read, practice numbers, colors and ABCs with J1 and J2 before I need my time. Yes, “my time” not just for J1, but me and my husband as well. I really do feel for J2. How horrific it must be for an extroverted person to live in a house of introverts. So, for the hour or so that I manage amongst the rest of the chaos, I play fetch with my son. No, not catch, because three year old children usually cannot actually catch a ball. I toss a squishy ball down the hall for him to run after in the hopes to burn some of his never ending energy.

            This only works so long before he wants to play with his brother. “Come fish with me.” “Come kick/hit/throw the ball with me.”

            The resounding, “No,” is heartbreaking to J2, when J1 is emphatic about having “me time”.

            J2 takes this personally. “Mommy, what did I do wrong?”

            “Nothing baby.” I reach out and caress the cheek of my child whose eyes are filling with tears of incomprehension. How do you explain to a three year old that there are people in this world who prefer to spend their time alone?

            Sometimes, I can bargain with J2. “Daddy will play when he gets home.”

            Sometimes, daddy is too tired to play when he gets home and what little time he musters up, between dinner and bath time, to give to J2 is unsatisfying for my three year old.

            “Why can he not just sit in my lap like J1 does?” My husband asks frustrated and tired.

            “Because J2 is not like the rest of us.” I answer sympathetically, understand both my husband and J2s side of this issue.

            Of course, there is the all important lesson for J1. While I understand his need for “me time”, J1 also needs to understand that he will not always be able to have that time for himself. There are times when I explain to J1 that you can’t ignore those around you, your friends or your family. J1 always breaks down into a fit because suddenly he is not getting his way, but tough, life is built on having to do activities that you don’t really want to do because you are needed as a part of the community.

            On any number of trying days, I patiently wait and hope that J3 will balance out this need of socialization. Already, J2 has learned to play and spend time with J3. J2 is currently teaching J3, who is seven months old, his ABCs and the sounds animals make. J3 adores the attention he gets from his brother. And while balancing three children is difficult, perhaps these issues will work themselves out … most likely not.

E. Schierschmidt

Quick Reads

I read a lot. I have always read. As long as I can remember, I have read. I spent a couple of years not being able to sit down and enjoy a novel due to beginning a life as a mother. Now, I manage a novel or two month. In fact, when J3 was hospitalized, I read through seven novels. And as much as I enjoy reading novels, I have learned that reading blog posts and articles are just as important. Okay, maybe not important, in my case, more convenient. With three children it is easier to glance over a blurb of something than it is to try and focus on something more than three pages long.

            I have found Facebook to be a world of wealth for finding quick, helpful reads. I enjoy the advice, inspiration, and techniques other people are publishing. Expanding my vocabulary with The Writer’s Circle word of the day. Staying to read the articles about freelancing, motivational speakers, and tips to enhance my personal writing. Writer’s Write has a list of writing courses, in South Africa, writing advice and trivia. Not only do these websites have amazing articles, I also learn about events and conferences. While most things have a cost to them nowadays, free is always good. Both of these websites point out free podcasts and webinars.
            Self-publication is becoming more widespread with the help of websites such as Amazon. For me, Phyl Campbell stands as an example, as I watch her struggle to navigate the waters, of self-publication. I cheer when she is triumphant and I know that if I choose to take the route of self-publication she would happily help advise me through the process. Some of her works include Mother Confessor and Carley Patrol. You can also find short pieces of her work at phylcampbell.blogspot and PhylCampbellAuthorPage.

            Samantha Watson has to be one of my favorite people. I believe she has one of the most amazing modern day love stories. Now living in Australia after achieving a lifelong dream of finding her Aussie hunk, I am resigned to Facebook conversations to keep in touch. While I believe her writing is some of the best I have ever heard. Yes, heard. While she has yet to be published, I have high hopes for her and enjoy keeping track of her Facebook page A Brewer’s Ink where she links articles from places that I would never have considered for inspiration.

            While my world heavily revolves around Facebook and quick reads sometimes I do have to search for fellow writers. Angela Cox, who is currently a doctoral candidate at the University of Arkansas. She is driven to become a professor, her focus revolves around new media and genre, and a published author. While this is not my personal choice of reading, because she is a close friend, I take the time to read her articles from playthepast.org. Play the Past is a collaborative blog that focuses on the intersection of history and gaming. Why do I go out of my way to read articles that are not within my realm of regular reading? Because it is outside of my regular reading. Because Angela is a friend, not only do I want to support her work but it gives me the opportunity to check out what other people are writing about and what is being read.

            I will end with Kimberly Mitchell. I met her not long after moving to Northwest Arkansas, while looking for a church to attend. The first thing you learn about Kimberly is her love for sports. She is a dedicated Hogs fan, which presumably is from her years at the University of Arkansas. I fell in love with her life experiences as she weaves tales of her time in the Middle East. So, I wasn’t too surprised to find out that she was an aspiring children’s author. Kimberly, is the only blogger at this point that I set time aside to read. Not just to read but to take notes. There has never been a time where, after reading her posts, I felt as though I had wasted my time. Check her out at kimberlymitchell. This year she is focusing on Writing Your Story as you follow the stories of her and her family’s life.

            As I sit here writing this I am quickly becoming aware that all the writers that I know are women. That is not entirely true, however, many of the male writers that I know have not taken to the internet to blog. Unfortunately, that cannot be helped at this time. Feel free to read over these suggestions or make suggestions of your own of other people, forums, or webpages worth following.

E. Schierschmidt

Apologies

I apologize for the lack of a post this week, even more so that there will not be a post next week. I do hope to post something on the 16th.

A series of events has occurred which, unfortunately, has derailed my work and writing. J2 has been ill. My aunt, who, to me, is like a second mother, is in need of critical surgery which has been rescheduled twice.

It doesn't take much to throw me and during times like this I need to take time off and reset myself. Spend time with my family. Remember why my writing is important to me. To my children. And for my husbands encouragement to recharge my batteries.

Again, my apologies,
E. Schierschmidt

What Do I Know

Dear Imaginary Reader,

           

            When I look at my past, I don’t see anything amazing. I see my mistakes. Looking toward my future is overwhelming as I face the hurdles that stand before me. Presently, I am grateful for my wonderful husband and three beautiful boys. So, when I read other people’s advice to “write what you know” I couldn’t think of anything to write. It wasn’t until 2012 when I met, and later became friends with, a fellow writer. She was entertained by my random thoughts and conversations, leading to a comparison between her life and mine. For the first time, I saw my life through someone else’s eyes.

            I knew what it was like to be torn from a family. Forced to integrate into a new family. Torn from my brother. All of this from the single event of being adopted. I knew what it was like to run away from home. Not a live on the streets kind of way, but a hide in a friend’s backyard trailer for three or four days. This also happened to be one of my first sexual experiences. Few people believe that I was seven, maybe eight, when I decided I could make my life better. In high school, I broke up with a guy that I really liked not long after we started dating. He believes it was because he was a rebound. The truth is that not long after our first date my uncle was hospitalized. The idea of death due to obesity issues terrified me, an overly self-protective sixteen year old. If this was happening to my uncle what would the future hold for my current obese boyfriend? Out of all the friends I have lost over the years, he is the one who still haunts my memories. In college, I lived in a friend’s garage without a bathroom. At night, I had to potty in a bucket and clean it out in the morning. When I looked at these experiences, I realized that I had plenty to write about.

            However, attempting to put my experiences onto a blank page, became a distracted rant of inner turmoil and angst of a child. Scraping the idea of autobiographical material, I began to write about my life in third person. Giving this person a new name, a new environment, a new life. I could write about the imaginary people and give them the attitudes of friends and family. I could enhance traits I liked and minimalize what I did not. (This is not to say that I made everyone perfect.) I could focus my hate and anger at a multitude of people into a single villainous character. Slowly, a heroine appeared with friends and family and enemies who were life like because they were modeled on actual people. Suddenly, I had written a fantastical tale that I was pleased with and looked forward to editing.

            I guess what I am trying to say is that I agree with the idea of writing what you know. As long as you write it in a way that you would want to read it. And, if you are lucky, maybe someone else will want to read it too.

Thanks for Reading,

E. Schierschmidt

P.S. I should tell you that writing this letter was like pulling teeth. Next time, since it is my own blog and I can post whatever I want, I would consider scrapping the idea and finding something else to write about.

            This is an idea that I would put into practice for Nanowrimo when I am struggling within the first week or so. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t do it for a blog post as well.

Father and Son Differences: It Begins

            I was supposed to be barren. So we were surprised and excited when we found out we were pregnant. Although I really wanted a girl, I asked my husband what he wanted and what were his hopes were for the kid. He wanted a healthy boy to play computer games and Legos with.

            Fast forward a few months. J2 was born two weeks earlier via an emergency C-section. My husband likes to call it J2 and my first fight. J2 was supposed to be born in December. I didn’t want to have a November baby because it would interfere with Nanowrimo. I lost the fight. After being hospitalized for high blood pressure, several nurses walked into the room and informed me that if he did not come into this world immediately, he would not enter the world alive. Dramatic, I know, but six nurses rushed in the room to rush me to the operation room, I was more focused on the idea that after nearly nine months my son may not make it. J2 was brought into this world at 1:59 pm on the last day of November.

            Fast forward again two and a half years. My husband works long hours and when he comes home he just wants to vegetate in front of his computer. While that works for J1, our adopted child, this doesn’t really work for J2. I began to notice that J2 was trying to get his attention. My husband would offer to let J2 into his lap but after a few minutes J2 grew bored and crawled out of his lap, only to want his daddy’s attention again. After an hour of this J2 walked away from his daddy defeated. Upset and angry, unable to express what was bothering him, J2 began to act out. Not understanding what was occurring, my husband would lose his temper with our misbehaving son.

            My husband has to understand. He is a mild manner, quiet guy, who is content to chill in front of his computer with his children in his lap. And while this works for J1, who is the personality twin of my husband, this does not work for J2, who is outgoing and hyperactive. That night when our children went to bed, I forced my husband accept that he and J2 were nothing alike but that it was his responsibility to figure out how to spent time with J2. Getting my husband to understand was easier than putting it into practice, as most things usually are. My husband decided it was time to pull out his “big boy” Legos. J1 enjoys this as well, but it still isn’t an activity that will keep J2s attention for very long. Play time quickly became about my husband and J1. I was disheartened.

            Silence became the key. Thankfully, one day, I walked into the boy’s room because they were being quiet. I found J1 putting a train track together for J2 to play his trains on. I left them to their activities until J1 came out of the room to play on his laptop. J2 continued being uncharacteristically quiet and once again I went to see what he was up to. I found him on the floor playing with his train. Loading and unloading cargo as the train went round and round. When my husband came home, I insisted that he spent some time playing trains with the boys. This quickly became an evening activity that all three of them could do. Trains led to building block tracks and bridges. Police chases, accidents and ambulances followed. All three of them seemed to be happy. Unfortunately, over several weeks, the sit and play activities slowly became routine. J2 began asking daddy to participate in other activities.

            Finding more activities. My husband turned to the internet. I thought about what kind of sports could be played in the house safely. (It is getting cold outside and the boys are under quarantine for the Flu and RSV season because of J3s health conditions.) Fortunately, our home has a long hallway. Any number of activities can be played there. J2s birthday coming up and Christmas not far behind, my husband and I sat down and made a list.

            Gifts. For J2s birthday, we requested my parents purchase a t-ball set, which they did and more, getting an extra ball and bat to help eliminate the sharing issue. My husband suggested to his mother that the boys would enjoy remote control cars, which he had found a twin set at a reasonable price. I wanted to get a fishing game and bowling. For Christmas, we splurged on a large joint gift for the boys. A train track with over one hundred and thirty pieces, enough for them to have their own tracks.

            Time will tell. Now that the birthday has passed and Christmas has gone, we realize how much has been gained from these gifts. The boys still fight about taking turns and while my husband is not a sports fan and will never be the one who teaches J2 how to hit a baseball, throw a football, or even dribble a soccer ball. J2, now, feels comfortable asking his dad to play trains with him. J2 will bring him the car remote in the hope to be chase around the house. J2 smiles more now that he can ask his father to spend time with him in a way that he will enjoy.

- E. Schierschmidt -